#they both have hearts on their chest and white tipped tails | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miasmaghoul · 2 months

Note

From the prompt list

Dew/Aether #26

From this list.

#26 - as an apology

-----

"You're serious?"

Aether nods, but he can't look up. The disbelief in Dew's voice is something he expected, but it feels so much worse that he'd anticipated.

"Yes," he breathes, fiddling with a bracelet. "I told Papa this morning." Aether swallows, mouth dry. "I would have told you sooner, but -"

"Why?"

Aether sighs, scrubs at his face with both hands. The scent of antibacterial soap floods his nose, skin made dry from endless washing during his infirmary shift. He stares at the little ghoul's boots, black leather stark against the white tile floors. Maybe it was a mistake to do this here. Maybe he should have waited until tonight, until they were tangled up in bed and Dew was blissed out and half asleep. Maybe he'd sound less betrayed.

Somehow, Aether doubts it.

"I told you," he sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I'm tired, Dew. Too tired to keep up with the rest of you." Aether rubs the back of his neck. "You remember the last leg, right? How many times did Papa talk to me about my mistakes? How many times did you have to pick up my slack?"

"Aeth -"

Aether holds up a hand, and Dewdrop pauses. Aether can feel his scowl, eyes burning into the top of his head. He still can't make himself look up.

"How many nights did you have to spend massaging my hands, just so I could play the next day?"Aether cracks his knuckles, wincing at their stiffness. "Besides, they need me here." He gestures vaguely at the empty infirmary lobby. "Now that Omega's gone, I'm the only full-time healer we've got."

He huffs out a harsh exhale, pinches the bridge of his nose. This was so much easier in his head. He watched the little ghoul cross his legs, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor.

"I just...I can't do it anymore, Dew. I don't have the energy."

He falls silent after that, shoulders hunched and hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, and waits. Waits for Dew to yell, to grab his coat and throttle him, to punch a wall - anything to express the rage he swears he can feel pouring from that slight body.

"I understand," Dew says instead, and somehow that's the thing that makes Aether look at him.

Dewdrop's expression reads cool, but his shoulders sit tense. The tip of his tail flicks through the air, obvious agitation, but it seems to be unconscious. There's something hard in his copper eyes, and Aether swallows hard.

"You...you what?"

"I get it," Dew says with a shrug, rolling his neck. "I was around when Zeph went through this, remember?"

That's...a fair point. Zephyr may have only joined them on stage for a few months, but Aether remembers very clearly all the evenings spent helping with their pain and exhaustion. He sighs, nods.

"Yeah, I do. But this isn't the same -"

"You could've told me, y'know," Dew interrupts, softer. "Before now, I mean. Before you told Papa."

"I almost did," Aether admits. Dew's casual demeanor has him off balance - he expected to have his coat singed by now. "But I was worried -"

"I wouldn't have told anyone," he interrupts, voice soft, and Aether stutters to a halt. Watches the little ghoul wring his hands. "Wouldn't have done that to you."

Aether blinks. Twice. That thought hadn't even occurred to him, not for a second. His hesitence came only from the risk of upsetting Dew, not from some fear of having his retirement revealed before he was ready. He cants his head and peers at Dewdrop, brow furrowed, and finds something new in his eyes. A watery glimmer of something so obviously sad, so fearful, that it makes Aether's heart ache.

"Oh, Dew..."

In half a breath they're caught up in each other, Aether holding the little ghoul to his chest in a crushing embrac, one hand on the back of his ash blond head and the other arm curled tight around him. Dew's hands fist into his shirt and he plants his feet between Aether's, huffing against his chest, and for a few moments they stay like that. Holding one another in silence while Aether collects his words and tries to figure out what he could possibly say to assure the one he loves more than any other that he'd never question his trust. To apologize for even making him think otherwise.

Then Dew pulls away just enough to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes, the gentlest smile curving his lips, and Aether has his answer.

The kiss is soft, gentle. No urgency, no tongue, just the perfect meeting of their mouths. Dew's warm hands come up to cup Aether's cheeks and Aether sighs through his nose, muscles he didn't know he'd tensed going lax. It feels like an age before they part, and Aether knows he doesn't have to say it, but -

"I'm sorry, firefly," he whispers, rubbing Dew's back and nosing at his temple. "I didn't mean -"

"I know," Dew assures him, stroking his face, eyes searching his own. "I...I know."

Dew kisses him again, and Aether decides any other words can wait until his hands stop shaking.

#miasma's work #ask games #the band ghost ficlets #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dewther

103 notes · View notes

sparrowrye · 1 month

Text

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 26

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 26: So it begins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was trapped in a chair. Something was clamped around my head and kept it firmly tied to the back of the chair. My arms and legs were completely immobile, not a centimeter of space left. I could feel Alastor's panic. I let out a scream as I pulled hard against the chair, completely helpless.

Burning pain ran along the sides of my head. I screamed louder, harder, and fought tooth and nail for my magic just barely out of reach.

Next thing I know I'm running through the forest. I was in my Dragon form, my large claws clearly in view as I jumped across streams and weaved through the trees. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

I came to a clearing and stopped. Standing across was a man in all white. He spread his huge bird-like wings and pointed a finger at me. A moment later I was on my side, shaking from pain, as he stood over me with clenched fists.

He lifted one fist and brought it down on my face.

My head jerked back and I gasped. Alastor flinched awake, eyes snapping open and scanning the room for danger. My own eyes remained locked on him as wide as they could go. I couldn't take a deep breath.

"Another nightmare my dear?" he asked sweetly, hand coming up to cup my face. I couldn't move. He noticed and pushed his mind further into mine than usual. He lowered my heart rate and loosened my shoulders. He moved down my body until the tip of my tail was no longer tense.

"A vision," I breathed. "Something was wrong. I was trapped and something was happening to you."

"I won't let anything happen to either of us, my darling." That was what he always said after my nightmares.

"But what if something does happen?" I pressed.

"Darling," his tone was firm, "we don't know when these events will occur or if they can even be considered visions. You have yet to discern between a vision and dream. This could be your fear creating nightmares."

I let out a short, terse sigh and sat up. I couldn't see but I knew he was rolling his eyes and sitting up as I slipped out of bed.

"Darling--"

"I don't appreciate you discounting me like that. Six surface Overlords are gone, Blackwater is creating an empire through word of mouth, and we barely survived getting away from him last time. How are you not concerned?" I faced him with my arms extended in exaggeration.

"Last time he lured us into a trap." He stood up and ran a hand through his messy hair. If I wasn't so upset I might've considered it attractive. "He is nothing against me in a full scale battle. He cannot harm you or this Haven while I am here." He crossed the room to place a gentle hand on my cheek. My tail came around to wrap on his ankle. "Let me worry about this, darling."

I was quiet. There were a lot of things I wanted to say to him. I wasn't some useless weak mage, not anymore. My magic was getting better with every day and I was doing a lot in the Haven to get it more fortified and help with morale. And why wasn't he showing even just the slightest bit of concern? He could've died last time we ran into Blackwater. He was building an army as we spoke. Alastor was good but even he could be overrun if there were enough of them, especially if they had Overlord magic.

Alastor brought his other hand up to hold my face in both hands. He tried to catch my eyes but I forced my head down. He moved his hands to my shoulders and gently squeezed them, trying in every way to get me to look at him without forcing it. I kept our minds separate but allowed him to press along my shields like he usually did.

He succumbed to hugging me instead. I pressed my cheek into his chest while his arms folded over my shoulders and behind my head. I took a long, slow deep breath of his cedar wood scent. I had the urge to cry. I knew it wasn't from just this one nightmare. I've been having them steadily now and each time he told me they were nightmares, nothing more. He could help sooth the nightmares but that didn't prevent the effect it had on me during the day. It was getting overwhelming.

I rubbed my face on his soft black long sleeve. He brought a hand up to my head and ran his claws lightly along my scalp. I let out a hum of satisfaction, the muscles in my arms loosening around his waist. He pushed further on my shields and I finally let him in, melting our minds together. I felt warmth seeping through my body and relaxing all the tight muscles. I was surprised to see how much of an effect my physique had on my mentality.

How did he always manage to relax me like this?

"I will take extra precautions, my love," he finally said, chest vibrating as he spoke. My arms wrapped tighter around him and I smiled.

"Thank you."

"Can I have a kiss now?"

I tilted my head back to look at him, finally meeting his gaze. "Is that all you were looking for?"

One of his ears fell to the side. "It wasn't an attempt to manipulate you."

I laughed, bringing my hands up to his face and pulling him down for a brief kiss. "I know, Al. Thank you for listening." My ears picked up on a certain sound. My tail moved up his leg and the sound grew faster. I noticed his smile wobble a little but before I could make a comment he kissed me again. My tail continued up until it found his own tail. It had been wagging. I laughed into the kiss and tried to pull away but he refused, hands holding my face firmly against his so I couldn't say anything.

I tried moving my body to pull away and one of his hands came down to wrap behind my back. He pulled me flush against his body as his other hand moved to the back of my head, lips parting mine and long tongue slipping through. I made a surprised noise and gripped his shirt in my fists. He hummed into the kiss, making me moan.

I pulled away finally, shocked at my own actions, and quickly looked at anything other than him. His chuckle was deep in his chest. He planted a kiss on my cheek then on the side of my forehead.

****

"What do you mean he's missing?" I asked Althea, struggling to find a way to put our healer at ease. Vivian and Vilcin were also trying to talk to her but she was pacing like we'd never seen her do before. Vilcin was visibly upset at their friend's behavior, concerned owl noises bubbling in their throat. Vivian was the better of us three, trying to make conversation and pull out information from anything and everything.

"He's gone. My brother he's...he's just gone. No note, no word, no nothing." She grabbed random things off her shelves and pretended to busy herself. "The guards haven't seen him all day, either. Where could he have gone? He doesn't just disappear."

Althea had been reunited with her brother only recently. Husker had lead a group to save more fighters from the rings and it took mere seconds for Althea to find her brother as she surveyed them all for injuries. He joined the guards as most of the fighters did and any time he wasn't on duty he was in his sister's hut. To be honest, I was often jealous of their close relationship. Even after years of being separated, they came back like no time had passed.

A funny feeling settled in my chest and not a good one. Part of me worried if it was a trap of some kind but it wasn't as if I couldn't not help my friend. I was always the one who went out and searched for angry runaways with worried friends and families.

Althea was so upset. She wasn't thinking in her usual calm way. I had to do something to help her, even if that meant pushing past my own nerves. She was my friend, after all. One of my first friends in the haven.

I reached with my magic to see if Alastor was up at the house. I wanted to let him know that I was going out but he wasn't anywhere on the premise. That made me even more worried, however, that did mean I didn't have to argue with him over leaving the grounds. He would probably argue against it.

"Let me try finding him. I'm good with things like this," I said. Althea finally stopped moving. She turned to look at me as did the others. I waited a moment longer before turning and leaving the healer's hut. They all knew, especially Althea herself, about my worries of Blackwater. I had confided in them about my nightmares since Alastor wasn't the greatest when it came to the aftermath of those.

"Wait!" Althea called, "Let me go with you."

"Huh? Why?" I came to a stop as she ran up.

"At least you'll have someone with you out there. And I want to make sure he's okay when you do find him."

"I'm not sure, Althea," I admitted, "It's easier for me to move by myself as a Dragon. And we need to make sure our one and only healer is safe."

"You also need to be safe," she argued, "If anything happens to you, happens to Alastor, we're nothing against Blackwater."

"You have Charlie. She's pretty powerful. Plus her father is the King of Hell. He'll come to her aid."

"I'm not sure from the things she's told me." She glanced around to ensure no one was listening.

"Maybe we're reading too much into this," I tried, "your brother might have just gotten separated and lost. I'll be careful. I'm also powerful, you know." I turned away and started for the border before she could say anything else. The guards at the edge watched me but said nothing as I passed and morphed into my dragon form, quickly slipping into the forest.

I moved along the tree line until I caught wind of his scent. It was faint, obviously from the night before, and followed it further into the forest. I could smell others which told me he had been with a group. I felt my adrenaline surging through my veins. I missed moving through the forest like this, thinking of the scent and only that, and my claws kicking up dirt behind me. Even the wind slipping under my wings felt great. I felt free.

His scent grew stronger around certain areas. He must've stopped with the group a few times. Then at one point his scent diverted from the group. My nerves went up and reached out with my magic. Everything was on high alert now.

It took only a few strides before I realized something was up. I felt a presence nearby. It wasn't Alastor's and it wasn't Blackwater's. It didn't even feel normal; didn't feel natural. This had to be Blackwater's work. This was a trap. But I couldn't turn back. Not now. I had to save Althea's brother. I couldn't wait for Alastor either. Blackwater might be trying to extract magic from her brother this very moment.

I came to a clearing and dug my heels into the dirt. Standing on the other end was a man in white. He noticed my presence almost immediately, spinning around and extending huge golden wings.

My vision. It's happening!

His face was all black with sharp yellow eyes and teeth. He had black claws and horns. What kind of Demon was this?

"Well well well, nice to finally meet the bastard he spawned," the man said.

"Who are you?" I demanded as I shifted into my Demon form.

"The name's Adam. Like Adam the first man."

"First man?"

"Ch-yeah. I'm the Adam. From the Bible." He planted his fists on his wide hips.

"The Bible?" I deadpanned.

His toothy smile disappeared. "Do you seriously not know what the Bible is?"

I shook my head. "No. I've never heard of it."

"How? It's literally the most popular and controversial book in the whole fucking world."

"So what are you?" I asked.

"I can't fucking believe this." He crossed his arms. "I'm a fucking angel."

He talks weird.

"You look like a Demon, though." I knew Angels existed, being half of one myself, but I had never actually seen one. I thought they might not have a way to cross onto the surface like Demons did.

"Angels don't have a demonic look so I took that into my own hands. But here, let me demonstrate so you actually believe me." He pointed a single finger and a gold beam shot out. I barely moved off the line of trajectory and was thrown backwards into a tree. Stabbing pain throbbed in my shoulder, the smell of burning flesh reaching my nose almost immediately.

I looked down at my shoulder to see a large, steaming hole straight through it. The burning spread from the wound and went down my arm and seeped into my chest. Panicked, I immediately healed the wound and stopped whatever it was from reaching my heart.

My eyes looked up at him through my hair.

Game time.

There was no going back.

I moved to all fours as he spread his wings out. I waited, wanting him to make the first move. And he did. He flew at me at insane speed, barely giving me enough time to roll out of the way. His wings weren't obeying the laws of gravity.

I went into the woods and kept him at a distance with the dense trees. Where was Althea's brother? Where was he keeping him?

I came around a tree and uprooted it as he flew by. He slammed into the roots and crashed into the next one. I jumped on him and pinned his wrists to the ground, claws covering his to prevent him from using his death ray. I used my wings to pin his to the ground as well with surprising ease. I felt bigger. I felt deadly. I felt powerful. What other magic could this Angel do? Surely I was superior because I had both types of magic.

"What a position you've put me in," Adam smirked, "does your soulmate know you do this to other men?"

"Where is the boy?" I demanded, ignoring his remark.

"Like I would fucking tell you." His laugh was cut short when I sank my teeth into his shoulder. The taste was sweet on my tongue but my adrenaline was overpowering the urge. It actually made me uncomfortable to taste anyone else's blood other than Alastor's. "You little bitch!" he yelled as I lifted my head. "Is that how we're playing?"

He twisted my wrist funny and his yellow beam shot through my hand and hit my nose. I fell back and rolled away, clutching my face. He kept shooting at me as I fled among the trees. I uprooted the ground beneath him just to get him to stop.

I casted wind through the trees and sent him tumbling head over heels. I covered my bleeding face and healed the injury on my nose. My shoulder still ached from the first time he hit me. Maybe he didn't have the magic I had as a Demon but that beam of his was incredibly deadly. He could kill me if it hit my head.

I shuddered as Alastor looked through my eyes. I suddenly lost sight of Adam and panicked. I picked a direction and ran, weaving in and out of the trees. Where had he gone? I had blinked and he was gone. That wasn't possible, surely.

Something hard hit my face. It snapped my head to the side and I fell hard on my injured shoulder. I rolled once and slammed my face into a tree. I attempted the 'force field' Alastor had been teaching me. It was short high wings really close to my body to keep anything from reaching me. Though it probably couldn't do anything against his death ray.

A hand gripped my hair and slammed my face into the ground. Adam stepped on my wings and brute forced me onto my back, effectively popping my wing out of its socket. I cried out as he straddled me and closed his hand around my throat.

I felt Alastor reaching for me through our bond but something else, something bright, stopped him. I felt my soul being torn from my body. The pain wasn't physical but no words could describe such a horrible feeling. My mouth opened in a silent scream as it felt like stitches were being popped out the further my soul came from my body.

I shot my magic through my own soul and into Adam's. I pictured grabbed his throat with my own black claws. He suddenly let go and my soul snapped back into my body. My connection with Alastor wobbled.

"I'm done playing these games," he growled, standing up but not removing his feet from either side of my injured form. I was shaking uncontrollably. "You, half bastard, will get what you deserve soon enough."

He finally stepped off my wings and I rolled onto my side. He knelt beside me and grabbed my shoulders. A moment later everything felt as light as a feather.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

What's gonna happen? Who knows? All I know is that this is the 51st PART! That's so many! And you've been with me since the beginning <3

Next part will come Wednesday morning at the latest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

57 notes · View notes

hopepetal · 10 months

Text

Some ranchers. Because I said I'd write them <3

––

First out.

Again.

And by his own stupid hand, his own stupid actions, because he never learned. He never learned.

No matter what he tried, no matter what he did, Jimmy would always be the canary.

“I hate myself,” he cried into the empty afterlife, drawing his knees up to his chest and rocking back and forth, wrapping his golden wings around himself as if they could shield him from the harsh reality. As if they could protect him from the truth.

“I hate myself,” he wept, and nothing changed for it. Time still ticked, tocked, sand trickling through the hourglass of life. His own hourglass was cracked open, sand spilling to the ground.

“I hate myself,” he whispered, and it echoed throughout the empty white space that stretched out infinitely.

And then he wasn't alone.

And then Skizz was there, with a gasp and tears streaking down his face but a smile on his lips. And then Joel was there, with a frustrated scream of rage. And then Bdubs.

They all exchanged brief words. Joel hugged Jimmy tightly for a moment, mournful whispers of a planned sacrifice in his ear. It wouldn't have worked. It never did. But Jimmy thanked Joel for trying.

And then someone was sitting next to him, cross legged and hands in their lap, tail swishing back and forth slightly. Jimmy didn't even need to look over to see who it was. He knew the presence of his rancher, knew the beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing.

“I'm sorry you got out first again,” Tango said, just as Jimmy muttered, “out first again, huh?”

They both looked at each other, meeting eyes that were finally their natural hue, and for a moment just stared. Then, Tango giggled nervously, and Jimmy couldn't help but smile as well.

“I'm still sorry about hitting you,” Jimmy apologized, wrapping a wing around Tango. “I was just bein' bad, you know how it is.”

Tango laughed, leaning against Jimmy. “I think it suits you. Black leather brings out your eyes. When you're not wearing sunglasses. I mean. Obviously. Because when you're wearing sunglasses your eyes are covered and–”

“Tango, Tango, buddy, I get it,” Jimmy interrupted, his mind far away from the self-loathing of earlier. “Here. Hold on.” He took off his sunglasses and fluttered his eyelashes at Tango. “Better?”

Tango's face went red, and he nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah! Cool! Those are your eyes! Wow!”

“You two really are soulmates,” Cleo commented from where they stood with Bdubs and Scar, an arm around the former. “Get a room, jeez.”

Jimmy shot her a glare, though there was nothing behind it. “Oh, buzz off!”

Tango burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking and tail tip flicking back and forth. “Ohhhh, oh man. I'm glad I got to see you again, Jimmy.”

“You need to visit more often,” Jimmy muttered, “I missed you.”

Tango pouted slightly. “I know... I'll try. I promise. But you know me, I start working on some project and then forget about time...” Noticing how Jimmy's shoulders slumped, he hurried to add on, “but I'll try! I will! I promise!”

“Good.”

“Good!”

As the last of the sand spilled from Martyn's hourglass, Jimmy and Tango watched. And as with every game, they slowly began to fade away from the afterlife, sent back to their home servers.

“Remember,” Jimmy told a translucent Tango, his voice resonating strangely, “you promised you'd visit.”

Tango grinned, nodding. “Rancher's honor! See you soon!”

And with that, they faded away.

Somewhere, a tiny toy sheriff awoke with a gasp, and felt like something was missing.

Somewhere, a hermit awoke with a soft yelp, and felt as if he'd broken a promise.

#my writing #ranchers #solidaritygaming #tangotek #Cleo's there too #and some other people #trafficsmp fanfic

167 notes · View notes

mistyyyy · 1 year

Text

Ours.

In which you and your wife plot on the boy that comes from a star.

Ours. Neytiri X Jake X reader (Small angst, fluff smut)

⚠️warning⚠️

Smut, cursing, moat being delulu, threesome, small text

“You know, I admire you Jake. You are strong, even when you’re on the brink of death.” You say, voice soft while you dip the tips of your fingers in the war paint. The man in front of you smiles softly as he listens to you, big amber eyes never leaving your pretty face as your fingers gently pressed against his jaw, and slid down the long columns of his neck.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way towards you, no, you were mated with his teacher for god's sake!

And she was mated with you, the worrier that would one day become the leader of this clan.

He took a shaky deep breath, throat bobbing against your slim fingers as he tries to gather his guilty thoughts.

It was time for his Uniltaron, his dream hunt.

The dream hunt was very dangerous, it is a rite of passage in which the Na'vi seek their spirit animal. Usually, the warriors participate, sometimes even the hunters.

In the beginning stage of the ritual, you are fed a glow worm, then stung with an arachnoid. Its venom slows your heart, bringing you close to death to help you find your bond.

Many navi die from this, but many survive, becoming our greatest warriors. You survived it, Neytiri, your mate didn’t have a chance to as she was destined to be tsahik, Tsu’tey also survived it. You know Jake Sully can, he will survive it.

“You are strong, brave… a little stupid.” You said the last part with a grin, plump lips coming back on your fangs as Jake chuckles. “I know the risks… your mate taught me well,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as your painted fingers go down his shoulders and chest.

“But I want to be with the omatikyan. I want- no I need to prove myself. I… want you all to trust me.” Finally peeling your amber eyes away from his blue skin, your eyes meet with his. He was genuine, eyes dilated as they were already stuck on yours. “Well…survive this Jake silly,” your heart flutters from the intensity of his eyes, tail thumping against your thigh.

He truly wanted to be one of you. “And not only will you be omatikyan, you will be family. You will be our brother… a strong worrier that is loyal to us..then you will choose a mate, and you will be loyal to them.”

“Yawne? Is he ready?” Her long legs were the first thing you saw as she turned the corner, beautiful white paint you placed on her beforehand was carefully painted against her face, shoulders, chest, and arms.

Eyes meeting your wife’s eyes, you smile softly, which she returns to you. “Stum, yawne. Come, help me get him prepared.” Neytiri hums softly, golden eyes scanning the unfinished canvas on his back.

“Hey.” The male gives your wife an awkward nod, always feeling a little intimidated by her. “Hello,” she greeted back as she walks behind him, and settled herself on her knees. “Are you ready?” She asked, gentle fingers dipping into the bowl of paint, before meeting the warmth of his back.

“Um-yeah, somewhat heh.” And that was the truth. He knew how dangerous the dream hunt was, but he didn’t know how to prepare himself, how he should act, how painful it would be. “There is no somewhat. It is yes, or it is no.” This time it was you who spoke, fingers softly gliding their way down his hard stomach, causing him to get goosebumps from how low your fingers were.

You weren’t stupid, you knew what you were doing. Painting one’s body was an intimate act, no one should do it except the person's lover, or themselves. And definitely not someone who’s promised or mated to someone else.

Eyes looking up from his soft abs, and above Jake's shoulder, you were already met with the soft gaze of your wife, then the slight smile and a nod as she looks back down at the patterns.

You didn’t make this decision on your own, the both of you wanted him.

“W-well yes. I’m ready… as ready as I will ever be.”

If someone were to walk in, two wives sandwiching a dream walker, hands going over his body in such a detailing, delicate way, you’d be looked at crazy, no, not that a poly relationship was frowned upon, they were actually quite common, but because Jake Sully was yet to be apart of the clan.

“Good, then let us go jake sully, the tsahik and Olo'eyktan are waiting for your arrival.” You stood up, hand reaching out for your wife, which she took.

He watches as you reached your other hand for him, he was hesitant to take it, but you raised your invisible brow, signaling him to hurry. He was quick to grab it, a gasp leaving his mouth as you pulled him up with ease, making him stumble against you, but you stood stiff, not even moving backward from the force.

He quickly sat up straight, eyes meeting your grin as you removed your hand from his, and placed it on his lower back as you lead your wife and him into the deep and darkest part of Hometree.

The hums from the spirit circle calmed down into a buzzing silence.

You and Neytiri glance up at each other, nothing but anticipation and nervousness floating throughout your bodies as you watch Jake go from grunting in pain, rolling in the soil to going limp, breathing heavily. He must’ve passed out, or this might be his last breath.

“He, has passed,” you almost raised from your knees to crawl to him, heart stuttering in panic as your mother-in-law utters those words “his test, he has passed his test.”

“Mother.” Neytiri sends a glare over to her mother, moat just sends you both a grin as you sink back down in the soil. Something is seriously wrong with that woman

“Come daughter, you are future tsahik, help me wake him.” Your mate was quick to crawl into her mother's space. Everything was already laid out

You watched as your mother-in-law and wife mixed and crush herbs before Neytiri took the bowl and poured it into a pouch. Moving close to the ground, your love presses the sack of herbs against Jake's mouth and nose.

He took in one large breath before his eyes snapped open and a fit of coughing escaped from him. “O-oh god! It’s like smelling salts, get it away!” He coughs out, face turning the opposite way. The crowd around him released a chuckle from the reaction. “What is god? What is smelling salts?” Neytiri asked while placing a hand on his back.

“My love, no time for questions.” Your smile was wide as you crawled to the avatar, large eyes scanning his neck for the arachnoid sting. It was irritated and swollen, but nothing major. “Jake Sully,” Eytukan speaks up, voice loud, eyes proud as he reaches his hand up for the male to take.

Neytiri and you stand together as your father-in-law gives Jake Sully a nod of approval. “Congratulations brother. We shall celebrate!”

And celebrate you did, the night was beautiful. After Eytukan placed his hands upon Jake Sully's shoulders, you as the next leader were honored to wrap the band around his waist. “You are now one of us Jake Sully… You will protect us as we will protect you. Don’t disappoint us.”You joked, smile never leaving your face. “Never.” He responded, a smirk on his face as he never breaks contact.

During the middle of the celebration you slowly pulled Jake away from the crowds. “Come. I must show you something important.” You ignored the man’s questions as you dragged him through the lit forest.

“Ma Jake, ma y/n!” Neytiri called out with a smile, hands extending for both of your hands. “This, is Utraya Mokri, the tree of voices” you explain to the male as you walked with them on both of your sides. You released their hand and turned to them, Neytiris tail swaying back and forth with excitement as she gently grabbed the tendrils and gave you and Jake one.

“Here, we connect with Eywa, to hear the voices of our ancestors. This is a place for prayers to be heard. And sometimes answered.” Your wife explains as she grabs her queue and lets the nerves wrap around the tendril, with you following along with a deep breath.

Jake watches the both of you with a parted mouth before he grabs his braid, and connects to the tree. “Whoa.” He whispers and sighs. He watches as you and Neytiri make eye contact with dilated eyes and a soft smile, whispers going through his head that didn’t belong to him.

“ They live Jake, within Eywa. It is something very special to us. Something we share with the people we love.” You spoke, four-fingered hand making its way around jakes bicep. “And you’re sharing it with me?…” he looks into your shining eyes, the lights reflecting from them so beautifully.

“Jake…” Neytiri starts, hand grasping her braid and disconnecting it from the tree. “Today you finally became one of the people, omatikyan. This is what you’ve been wanting, what we’ve been training you for. ” she smiles softly as you disconnected, making him do so as well.

“This means you can make a bow from the wood of home tree.” You began circling around the man, making him turn his head to follow your voice, but only turning it back to Neytiri as she speaks. “And you may choose a woman. If not a woman then a man.” Neytiri's eyes trail away from his in a jealous silence, you notice this and quickly make your way to your wife, holding her hand to pull her close.

As the two of you share longing looks, Jake slowly makes his way closer to the both of you. “We have many fine women, Ninat is the best singer.” You started off the list, eyes never leaving your wife’s until you felt the warmth of Jake's body closing in. “I don’t want Ninat.” He knew what he wanted, the first time the both of you threaten to kill him, he knew exactly what he wanted.

“There is Beyral- she is a good hunter.” Neytiri follows your eyes, also locking eyes with Jake Sully. “She is a good hunter.” With this, you gently squeeze your wife’s hand as she releases a sigh and looks up at the glorious tree above them. “But I don’t want her either.” You felt your heart relax in your chest as Jake raises his hands and places them on you and Neytiris cheek, thumb gently rubbing over her scar, pulling her attention back to him, and over your glowing freckle.

“I’ve already chosen.” His voice went softer as he looks you both in the eye, your tail wrapping around his leg as a way to claim him even if he hasn’t spoken his truth yet. “But these women must also choose me.” You break out into a smile, head turning to your wife, her eyes already facing you with excitement. “Jake…” you whispered, a hand coming to rest upon the curve of his jaw and neck. “They already have.” Neytiri finishes your sentence as you lean in close and capture his lips with yours.

The three of you sink down onto the glowing soil below you, lips detaching from yours to attach to Neytiris. For once you didn’t feel jealous and protective about your wife, this felt right, this is what was meant to happen.

As Jake pulls away from Neytiri, you waste no time on taking your braid in your hand, your wife mimicking your actions and Jake doing the same, breath releasing shakingly from anticipation. “Next, we bond.” Your smile was soft as you glanced at your wife, this being her favorite part, she was quick to bring her braid to the middle.

Jake watches her queue move around, arousal spiking throughout his body as connects his own to hers, and yours to his. Breathing in that euphoria and releasing a shaking breath, you grabbed Jakes hand and brought it up to your chest, to your fast-pacing chest.

“Do you feel us, Jake? Our hearts, our breath,” you drag his large hand down your beaded bra, then down your toned stomach until you get to the shorter cloth of your loin cloth. “How aroused you make us? Because,” you dropped his shaky hand and crawled up to him onto his lap to hold his head on your hands, your wife making her way behind him

“We feel the way we make you feel. You’re nervous,” he breathes out, mouth parted open and eyes fluttering as Neytiris mouth slides against the column of his throat. You leaned in, resting your forehead on his, feeling his warm breath on your lips “you want us.”

You attached your lips to his, kissing him with so much passion, Jake never noticed your wife untying the knots that kept your cloth upon your waist. “My love lay him down.” She whispered in your ears, and you listened to her,lifting your hips, causing the cloth to fall down, leaving you bare as you gently pushed him on the moss.

You pull away from his lips, cold breath filling your lungs as you catch it. “W-wait, are you guys positive this is the best idea?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

The both of you say at the same time, the tail behind you swaying up high in arousal. “Ma Jake, lift your hips.” His brows come together, but he does as Neytiri says, a shocking expression appearing on his face as he feels his cloth slide from his body and a moan leaving his parted lips as he felt his arousal slap against the plush of your butt.

“Yawne,” you leaned down above Jake, the tip of his hard-on grazing your plump clit as you hover your hips above his. “Ye-yes?” He stutters from the feeling, Neytiris thumb running against his swollen lips, strong gaze never leaving them, anticipating.

“Don’t you want our mate to sit on this sayrìp face of yours?” He feels his cock twitch at the question, goosebumps going up his neck and down the flesh of his queue, causing all three of you to feel it. He didn’t know what the hell you said, it could’ve been an insult but he didn’t care

“Fuck, yeah- yes do it” This was like a dream come true. You and Neytiri look up at each other, a small smile shared on your faces as she positioned her hips above his mouth. Without a second wasted, the two of you link hands while Jake wraps his arms around her thighs, pulling her down until her weight was damn near suffocating him.

You watch as her face relaxes, jaw opening slightly as she feels Jake's rough muscle slowly lap up her juices with a groan in his throat. “Sìltsan Neytiri~” you leaned in, giving her a kiss on the mouth. Releasing her hands from yours, weak fingers make their way below you to gently grip the hard-on that rubbed against your clit, causing the male below the two of you to twitch. “My love..” she breathes out “Are you ready?” You nod with a soft smile, nervousness shooting up your spine as you were about to lose your virginity to the man who comes from a star.

You release a breath as your wife lined him up with your slicked hole, her other hand coming up to grip your hips to help you glide down with ease. Pulling away from the sweetness above him, Jake takes in a deep breath as he feels your hot heat slide down him, causing his hips to jerk up.

“Oh fuck~” he curses out, fingernails softly digging into the skin of his future wife, making her whimper. “Jake~” both women moan out, you reaching the base while Jake pulls Neytiri back onto his tongue, lips going around her clit to suck.

It was going to be a long night.

________________

Not edited

Glossary;

Yawne:beloved

Sayrìp:Handsome

Ma: hey(y’all be thinking it means my)

#blackreader #domgirl #femreader #top!reader #dom!reader #sub jake sully #sub avatar #avatar smut #avatar 2009 #avatar 1 #avatar the way of water #sub Neytiri #sub character

311 notes · View notes

astroboots · 2 years

Note

Okay so I just saw this on Twitter and immediately thought of Homecoming Frankie and Santi… the three of them tucked away in a cabin somewhere remote with nothing to entertain themselves with except this crappy old ping ping table. And it’s two against one and they are getting VERY competitive and they’re ganging up on you but it’s hot down there in that cabin basement and so you start to remove layers and notice it’s distracting them so you start stripping, watching them fumble and stutter, their mouths hanging open…

HOMECOMING: TWO AGAINST ONE

OH MY LORD! THIS IMAGE! You are sending me! So firstly I do actually have a wip that is very similar to this one, but because you sent me this depravity I wrote a little something, just for you. I LOVE YOU, I don't deserve this gorgeous, amazing, sexy thought you've sent me.

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Brat.

Obnoxious brat.

Short, obnoxious brat!

"What's wrong Cariño?" Santiago says, with a grin across the table from you, as you have to tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs as you walk across the room to pick up the little plastic ping pong table that ricocheted from Santiago's latest move and is now bouncing mockingly against the wooden floor in the corner.

Next to him, Frankie is shaking his head, with a sheepish expression on his face, clearly regretting being pulled into your competition with Santiago (as always).

"Thought you said you could take us both," Santiago adds.

From the way his voice is almost cracking with amusement at the edges, you know that double entendre is on purpose.

God, he's such a fucking brat.

You're better than Santiago at this game. You know it and he knows it. It's why you had bragged, perhaps a bit too confidently and a bit too loudly about how there is no handicap in the world that could have Santiago winning a game of ping pong over you.

It's why when Santiago had suggested two against one, you had readily taken him on. You just hadn't expected the two of them to be so coordinated and in sync with their movements.

In retrospect, that was a novice move. Because of course those two would be. You don't spend half a lifetime in the army together, watching each other's six only to end up on the other side of it, not being in tune with each other.

The bastard's still grinning at you.

Fuck your life.

Rolling up the sleeves of your sweatshirt, (Fuck it's warm in this cramped and stuffy basement--whose fucking idea was it to voluntarily do physical exercise), you bend over, picking up the tiny little ball.

You drag your eyes back to the table, where Santiago is practically lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, bouncing on his feet, as he takes a step back, in preparation, widening his stance, in some ridiculous half-wrestling move. He takes this game way too seriously (which, yes you know, you know: this is very pot calling the kettle black, considering the way you're already craning your neck from left to right in preparation for the next round).

He has no fucking right to look this good. Silver-black curls, bouncing on his forehead, as the sweat glistens off his thick neck. Bare-armed, as white fabric of his tanktop clings onto his chest. His fingers thread through his heat-furled curls, matted with sweat.

At the sight of it, something sharp and electric zaps through you, from the tip of your toes right into the center of your belly. For an infinitesimal second, you're not entirely sure if the sensation comes from the all-too familiar competitive streak between you or just how fucking attractive Santiago looks in this moment as he's grinning back at you. Gleefully happy and excited in a way you might not have seen him since you were both kids.

It makes your mouth dry out, heart pumping even faster (which isn't really ideal considering how high your heartbeat already is from the strenuous exercise you've already been victimised under from this stupid bet) and if the heat in this room hadn't already beat you to it, you'd be pretty sure your face would be burning too.

Frankie must see your plight, because his brows scrunch in concern as he looks at you.

"Baby, we don't have to keep doing this. We can call it a draw and just put on a movie upstairs instead," Frankie offers sympathetically.

"No Frank, game doesn't end until she calls uncle and admit she's lost, them's the rule," Santiago counters, as he taps his paddle tauntingly on the table. "Buckle up sweetheart, next round."

You make a sound in your throat that sounds much like a growl.

Brat. You weren't going to take Frankie's offer anyhow. Would much rather die from a heat-stroke than have to listen to Santiago's taunting all night about how everyone knows he's "technically the winner" if you hadn't begged for mercy.

A lone drop of sweat trickles down the back of your neck and fuck, that is it. You can't take the heat. Putting down your paddle and the ping pong ball on the table, your hands come to the hem of the grey army-sweatshirt, dragging the constraining cotton up your torso and off your neck, before you fling it onto a chair nearby. As soon as the itchy grey fabric leaves your skin, leaving you in your strapped cami blouse, you feel like you can breathe again. Thank god for linen.

Your skin is almost dewy from the sweat and perspiration, you feel disgusting. Stupid Santiago and his stupid competitive games, and his stupid army sweatshirt.

"Fish, don't get distracted. She's doing this on purpose."

You look back up, confused by Santiago's reprimanding tone until your eyes meet Frankie, and the way he's staring at your newly revealed skin. It's not until you look down, you realize, that your bra is showing under the near transparent material of your top.

Frankie's eyes round, almost comically, the black eating into the rest of his gorgeous eyes, until it's nearly pitched black.

"Uhm--yeah," Frankie responds, but you can tell from the thick drawl in his tone, the way his words goes slow and clumsy, the way it sounds like melted sugar burning under low heat, that he's not really hearing Santiago.

Santiago can tell too.

"FRANK!"

That snaps the man right out of it, he blinks repeatedly, as if waking up from a daze. The dark, near-blackness of his eyes, softening, until it's all warm and light hazel gentleness.

"Right, right," Frankie murmurs, as he drags his eyes away from you, eyes lowering to his feet, even as the flushed pink continues to climb.

And oh, bless this sweet summer child, you do love him so much.

So easy, your Frankie.

Bending over the table, you stay there, lingering languidly in your movements, until you're sure, from the way that Frankie swallows hard in his throat, that he's seen the lace of your bra peek out from the top, before you pick up the ball and lean back up.

Then you wink at your husband, and even though the loose sweats he's wearing provides him with some legroom, you know that the obvious bulge there is not from Frankie hiding a goddamn tree log in those pants.

If your next serve is a little bit more exaggerated in your movements for Frankie's benefit, well... there are no rules against that.

It's a comical sight. Santiago goes left, and Frankie clumsily fails to track the ball's movements, and missteps, until Santiago crashes into him with a loud curse.

The ball pings off the table and onto the floor, and you can practically see the fumes rising from the top of Santiago's head as he walks off to the corner, with pendejo and horny idiot scalding hot on his tongue.

With his back turned, you seize your chance, tilting your head coquettishly at your husband, as you drag your index finger along the flimsy collar of your top, dragging it down along the swell of your breasts until you can hear the groan wrenched from his throat.

"Foul!" Santiago's voice shouts from across the room. "That's fucking cheating and you know it!"

"How exactly am I cheating?"

"You're confusing Fish, flirting and stripping!"

"You're nuts, he's my husband! I'm allowed to flirt with my husband!"

"Not when we're playing, you're not!"

You stare at him in silence, a stand-off, neither of you willing to blink or back down from your irrational stance. The seconds ticking over from one to five to thirty until you must stand there for a full minute.

Until finally Santiago blinks. "Fine!" he growls, as he throws the paddle down on the table and his hand comes to the hem of his tanktop and pulls it off.

You blink in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Different game," he announces as if the logic makes perfect sense and he pulls off and kicks off the sweatpants to a far off corner in the room, standing in his half-naked glory, with only his boxers clinging onto his thick thighs and round ass.

Santiago must have lost his mind. The heat must have finally gotten to him. Because if he thinks that him stripping is going to make Frankie more concentrated in this game, then clearly Santiago's brain must have fried.

In front of you, Santiago is advancing on you, practically marching, until he's close enough that he can grab your arm and pull you to him, warm, rough palm against the back of your neck, as he presses his mouth against yours. It's hungry, it's frustrated, it's everything. Tongue licking into your mouth as he opens you up to him. The oppressive heat of the room strikes you again, the room spinning around you until your head is buzzing and you nearly lose your footing in his arms as you melt against him.

He pulls away from you. "Different game," Santiago repeats against your lips, "same rules though."

You're still confused, completely uncomprehending of what his words mean until he turns his face in Frankie's direction, with that mischievous grin still plastered on his spit-slick lips, "you comin' Frank?"

Santiago is grinning, eyes glittering with competitiveness. Heat licks against the bottom of your spine, as it finally click for you. Different game, but same rules: two against one.

FUCK

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #pedro pascal #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #homecoming drabbles #cici writes #💌 asks

704 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

I finished reading the last chapter for Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus, and it was good. Though I wouldn't be opposed to seeing an alternate ending where the Reader lives with Morpheus in the Dreaming and they get their happy ending.

Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus - ALTERNATIVE ENDING

[Check out the full series] | Sandman-inspired playlist | 🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[...]

"Hugo!" you exclaimed. Unable to stop yourself from reaching for the missed pet, you crouched the moment you saw his red fur. "I never thought I'd see you again, you little fiery menace! I was barely six when we bid our farewells."

The feline only meowed again and bumped its small head against your leg. Curiously, he didn't leave paw prints on the white, cold sand. Too busy at the exciting reunion, you never noticed Death's slightly furrowed eyebrows as she stared at the cat. What was it doing there?

Scratching Hugo's chin and head, you noticed something strange about his pendant: it didn't read 'Hugo' anymore, although you knew it did the day he passed away. Instead of his name gracing the small metal plate, there were tally marks - seven, to be exact. You could only wonder what kind of trouble that fearless, silly friend had gotten into since the last time you saw him.

"Seven already?" you asked the pet despite not expecting him to answer. "You have two more left, my friend. Use them wisely."

But Hugo only stared at you with his big, yellowish-green eyes. He sat on the pavement on the boulevard and meowed loudly but not at you:

"You can't keep doing this, Hugo," Death warned the cat as if the deafening meow could actually mean something else than a cry for attention. He only whined again, the tip of his tail moved slightly as though it was a snake ready to pounce. "Alright, one last time."

The orange tabby got up from the cold pavement and trotted towards Morpheus who was still sitting on the white sand with your corpse leaning against him. Perhaps, when his grief subdues he'd realize the awful macabre of that moment but for now, he was drawing out the sensation of something he will never feel again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morpheus noticed an orange, furry cat. There was a certain excitement or curiosity to its trot. It stopped by your leg, or rather your body's leg, and nuzzled against it, purring ever so loudly. At first, he wanted to chase it away, to stop some flea-bitten stray from touching you but he found himself unable to do anything. Each of his limbs was so weighty, he couldn't move even if he had wanted to. Perhaps his heart was too heavy now for Morpheus to ever leave his spot on the white, cold sand by the murky seawater. In some way, he didn't even want to move: there was no place he could go where this hole inside him would become full again.

You watched the scene from afar until a strange feeling took over your form. Ghosts aren't supposed to experience bodily sensations, are they? Suddenly, a freezing coldness embraced you. A tingling ran through your fingertips but you couldn't move them anymore.

"What's happening?" you asked nervously as you stared at your disappearing hands. Is this what death truly is? A human-shaped mist that dissolves into oblivion?

"Hugo and his charity," Death answered in a tone both fascinated and tired.

It took merely a blink of an eye for you to find yourself back on the white sand and not standing on the concrete boulevard. A hungered, desperate gasp ripped out of your chest, clearly startling Morpheus, who hadn't moved even by an inch.

For a moment, the two of you were looking at each other as if you were seeing your faces for the very first time, surprised at the unforeseen meeting. "How is this possible?" Dream asked in a wavering voice. His eyes were still red but he was no longer crying. Perhaps, he already couldn't.

Hugo forced his pleasantly fluffy head underneath your palm. You looked towards him only to notice something fascinating yet odd: instead of seven tally marks on his pendant, there were eight - he only had one more life left. But by looking at Hugo, you also saw your own hand that he so frantically brushed against. There were no marks on your skin, no sign of a terrifying curse counting your days short.

"The thing about kindness, my lovely Morpheus," you spoke as you turned to look at him again but not in surprise this time; your gaze remained ever so kind and loving, just the way he deserved, "is that it always comes back."

Barely finishing your sentence, you felt his lips touch yours. His skin felt strangely cold but in an unpleasant way. To think you would have left without ever feeling it! Morpheus's kiss was the loudest confession he could have given you, filled with passion and desperation you had never felt before. In that impulsive moment of intimacy, he ripped himself open for you to see.

Cold winter wind brushed against your lips when he pulled away. His face, however, remained at a flustering close distance. "Then let me return yours," he whispered.

Dream's hand firmly grabbed yours. Once again, a tornado of sand circled the two of you. What was once a small town of Southend-on-sea, became a gigantic palace, a true castle, of marble halls and crystal ceilings. It looked nostalgic in its unbearable emptiness as if it had been forgotten by its rightful master, forever haunted by dreams of tomorrows that never came.

To your collective surprise, a quiet meow echoed through the spacious palace. Sure enough, an orange hitchhiker revealed himself. "I did not invite you," Morpheus spoke in a stern voice.

But Hugo paid no attention to the Lord of Dreaming. With his tail standing up straight, he wandered off.

Watching the fiery cat disappear around the corner, undoubtedly on his way to wreak havoc in Dream's kingdom, you recalled the strange moment that preceded your miraculous resurrection. "There's one thing about Hugo I can't quite understand. He brushed against my legs but he is alive and I was a ghost. It makes me think about all the occasions when he meowed or stared at empty corners in my father's mansion. I wonder what he saw there - who he saw there."

As if hearing his own name being mentioned, the cat made its existence known: Jessamy shrieked loudly in the distance.

"Speaking of wonders," Morpheus began as he meaningfully extended his elbow towards you. Without hesitation, you grabbed it. "You should see your new home."

He led you through the palace halls of light and pastel colours. The high ceilings made you think of a cathedral but Morpheus never once appeared to you as a creature that demanded worship. The grandiosity of his home was undoubtedly regal, even emanated appropriate coldness. The spaciousness created a sharp-sounding, loud echo that made you constantly feel like you should look over your shoulder to check for an unwanted follower. In some strange way, you suspected the interior of his palace was a genuine representation of Dream's heart: pearly and crystal, waiting to be inhabited but turning unwelcoming in its involuntary emptiness.

After a long while of walking in silence, you decided to speak up about something that's been bothering you throughout the entire chateau. "Can I share a reflection about the decor?"

Morpheus turned his face to you. "Do you not like it?" he asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"It's quite bleak if I may say so." Maybe he was the lord of this place but if you were to take him up on his offer of Dreaming being your new home, you had to be honest with him. And, just maybe, he could do with a little change too. "The hall could use some bold colours... Poinsettias, perhaps? Yes, they'd look lovely in here."

And suddenly, his every thought was sprouting poinsettias.

And here's the happy ending!

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose @farintonorth @oo0lady-mad0oo@all-bi-myselfs-blog @piperstofu101 @magic-magnoliaa @kotonei-molyneux @wheresmyboo @supermegapauselouca @sloanexx @rockergirl57 @aizawa-emma @ruyi-years @commanderfreethatdust @sapphireonline @izzicle@mxxny-lupin @shadowluna25 @aralezinspace

290 notes · View notes

catapparently · 3 months

Text

Warm Me Through December Nights

AO3 LINK

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Folk of the Air

Ship: Jude x Cardan

Word count: ~1.4k

~~~~~

Thousands of little snowflakes fluttered around us in lighthearted spirals, occasionally kissing our noses or our cheeks while others preferred plummeting to the ground to join their own in the endless heaps of glistening white. A slight shiver coursed my spine, though not from Cardan’s intoxicating presence by my side but due to the cold breeze slicing through the winter air like Madoc’s blade on one of his particularly moody nights . Cardan paused in his step, turning slightly towards me to give me that famous jaunty smirk he always reserves for his “darling nemesis”. It seems as though becoming his wife didn’t change a thing.

“Chilly already, Jude? In your own world?” he asked, small bells of tease and laughter jingling in his voice. We’d gone to the mortal world, mid-winter, to give Oak a little birthday present. It never snowed in Elfhame, but this arrogant man’s faerie body had already adapted, warming up a few degrees higher while I was left shivering and freezing endlessly.

Suddenly, strong, delicate fingers enveloped my right hand into a warm gloved palm. Cardan’s thumb gently stroked over my knuckles, one by one, carefully tracing the scars and hills he was all too familiar with. His grip tightened over my folded fingers in a sweet attempt to warm me up with the seeping warmth radiating from his magical blood.

He gently tugged me over to an empty street, the honey golden glow of the dim streetlamps painting starry streaks on his sharp cheekbones and ebony dark locks. I fell right into his intimate embrace, one of his hands latching onto one side of my waist while the other one held out my opposite arm, fingers intertwined with mine, his grip firm and real.

“Let’s dance, my sweet villain,” he murmured directly into my ear, molten saccharine words flowing like the finest of velvet straight into my mortal heart. “I heard that movement and exercise warms you up.”

With that, a soft twinkling hum of no particular provenance rose in the air as we spun and danced under the faithful watch of this December’s night’s stars. Though it did nearly nothing for my practically frostbitten fingertips, it sent a loving warmth blooming in my chest. Between steps, I gently lifted my head up towards him to press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. He laughed softly, the constant irritating smirk that I’d grown to love ever present on his face. Cardan leaned down until his breath playfully ghosted over my features, and his lips finally settled down, crashing upon mine like Icarus falling into the sea.

It surprised me every time just how such a man could have such soft lips. His kissing mannerisms were a mix of both worlds, too. Cardan’s lips would be sweet and gentle, handling my own with utmost care and devotion while his tongue battled fiercely and roughly, even a bit messily, unleashing a whirlwind of passion and the pent-up emotions of years of not having anything or anyone to permanently call his own.

His hands drift up to cup the sides of my face, thumbs delicately retracing the blooming blush of my cheeks. It was incredible just how soft and flawless his hands were, almost a bit feminine, devoid of the scars and calluses of a fighter, unlike mine. Though this did not make him in any way a gentle lover. Not in the slightest, and especially not in the way that his teeth playfully nipped my lower lip every now and then. His fingers moved to brush over the round curve of my ears in fascination before returning to their regular spot, fisted in my hair, palms resting on my nape, holding my head still as though he were afraid I’d pull away and deny him.

After a while, satisfied, Cardan pulled away, hands falling to the sides of my neck and shoulders. “There. That’s better.” Though the faint redness painting the tips of his ears and his frantically swaying tail proved that he wasn’t as self-confident and unaffected as he proclaimed.

I smiled at him, fingers brushing his hair behind his ears to get a better view of the effect I have on him. “We should get going, Vivi will get bored of waiting for us and might just lock us out.”

He gave a condescending laugh, pulling my hat a bit at the sides to make sure it covers my frozen ears. “Oh Jude, darling Jude, would that really be so terrible? It would be an excuse for you to hide in my coat, against my body, all night to keep warm.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his claim. He had such a way with words; once in time he’d turn compliments into insults and vice versa, now he just uses his talent to tease me relentlessly. I stepped away from him, out of his arms, though still holding his hand, ducking my head a bit to keep my flushed cheeks out of sight. “Let’s go.”

And so we walked and walked and walked towards Heather’s apartment. Why did she have to live in the middle of downtown? It was worse than having to navigate through the halls of the Tower of Forgettings at night with no lamps lit.

I elbowed Cardan. “Psst, Cardan, can you glamor that taxi driver to drive us instead?”

He raised an eyebrow at my so extravagant request, dramatically sighing and shaking his head as though I’d just given him the most difficult of quests. “Anything for you, I guess, my High Queen.”

He gave an overly exaggerated wave of his hand simply for the purpose of entertaining me, an o so feeble and magic-less being. The driver’s eyes glazed over, a pleasant expression appearing on his face as he stopped the cab near the sidewalk. Cardan, the ever regal gentleman, opened the passenger door, gesturing me to get in. And we were off.

“We could have just stolen his car and drove off alone instead, you know.” Cardan looked horrified at my proposition. “What do you mean, drove off alone instead? Do you even know how to drive?

I shrugged, not too preoccupied. “It can’t be that hard, right?”

Soon we made it to where Vivi and Oak now live with Heather. Cardan released the driver, and we walked up to the apartment building. Not used to seeing such immense constructions, he stared wide-eyed at the massive 30 story-high building. “Isn’t that going to fall over?”

I sighed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “No, it’s not going to fall over.” I led him up through the main entrance and into the elevator and punched in the numbers for the 27th floor. The moment the elevator doors closed and it jolted upwards, Cardan lurched forward in a sudden panic, his tail shooting out from under his shirt in a terrified straight line, curling up in every direction in fear.

“Jude! Jude! What is this thing? What’s happening?” His voice was all high-pitched and squeaky, it was comical to see him like this. Poor man was even more terrified than that one time I kidnapped him and threatened him. I grabbed him by the back of his feathery cloak, pulling him backwards and successfully stopping him from prying the doors back open. He held onto me for dear life, not relaxing even when the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened once again. With a trembling Cardan wrapped around me like a clingy baby koala, I exited.

“It’s just a box that moves you up and down quickly. A mortal’s version of a vertically moving carriage.”

His heart nearly lurched out of his chest, a little gasp escaping him when he saw, through the window, just how far up we were from the ground. Wait…

“Wait, Cardan, are you afraid of heights?” His head quickly snapped around to give me a half-hearted glare. “Am NOT!”

Honestly, it was insanely cute. Stifling a laugh, I showed him the way to the apartment. His arm was still wrapped tightly around my waist, nose practically buried in the back of my head.

After a few insistent knocks, Vivi popped up behind the door, greeting me with her classic smile and Cardan with her classic glare reserved just for, and I quote, “The-Fucker-That-Was-Mean-To-MY-Sister-And-Suddenly-Seduced-Her”. But then, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she practically shoved a sprig of mistletoe in our faces.

“Kiss your girl, dumbass.”

And so Cardan pressed his lips to mine.

#jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #fluff #winterfic #the folk of the air #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #the cruel prince #holly black #dancing #romance #vivi duarte #oak greenbriar #no beta we die like men #mistletoe

23 notes · View notes

animaginaryartblog · 7 months

Text

[Image ID: two versions of a digital painting of Blaze the Cat. They are based on a Trollhunters screenshot, but replacing Jim with an AU Blaze design.

Blaze wears armor similar to Percival's in Sonic and the Black Knight: small, rounded shoulder pauldrons, metal gloves with flared cuffs, and a metal chest plate on her torso with armor pieces hanging from the hips, resembling a tailcoat. Inset in the chest plate, above where her heart would be, is a gold amulet housing a shard of a red gem.

Along with the armor, Blaze wears her usual gold necklace and red bindi. Each gauntlet has a simple curling design on the top, with a red jewel inset in the center, matching her bindi. Under the armor she wears a white bodysuit, covering her legs and arms.

In the first version, Blaze is in her normal form, with lavender fur and yellow eyes. Her hair is not tied up but falling loose down her back, and violet bangs partly cover her bindi. Her armor is a silver-purple color.

In the second version, Blaze is in her Burning form. Her fur is pink, and her armor and blade are both gold rather than silver. A gold circlet pulls her hair back - not that it's needed, as both her hair and the tip of her tail have turned to scarlet flame. Her eyes, too, have the appearance of fire.

In both versions, Blaze stands against a stormy background, looming over the viewer. In her right hand she holds a flame. In her left, she holds her sword from Sonic and the Black Knight, pointed down at someone unseen. Lightning flashes behind her as she looks down at her opponent with an unreadable expression, eyes glowing gold. /end ID]

For the glory of Solaris, Sunlight is mine to command.

last Friday I had this all prepped and ready to post, wrote a whole long explanation of this AU's lore, and then the page reloaded and I lost the entire thing--or I thought I did, only for it to turn out the draft just saved to my main instead of here. so. see below for the referenced screenshot, an explanation of the AU, and some concept sketches.

[Image ID: a screenshot from the computer animated Trollhunters series. In the screenshot Jim, wearing his Trollhunter armor, stands against a stormy sky. He points his sword down towards something offscreen, his expression unreadable. Lightning flashes behind him. /end ID]

So a while back I got really into Tales of Arcadia with my brothers. it was brief, as my interests go, but during that time I, as is my wont, came up with a needlessly complicated Sonic AU starring Blaze the Cat. Because I never go about things halfway, I not only watched Trollhunters, 3Below, and Wizards, but I also went and read the original Trollhunters novel and some of the comics (and I would have read all the other novels too if they'd been available in our library and my interest had lasted longer).

Hence! The Sunhunter AU! It was originally called Shadowhunters, but I have too many AUs with "shadow" in the title anyway, and Sunhunter is more fitting anyway. Basic premise is that Blaze is the eponymous Sunhunter, and has been since she was a child, when she discovered the existence of the underworld and accidentally bonded with the amulet in a definitely-not-traumatic, totally-not-a-Disney-parent-death incident. Essentially, she fuses the roles of Jim from the show and Jack from the novel.

Blaze takes her duty extremely seriously and invests the bare minimum of time in her civilian identity. Who needs a childhood when there's an entire world to singlehandedly defend, amirite? Certainly not when the Black Arms are dangerously close to escaping and dooming the surface and the underworld both. But protagonists never get what they want.

With everything on her shoulders, it was only a matter of time until Blaze stumbled - and Marine was there to see it. Now she has to protect/put up with this young raccoon girl who refuses to leave her alone. This definitely will not lead to any burgeoning friendships, the development of a much needed support system, or discoveries about her enemies that she never would have made alone. No sir.

also it's Sonaze. because of course it is.

now for the concept sketches

that's right, we do speedpaints now! I mean, Procreate's always saved time lapses of my art, but now I'm actually going to try and share them! maybe! sometimes!

As you can see, I have a few different ideas for the exact mechanics of this AU. The first route would be to have humans still be, well, humans, and Mobians are either the equivalent of trolls, or a type of troll. This could be fun, but I doubt I'll go this route, since I like my silly little cartoon animals to stay silly little cartoon animals.

The other option is to have mobians living alongside humans, as in Sonic canon. From there I could either keep trolls the same as they are in Trollhunters canon, or replace them/supplement them with a Mobian equivalent. I do have the beginnings of some lore ideas for Mobians being split between the surface and the underground...

50 notes · View notes

tunastime · 4 months

Text

No Night that Doesn't End

Jimmy is the sheriff of Tumble Town. Everyone knows that. Some people like it--some don't. Whether or not they like it is a problem he's not really worried about. Right now, his town is empty. So is his farm, his wells, his home, and his heart. And that is a much bigger problem. Deep in the stuffing of his chest, Jimmy knows something he's pretending he's forgotten: Every desert town goes. It's just a matter of when.

so I wrote this back in july when I was really having jimmy feelings and now I'm back to having jimmy feelings. good grief!! it's fine!!

(3532 words) (read it on ao3!)

Through the window, a pale, yellow-white beam of light cuts through, illuminating the dust that filters through the edges, making the perfect tile on the sanded wood floor. Jimmy stares at the ceiling. He thinks he’s watching the barely-there oscillations of the ceiling fan above him, turning ever so slightly in the still air. But he’s not. Instead, his tired, achy eyes bore into the wooden slats of the roof above him, and his hand rests against his chest. He can feel the thudding of his pulse against the side of his wrist, against the pads of his fingers, as well as he can feel the sleep-warm fabric of his shirt. He sighs, taking in a breath that pushes at the limits of his chest, no matter how small those limits are. It almost doesn’t seem worth it. But he does it on instinct. He stretches, the spaces between his bones expanding and contracting as they pop and settle and he settles, too, back against the soft mattress.

Staring into the ceiling, Jimmy lifts a hand to wipe the sleep from the corner of his eyes. He blinks, and the grey-gold room comes into better focus. He can at least count the knots in the wood, now, if he so desires to go back to sleep. But his body settles with a nervous energy as he lies still, like a vibration from the soft curve of the arch of his foot to the hair at the line of his forehead. He scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, runs one hand through his hair. He shifts to sit up. As he does, the small grey shape beside him stretches awake, and so does the shape beside that. Two pairs of eyes blink back at him before both cats resettle themselves. Jimmy watches the tip of Norman’s tail flick against the quilt he’s laid out on.

Jimmy moves in one motion. His socked feet hit the cold wood floor. He sits there, hands pressed to the mattress, fingers curled over the edge. His knees sit apart. His shoulders are bent forward. The world waits for him to rise from bed, only for a second, as the light from the window catches dust and Jimmy digs his fingers into the sheets he’s rumpled. They’re soft and worn—he’s not sure if he’s noticed the texture before now, as he runs his thumb over the seam of the mattress, where feathers and cotton and sewn edges meet. After a moment, his hand jerks away, finds his chest instead. There’s still a pulse there, and still a breath as well.

The world is still very still, despite his lingering movement. He feels as if he’s puncturing a bubble as he stands, pulling back the sheets to fix them. His fingers run over stitching. The world stays that same quiet even as he pulls away from the beside and his feet shuffle against the wooden floors. He pads to the dresser, searching for something clean—white shirts, blue shirts, black shirts. Jeans. Any combination of colors. The top of the dresser comes away dusty on his hand as he braces against it. He leaves a streak of grey on the blue jeans he pulls on. His blue shirt stays partially unbuttoned and untucked, and the shirt is cool against his skin. Skin, he promises. He can feel it. He combs back through his hair with his fingers, and he can feel that too, each curly, soft fluff of hair. He keeps combing as he wanders the room. From behind him, he hears Norman and Flick wade and bound over the rumpled sheets. One of them collides with his ankle as he turns back to the bedside. Jimmy only hears the jingle of his collar as he leaps back onto the bed. Reaching out, Jimmy runs his hand down Norman’s back. Norman turns, bumping against his hand.

As he stands at the bed, Jimmy catches movement in the spotty, dusty mirror. He stands for a second, eyes focused on the edge of the dark wood. Through the grime, he can see the rise of his chest, where an unbuttoned shirt gives to a soft collarbone, the outline of his wrist and down his thumb. Other than the general shape of his body, no minute details stand out. For a fraction of a moment, he thinks he sees the glint of his eyes, much too bright in the sunlight that shifts to catch him. He takes in a sharp breath and drags his eyes from the dusty surface. It’ll keep collecting dust, that’s what it’ll do.

Jimmy wanders his way downstairs, tucking in the tail end of his white-trimmed blue shirt. The air is still cool downstairs, even as Jimmy lights the stove and hears it click, and even as the kettle comes to a rolling boil. He listens to the water against the tin. His stomach pangs. He chews the inside of his bottom lip as he opens the cabinet, mouth twisting in a frown.

The morning goes like that. The silence is cut through by the sound of toast on the stove and jars of jam being opened. There’s a clunk when the pan gets dropped into the sink unceremoniously and the clink of dishes as the cats are fed and the teacup finds its way to the table. In a warm beam of light against the kitchen table, Jimmy eats breakfast, and Norman stands on the windowsill, and the warm thing curling in his chest hasn’t died yet. Tipping back the rest of his tea, Jimmy wanders into the living room. The cup sits on the oak desk jammed up against the wall—the impromptu office that stood before the jailhouse was built. If he were to dig through the cabinets, he’s sure the first land deeds would be sitting at the bottom, or that his official notice, the first time he was sworn in as sheriff, would be, too. Lately, he’s not even worn the badge. Every time he looks at it, the heavy pit in his stomach grows a little heavier, a little colder. Instead, Jimmy drags his hand over the smooth, dark surface, and picks the hat off the side of the chair.

The Bowl is still a cool red-grey as Jimmy steps out. The quietness settles as the sun starts to climb in the sky. With it, grey clouds sit on the horizon, just above the lip of the Bowl, like a taunt. Jimmy rounds the side of the house, searching for a spade and till. The side garden, just a handful of dead plants, now, had wormed its way up to the top of his to-do list. So now, spade in hand, bandana pulled over his nose, he sets his hat on his head and sinks to the red dirt.

On the edge of the mesa, thunder rolls. Jimmy stiffens. His spade is stuck pointing down into the dry earth, a small pile of crisp herbs beside his hip. When he stares up into the greying sky, he feels his neck ache in protest. His face feels warm with exertion, and his arms are red with dirt and sticky with sweat. He can feel the tan worsening on his neck and arms, even through the shirt. The thunder rumbles again. He turns to it, nerves sharp, suddenly more alert than he’s been in days, like a haze had suddenly, momentarily, lifted off of him. He scrambles up, darting to the side of his house. On the edge of the building, tucked under the siding, is a large, blue barrel, faded on one side where the sun had hit it over and over. He pushes the barrel through the dirt, shoving it under where the siding meets the rain gutter above. He darts back to the small shed situated opposite of the house. There, he drags out large, heavy buckets, tugging on the ropes until they give across the dry earth. He pulls them into place at the other corner of the house, and falls back in the dirt.

Rising quickly to a wobbly stand, Jimmy looks up into the grey, darkening sky, and sighs out a long breath. He dusts his freshly-raw hands on the sides of his jeans, trying to beat off the dust and dirt as he wanders to the porch. There, on the step, just below the awning, he sits, and kicks his boots out.

The sky opens up. When it does, Jimmy sticks his hand out, and the first big, wet raindrop falls into the palm of his hand.

He stares into the rain as it begins to fall.

It soaks the soil until the dry brown earth turns dark, until small pools start to form as the sky goes from grey to black. Jimmy stares into the falling rain.

The first time the sky opened up and poured its heart into the fishbowl, people celebrated. They dragged out big buckets to fill, looking for pots, pans, and bowls to supplement them. Children stood ankle deep in rich, dark mud, soaking wet. The cats stayed tucked under the bed, but Jimmy Solidarity, boots off, pants cuffed past his ankles, was also standing in it. He let the rain soak his white shirt through and didn’t even mind that his hair was plastered to his face. It was before a time where his skin felt sticky and cold when damp, before a time where it was too much to wash more than just his hair, or wipe down his face. He turned circles in that storm, letting the warm rain run down his arms and hands and fingers, let it darken his jeans, let the kids drag him about, stomping in the mud. Somewhere, under an awning, somewhere he found himself laughing, was a liquor bottle and food and his hat, safe from the rain, under the watchful eye of a deputy. Soon enough there was no one who wasn’t soaked. The cobbles only stayed damp until the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, but the rain barrels stayed full until the next time. The next time there was singing, dancing, more food and more bottles. More familiar faces, tucking themselves under awnings so as to not risk the rain. A smile on that face. A warm body he knew, to pass food to, and to laugh with.

But every desert town goes.

It's sewn into the soil, the deep red and orange earth nothing grows in. It's written in the dry wells with cracked bricks. It's on the wind, where the taste of rain is just a memory. Maybe the lights go out first, or the rivers dry, or the plants die, or the trades stop. It doesn't matter what kills it—every desert town becomes a ghost town eventually. It's just a matter of when.

Jimmy remembers the first time they asked him to come with them. The day was hot, baking the soil to near ash, heating every stone hot enough to cook on. The days were hot—always, relentlessly, from noon up until dinner, when the red-yellow sun slipped down the side of the bowl and the wind started up, bringing a cool breeze that tasted like rain but never gave it over. There was always the linger of dampness in the air as it settled. But on that day, the sun was up nearly 3/4ths of the way in the sky, and someone was packing a market wagon outside of the stall Jimmy himself had set up first. The sign was loose and faded now, and the barrels were empty of gunpowder, but he'd filled it—he'd filled it a week ago, hadn't he? No matter—someone was packing and it was packing to leave, not packing to go home and light a little stove fire and make a cup of tea.

Jimmy held a rust lipped, tin watering can with the dredges of dusty water. It was for the saguaro cactus on the porch, the thing dark green and heavy in its pot, stretching up its fleshy stalk toward the roof of the porch, a small, wilted desert flower on its top. He was staring at two hands tying a knot in frayed rope around the metal grommets. As he had watched, guilt sinking in his chest, his leatherworker had turned toward him, a tight expression to his face.

The leatherworker had spent too many hours teaching Jimmy how to punch grommets into leather, to work the fabric until it became soft and pliable, on how to keep his boots sealed and clean, how to make them shiny, how to buff them to keep the grit off. He’d followed his careful hands to fix frayed fringe and tie leads, to keep the cracks out of Arrow’s saddle. Hell—the leatherworker had taught him how to catch horses in the first place. Half of his success with Bullseye could be chalked up to that alone. Jimmy’s eyes pass over the tight expression wrought across his face, finding the fine lines under his eyes, hand raised to shield from the sun, red hot above the bowl. He watches him blink the sun from his eyes and frown, mouth curving down sharply as he shakes his head.

"Sheriff,” He says, in a voice Jimmy can only half remember. “'s a damn shame you won't come with. You’re a fine craftsman."

Jimmy swallows, but for a moment, he isn’t sure what exactly he might be swallowing down—disappointment, mostly, maybe grief, the taste of both lingering on the back of his tongue. He shrugs. The leatherman’s never told him he was good at the work he did. He guesses it was maybe implied—and now that he thinks about it, he can remember nods, or the look in his eye. Jimmy wishes the can were still in his hands so he would have something to do with them, besides let them hang awkwardly at his sides before they find his back pockets. There, he finds a loose string, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. He says:

“You know me,” and tries to smile. “As long as people stay, I’ll stay, too. ‘Ve got a duty to uphold, ‘n all.”

The leatherworker shakes his head, the same smile reflected on his face.

“Better man than me, son,” he says. He stands with his arms folded now, still squinting, but keeps his eyes downcast, away from the glare of the fishbowl around him. He sighs, watching his boots in the dirt. Jimmy chews at the inside of his cheek. His fingers dig into the denim of his pockets.

“Sure you won’t be back?” He tries, shrugging his shoulders. Another sigh from the leatherworker.

“I don’t want to leave…” he says, letting out a tired, weak laugh. “Trust me. But we’re not sellin’ anything, anymore.” He looks up, meeting Jimmy’s eye, likely for the final time. Jimmy remembers that gaze, the first one that looked at him, rather than through him. One of many times that he felt more like himself than he ever had. Where he wasn’t just ropy hair and a soft body, despite how many of these people had become that way. He feels the words like stones in his stomach, but he lets them sit. He has no other choice. The leatherman nods, offers a smile, and extends his hand. Jimmy takes it.

“‘M sure I’ll be back around.”

It was an unfortunate pattern that continued long into the rainless season. As the air grew hot and dusty, and rain showers grew less and less frequent, it became heavily apparent that the town couldn’t survive. He’d gone and lost a deputy, he’d lost his friends, he’d lost a gunpowder farm to the chaos of the rest of the world. Even boxed in with an artificial sky, there was nothing he could do to keep the town from trickling out. It wasn’t a steady thing. People seemed to know right when they needed to leave. And it was always the same look, the same tug at him to come with them. It was empty, wasn’t it? The water well. The gunpowder farms. The stocks. Himself. If it was so empty, wouldn’t he come with to fill it somewhere else? Would he rather watch it crumble?

It’s noon.

The mesa air, even into the canyon where the jailhouse sits, is dry and heavy and still. It isn't quiet, though. It brings sounds of movement. Jimmy catalogs the sounds, tracing the inside of his mouth with his tongue, feeling the ridges of the back of his teeth. He worries his quill pen between his fingers. The metal nib digs into the side of his finger, making an impression where it sits as he writes, and he feels that out too, alongside his teeth, alongside the heat seeping in through the wooden slats. At least inside, the heat doesn't get to him as fast. The fan above him makes lazy oscillations in the slight breeze through the windows. He can feel a line of sweat down the back of his neck. As he signs his letter, there comes a high whistle. He stands from the desk with a start, even in his daze of work, and pulls his hat on his head as he steps out of the door and onto the orange dirt.

A woman stands by a cart, a few steps away, soothing a horse. He can tell there are other people in the wagon the horse pulls, but he can’t see them. A second woman at the front of the cart doesn’t face him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she’s holding something in. He knows the woman by the cart. He can’t remember her face. But he knows her. He does. He swallows. He knows the look on her face. He takes off his hat, and sets it on the banister. His hair sticks up. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her glassy eyes.

"Oh, Sheriff,” she says, sighing. Her voice is sad. “Won't you come with?"

He shakes his head. His heart has already leapt into his throat, as much as he tries to swallow it back down. Talking forces it back up over and over, and he can’t stop the words from pouring out of him. He never really could. He never learned how to hold his tongue.

"You know I can't do that..." he tries. The woman’s tone takes on an edge of desperation that has him blinking, swallowing down something that isn’t just his heart anymore.

"Please,” she says, spreading her hands. She steps a bit closer. She’s within arms distance, now, or, at least this is how he remembers her. “This place has nothin' for you."

He shakes his head, again. It’s the only thing he can seem to make himself do.

"I can't—” he manages. He drops his head, staring at his boots. “I can't."

The woman touches his arm. Her hand is warm against his sleeve, but he doesn’t feel it like he should.

"Please."

"I'm sorry,” he says. There, the woman pulls away. She touches his cheek, just briefly, studies his face as he looks her over. She smiles, profound and sad and a bit far away, and Jimmy thinks the look of her face up close will ever be etched into his memory. He sniffles. Her thumb drags over his cheek.

"You're a good man, Sheriff,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. “You keep that cactus alive, you hear me?"

Jimmy nods, sighing wetly as she lets him go. He laughs, the same damp sound from his chest, watching her turn away from him, watching her pet the nose of her horse as he nods again, forcing a wobbly smile onto his face.

“I will,” he says. “I promise!”

She laughs. It’s the clearest sound Jimmy’s ever heard. It’s clear, even in the fog of memory.

Jimmy watches the cart as the road turns from cobble to dirt, as the dust settles and the strong, temperate horse gains speed, as someone watches back, before the image is too blurry to see right. He turns back to the jailhouse. Something curls and dies in his chest, and for the life of him, he hopes it isn’t something important.

Cicadas start to sing again in the crisp, dead trees.

Jimmy blinks.

In the rain, on the porch, shielded from the thunder and the downpour, he sits. The memories are simply memories, nothing more. He watches a raindrop hit his boot, and pulls his legs in. His knees tuck up to his chest. He loops his arms around them, holding to each elbow, and sets his chin on one knee. The rain falls, loud, blocking out the sound of anything else. The town is still as empty as it was when he first sat. He is still a man of cloth and rope and stuffing begging to be flesh and blood again. And he’s still the sheriff of an empty town he refused to abandon.

Jimmy stares into the falling rain. He hopes something in it will fix everything. But he knows that’s not the case.

27 notes · View notes

theaveragepsychoticbitch · 2 years

Text

After freaking out over my old writing I've decided to start a "series" of sorts where I just focus on the deeper side of touch between characters.... Basically that one time I wrote about touch but with other ppl lmao.

GN!Reader x Leviathan (Obey Me) || Shibari for comfort, no actual sex, Levi's insecurities, two dick Levi ftw, demon form, sexual content

You slip two fingers beneath the thick material, looking at the blushing demon in askance. "Is this too tight?"

Leviathan shivers, feeling out the intricate knots used to capture him. Every move is accompanied by the feeling of soft red rope sliding over his skin. It was tight, but only enough to keep him restrained. Relaxing into the comforting feeling the bondage provided, he said "Yes..."

You leave the bed, taking your seat across the room and simply staring at him.

Your eyes land on first on his face, carrying an expression so serene you'd thought he'd fallen asleep. His blush is darkened by the blood moon shining through the window, turning beads of sweat to drops of blood and making the pink color of his dicks seem ever more sinful.

Despite his earlier embarrassment, he seemed calm now. Relaxed, knowing you were in control. The restraints seemed to ground him, physical ties keeping his mental together. Like this, he can fully enjoy having you right there, enjoy you enjoying him.

You scoot closer in the chair. Sensing that you've come in range, his tail curls around your arm, and you scratch it, placing your free fingers lightly on his chest.

He tenses some, waiting for you to continue.

Gently, your fingers trace his hot skin. Feel the outlines of relaxed muscles, Leviathan's deep, steady breaths, the slow yet powerful beat of his heart. You feel like if you got close enough, you'd hear the blood rushing to his dick too.

You smile amusedly at the thought, trailing down to where both his cocks stood tall and leaking, the occasional twitch making beaded precum fall from one shaft to the other, to the stained bedsheets below.

"Perfect. Everything about you.... I wouldn't change it for all the riches in the world." He tensed, cocks jumping as a spurt of precum sprayed from both. You watch his lips, see them break and bleed as he holds back his moans.

You rest your hand on the top one, blowing over the tip and watch as he shivers and jerks. You don't stroke him; rather, you run single digits over the veins. Squeeze and massage his balls, press loving kisses to his slits.

You'd think it'd be too much for him, but a quick glance at his face leaves you proud. He's taking it all so well. The concentrated scrunch of his eyebrows and pout of his lips. You leave a quick kiss there, his own taste lingering on his lips.

For Levi, he could withstand the touches. You loved touching him, and the ropes combined with your familiar feel helped a lot. No, it wasn't the touching that made him concentrate so hard...

What really got him?

The praise.

No matter how often you said it, he doesn't think he'll ever get used to how earnestly you say "I love you."

It's strange to be told he's "perfect". That he deserves good things, that he's doing well, that's he's making someone- you -proud. You're happy to simply see him, when for so long he's hated seeing himself. To bare himself to you, in body and mind, and still have you love him...

You kiss his lips, deeper this time. It's too much, far too much. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

Not unexpectedly, both cocks erupt, sending thick white ropes all over the both of you. It doesn't faze you though, and the kiss continues, deep and loving. You hear a rumble in his chest, almost like a purr, his tail wrapping tighter around you.

When you finally release each other, you go back to staring. He stares back this time, your eyes remaining locked while he catches his breath.

"So good..." You say, swiping off some cum with your thumb and placing it on your mouth. "Even your taste is good..." You gaze at him through your lashes, watching the bashfulness swirl in his eyes.

You scoot back again, loathe as you are to untangle his tail from you. He sighs, throwing his head back as his fills with thoughts about you again, what he wants to do with you, for you, what he wants you to do to him, for him. And across the room, you're quiet, head no less filled with thoughts about him.

Quietly, you settle into your seat, and watch.

-----------

A/N: I didn't spell check this and probably don't intend on immediately spellchecking any of these since they're just practice. First time (ish) writing for Leviathan, how'd I do?

Comments are appreciated and encouraged, thank you for reading, gn cuz I once again wrote when I should have been sleeping.

#obey me smut #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me shall we date #leviathan smut #leviathan x gender neutral reader #leviathan x reader #umm what should i call this series?#Err....#the psychotics writing #writing touch #simple and straight forward aye?#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me demon brothers

283 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

Text

Running from the Flames {16}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, collision, smut - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven* || Twelve || Thirteen || Fourteen || Fifteen || Sixteen || Seventeen || under construction

The race was a nail biter and my cuticles were suffering as I picked at them while watching the screen from the box. Nearly half a million Formula One fans cheered around the racetrack and the ground vibrated with the noise.

Pierre had started on the third row of the grid but on the 22nd lap he was pushed wide by Carlos Sainz on a tight turn and he had lost two places getting back on the track. But, he hadn’t given up and clawed his way back into P5 and was inching closer to Sainz who had a target on his back.

Lance Stroll was right on his tail and it wouldn’t be long before he could use DRS so Pierre was pushing the car as much as he could.

“Brakes are gone, fuck,” Pierre exclaimed. “The brakes are completely gone.”

I lurched forward as the onboard camera showed him dropping down the gears and the engine whined loudly, the machine struggling with the lower gears at the high speed. My heart was slamming inside my chest as he approached the corner and tried to navigate it without any brakes. He seemed to have made it through the apex and just ahead I could see the long home straight with enough width that he could safely roll the car to a stop.

I had begun to exhale the breath I had been holding when the onboard camera jolted then abruptly cut out and my eyes darted around the screens as I tried to understand what had just happened. A flash of dark green had come tearing around the corner unaware Pierre’s speed had suddenly slowed, leaving him vulnerable on the track and Stroll had careened straight into the back of him.

The sound of the crash silenced the crowd and chairs clattered to the concrete floor as we leapt to our feet, the shock rippling through his team. I wasn’t going to wait in the box to hear what was happening a few hundred yards outside, I had to hear Pierre’s voice and see his face.

The red flag safety car rushed past the box and I made chase, pushing through the resistance my hip put up without crutches but they would only slow me down. For him the pain was worth it.

Smoke billowed from both wreckages but I couldn’t see any flames on either car as I ran along the pitwall and I hoped the fuel didn’t ignite. A small cheer went up in the crowd and I looked at the big screens surrounding the stands to see Stroll had climbed out of his car and was running to Pierre’s.

I reached the closest point I could to the debris and pulled myself up the chain fence so I could see above the signage that ran along the bottom. Two fire marshals were spraying the back of the Alpine with CO2 and I was about to scream at them to get Pierre out when I saw his white and gold helmet rise above the smoke. His steering console was tossed aside and he all but fell from the front as he stumbled away from the heat that was radiating from the wreck.

Pierre bent over and tore his helmet from his head, followed by the fireproof balaclava and his gloves so he could run his hands over his face. The gear was tossed to the asphalt as he tipped his head back and took a deep breath, but then he spotted me up the fence and I nearly collapsed with relief.

He was okay.

A medic arrived but Pierre ducked out of his reach and ran to the fenceline, climbing to my height and covering my hands with his. “Mon amour, are you alright?” he asked as he felt my hands shaking.

“Are you crazy? That’s my question.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his sweaty forehead to mine, the chain cold and refreshing against the heat of his skin. “Just hold me for a minute.”

I kissed the diamond of skin between the chain links and laced our fingers together. “I’ll hold you for as long as you let me. But you should really let the medic see you and then I can hold you properly.”

He nodded reluctantly and began to climb down the fence. It was a little harder for me to climb down than it was to climb up now that I didn’t have the flood of adrenaline coursing through my veins but I kept on my feet when I jumped down the last little bit. My hip protested what I had forced it to do but I pushed it to the back of my mind so I could walk steadily back to Alpine. If Pierre saw I was in pain there was no way he would let the medics check him out and I needed that reassurance.

Realisation dawned on me as I saw footage replaying on the screens around us and I pulled my phone out as I worried about Addie and how upset she would be if she saw the crash.

The phone was answered quicker than I thought it would be, considering I had only called Matthew once before, and I skipped any greeting as I rushed to know, “Did Addie see the crash?”

“No, Betty took her shopping in the village. How is Pierre?”

“He’s fine. Hardly shaken, unlike me.”

“I guess that’s something you will get used to with time.”

The statement gave me pause and my heart nearly stopped at the thought of this happening again. “I hope not,” I admitted before I saw a scooter pull into the pits with Pierre riding on the back, beating me there. “I have to go, if Addie asks anything just let her know Pierre’s fine. We’ll sit down with her later and talk about it together.”

“...said the problem was fixed.” Pierre looked ready to pull his hair out as he addressed his engineers before turning away with a sigh and spotting me. His racing suit had been opened and was tied around his waist to cool off before he made it to the bathrooms and the arms swayed as he rushed towards me. “Mon amour, ça va?”

“Stop asking how I’m doing,” I growled as I cupped his face and turned it side to side to see not a single mark on him. “Did the doctor say anything?”

“Only the usual, watch for concussion, dizziness.” He pulled my hands away to kiss each palm. “You need to get off your feet.”

He dragged a spare chair over while they were all empty with the pit crew changing Esteban’s tyres and keeping them warm for the standing restart that would begin once the track was clear of the two totalled cars. I took the seat just so he would have one less thing to worry about as he went back to the engineers hoping to determine what went wrong with the car.

Eventually the race resumed but I couldn’t even look at the screens to see how the rest of the drivers were doing. All my attention was on Pierre as he sat beside me in his driver room, quiet and reserved unlike his usual bubbly energy. I wanted to make him smile, or even just not frowning would be an improvement.

“I was thinking maybe we could visit your hometown this week.” I said quietly from where I sat with my legs over his and my fingers idly curling in his hair.

“You want to see Rouen?”

“I was more interested in meeting your family, but I would also like to see where you grew up.”

“They’ve all gone away for the school holidays but I can find out when they’re back.”

“Then what about coming to London for a few days? I’m starting to get sick of sundresses and I didn’t pack much else.”

His attention finally shifted from the screens around him and his hand glided up my leg and beneath the skirt of my dress. “I like your sundresses.”

“There certainly are perks,” I admitted as his hand inched closer to the junction of my thighs but he retreated with a grin.

“Who's the dirty one now?” he teased before pulling out his phone and opening the app for British Airways.

“Don’t book flights yet,” I said as I grabbed my own phone and messaged Granny, her reply coming through almost instantly. “Granny said we can fly with her.”

“Betty has a plane?” Pierre asked with a raised brow.

“She hates to run on anyone else’s time but her own so she got to keep it in her last divorce, or maybe that was the villa. I honestly can’t keep up.” I snorted as I remembered one inappropriate news article about her after she married Matthew. “The US Weekly called her Betty the Bicycle because everyone gets a ride. Dad nearly fainted when I showed it to him.”

Pierre’s lips curled up before they parted and a laugh broke free. The tension in his body loosened as he visibly relaxed in the chair and chuckled at the anecdote.

There were only a few laps left of the race and then the garage would be swarming with people so I took the moment to shift on to Pierre’s lap and drape my arms over his shoulders.

“I was so scared today baby,” I whispered as his hands brushed my dress up to my hips. “I wasn’t sure I would ever hear that laugh or see you smile again.”

I traced his lips with my eyes, committing the memory of their curve to my brain before I needed to feel them against mine. He stilled for a heartbeat beneath me as he tasted the salt of my tears that clung to my skin and he realised how much we both needed to feel each other.

The rush of endorphins became a frenzy and I moaned as he pulled his jeans down enough to free himself then pushed my panties aside. The world faded away as our bodies became one and we moved together.

“I love you, Pierre.”

His lips blazed a fire across my skin and he left his mark in his wake only breaking away to tip my head back with a finger under my chin so I was looking him in the eyes. “Je t'aime, I am so fucking in love with you.”

Neither of us were willing to take our time like we usually did and explore each other's body. There was a haste to chase away the lingering fear and anxiety, a haste to chase the high that our union was building towards.

Pierre’s fingers dug into my ass as he gripped it tight and bounced me up and down on his cock, my head falling back with a hushed cry at the pleasure mounting.

“Shhh,” he reminded me before crushing his lips to mine and stealing the sounds that escaped.

I broke away gasping for air as my orgasm crashed over me a moment before he followed and I buried my head in his neck, inhaling his citrus and woody cologne as we rode out our highs. We didn’t need to say anything, our desperate need for each other was enough to show everything we felt and we just held each other tight until the race ended.

Click here for chapter seventeen.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @anotheroneiforgot

#pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #running from the flames

114 notes · View notes

owlespresso · 7 months

Text

well-behaved. clive rosfield/reader. tags: petplay, hybrid au, puppy boy clive, submissive clive, hand jobs

Your fingers run through his tousled mane of dark hair, the sudden bliss of your touch eliciting a small whimper. His ear twitches, the fur silken, and you can’t resist the urge to give him a well-earned scritch, savoring the breathy sigh he rewards you with. All things considered, he’s been such a good boy—

He pushes greedily into your palm, breath warm against your fingers as you slide down to cup his cheek. The bristled stubble draws a shiver down your spine. You cast him a glance as he kisses your palm. His tongue peeks out from between plush lips, greedily running over the salt of your skin.

“You’re distracting me,” you mumble, and gently pinch his nose. He grumbles, dissatisfied, and drops his face into your thigh, rubbing up against you through your trousers.

“You should already be distracted by the naked man who's been sitting at your feet for the better part of an hour” Clive lifts his head just enough to glower at you. Such a mean look would be intimidating if he were not already on his knees and bare. “What are you working on up there, anyways?”

He’s entirely hunched over, hulking mass of him curled to press against your lower leg. His cock is absolutely throbbing—weeping, even. Every now and again, his hips twitch. He’s barely holding back the urge to rut against you, still too proud despite the plug you know is wedged between his cheeks, settled underneath the plush expanse of his tail.

You pinch the tip of one crooked ear. “Important paperwork,” you say coolly. “Like your adoption papers. They were very happy to hand over such a poorly behaved pup.”

“Hah,” Clive huffs humorlessly at your little joke.

“Silly, really. They just didn’t know how to make you act like a good boy.”

“And how is that?” Clive inquires, a measure intrigued as he peers up at you. The press of his body is immeasurably warm up against you. He’s his own furnace.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to come here first.” You pat your lap with both hands, your smile bright and expectant. He blinks at you, as though attempting to discern if this is another joke—but there is no humor to your countenance.

“What? I’ll squish you.” he says, frankly concerned.

You don’t dignify him with a response. It’s an order, one you give whilst well-aware of how his weight will likely crush you into this chair.

“...If you insist,” Clive says. He sighs, but he clambers onto your lap just a bit too eagerly to be humoring you. He settles perpendicular to you, both of his thighs settled across yours. It must be a ridiculous sight, considering how he has to hunch in on himself to fit, how his legs dangle far over the armrest. One of his arms wraps around the back of your shoulders, forced to cling tight lest he topple to the floor. Your legs are probably going to be numb by the end of this, but it’s hard to care when you’re finally able to run your hand up and down the abundant expanse of his chest.

He sighs into your temple, rippling muscle of his abdomen tensing as you skirt your touch over his tummy, nails scratching light at his skin. You pet the downy hair there.

“You’re so beautiful, Clive,” you purr into his throat. He tilts his head and exhales shakily as you kiss up and down the strong column of his throat, going bone loose against you. He shivers and sighs. His hand clings onto one of the chair’s arms, grip knuckle-white as you come dangerously close to his erect cock. He’s got one of the prettiest you’ve ever seen, flushed and weeping. You would have him in your lap all the time, if you could. Safe and warm in your arms.

“Don’t,” he mutters, half-hearted and weak. He hides his face, nose pressing to the top of your head. Anything else he could have said dies on his tongue as you finally wrap your hand around his heavy, aching cock. Your fingers just barely touch together, girth as impressive as his length.

He gives throaty moans and husky growls, a euphony of deep sounds he can scarcely withhold. He’s long since given up on trying—a habit you had wrung out of him by the fourth day of living together.

“So good for me,” you continue. His halfhearted little protests are belied by the sounds he makes as you start to pump him in earnest, slow and sweet.

He arches his back, skin glistening with new sweat. Your free hand wanders up to his chest, petting the plush of his pecs. Your thumb skirts around his areola in circles.

“God, your chest is just not fair,” you mumble.

“So you’ve said,” he says, a little shake in his voice. His petal perfect lips open to say something else, but his voice pitches into a debauched whine. You pinch his left nipple, bud pebbled against the chilled air in your study.

He goes quiet, then. Only breathes wetly as he struggles to tamper down each lewd noise. His eyes flutter shut and his face contorts with each syrupy pulse of pleasure, cock throbbing hot in your hand as you knead him. His hips roll, pathetic little squirms atop of your thighs. The looming threat of tumbling over the armrest and onto the floor keeps him clinging tight to your shoulders, each desperate pant brushing against your temple. He kisses you there, and on your cheek, any patch of skin he can reach, really.

“Oh, Clive. You’re so perfect.” you praise, and he lets loose a choked sob.

He cums into your fist with a quiet sob, taut muscles of his abdomen shuddering. Thick cum spurts on his chest and dribbles over your closed fingers. You work him through it, until his moans tremble onto the wrong side of pained. Still, he doesn’t ask you to stop. One of Clive’s biggest weaknesses is his desperation to please. He craves approval like he needs air to breathe, lets you draw climax after climax out of him because he knows you love seeing him so ruined, so debauched.

And there are times when you will keep going, keep wringing pleasure from him until he forgets his own name. Those are some of his best moments, when his tummy and chest are painted white with his own cum. When his head is tossed back to give you more room to kiss, to bite, to carve your claim into his very flesh.

But you’re feeling particularly sweet on him, today, so you stop. He slumps in relief, catching his breath. Hot puffs of air brush your temple. His spent cock rests heavy next to his thigh.

“Good?” you lean over, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he says after several shuddering breaths. His chest rises and falls with each one. You shamelessly admire the plush of his pecs.

“A little death, maybe,” you murmur. You nip at one of his hickies, relish in the hitch of his breath. Your lips linger against the skin, letting him feel your fond smile.

#clive rosfield/reader #cliveposting #ffxvi fantasizing #ffxvi/reader

19 notes · View notes

harlequinoccult · 11 months

Note

The MC wakes up from a terrible nightmare, sweating and crying. They turn to look at the RO laying next to them and calm down, saying "You're still here...". Turns out their nightmare was the RO abandoning them. How would the ROs react/handle this? For both games!

oh lordt. here we go.

Your entire body shakes and trembles, yet you feel numb. You awake in a cold sweat, your body jolting from the force of your awakening, clutching at the bedsheets that surround you, gasping for air.

Xandin- You feel the long length of his tail coiling around your waist and his arms embracing you, the fluff of his hair against your face a soothing balm to your elevated heart rate.

You're not sure if he's even fully awake, the man sleeps like a stone in the sea, but it doesn't matter.

You sigh. "You're still here…"

Just as you close your eyes again, you feel a low, sleepy rumble from his chest

"For as long as you'll have me."

Yuuki- Your gasp for air is muffled, as you're already swept up in a pair of strong arms, and met with the sound of humming.

Yuuki's already awake, he always is.

You bury your face into him, breathing in the spice of his scent. You then crane your neck upwards to look at him, your eyes meet his, and he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

"You're still here…" you breathe out

His eyes soften with sympathy. "Bad dream?"

You nod

He sighs a sigh of acute familiarity, brushing your hair back from your face, and lays kisses upon your eyelids with a soft smirk.

"You won't be getting rid of me anytime soon, doll."

Andrew- He snaps awake at the same time you do, immediately noticing your distress, he turns over on his side, slowly caressing your arm, speaking softly. "You're alright, You're okay"

You swallow the lump in your throat, croaking out "You're still here…"

He nods, running his fingers through your hair "I am. And I will be the next day, and the next day, and the next."

Your eyes flutter closed, you steady your breath as his voice calms you.

"Do you need water?"

You shake your head

"...Do you need a hug?"

You nod

He scoots closer and wraps his arms around you with a squeeze, and kisses your temple

"I'm here."

Claudia- Claudia doesn't need to sleep, but she always stays by your side in the night, the moment you awaken in a jolt she has both hands cupping your face as she stares into your eyes

The swirling colours of her irises calming and hypnotic, you can already feel your body unclenching.

Her voice rough with worry, she asks quietly. ".....You okay?"

You shake your head

She lets out a sigh, her wings materializing at her back, their off white sheen visible even in the low light of the night.

She wraps her wings around you and brings your head to her chest.

"Sleep. You'll be okay."

Vylasia- You nearly tip yourself off the bed in your panic, but a pair of familiar arms grab at your waist and steady you, securing you in the bed that barely fits the both of you, she carefully helps you maneuver your body away from the edge and back into her arms.

She looks into your eyes, hers heavy with both sleep and worry in equal measures. "Honeybee...?"

Your voice warbles "You're still here…"

She places a kiss on your nose, slowly rubbing soothing circles into your back.

"I'm still here"

Cy- You re-awake with a start to dim candlelight just barely lighting the room.

You see them at their desk, scratching away at a piece of parchment with their quill.

So close yet so far, just out of arms reach.

"Cy...." you whisper their name, just so they feel more real.

And they hear you, they turn around in their chair to face you.

"Hm? Apologies if I awoke you love-" Their sentence falls off, their brow knitting in concern as they see your distress.

They pick their chair up and move it closer to the bed

"Tell me whats wrong love" They take hold of your hand, rubbing circles with their thumb

"You're still here…" Your voice catches in your throat, eyes stinging.

Their jaw clenches, and they let out a sigh. They lean forward, touching their forehead to yours.

"And I always will be, you have my promise."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Elysium- The sheer plushness of the bed you lay on muffles the thrashing of your distress, and for a panicked moment, you think you're trapped.

Your thrashing stops when you feel a soft -familiar- hand cupping your cheek, and the thick comforter being slid off your body.

Your eyes creak open, the sight of him filling you with relief. "You're still here…"

"Oh, darling..." They move you gently so that your head is resting on their lap, he cards his fingers through your hair, tenderly massaging your scalp.

"Of course I am"

You both stay like that until you drift off again.

"I won't leave you"

Black Dahlia- She rouses at your commotion, pissed off look on her face, but you already know that's just how she looks when she wakes up.

"You're still here…" You breathe.

She just stares at you for a few moments as your heart rate gradually slows. Eventually she sighs, and climbs out of bed.

"Up."

You stare at her in confusion

"Get up" she rounds to your side and holds your hand, tugging you out of bed. Still holding hands, she leads you into the kitchen and she begins making tea.

The buzz of the nightmare is still at the back of your mind, but she never lets go of your hand the entire time she makes the tea.

Eventually she hands you a mug. Still holding your hand, she squeezes lightly. "Drink."

And so you do.

Overdose- You sputter and choke as you startle awake, The sleeping form next to you jolts awake, sitting up immediately.

They squint at you, their brows furrowing as you struggle to calm down.

".....Shit."

They slide the blanket covering you both down slightly, scooting closer to you and lightly placing their hand to your chest, feeling your heartbeat.

"You're still here…" Your voice stutters, breath hitching.

They nod "Deep breaths. In and out." They start counting.

"1...2...3"

In.

"1...2...3"

Out.

They rub your cheek with their thumb

"You good?"

You nod. They give you a peck on the cheek and gently wrap their arms around you. The lazy rotation of the ceiling fan above you lulling you to sleep.

Cold- You startle awake, alone in the large bed that is not your own, fear seizes your heart, and your panic begins to climb-

But your internal thoughts are interrupted, a tinny clinking of a bell and a small, soft meow- the prelude to the appearance of a familiar fluffy feline that hops unto the bed with you, and begins kneading your stomach and purring like a small motor. You close your eyes as you stroke her fur.

You hear the sound of the front door beyond the bedroom, quietly opening and quietly closing, shuffling, the sound of a shower running, the sound of a shower stopping, the shifting of cloth against skin.

You feel the bed dip with new weight.

You feel the press of a warm body against you.

"You're still here…" you sigh as they wrap an arm around you

You hear "я всегда вернусь к тебе"

Sweetheart- You startle awake, and briefly, in your panic, you realize you can't move

Your heart rate calms quickly, as you realize you're firmly pressed against the chest of your beloved, his arms tightly wrapped around you, the soft rumble of his snoring and the sound of his heartbeat dashing your fear against the stones.

"You're still here…" You mutter into his chest

He holds you like his favorite teddy bear, his face planted in your hair with the both of you snugly wrapped up in a thick blanket.

You breathe deeply. He always smells like sugar, this time with a hint of motor oil from working on his bike.

You sigh in contentment. The warmth of him lulling you back into slumber.

The Host- You awaken to the cold monochrome of your shared bedroom, the other half of the bed an empty mess to sheets and covers, panic seizes your heart as you wobbly extract yourself from the massive bed.

You walk down the halls as if in a trance of delirium, fear stealing your voice, preventing you from calling out.

You come upon their work room, it's door cracked and leaking the glow from inside.

you push the door open and shuffle in, its creak alerting your paramour to your presence, they turn around.

"Mon ange?" They look upon you with concern

You swallow, your throat dry "You're still here…"

"Oh, mon cher petit ange" They coo, slowly standing from their desk, they grab their cane and walk to meet you.

They cup your face gently, caressing your cheek with their thumb.

"Je serai toujours là, que tu le saches ou non"

#KICKING MY OWN ASS OUT OF WRITERS BLOCK BY WRITING FLUFF #SLSQ:Sweetheart #SLSQ:Elysium #SLSQ:Black Dahlia #SLSQ:Cold #SLSQ:Overdose #SLSQ:The Host #TVoL:Xandin #TVoL:Yuuki #TVoL:Andrew #TVoL:Claudia #TVoL:Vylasia #TVoL:Cy

50 notes · View notes

kingofthe-egirls · 11 months

Text

FOX TALES: POLYAMORY (SANJI x oc, LUFFY x oc)

fox tales

(cw: kiss, food, hunger, jealousy, polyamory. Tense but not an unhappy ending)

Lmk what you guys think 😳

SANJI x Kit, my kitsune portal-portal fruit oc

- kit loves food

- It was her main obstacle in her portal home, the biggest lesson she had to learn about becoming mortal

- So when she finds out sanji cooks for them, all the time, she’s smitten

- Luffy notices, and doesn’t know how to feel about it

“Sanji,” you croon, resting your chin in your hand as you lay across the counter from your chair. You swish your tails back and forth. “What’s for dinner?”

Sanji grins, and twirls around to hand you a plate of black and white cookies. You take a bite, and revel in the delicious crisp. “Mmm,” you sigh through your nose.

“After snacks,” Sanji says, turning back to stir rice on the stove, “We’re having fried rice.”

“Shrimp this time?” You ask, crunching on your third cookie.

“If you insist, mon cherie,” he croons back at you. He waltzes over to the freezer, and pulls out a packet of shrimp. Light blue and translucent, you lick your lips. You’d eat them raw, if you could.

Sanji must have seen your hunger-lust, and chuckled. “You can’t eat them raw, Kit. They’ll make you sick.”

“Hmph,” you slump back into your hand. You take a bite of your fourth cookie. “I’d eat raw stuff all the time, if you’d let me.”

“Wild beast,” he says fondly, and you nod.

“I used to eat mice sometimes, and fish. There was a koi pond, and the first time I got hungry I just. Ate one. The bones were sharp,” you wrinkle your nose at the memory. “It wasn’t until I figured out fire that I started grilling them. I was glad to have fish so close to me. Stealing eggs got tiring.”

Sanji goes quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, turned back to the stove. “You must have been hungry.”

“Mm,” you agree, “I was.” You crunch on a sixth cookie. “But I’m not hungry anymore. I’m never hungry, with you.”

Sanji looks over his shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face. His suit is angular and fitted, the line of his shoulders broad and sure. You liked to see his strength. You’ve been in a couple fights now, and he always awed you with his style. Although, you must admit, the kicks did look kind of funny.

“What’s up?” You ask, a tad bit uncomfortable at your cook’s intense expression. His eyes were dark, blue as deep water, and his mouth was set in a hard line.

“With me,” he says, hands clenched into fists, “You’ll never go hungry again.”

You pause.

The crumbs of the sixth cookie litter the counter, and you wipe your chin. “I know,” you say, “Thank you.”

Your voice had gone quiet, mirroring his sudden mood change. He nods, jaw set, and strides around the counter until he’s next to you. He takes your face in both hands, and kisses the tip of your nose. You flush, immediately. “S-Sanji!” You stutter, embarrassed.

He flushes, too, and steps back a little. His fingertips leave your face, and you reach out to keep them there. “Don’t stop,” you say, pulling him closer. His arms wind around your waist, and he kisses your nose again.

“Here,” you say, tilting your chin up to face him. He’s so much taller than you. “Kiss me here,” you whisper, and softly let your lips brush his.

He moans, melting into your frame. He’s warm, and steady. You feel the muscles of his arms through his shirt.

“Mon cherie,” he whispers against your lips. You let your tongue slip past his soft, rose petal lips. He groans, again. You shift, pulling him tighter against you. You like kissing him.

“Kit?”

You still, turning to look at the door. Luffy had just spoken, standing in the kitchen entryway. He had an unreadable expression on his face.

“Captain!” Sanji splutters, straightening up. You whine at the loss of his touch. Luffy’s face is dark.

“I thought you were mine, Kit.” He clenches his hands into fists.

“I am,” you say, standing up. Your heart flutters in your chest. How would you get him to understand? This, this need inside of you. The pulsing of not one, but two. Men.

“But I’m his, too.” You stalk toward your boyfriend-captain, like you were hunting rabbits. He is on edge, and angry. You take his face in both hands, and kiss him too. How could you make him feel the truth?

“I love you,” you say, desperation in your eyes, “But I love him, too.”

***

You don’t think Luffy liked that. He liked being captain, he liked being king. He liked being above all others; he liked being free.

Well, you liked freedom, too.

“He feeds me,” you try to say, “Please understand me,” you whisper. Luffy isn’t looking at you. “I’m a spirit,” you say, “I’m a fuckup. I’m too much and too hyper and too feral for you. I know. I know,” you whisper, bitter. “But the love I have for you is not diminished by my love for him. Or for anyone. Foxes mate for life,” you remind him, “No one could replace you.”

Luffy seems to like that. He straightens, meets your gaze. His eyes are cloudy, tears pricking at the stormy grey. You brush his hair out of his face. “Promise?” He says, voice husky and thick. You nod.

“I promise. And you can kill me if I break it.”

He starts, taken aback. “I-I don’t wanna do that! Kit,” he grabs your hands, “I won’t ever do that.”

“Good,” you say, and inch back toward Sanji. “Do you believe me?”

He studies you, studies your frame. You’re standing, hunched forward a bit. He could see that you were scared. He’d seen you like that, before. When farmers took up pitchforks.

He didn’t like scaring you.

“I—,” he starts, taking a step toward you. “I believe you, Kit. But—,” he grimaces, clenching his hands. “But I don’t want you in his bed. Only mine. Understand?”

You nod, vigorously. “I can do that.”

Luffy relaxes, straightens up a bit. “Good. You can kiss, but no more than that. Not unless I say so,” he sears you with a grin. Wicked. You flick an ear in interest.

“Yes, sir,” you reply. Your voice came out breathier than you meant it to. You blush.

“Luffy,” Sanji says, the first word he’s spoken since his captain walked in. “I’m sorry.”

Luffy levels him with a haughty glare. “I forgive you,” he acknowledges the fault, and sidesteps it with grace. Sanji takes a steady breath.

“I won’t steal her from you,” he assures, stepping back to his stove. Luffy snorts.

“As if you ever could.”

***

24 notes · View notes

fountainpenguin · 5 months

Text

"I learned quickly that perseverance stood between a cat and her new best friend- (Me!)" (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 14 - “Kindle (Pearl, Impulse)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

Pearl's barely begun playing Session 2 when Scott calls her back to the portal hub. See, she's on the buddy program list, and there's a new refugee in New Star Station who's a little... Well. Different. His name is Rhetoric, and in the eyes of the game, he doesn't exist.

While Pearl sorts that out, Impulse mines the ore to craft a clock...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

PearlescentMoon - Bat

Quarry: Etho

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: Lush Cave Alliance

💚 💛 ❤️

Pearl is on-server for what feels like eight minutes and eleven seconds before Scott logs onto Dog's Life, pleads for her, Ren, and Martyn to log out, and jumps off again. Pearl relays this information to Tango, who turns his head. He, uh… He doesn't push away from the thin ring of basalt that stands between them and a drop to certain splashy lava death. He's leaning over it pretty far. And that's fine! To each their own, y'know?

Still kinda stresses me out, though. Since ghasts can die from their own fireballs, I'm not sure they're fireproof… so I'm glad I'm not the one carrying those hybrid traits right now.

A ripple passes down Tango's white-tipped tail, though his expression is curious, not annoyed. Several ghast tendrils lie long and coiled around him. A few of them ripple too, and Pearl is grateful for the new mod she put (with Grian's blessing) that spells the word Ghast above his head. Finally, Tango does flip around, though he braces his elbows on the wall. "Well, I mean… He must need you for something pretty serious if he's pulling you away this early. C'mon, though… It's only been a couple seconds for him since you came on, right?"

That is weird… Pearl glances over the rim of the basalt drop. One relatively small ghast bobs below. It's one of the little ones translucent enough to show its massive beating heart. "I guess so? I've not actually taken the time to experiment with the way it works. It's so confusing living in Simmers' Quarter-"

"Oh, yeah… Yeah, they play around with time a lot over there, don't they? That'll really mess you up. Some of your neighbors pop back the next day zoned out of their minds like they've been gone for years, right?"

Pearl chuckles. Sort of. It's mostly drowned in the distant, warbled mews of ghasts and the crackle of the lava. The Nether air is thick with smoke. The oxygen is thick here. She really needs a drink. At least this should be a quick visit… She doesn't plan to stay here with Tango half as long as she did with Martyn back in Double Life. But if they get carried away… Cleo and Jimmy will understand. Probably. At least they have each other.

Actually, given Cleo's track record, maybe I do want to be careful.

She checks the comm again. You know, there's something pathetic and cruel about all this. The irony is omnipresent and its laughs tickle at her ears. Scott certainly wanted nothing to do with her in Double Life, even though they got along well the season before. They thrived, actually, back in Last Life. He won the season and Pearl made it to the final four. They faced each other in the finals of Double Life with snow up to their ankles, Scott clutching Cleo's limp body in his arms and Pearl holding a panting wolf by the collar, fingers wedged beneath the leather strap.

How fitting, y'know… all the snow. Wind whistled, swishing snowflakes through the air. Few words were exchanged. Mostly staring eyes and heaving chests. Puffing breaths, visible in the air. Wolves growled, Scott bent his head over Cleo's unmoving form, and splintered sparks curled down both their cheeks. It always ends like this, in Grian's games. They always start of fun and full of life, then tear her to her core.

She loves the rush. She really does.

Double Life ended in a burst of TNT, set off at Scott's own hand. And maybe they didn't get along, and maybe it had its miserable and lonely moments (especially where roleplay and Between interactions blurred into bitter avoidance, like he didn't want to see her at all).

Two seasons later, here he is… come crawling back to coax her from the dark. What's she to do with that information? Scott probably wouldn't taste his own medicine even if she poured it in a sugar spoon and shoved it straight down his throat. He'd cough it up and squirm and spit it right back in her face.

Well, maybe I could do a little better at inviting him out in Between… Without regular Empires interaction, she sort of fell off the map where Scott's concerned. Maybe she likes it that way.

And maybe I don't.

It's… difficult (hanging out with Scott) because it's easy (for Tango and Jimmy to get along; for Martyn and Cleo to have clear lines of disinterest in the sand; for Etho and Joel to tumble twinkle-eyed into mischief even after all this time). This feeling swishing inside her soul isn't even jealousy. Seriously, that is not the issue. Muddlement might be the better word. Confusion and muddlement.

And it's not hard because of Double Life, exactly, because roleplay isn't supposed to cut this deep. It's difficult for reasons undefinable. It's difficult because it doesn't have to be. Scott never meant to, but he made the rejection hurt a lot more, y'know? To do this so soon after he came out to her about the whole 'allay' thing and pressed forward, practically pleading for an extension of their queerplatonic relationship to cross from Last Life into Between. He was coming off a break-up with Jimmy. He probably wasn't in his best frame of mind, and the emotions of Last Life were still tangled and raw for both of them.

She did turn him down, though. You know, that's what really stinks. Why does she feel so much guilt about it, even after all this time? She really handled that information overload as best as she possibly could. She didn't do it over comm. She didn't drag it out. It was all in private, too, though maybe she could've waited for him to put his jacket on again. And she looked him in the eyes (most the time), and saw two little hearts break inside his pupils like shattered snow globes dumping liquid to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Scott… I'm not really interested…"

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

#PearlescentMoon #EthosLab #Scott Smajor #galaxy duo #TangoTek #impulseSV #clock duo #Jimmy Solidarity #Dog's Life #Pixels Imperfect #ridwriting #fic announcement #apparently art #Dog's Life art

13 notes · View notes