#worm is very dark but by god there is love in the worm and it drives me insane sometimes

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY! PARTY TIME BABY! MUSIC! DRINKS! SOCIAL PRESSURE & A PSYCHEDELIC BREAK DOWN! WELCOME TO VAMPIRE SOCIETY MOTHERFUCKER! ARE YOU SCARED? DO YOU UNDERSTAND YET? ITS OKAY IF NOT. FIRE DISSOLVED IT! ITS ALL GONE NOW. HAVE FUN!

[eightstarr]

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

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୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember. 

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

—

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

hey i love your work so much!! i was wondering if you could do something where hotch gets lingerie for the reader. and the reader is like mmm no maybe not.. but hotch is like please just try it on to see if you like it?

reader is like ok, so they put it on and they are stilly kinda hesitant but when hotch sees them he is like star struck and… ya know shows them how pretty they are!! and he just praises the reader, maybe they do it in front of a mirror 🫣🫣

i think it would be cute, but you don’t have to write it if you don’t want, sorry if this is all over the place it was just a stream of consciousness!!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: to aaron, buying you lingerie was an act of love, to you, it was something new.

— warnings: lingerie wearing (obviously), slight body insecurity, illusions to mirrors being used for future... unsavory acts, kissing, heavy petting, praise, heavy kissing.

— wc: 745

⋆ a/n: hello hun!! i'm so glad you like my work and sorry that this isn't as detailed as you probably would have liked. funny enough i couldn't find space to fit actual smut in there, but never fear! it is still as equally spicy and fun!

masterlist | AO3

“What the fuck is that?”

Aaron held up a piece of lingerie that looked more like pieces of string and lace were sewn together than any actual cloth.

“Lingerie, honey.” He said with a deep chuckle. “And you want me to wear… that?” You questioned in disbelief. “That would be ideal, yes.”

There was a wince on your face as you continued to stare at the dark red thing. “Yeah… no. Absolutely not.” You crossed your arms. “Sweetheart, you don't even know if you won't like it.”

“No, I know I don't like it. How about you just see me naked?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I would like it very much if you were to try it on.”

Your eyes flickered from his to the bundle of lace.

Now, it wouldn't be fair to say no, because Aaron has indulged in many of your fantasies over the years, and he barely asks for anything, as well as always focuses on your pleasure. If you said no he'd drop the conversation entirely, he was never one to pressure.

You could see it in the burning of his irises that he wanted to see you in the lingerie, and he would never steer you wrong and pick something ugly. Oh God, just thinking about him going into a place like Victoria's Secret made your cheeks heat up.

With one final glance you sighed, sticking out your hand. “Fine, but I'm doing this just because I love you and… because I want to.”

He walked up and handed you it, pulling you into his side to give you a kiss on your head. “Thank you.” You just hummed before disappearing into the bathroom.

Oh you looked like a fucking clown.

You knew this would be no good. This was not flattering at all, at least in your eyes. You cringed, tugging at the straps that dug into your arms uncomfortably. You had never felt so… unsure sexually before.

“Aaron, I look ridiculous.”

“I'm sure you look great.”

“Did this thing not come with a robe?” You couldn't help but ask, because the outfit felt like it was missing something.

“It did.”

“And where might it be?”

“With me.”

“You're such a bastard.” You mumbled to yourself.

You took a deep breath to ease your nerves.

“Alright, I'm coming out, but if you laugh at me, I'm going to kill you.”

“In what world would I laugh at you?” He was right, you were being nervous and irrational and — God, you've never done this before. Was it hot in here? Were you sweating?

Stepping out of the bathroom was one thing, but Aaron staring at you speechless was a whole other can of worms.

You shifted anxiously in your spot as he approached you, his large hand cupping your cheek. His calloused thumb rubbed the hot skin of it softly.

“You look breathtaking.” His voice was strained. The other hand that wasn't cradling your face landed on your naked hip. He squeezed the fat of it, a light shiver shooting up his back at the feeling of the fat spilling through his fingers.

Your body thrums with excitement, your last hesitation slowly melting off of you.

“You think so?” You ask shyly. “I know so.” Aaron confirms with that warm, comforting voice of his. He connects your lips together and a light, surprised gasp exits your mouth. Your hands shoot-out to hold his strong biceps.

His lips molded themselves firmly onto yours, tongue exploring your mouth with desperate fervor. It was like he was trying to consume you, and a new type of fire burned in his veins. It was a rabid kind of need that threatened every part of him that was a gentleman.

You pushed away from him to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your eyes fall on the mirror hanging on the well next to where you guys are standing and you groan.

“Ugh, Aaron…” You whine in embarrassment, burying your head into his hard chest. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.” You groan in embarrassment. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“Because I mean it. I love all of you.”

“You really know how to sweet talk a girl, don’t you, Hotchner?”

“As much as I like sweet talking you, I like having you in my bed more.” He locked your lips again, nosy hands massaging and gripping at the chub exposed by the two-piece.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[honeykaes]

algorithmic

pairing: xiao x afab!reader II 1.8k

disclaimer: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, dark content, yandere content, use of they/them pronouns, cyberpunk:edgerunners au, sci-fi, hacker!xiao, inappropriate use of ai (xiao), nonconsensual use of likeness, masturbation, handjob, blowjob, couch sex, impact play. Creampie, momentary foursome (if you’ve seen the anime, you know what I’m talking about), stalking, invasion of privacy, nonconsensual voyeruism,  rough sex, biting, descriptions of vagina, unedited

synopsis: when you joined the yaksha gang after stealing the sandevistan upgrade, xiao finds himself falling harder and harder for you until he’s completely obsessed. To statiate his obsession, he creates an algorithm to help him experiences situations he can only dream of doing with you.

Wǎnshang City—night lights shining for the very rich at the upper towers reaching for the heavens while the smog and sin consume the poor who couldn’t fathom reaching their hands that high. Xiao had seen glimpses of both in some sense.

He had a comfortable apartment, not at the highest towers but somewhere near but away from the slums he grew up in. As a kid, he was always talented when it came to programming, hacking and netrunning. His new lifestyle was funded by unsavory methods working with a gang known as the Yakshas. Led by Bosacius, they got gigs from an unknown sponsor. It unsettled him but Indarias and Menogias swore it was fine. 

He didn’t feel bad the blood he knew that was on his hands or the blackmail he gathered against Celesti-corp. Xiao knew to keep his head down and do what he was told and he would live a comfortable life for the days he had left unless a gig went wrong—but he didn’t fear death either.

He did fear you though.

There was something about your eyes, and determined face that made Xiao’s heart palpitate tightly in his chest. His cheeks grew flushed as he furrowed his brow.

You had come under the Yakshas’ radar after you managed to steal a military grade Sandevistan implant that Bosacius was supposed to get. Even when the group insisted on stealing it and even killing you for the upgrade, he uncharacteristically chimed up saying you could fill in Pervases old role as a Solo, just helping them run schemes with your Sandevistan implant that made you faster than human comprehension. 

As Bosacius hesitantly agreed, demanding Xiao become your “babysitter”, he could feel that fear begin to shake at him. The fear of how quickly and innocent you had wormed your way into his heart.

Spending time, going on runs, Xiao felt himself falling harder and harder for you but struggling and choking on words on how to go about it. Even as he closes his eyes, he can see your image laughing with him in a simulation he programmed on the moon.

He scoured through any bit of information he could on you: discovering you were a college dropout after getting into a fight with a classmate, living in the slums your whole life, you losing your best friend in a highway accident due to an egotistical executive not paying attention to the road. 

Anything. Pictures, videos, your social media, your address, he knew everything he could about you.

It was like a sickness, a virus that infected his mind; always thinking about that genuine smile and laughs you gift him with. 

God, how much he would love for those lips to wrap themselves around his cock. 

Xiao snapped his eyes open, downing the rest of his drink and placing it in the kitchen skin. He could feel his cock beginning to strain his sweatpants. He leaves the kitchen, cupping his appearing bulge with a soft sigh before finally reaching his bedroom. He closes the door, quickly taking his shirt off—revealing the various tattoos and upgrades he has along his torso. 

He grabbed a hair tie, pulling his hair up in a small ponytail and shivering from the change of temperature on his now revealed neurolink port. His hands grab the waist of his pants, slowly pulling the bunched fabric down along with his boxers. Xiao’s cock springs up, trembling and flushed. 

He crept his hand up, gently clasping on it as a whine emitted from him causing his cheeks to flush harder. He dragged his thumb to his tip, feeling the moisture of his budding pre-cum coat the pad of it. He jerked along his member a few times before letting himself go as he walked over to his nightstand drawer and rummaged, grabbing two things: a bottle of lube, and a masturbator port. 

Throwing the port on the bed, he squeezed lube into his other hand and clasped his throbbing cock once more, pumping it slightly faster and completely coating it in the translucent, thick liquid. Goosebumps began rising in the few places that don’t have upgrades at, the coolness of the lube adding to his sensitivity.

He lets himself go once more, grabbing his VR headset and throwing it on the bed before he joins. As he rests his head on the pillow, he grabs the masturbator port lining it up to his cock and sank down, velvety and gummy walls of the toy clamping down when it sensed he had bottomed out. 

“I’ll see you soon…” he muttered, putting on his VR headset and closing his eyes. As his consciousness finally adjusted to the simulation.

As Xiao opened his eyes, he saw you in front of him—eyes half-lidded guiding your finger along his lower abdomen. He was fully nude already along with you, seemingly on the couches of the yaksha’s headquarters.

You pressed your lips on his chest, leaning back up and flashing a not-so-innocent smile at him.

“Aww, Xiao. You always treat me so well…it’s time I pay the favor back,” you cooed, leaning into his ear. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, anything.”

“Anything. You should be careful with those words, you know. You better not tell anyone else things like that,” he grunted. You pouted, pressing your lips against his tanned nipple, darting your tongue out and letting it swirl around the bud. Your hand drifted up, grabbing tightly on Xiao’s cock, beginning to slowly pump him—he could feel the machine beginning to suck down and milk his cock.

“No one but you Xiao. There is no one but you. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you over and over again, just like this,” you cooed. A moan escaped from Xiao’s lips and his hips bucked, feeling you jerk him tighter. His eyes settle at your chest before reaching his hand out to squeeze tightly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Is this how they really feel…is this what they really look like?” he asked himself, resisting the urge to sigh. His thumbs roll over your nipples before pinching them as you yelp. You stop pumping his cock before slowly falling to your knees, kissing along the base of his cock until you reach the tip. 

“You still seem so tense today Xiao. Relax, let me help you!~” you cooed. You opened your mouth, taking him inside of you. He watched as you gagged, trying to adjust to his length before sucking sharply and kneading the area you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Watching your bobbing your head, Xiao digs his nails into his thigh. When he looks up, he is shocked when he looks up at another, glitchy version of you gazing beside him. 

This version played with your puffy folds before rubbing along your clit, moaning his name repeatedly. His eyes zeroed in at your slick oozing out of you, strings of it connecting to both of your soft thighs. Just as he looked away again, another glitchy version of you appeared legs lifted high showing off the dildo you were pushing inside of yourself—also moaning out his name.

Overwhelmed, Xiao looked down at the first version of you, still sucking his cock as his hips began to buck once more. Shutting his eyes tight and clenching his jaw, Xiao unraveled himself pressing your head down further on his cock as globs of his cum shot into your mouth. You struggled to swallow all of it, taking a few gulps as some managed to slip down your lips and chin, staining the title floor with his shame. 

The glitched versions of you disappear as he left your mouth with a pop. Adjusting your body so your ass was in the air. He pressed his hand down on your head, into the leather of the couch—cock-drunk smile on your lips as he guided his tip along your slit.

He grunted sliding it back and forth, trying to slip in and missed before nudging against your clit. You whined, shaking your hips together as Xiao clicked his tongue in frustration. Xiao’s pace is relentless as he plunges his cock into you. The sound of slapping skin echoed throughout the room, vibrations from his pace rippling through your ass. 

“Xiao! Xiao! Fuck, harder! Even harder, please!!” you beg out, only causing his frustrations bubbling.

“They wouldn’t say it like that!” he growled, feeling them clamp tighter against him. He leans down brushing his canines along their shoulder and roughly bit down, digging his nails to their waist.

“More, more, more, more! I need more. I need all of you. I need it. I need you,” he hissed out. He could tell the copy of you said something back along with the line of ‘I love you’ but it was distorted, causing tears to begin to develop in Xiao’s eyes. His fantasy was crumbling down, this thing he was fucking was merely a cold, fake copy of you.

Xiao’s hips halted, as a grunt escaped himself as his second high of the night overtook him. Thick ropes of cum spurted deeply inside of the copy, before Xiao abruptly slid out and slapped their clit as they whined. The copy hummed while a small river emerged from their hole, dripping out and along their thighs.

“Y’know I still wanted you inside of me—”

“I still have to play with the programming if I want to protect it. Maybe make an algorithm to see how they properly would respond to these situations based on interactions I had with them,” Xiao muttered, ignoring them. “All the errors and the glitching is proof this isn’t ready yet.”

Xiao’s vision went black before he ripped the VR set off of him, revealing his bedroom—alone, with you nowhere near him. Sweat clung onto his forehead, bangs sticking to it as his eyes focused on the masturbator; never truly inside of you as he wished.

“Tck, pathetic,” he grunted. He slid the contraption off, throwing it to the side and grimacing at the cum clinging on his softening cock. Throwing his head back to the pillow and looking at the ceiling, Xiao sighed.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go with just having you with his programming. 

He clicked his tongue, getting up from his bed and moving to his desk determined briefly to recode his pathetic algorithm but his eyes drifted to the spyware he had. Xiao clicked it, revealing your form. You were in minimal clothing, trying to deal with the hot summer’s night without air conditioning lounging in your bed and scrolling on your phone.

A rare soft smile fell on Xiao’s lips, before it darkened, noticing your hands beginning to wander beneath your pants.

It seems he may have the means to upgrade his algorithm with your true responses after all.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Sunshine and Flowers

Logan Howlett x plus size reader

Logan has had a great many loves in his long life and he’s over it. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else yet somehow, the annoying and very much younger art teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, wormed her way into his heart.

Warnings: grumpy and sunshine, jealousy, Logan is a dick but we been knew, reader is kind of oblivious and touch starved, age-gap (reader is mid 20s and Logan is old as shit), Logan POV, bit of a slow burn, reader and Logan are Keely and Roy coded

WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Yo Logan!” The seemingly ever present pounding in the older mutant’s temples suddenly got worse, the band around his forehead tightening as the young woman cheerfully skipped up to him without a care in the world. Her arm looped through his own, tucking herself into his side, like she always did. 

“What d’ya want?” He grumbled. It was easier to just ask her outright than stay silent and her chatter away at him for an hour before she finally got to her point. Y/N beamed up at him, her e/c eyes sparkling. “Wellllll… I was wondering if you wanted to come with me on a little field trip with the kids! I was thinking of bringing them to the MET, you know because art.” She waved her right hand around as if to emphasise her point. 

“No.” Logan said firmly. 

“Aw please! Please Logan! Please! Please! Please!” He could practically feel his blood pressure rising as Y/N pleaded with him, pulling on his arm, acting like a complete child. Dear god, what had he done to deserve this?

With the huge throngs of students constantly being enrolled in the school, Charles had come up with the bright idea to introduce an art program to the children as a way of “expressing their creativity”. But what that actually meant was hiring a new teacher specifically for this class since no adult in the school had even an ounce of artistic talent.

And so six months ago, Y/N Y/L/N, a recent college graduate, strolled into the mansion and never left. Her gift to generate small stars gave her the remarkable ability to light her classroom in any way she wished, allowing her students the perfect lighting to create absolute masterpieces. And like her gift, she herself was a big ball of endless energy that constantly bounced around, latching onto whoever she came across, and more often than not, that person was Logan.

For some inexplicable reason, she gravitated to him, always seeking his approval, trying to get him to engage in activities with their students, among many many other things that made the older man truly resent when the final bell of the school day rang and she would float into his classroom, ranting about something or another. The only way he could get her to stop was by distracting her, usually by shoving her in the general direction of her best friend, Alex Summers.

But Havok was on a road trip with Sean and Peter for the next month, so he had been abandoned. Logan sighed as her grating voice made his sensitive ears ring, and the overpowering smell of her flowery perfume was a downright assault on his senses. “Logan, come on! It’ll be soooooo much fun! I’ll even buy you lunch after!” 

While the temptation of free food was great, Logan knew it wouldn’t be worth spending the entire day with Y/N glued to his side, forcing him to do whatever she wanted. Taking a deep breath, prepared to let her down as gently as he could, given that his patience was hanging on by a thread, he would probably be more rude than he wanted to be, when he paused, really taking in the young woman.

“Is that my shirt?” He drawled, his dark eyes flicking over her plump body. She was wearing one of her typical outfits, white converse splashed with paint, shorts that very well could be called Daisy dukes, they were that short, with little flowers embroidered on them. Her chubby thighs almost entirely on view with one of his favourite red plaids on top of a black tank top instead of her usual blouse, making her sizeable cleavage pop. Y/N looked away bashfully. 

“Yeah, I um found it in the movie room and it looked so warm so I took it and it’s super comfy like seriously how do you get your shirts so soft it’s really weird but they always smell like cigars so I guess that’s the downside. That’s not to say you smell bad! I’m just saying that it’s like your trademark-“

There she went again. “It’s fine kid, just wash it before you give it back.” 

“What about the MET!” She called after him.

“Maybe.” He grumbled and with that he walked away, be-lining for the kitchen where he stashed his Vodka, losing her in the sea of students just getting out of class.

“Now, for today’s class, we’re going to go over some art history!” A collective groan resonated through the room but Y/N’s bright smile never faltered, it actually got bigger as she looked over her small group of students sitting around the art-filled room. “I know, I know but this stuff is important! Art plays such a big role in human evolution. Actually, the argument can be made that our ability to create art is what truly sets us apart from other animal species-“

There was no denying that Miss Y/L/N’s class was a favourite among the young mutants. Her rants not only served to brighten up their day but they also prevented her from giving out any actual work. It especially helped when most of them came from Logan’s class the period before. He was quite well known to be, well there’s no delicate way to put this, a hard ass. 

So when, during this spring afternoon, with just a month left before summer break, Logan strode into the art class, his heavy boots thundering loudly against the hardwood floors, everyone was shocked. Y/N was pacing the room now, well and truly absorbed in her own thoughts, which became an impassioned speech as soon as the words formed in her mind. Logan cleared his throat as he leaned against the door jam, his jaw cleaned tightly when she didn’t answer or look at him.

The collection of children were now starting to get nervous as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s eyes getting steadily darker with anger, the muscle in his lower jaw working over under his mutton chops. They could all see his famous tempter growing and none of them wanted to be on the receiving end. “Um Miss?” A young girl spoke up, trying to break her train of thought. But nope, that couldn’t stop her.

Logan was getting fed up now. How in the hell did these kids even learn anything with the way she was carrying on? “Kid.” He growled, immediately making the entire class freeze, including the young teacher. 

“Oh Logan! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She laughed nervously, pulling on the edge of her sheer pink sleeve. He noted she was wearing a dress today, it was frilly and absolutely drowning in flower print, with translucent sleeves that went all the way down to her wrists.

“Right, Wheels needs us in his office. Now.” He pressed as she opened her mouth to point out she was in the middle of a lecture. Y/N nodded then addressed the class. “All right, students. I guess you’re getting out early today. No homework!” She was quick to jog out of the room before the kids were able to leave their seats, effectively avoiding the clambering mass of them trying to practically sprint out. 

Her smaller hand easily slipped into Logan’s bigger one, intertwining their fingers as her left hand came up to rest on his exposed forearm. He felt the cool of her metal rings against his skin. Unconsciously, he noted that he had never seen her wear any kind of jewellery before. “Did Charles say what he wanted?” Her eyes caught his brown ones, falling into step with the older mutant through the quiet halls. Logan just shrugged, fishing a half used cigar from his breast pocket and sticking the thoroughly chewed end in his mouth, a sharp canine slicing into it.

“Hmm.” She hummed, her gaze shifting down to her feet, trusting Logan to guide them to the headmaster’s office. “Do you think it’s a mission?” 

“He doesn’t send you on missions.” Logan said firmly. 

“Yeah I know but it could be! Stranger things have happened.” 

“Like what?” He humoured her.  

“How about Peter actually scoring a date~” She teased, making the Wolverine’s lip turn up briefly in a smile then dropped again into a frown before she could see. 

“You do have a point.” He conceded. They rounded the last corner and came to a stop outside the solid door of Charles’ office. Logan went to knock, a muffled ‘please come in’ sounded before his permanently bruised knuckles could meet the stained wood.

Charles sat behind his grand desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he looked over a mountain of paperwork that gave Y/N a headache just from looking at it. She pulled her hand from Logan’s and bounced over to one of the two chairs in front of the headmaster, immediately making herself comfortable. 

Clasping her hands on her lap with her back up straight, Y/N focused on the older mutant as he took off his reading glasses and laid them on what looked to be his grade book. Logan himself leaned against the doorjamb, much like he did in the young woman’s classroom, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. 

Charles sighed deeply as he looked at his teachers. “There really is no way to say this delicately so I suppose I’ll just say it: Erik’s come home.” Logan’s entire body seized with an emotion akin to fear.

“Fuck.” He snarled. But Y/N had an entirely different reaction. Her face visibly lit up but not with excitement but instead with the joy of someone who didn’t have to lie anymore. Charles raised an eyebrow at the young woman, prompting her to explain herself.

“He slept in my room last night, there was no other free space.” She said casually as if she hadn’t just dropped the bomb that she spent the night with a dangerous mutant who hadn’t hesitated to kill before. “Don’t worry! I was being safe. He slept on my couch.”

“Like that makes this whole thing any better.” Logan muttered under his breath but only Charles heard him. The telepath gave him a strange but knowing look before turning back to the young art teacher.

Her smile wavered only for a moment before returning with full force. “He was super nice to me! He even picked out my jewellery today.” She flashed her hands towards the headmaster, showing off the various silver rings that adorned her fingers. Logan huffed at her naivety but Charles had an entirely different reaction. He took her hands into his own, delicately tracing the metal with a soft touch.

“Erik did a good job, they look wonderful. But Y/N, I still want you to be wary. Erik can be very volatile and unpredictable and his abilities far outmatch your own. Just be careful.” She gave a firm nod. “Although, I believe you could do him some kind of good to be around someone who finds him tolerable.” Charles gave a not so subtle glance toward the Wolverine who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

An awkward and tense silence fell over the trio. Y/N cleared her throat, tugging on the hem of her dress which lay only an inch above her knees. “Is that all you wanted to tell us?”

“Well, I do need to speak to you about this art trip you have planned. Logan, you’re welcome to stay, you might find this information useful.” 

“Fuck no, I have better things to do with my time.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. She visibly flinched at his words and her smile became so fake it made him ache. Charles’s own expression fell as he sat back in his high-back chair.

“Then if you’ll please excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” He said sternly, quite obviously not pleased with Logan’s rudeness. “Close the door on your way out.” 

As the door swung shut behind him, Logan caught the smallest whimper escaping her lips and the muffled words of his old friend consoling her.

The manor was almost dead silent as Logan emerged from the cave that was his room. There were no sounds of footsteps (save for his own), or screaming or chatter, there wasn’t even the ever present clatter of utensils from the kitchen. 

Curiously, he wandered through the empty halls, occasionally glancing into the empty rooms he passed. Just as his dark brows began to furrow with concern, Ororo turned the corner, nose buried in a book. “Hey Storm.” Her dark eyes met his own.

“Logan?” She replied with a curious head tilt before returning to her book. Logan huffed through his nose.

“Where is everyone?” She gave him a strange look and glanced over her shoulder as if the answer to his question was just behind her. The young mutant snapped her book shut.

“At the MET? You know the big field trip that Y/N organised. I thought you were going with them. She has been talking about it for weeks.”  Logan’s frown deepened. That was today? Storm seemed to pause as she took in his stormy expression. “Oh, I guess you forgot. No wonder she was so upset when they left. I guess it’s a good thing Erik went with her then.”

Just then, noise exploded through the halls once more as dozens of feet stomped on the expensive hardwood. Ororo sighed heavily through her nose, upset at not being able to have a little more quiet to finish off her chapter. But Logan remained frozen in place, his veins filled with icy terror. “Repeat that last part?”

She glanced at him with a devastating side eye. “Evidently, Erik saw how upset she was this morning when you didn’t get on the bus so he decided to go with her to take care of the kids.”  She shrugged and tucked the leather-bound volume under her arm. “She looked like she was going to cry before he stepped up.”

Poison curled in his gut but he quickly stamped it down. Just then, kids and teens stampeded around the corner, hyped up on what Logan guessed to be sugar and excitement. And right smack dab in the middle was Magneto, his head thrown back in laughter, the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders rippling with the movement. His right arm was bent allowing for the soft hand of the younger woman to rest on his forearm. Y/N was smiling shyly at him, not used to the undivided attention he was giving her.

As they passed him, Logan caught her eye. She barely even gave him a glance but he saw the sadness deep within those e/cs and he knew it was because of him. She quickly looked away, drawing her gaze back to the dangerous mutant who was speaking once more, his laughter fading. But Logan couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roaring in his ears. 

He watched them until they disappeared into one of the many living rooms of the manor. “At least he got her smiling again.” He barely registered Ororo’s words before she too left him.

This went on for weeks. It seemed that everywhere he turned, Logan would see the unlikely pair together. Whether that be baking in the middle of the night, reading quietly in the library, working on lesson plans, he even saw them training together! 

He watched them from afar as they grew closer and her pull away from himself until one day he was walking out of his classroom after a long day. “Wait up!” Unconsciously, Logan slowed his pace , a smile crawling upon his face. He expected the familiar weight of her touch against his arm, the smell of her floral perfume and the bright sound of her laughter but when a blur raced by him, his heart dropped.

Y/N flung herself at Erik who was just a few paces in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug too tight to be just friendly. He caught her easily, his arms winding around her thick waist and tugged her closer. 

Logan forced himself to turn away, missing the sad look she cast him, heartbreak clear in her eyes.

The end-of-school party was alive with laughter and music. Lights floated over the small dance floor that had been assembled in the gardens. Professors mingled on the wooden stage, swaying to the smooth acoustic guitar Kurt was strumming. But Logan’s attention was trapped on the centre of the crowd where a small circle of space had been formed and trying as hard as he might, he couldn’t look away. 

Y/N twirled in time with the music, her eyes shut as she let it wash over her. Her skin glowed in the golden sunset, the sweat along her brow sparkled like glitter as she moved. Pale green tulle embroidered with dozens of sunflowers floated around her, her dress fluttering in the light breeze. She was absolutely breath-taking. No weight rested on her shoulders nor anxiety in her face. She was serene, she was like a goddess in human form, dancing and delighting with mere mortals. 

How badly he wanted to stride across the gardens and take her into his arms, to feel her curves beneath his palms as they moved together. Logan shook himself from those thoughts and took another sip of whiskey. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat but that was nothing compared to the burning rage in his stomach as another man approached her.

Erik, dressed in a matching dark green suit, caught her mid-twirl, his left hand holding her hips in place as he captured her left hand in his right. She fell easily into step with him, her once fluid movements becoming a slow waltz. 

Logan was so consumed in his anger that he hadn’t noticed another person walking to his side until they were right next to him.

“Why are you so worked up about this? You’ve made it very clear that you can barely even tolerate her.” Logan’s scowl deepened, his eyes growing even darker with rage as Hank spoke to him. “I mean even I’ve heard about the things you’ve said to her and I barely leave the lab.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Beast.” He didn’t bother to hide the way he was glaring at the pair. Almost as if in slow motion, Erik pressed his lips to her ear, speaking in a whisper so quiet, even Logan’s powerful hearing couldn’t pick it up. She pulled away from him for just a moment and hope bloomed in his chest. But it quickly died as she nodded in response.

Erik took her hand, their fingers intertwining as he led her away. Logan slammed his now empty glass down on the temporary bar behind him and stormed off towards the couple. The music faded away as he ran. 

Her laugh carried on the breeze, the skirt of her dress fluttering behind her. Logan ran faster, now regretting the tight suit pants and button-up he donned for the evening as they got steadily further and further away.

Without thinking, he made a sharp left, launching himself over the perfectly pruned flower beds Charles loved so much and tore through the gardens. Then suddenly, she was within sight. One heeled foot was over the threshold but he still had a chance.

With a final burst of speed he grabbed Y/N’s wrist before she could enter the manor, forcing her to let go of the other man. “Don’t go with him. Please.” 

“Logan, what are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go with him. Y/N, I-“ He swallowed harshly, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly. Y/N looked over her shoulder to the other mutant only to find him gone. “Fuck why can’t I just say it.”

Her body was fully turned to him now. “Say what?”

Taking in a deep breath, he looked into her eyes. “I love you.” The slap came out of nowhere, knocking the breath from his lungs. Y/N’s jaw was dropped in shock as if she didn’t see it coming either even though it was her hand that now burned with the sting of meeting his unshaven cheek.

“Let me go, who-who put you up to this?” She attempted to pull away from his hold but he wouldn’t let her go. 

“Y/N-“ He started but was quickly interrupted when she spoke again, tears spilling down her full cheeks and voice wavering.

“No. You can’t feel that towards me, you barely even like me. You’ve made that very clear over the past couple weeks, no the past year! You brush me off! You make me feel like an idiot! You ignored my blatantly obvious feelings for months and now you say something?!” 

“You feel the same?” He asked in disbelief. 

“Of course I do! That’s why I asked you to go to the MET with me. I was gonna bring you to the American wing where all the native art was because I know you love it so much and then I was going to tell you. But then you were just so awful to me when Erik got here and you forgot about the trip!” Once again, she tried to break his grip but Logan instead tugged her back and right into his broad chest.

With a massive paw, he cupped her soft jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Can you just let me explain?” Her bottom lip popped out in a pout but she didn’t object. “I have lost so much, too much. Every woman I have ever loved has died because I loved them. And you, you are so young and so beautiful and way too kind for your own good. I love you more than anyone else and I guess that scared me. I pushed you away. But I can’t do it anymore, I can’t watch you fall for someone else.” 

“Goddamnit.” She growled before her arms shot out and wrapped around the back of his neck so she could yank his face down to her level, and then she kissed him.

Stars burst around them like little fireworks as he pulled her closer by the small of her back. Her hands travelled from his neck downwards so her fingers could curl into his shirt like she was terrified that this was all just some dream. 

“You do anything even remotely close to that whole fiasco again and I will let Erik do whatever he wants to you.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just kiss me again, sunshine.” And she did.

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Logan Howlette

@springdandelixn

[theturtlelovers]

Hi! May I request, for the sentence prompts, number 5: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” For a female reader with Donnie who are bf and gf, and the reader is saying it to Don?

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Pairing: Donnie/GN!Reader Rating: Everyone Contents: The reader is implied to be female in request but can be interpreted otherwise, Donnie licks icing off of pop tarts Warnings: None Wordcount: 666

Notes: Hehe, getting back to knocking those requests down! It'll be a while before I even consider reopening requests, though.

What you were doing wasn't particularly new. It had become a routine to lovingly annoy your boyfriend until he had no choice but to turn his attention to you. Because miraculously, the moment he did, he would see you fluttering your lashes and sending him a sickeningly sweet smile dripping with feigned innocence. If it were his brothers, Donnie would be ready to scold them to the point they'd regret even being in the same proximity as him. Yet, because of that victory grin you would flash when you got him to look at you, he couldn't bring himself to do so.

And it was very interesting because you'd always find new ways to grab his attention.

One time, you texted him that you needed assistance at your apartment. Being the helpful lover he is, he came over ready to lend a hand, only to find that you had lied and just wanted to have dinner with him. Although annoyed as his mind was already recalling his list of tasks, he realized how hungry he was and how much he yearned for your touch. So, he ate the home-cooked food you made and then stayed even longer for movies. 

Another time was when he hadn't emerged from his lab for nearly an entire week. While you absolutely respected the effort and dedication he put into his work, you missed him, and he seriously needed to take care of himself. So you sat next to him and started reading. Out loud. Very monotonously. And it was the Bible! "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," you began, your voice droning on in a blank tone. "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”

Donnie didn’t register it at first, but then he looked at you in absolute confusion.

"And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light," you continued, not missing a beat.

“What are you doing?” If he had eyebrows, they’d definitely be raised right now. In his confusion, he was trying to fight a smile creeping up.

You looked up from the overly thin pages of the scripture, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “What do you think? I’m reading till you love me again.”

The self-taught scientist rolled his eyes, his annoyed confusion forgotten. “Okay, okay, come here.” Then there was that smile.

This time, you decided to employ the most annoying yet basic tactic to garner his attention: poking him repeatedly. Leo had once again clumsily broken the toaster, and it was out of commission. Donnie wanted to be able to toast his Pop-Tarts before licking the icing off later, so repairing the toaster was an absolute must.

It was hard to do that, though, when you slid in like a worm (he’d still love you as a worm; you’d be beneficial in different ways) and started poking him.

The first few pokes didn’t bother him at first. They were so fleeting and feathery he didn’t really care that you were touching him. They weren’t impeding his work.

But then they got a bit harder. And longer. And it was actually affecting his ability to think since you were choosing to poke random spots.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Donnie took a deep breath and slowly turned to you. You blinked at him blankly. God, he was so lucky was madly in love and your cute face and pretty lips- Donnie’s eyes closed for a moment. He took another deep breath and released it with a small shake of his head.

“Well, you certainly have it now.”

You did your little weird giggle as if you were some sort of gremlin. “Hehe! What’d the toaster do to Leo this time?”

While he recalled Leo’s version of the grand battle he had against the appliance, Donnie couldn’t help grinning when he saw the same smile you always have. Victory once again.

Tagging: @mrghostings, @whygz, @supershiny-raven Interested in getting tagged? Come check it out!

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[wellen-katze]

Masterpost for all my BG3 fanart

You are probably here for it so here is a list of all the Baldur's Gate 3 Fanart I did so far, please enjoy! whew, that was a lot of work

Comics:(last update 19/04/24)

The circle of degradation - bg3 comic astarion, cazador

Weeping of a bhaalspawn - bg3 comic original Dark Urge Tav

astarion dialogue spoilers

Compassion - bg3 durgeTav, Astarion comic

A fun show - bg3 Astarion comic

Why not - bg3 Astarion, Tav comic

Lae'zel, Voss comicstrip

Needle and thread - bg3 comic Astarion, Halsin [TW SA themed]

the funniest pictures are created(...) - bg3 Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel

Moon and stars - bg3 Astarion comic

Farewell of a wizard - bg3 Rolan (Gale) comic

Don't you fret - bg3 comic A.Astarion/dark urge

Hope is for the living - bg3 astarion comic (remake)

Words to care - bg3 comic, Astarion

Lae'zel the artist(?) - Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach

Filth - bg3 comic, a.astarion, dark urge

Pondering and caring - bg3 comic, astarion

Love of my life -bg3 comic, astarion

Ascended Minds - bg3 comic, Dark Urge x A.Astarion

How it might have started Tav, Jaheira, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale

Pondering and hatching - bg3 comic Lae'zel , Karlach, Astarion

It's raining - bg3 comic, Gale, Astarion

Far away - Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart

Halsin and ducks

Calamari - BG3 comic, Astarion, Gale

Temptation - BG3 comic, Astarion, Tav 'Yaris'(by Iruka/Sabu)

Bookclub part 3 - Astarion, Gale, Volo

Yellow flower - A.Astarion

Arrow - Astarion, Durge Tav ,Gale Karlach

The past of a magistrate - astarion, durge, wyll, shadowheart, karlach, gale

Taters! -bg3 Karlach PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Bookclub-time with Gale,&Astarion

The golden hour - bg3 Cazador, Astarion comic

I love you - , astarion,tav

A faint whiff - astarion,tav [tw trauma]

bg3 doodle comic about stupid Tav things2

bg3 doodle comic about stupid Tav things

Family runs through the magic - bg3 rolan,cal,lia comic

Death, life and fun -Astarion, Arabella, Withers, Gale PART1 , PART2 , PART3

Cold skin, colder heart - astarion bg3 doodle comic

The office meme, Astarion, Tav

Not the religious type - bg3 astarion comic

The meaning of Gale of Waterdeep, Tara, Gale

Curse of a vampyr - bg3 a.astarion, tav comic

AstarionxDragonborn Dark Urge lap scene

Path down to the heart - BG3 Dark Urge, Astarion comic [TW blood, violence]

The freedom to love - Astarion,durgeTav bg3 comic

No one is allowed to eat from Tav's buffet lol - bg3 shortcomic

Circular scars - Cazador, Vellioth BG3 comic [TW violence, blood]

Nibbles - bg3 comic [Shadowheart origin spoiler]

The library of a million realms - bg3, Astarion comic [TW trauma]

The fortuneteller - Astarion, Tav

The worst podcast - bg3 comic [epilogue spoilers]

God Gale as a motivational coach and his guest Astarion

POV you are having a very romantic date with Astarion lol - bg3 comic

Durge, Astarion and a bhaalist worshipper, bg3 shortcomic

Dark Urge&A.Astarion PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4, PART 5

Gale's burden - bg3 shortcomic

Bloodtalk -Astarion, Dark Urge,

Gale, Tara and Catstarion

The box - Astarion,Tav bg3 Comic [TW Trauma]

Astarion&Shadowheart, scars, river and talk

Gale and Astarion's Bookclub

Lae'zel is not smiling, you are smiling! -Karlach, Lae'zel, Tav

Bg3 Clown comic - Tav, Astarion, Shadowheart

Gale meets the kids - Gale, Tav, Shadowheart, Astarion

Astarion and the Gur scribble

Gale and his children

Astarion short comic [TW sa themed]

A short Shadowheart comic

Old Astarion comic - Cazador, Astarion

Ravishing Mirror - S.AstarionxA.Astarion R18! (Patreon shop)

Other:(last update 19/04/24)

kisses and hugs for gnome tav, Karlach, Astarion doodle

Shadowheart, nocturne FA

Astarion confession scene, break-up FA

Astarion face doodles

Astarion with child doodle

minthara doodle

A moment of disgust, Astarion FA

7000 pieces, Astarion FA

Gale doodle

Astarion FA

Tav Meme

Midnight chimes, eh? Astarion FA

Astarion Fa

Astarion Fa

Gale would still marry you, if you were a worm

Gale and Tara weee

Catstarion has nine lives

Very serious first 1000 words

let me know if there are any mistakes

[cheesycatz]

The Apple's Worm

(Spamton AU reference sheet) 1 2

Text ver and close ups below

- The last living member of the BIGSHOT computer worm species, this version of Spamton hides within the depths of Cyber City and its Trash Zone, skittish yet aggressive. He spitefully waits for the opportunity to restore his parasitoid species to its formal glory.

- He primarily walks on all twelves. He moves in short bursts, and can stay perfectly still. His body is rarely completely straight.

- He's 16 ft (~490 cm) long from nose to tail

- Spamton acts animalistic and unpredictable, as he grew up alone from both regular darkners and his own species. He feels uncomfortable about his own natural instincts.

- He bristles his fur and makes a rattlesnake-like hiss as a threat, and will attack if provoked.

- Spamton enjoys and feels much safer on ceilings, on walls, and in darkness.

- Despite living in the Trash Zone, Spamton still keeps himself clean, rubbing his legs together and rubbing his nose like a fly.

- As an invertebrate with no bones, Spamton's body is incredibly flexible.

- Still not beating the cat allegations

- Spamton is an opportunistic hunter who enjoys Cyber City's abundance of maice. He uses his extendable proboscis to impale prey and drink their souls.

-----

Wormton's design hasn't changed that much, as I mostly added onto existing lore with very few retcons. Though, I think I lean more into the insectoid elements nowadays. The longer segmented nose, compound eyes, and thinner limbs he has now definitely make him less like to be mistaken for a weird sergal. He's meant to look alien, but in a "weird animal from some far branching ancient linage that somehow survived several mass extinction events and has no other close relatives" way rather than an extraterrestrial way. His biology occasionally mimics the mammalian ideas we're used to, but they're always off. He has fur, but it's part of an exoskeleton. He has lungs, but they're 24 or so tiny pockets rather than two. He has eyelids, but they're actually nictitating membranes. He has a heart, but it's a set of five arches with no pulse. He has teeth, but they're detached parts of his mandibles that can move freely. And, uh, so on. God I love fictional biology

Despite being the size of an adult crocodile, Wormton acts more like a tiny spider. His twitchy movements and short bursts of movement are based on how bugs move, but they also fit the "Spamton" side of him. His behaviors are inspired by a variety of animals, but I'd say that spiders, wasps, and cats are the main ones. Additionally, a lot of his behaviors are based on the invasive species aspect of his design. These things are not at the top of the food chain. Their average life expectancy barely crosses 6 months. They'd rather hide than fight. Yet, they somehow become the most dangerous thing alive the moment they're brought to the surface web, spreading faster than lice in an elementary school. But, no matter how much of an advantage they have, they still hide and don't trust anything but themselves. God I love fictional ecology

Overall, I could talk for way too long about Wormton and malworms (his species). The only thing holding me back from massive info dumps is the fact that I want to actually finish the Wormton fic in a reasonable amount of time, whatever that ends up being. I fear I am quickly passing my estimated final length of 150k words and I might have 30% or more still left to write

[kindagayfish]

General (Stampede) Wolfwood x reader headcanons cause he makes my brain go brrrr

Also, reader is gn and there is some nsfw below the cut!

You’re in the car when Meryl hits him, and the first one to his side to see if he’s still breathing. When he looks up at you and sees the sun haloing your face, he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven

Nickname’s you “angel” for the day

“And that just leaves the last one for me and the angel.” The dark-haired man flashes you a grin, nodding towards the fourth chamber inside the giant worm.

“Wait, hang on, why do I have to go with you?” You stammer out, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You guys don’t trust me right? Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep an eye on me then?”

“Would be better if I went instead,” Roberto cuts in, eyeing the man.

“Sorry old man, you’re not really my type.” He waves Roberto off before heading towards the opening of the chamber. “Now we don’t have any time to waste standing around.”

“Y/n” Roberto tosses you his gun. “Shoot’em in the knees if he tries anything.”

“Yes sir”

You’re surprised when he’s the one who pulls you from the giant worm’s guts. And after thanking him, he gives you his name.

Falling asleep on Wolfwood’s shoulder in the car is just a habit that wordlessly happens after he joins the group. At first you would just lean your head back and try to stay upright while squished between Vash and Wolfwood. However, this will lead to your head bobbing a lot and not actually being able to fully fall asleep so after watching it happen for the tenth time, Wolfwood just guides your head down gently onto his shoulder. Vash would definitely raise an eyebrow at him but Wolfwood would ignore it with the deepest blush on his face.

When you ask him to do something for you the first time, he’ll ask for a kiss as a reward.

If the request flusters you, he’ll laugh saying he’ll put it on your tab and wink. If you take him up on the request, he’ll completely lose his composure and be stuttering out nonsense (honestly didn’t think you’d actually do it).

Keeps his white shirt unbuttoned even more than normal after catching you staring one day (I MEAN HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S TITS?????)

Will sometimes just hand you his cross just to see you struggle with holding it up. Thinks it’s hilarious and always waits until you beg for his help.

WILL MANHANDLE YOU JUST LIKE HIS GUN THIS MAN LOVES HOW STRONG HE IS AND WILL SHOW OFF EVERY CHANCE HE GETS

While running from danger Wolfwood will legit throw you over his shoulder and carry his weapon under his other arm

If you are getting shot at though, he will use his god-given strength to throw you out of the way. You might still get hurt, but better to be alive with a broken arm than be dead full of bullet holes.

I think every time he uses one of his vials, it also heals the damage in his lungs from that nasty smoking addiction and that’s why he can still sprint at full speed without wheezing

Will finally have his Oh shit I’m in love with them moment after you get hurt for the first time (I have a fic im writing for the confession and it’s so good omg) but keeps it to himself because he isn’t sure you feel the same. Probably thinks you wouldn’t ever want to be with a man who calls himself an undertaker.

Even before his big realization, Wolfwood was very protective of you. If you got into a disagreement at a bar, he knew you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from hovering behind you with a deadly aura, his eyes threatening any man who dare approach you.

A nsfw treat >:)

I honestly believe this man is the definition of a switch

Like I feel like he himself would be such a brat, but also could dish it out to a brat partner???

SUCH A TEASE

Praise and body worship!!!!!!!! Literally your body is a temple to him

I feel like he would have some silly and serious moments with you. Like this man makes LOVE to you, but also just loves to tease and fluster you and loves when you get shy/embarrassed.

But Wolfwood is also so easy to fluster too so it’s just a battle of who can shut the other person up first

He’s got some hot breathy moans (lord have mercy)

Wolfwood will say a prayer before going down on you

He’ll have you naked, situated on the bed so that your legs hang off the edge while he’s knelt in front of you on the floor

“Oh heavenly father, I have come to thank you-”

“Nicholassss what are you doing?” You laugh as you prop yourself up on one elbow to give him a look.

“Uh, thanking the lord for this meal? You’re ruining it. Now I have to start over.”

He’ll trail kisses up your leg and thighs while finishing his prayer, before finally bringing his eager lips to where you need them the most.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

A small brain worm I threw at @henderdads and now I can't get it out of my head...also guys, this is about the musical. Only the musical. Please. Don't come at me and attempt to burn me at stake for heresy. Double please.

Musical singers Steve and Eddie.

They are both very talented, well known, have an amazing stage presence. They never starred anywhere together, but people would love to see them because their voices are exact opposites, Steve's clear and perfected, Eddie's more raw and full of emotion. They don't know each other, but know OF each other.

Steve thinks Eddie should have been a rocker and not a musical singer. He always sticks out of his roles a bit, bringing a lot of himself into his roles. He's also rumored to have an inconsistent work morale.

Eddie thinks Steve is a pompous ass. He had the perfect education, connections, his voice is flawless while Eddie has a bit of a rasp. He's Mr. Perfect and Eddie hates it.

Eventually, they get cast in a production together...of Jesus Christ Superstar, Steve as Jesus and Eddie as Judas. They greet each other cautiously, start rehearsing...and magic happens.

Because Steve, the Grease posterboy, can portray so much pain and loneliness it takes Eddie's breath away. The way two single tears roll from his eyes when he asks God why he should die is...it stirrs something in Eddie. He believes Steve.

Eddie makes Steve speechless when he sings about how everything they've worked for has become sour, how he's torn between his loyalty to Jesus and drive to take action, do something to feel like he's fixing the injustices of the world. Eddie's dark eyes show so much hurt and internal turmoil that Steve wants to hold him.

And the final number, Superstar. It is a show number, it can be taken more lightly, but Eddie manages to convey his regret, his lingering questions, and Steve reaches for him with bloodied fingers, mouthing "help me", knowing all too well Eddie can't.

The crowd goes nuts. There are flowers everywhere, cheering, yelling, and Steve and Eddie finally agree on something - none of their premieres have felt like this.

The second the curtain drops, Eddie turns to Steve. "Uh. Could you maybe get changed?" When Steve stares at him, Eddie turns a beautiful shade of pink visible even through the stage makeup and clarifies. "Look, it's not like I'm really religious, but I really, really want to kiss you now. And it would feel really weird with...that."

Steve snickers and adjusts his prop thorn crown. "You're a wise man, Eddie Munson. The fake blood tastes awful. Meet you outside in fifteen?"

After the first kiss, a fun dinner and a very exciting night, Eddie asks Steve: "so, you think they'd cast me in Grease with you?"

His boyfriend snickers and kisses his cheek. "I sure hope so, you'd look great in a blonde wig."

And yes, it might earn Steve a hit with a pillow, but Eddie always sings along to Summer Lovin' with him whenever they cook together and that's all that matters.

[astarionconsort]

Ascendant Astarion was driven by fear, but can you really blame him?

Okay so I just read the newest interview that mentioned Astarion reasoning behind his ascension was driven by fear and I thought it made sense?

Tho I don't believe that fear was the only force behind the reason of his decision to ascend, there's a longing to be alive again to enjoy everything that the world has to offer, the need for certainty and also to protect his loved ones (when he has a love interest)

But let's talk about this fear part, there are people (even the companions) who expected that 'he should have known better' or 'shouldnt even think about ascension' and sees this fear in the recent interview as something that is so horrid but here's the thing.

"You are right to be afraid." I mean DUH obviously it makes sense. Astarion lives in a very dangerous world where countless undead risen from their graves thanks to necromancer toying with life and death, there are bandits everywhere, monsters, evil gods who never failed to make life even more miserable than ever and even the supposedly good aligned god can be so awful at times, etc etc.

The party that he traveled with and himself were infected with worms that would eat their brain and transformed them into a living husk, the absolute cult and the dead three were on their tail, angry devils, Cazador wanted him back and not to mention the Githyanki and their lich queen wanted them dead as well for what happened with the prism

Even during act 3 where they were supposedly close to victory. The victory was not set in stone yet, nothing is certain and something could have gone wrong. They could have died or even worse!

Not to mention he's a man who was tormented for 200 hundred years. He was stripped of everything that he had and even his own reflection, reduced to catched rats to sustain himself.

Can you really blame him for wanting to seek a way out from Cazador's torment, the hunger for blood and the indignity that he suffered for so long?

Also it would be harder to convince him to not ascend if Tav or Durge romanced him. Because now he's not just afraid for his own safety and his future but also his lover. The only person whom he ever love and genuinely love him back in 200 years (also not ending up as a victim for Cazador)

Most people would have killed him when they found that he's a vampire and infected with an Illithid parasite. Most people would have abandoned him

Tav/Durge was the only light in his life after years of living in darkness and torment, you can't really blame him for wanting to keep this light from being snuffed out by untimely death

And if that means sacrificed 7000 souls that he already damned anyway (undead like vampire wouldn't be accepted by good aligned gods in the after life, not sure about evil gods but most deities most won't accept them) so be it

I don't see this fear behind his decision as something that is objectively awful? I mean it is a natural respond anyone would have if they were in his shoes

Then you might ask "If Astarion loves Tav or Durge that much why he insisted on turning them into a vampire? And break up if they refused?"

Because he was overwhelmed by his beating heart/ his renewed sense, the high from his power and he's also insecure. At that point in act 3 he expected Tav and Durge to stand by his side no matter what

Because they were the only person who didn't kill the parasite infested vampire spawn at the beach, who loves him anyway despite the face he was a man with nothing to his name, who were willing to sacrifice 7000 souls and killed the Gur for him!

Ascended Astarion didn't want THAT special person to be taken by early death or a fate worse than death

He needed the reassurance that his love would be safe and no gods nor fate will take them away

If they refused to be an immortal vampire then they were as good as sealed their fate to death. Astarion didn't want to face that heartbreak

The thing that I don't agree with the interview is that the interpretation that ascension sent him to a horrible place? It was kinda vague? Like worse place when? During or after the ascension? Because this cannot apply after the ascension since I have taken so many screenshot and recording of ascendant astarion and I didn't see him feeling miserable about his fate. He was happy that the hunger gone and he could see his reflection again

Post final battle? The epilogue? After the epilogue party? This cannot be applied to all people, all route, all Tav/Durge and Astarion in general because there's variations. I mean you might see ascended Astarion as a bit lonely because he doesn't end up with anyone but in my Tav's universe he has a consort who stay by his side and their relationship is still going strong because my Tav is aligned with him

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

@putuponpercy's (and previously, @togetherness23's poll) post on the matter of James and "would you still love me if i was a worm"ing has been rattling around in my brain for a few days.

so i wrote 1.7k words about it. It was supposed to be silly but got a little sad/tender at the end. (heavily drawing on my hc that James suffers insomnia and sometimes its bc of night terrors)

--- --- ---

It starts far too late at night – or really, too early in the morning. Thomas is roused from his sleep at a whispering of his name. Not a subtle whispering, though, not one that actually respects the fact that he was asleep, but a stage whisper, fully intending to wake him up.

“Thomas.”

James and his bloody insomnia, Thomas grumbles, blinking blearily awake, squinting in the gloom of the shed at his fellow engine – a dark red shape just on the edge of his vision.

“Thomas, are you asleep?”

“I’d love to be,” he replies, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Never mind that,” James says, and his voice is hushed, but not really hushed enough, and Thomas winces at how his sharper consonants cut through the quiet. “I have an important question.”

“Have you slept yet?”

“Sure,” says James, and he sounds like the answer to that question is barely. “Look, Thomas, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Thomas blinks once, twice, before he squints harder in James’ direction, trying to see the engine’s expression. If James is fucking with him right now, he doesn’t appreciate it.

“Did you really wake me up at…” Thomas looks up now, there’s a clock hanging inside the sheds for moments like this, “god, 3am, to ask me that? James.”

“Thomas,” James says back, and he matches Thomas’ flat tone, but there’s a hint of something alarmingly sincere simmering under it that Thomas would really love not to think about at 3 in the bloody morning. “I’m serious!”

“No,” Thomas says. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh,” James says, and – Thomas purses his lips as his eyes have adjusted enough to see James’s face in the moonlight that cuts through the high windows of Tidmouth Sheds – the idiot actually looks relieved. “I thought you were saying you wouldn’t love me.”

“James, are you-?” Thomas tries to keep his voice from raising, but he can’t help it. His indignation ends up waking Percy beside him, who must be well-attuned to the sound over all these years. “You’re an idiot.”

“What’s he done now?” Percy asks, still half asleep.

“He’s woken me up to ask me a stupid question,” Thomas says. “And now you!”

“What’s the question?” Percy stops to yawn too, but he seems very unwilling to open his eyes properly so he can hopefully drop right back off to sleep.

“Would,” James cuts in, a little louder so Percy can hear clearly, though Thomas reckons he’s just outright trying to wake the whole sheds now, “you still love me if I was a worm, Percy?”

Thomas watches Percy’s expression now – mostly because it makes him snort. Percy blinks a couple of times as well, comprehending, before he glances at Thomas, deeply confused.

“What?” he asks, and he looks more awake now. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it!” James says. “Would you?”

Percy scrunches up his face. “I mean,” he says “I don’t really like worms. And they’re so small, I’d lose you, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“So… no?”

“Can we keep the chatter down?”

“Great,” Thomas mutters. “Now you’ve woken Henry.”

“Henry,” James says. “Maybe you can answer. Would you sti-?”

“James, I’m begging you to go back to sleep,” Thomas says. “We all have trains to pull in the morning.”

And another voice joins in. “That we do,” comes Edward, sleepily. “What’s all this about?”

James shoots Thomas something that could be a glare. It’s hard to make out in the dark. Thomas shoots him one back.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” he asks. “Either of you?”

“…What?”

He’s even stumped Edward.

Henry sighs sleepily. “Worms are valuable little creatures,” he says.

“So is that a yes?”

Henry purses his lips, the closest equivalent to a shrug he can get. “Sure,” he says.

“Sure?” James echoes, and his voice raises again, he sounds a little outraged, and Thomas lets the aggravation write itself across his face. He knew he should have stayed at the Ffarquhar sheds tonight. Toby would never do this to him. “Henry, you can’t just sure me.”

“Ask me when it’s not the middle of the night,” Henry says.

There’s a lull in the conversation, where James falls into one of his stewing silences, and Thomas glances back down the sheds to see Henry yawn and settle back down, Percy’s eyelids flutter back closed.

Then, “Why ask, James?” Edward asks, and Thomas glowers.

“It’s-!” James flushes a little. “It’s… I overheard someone asking it once, and it- it’s a hypothetical. A test.”

And then, what Thomas has been dreading.

“What are you yammering on about?” Gordon asks. He sounds dry and bleary, so freshly woken up he isn’t controlling his volume, and his voice booms in the quiet of the sheds. “A test of what?”

“Of friendship!” James insists.

Gordon blinks at James too, before he frowns.

“What was the test?” he asks.

Thomas sighs loudly.

James sighs too, before he asks his question. “No one else has given a real answer yet. Would you still love me if I was a worm, Gordon?”

Gordon… closes his eyes, holds his breath. He looks like he may be counting to ten.

Thomas can’t help but snort.

Gordon’s silent for a good long moment, and Thomas glances at Percy, who’s now more awake, too, and they can’t help but shoot each other a little grin.

“That implies,” Gordon says slowly, “that I’d love you now.”

Thomas can’t help the guffaw that leaves him, even as James goes quiet for a good long moment.

Then, “…you don’t?”

“Not at 3 in the bloody morning,” Gordon mutters grumpily, pointedly closing his eyes, though he does open one for a moment to glance at James beside him. “I don’t think I like anything at 3 in the morning.”

“He has a point,” Thomas agrees, even as James goes from staring abashed at Gordon to  Thomas, and he actually looks a little wounded. “What?”

James pouts, though his bottom lip does genuinely wobble a little.

Thomas frowns at him. “…Are you alright?”

“Fine,” James says in a voice that’s a little too thick. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“…We would, James,” Edward calls. “Just for the record.”

“Of course you’d say that, of all engines,” James shoots back, and he closes his eyes a little too tight to be causal or gentle enough for sleep, and Edward huffs from his berth at the opposite end of the sheds. “Look, just…”

“We didn’t mean to actually upset you,” Percy says softly. “If it’s that important to you, then yes, James.”

“…Do you want to be a worm?” Gordon asks after a moment, and he’s shooting James a most curious look, which only makes James flush again, and harder. “It’s a most peculiar thing.”

“No!” James says. “The worm is a metaphor.”

“Don’t call me a metaphor,” Percy mumbles, which makes Thomas snort and shoot Percy a dry look.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Fine by me,” Percy replies, and he yawns wide before he closes his eyes. Henry’s already snoring.

Edward sighs also, but Thomas sees him resigning himself to trying to get back to sleep.

Gordon is still looking at James like he’s really thrown a spanner in the works here, and James refuses to meet Gordon’s eyes, though he does shoot Thomas a look.

“Look, it’s a yes-or-no question,” he says. He sounds remarkably fragile. Then, he pouts, and glances at Thomas, then Gordon. ‘If you can’t bring yourself to admit how you love me, then that’s fine too.”

Thomas can’t help his laughter. Gordon snorts too, shooting Thomas a dry look of his own, before closing his eyes.

“That’s enough nonsense for one night, little James,” he says. “Some of us have important work to do tomorrow, I imagine yourself included. Do try and actually sleep?”

James’ lip curls a little, but he doesn’t bite back.

In fact, he goes silent until the sounds of even breathing and gentle (and not so gentle) snoring fills the air once more.

And Thomas squints back up at the clock. He has shunting he’s expected to do in just almost 2 hours, now, but…

“Why does it matter, James?” he asks again. He knows James isn’t asleep yet.

“It’s not about the worm,” James says, so very softly. “It’s about the love.”

Thomas blinks twice, before scrunching up his face a little.

“I don’t follow.”

“Would you love me if I was a worm,” James repeats. He hesitates before he continues. “…Would you love me if I was suddenly tiny and… incapable, if I was worthless.”

He then sighs, clearly trying to breeze past what he’s just said, even as Thomas’ eyes widen, and he shoots James a far gentler look.

“Look, it’s silly,” he says. “Just-“

“Yes,” Thomas says softly. “Even if you were suddenly different. Or even useless, I’d still love you. I promise.”

James’ breathing hitches. He sounds remarkably genuine.

Thomas has a thought, and he frowns.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, James.”

James is the one to snort now, and he sounds tired.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I overheard a couple of children say it to each other on the platform a week ago, and it’s rattling around in my smokebox since. Isn’t that stupid?”

“Eh,” says Thomas. “Maybe. Not really. Humans are weird like that anyway.”

That does make James laugh, thankfully.

They fall quiet again, before James pipes up again.

“Thomas?”

“Yes, James?”

“Thanks.”

Thomas eyes James. He does have to admit it: James looks like he needed it.

“Of course,�� he says, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, worm. Love you.”

“Lo- Thomas, don’t call me that. Thomas. Thomas.”

Thomas ignores him, pointedly closing his eyes and yawning before settling down, even as James tries to get his attention again, hushed and a little frantic. He only peters out when it’s clear Thomas has stopped responding, and Thomas really has to hold back another laugh as James lets out the most forlorn sigh he’s heard in a long time.

James settles back down to sleep, now, too, but not before one last thing.

“Love you too,” he murmurs. “Goodnight.”

Despite himself, even as sleep drags him back down into its inviting depths again, it makes Thomas smile.

[unicyclehippo]

touch

‘you know i’m like this all the way down, don’t you? it isn’t - it isn’t an act, i do laugh it off sometimes dear, it can be terribly funny but. i am like this. forever. and it’s—could you—do you think you might be able to withstand that for a long time? i should like to be with you for a long time but it would depend on - on when you get exhausted, you see, because i must live with this or - ha - not live with, i suppose, but survive, contend, with this for however long i shall live but you, well.’ laudna’s twists her face into graceful acceptance. soft, understanding, hardly sad at all. it’s very easy to do, once you have the trick of it. ‘you needn’t. deal with this. the bark and the hair and the nails. the popping joints. the ichor, the aches, the smell, the stares, the rot.’ the word drops between them, gross, embarrassing, like she’d spat by accident. her teeth are hatesharp in her mouth. ‘the teeth,’ she adds.

imogen looks up from the book she studies with such careful, wonderful intent. so smart. she quirks a brow, amused. ‘i know what you are, laud. you forget we’ve been travellin’ together awhile now?’

‘no, no.’ her stomach twists, her hands twist, knot, roots. so is she, rooted in place. ‘i know, dear, i only mean to remind you—should you need a moment to yourself, or, or should something in particular sicken you—‘

‘laudna.’

she sinks low. imogen isn’t listening. of course not. she is kind. she lo-hmm. yes, well, laudna can surmise imogen likely loves her. which is, well, lovely! but they haven’t been in love for very long and laudna has never done it before, romance, love, but she knows herself. how she clings to things. she knows herself. love to her is like…tar. sticky and black, bubbling and pouring up and up around their ankles their calves their knees her beautiful knees. if imogen doesn’t know that now then gods help her, what if she drowns her—them—in it? and she would, imogen would stay with her she would be pleased by it, even, because she loves her, but there is something wrong with it. impossible to know if it has always been this or if it’s all the death and the accessories she’s obtained through it—lady d, trauma, blah blah blah—but she thinks she has a capacity for love like a pyre, grease-fire and rising choking smoke; like a hungry dog, snapbite shut around the hand outstretched. and she knows what she wants for imogen, the kind of love she deserves, and how far it is from what she has to offer.

‘what are you afraid of, honey?’

laudna nibbles at her bottom lip. she takes up the bone she has been carving and turns it between her fingers, not wanting to see the moment imogen sees her, maskless, exposed.

‘i want to hold you until we both die,’ laudna says, sad and sweet. ‘i want to lay down in a grave with you side by side and i shall never move again and every worm that comes to eat us up will be little versions of us, because they’ve fed on us, and they will be in love and they’ll feed all the farms and chickens and we’ll be a thousand souls in love. i want to open up your scars and see what is under your skin, what your magic does under there. i want,’ she says, and folds her elbows close to her rotten chest, folds herself small, words small, so not a page stirs, not another soul could be stirred by what she admits. ‘i want to taste it. i want to grow into a tree and grow around you like armour like a second skin so you are always safe and maybe grow taproots, grow into you. through you. i want you as part of me forever. i want to touch you, i want to always be touching you, i want you to never be able to move without feeling me beside you, i want you to crack me open and see how vile it is inside of me and plunge in neck deep and when you struggle to get out, i want to hold on.’ she pauses. ‘i want to dislocate my jaw.’

imogen sits very still. her eyes very dark. she lets out a slow breath, pink tongue flicking out to wet her lips. ‘what-‘ she clears her throat. ‘what does that last one have to do with me?’

‘it doesn’t really. but. i’ll always be quite horrible to be around and i want you to be with me anyway.’

[marichive]

𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Cersei Lannister in A Feast for Crows & A Dance with Dragons , the fourth and fifth books of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ This must be answered fiercely! ❞

❝ She should be on her knees, begging for my help. ❞

❝ The ironmen live their whole lives at sea. ❞

❝ What has emboldened them? ❞

❝ Carrion crows make their feasts upon the carcasses of the dead and dying. They do not descend upon hale and healthy animals. ❞

❝ Reavers do not come in such strength. ❞

❝ She is making excuses for her brother. ❞

❝ The enemy of my enemy is my friend. ❞

❝ If he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you. ❞

❝ He is as insolent as his sister. ❞

❝ Sad to say, all of us must deal with scum from time to time. ❞

❝ At least he has the sense to beg. ❞

❝ The castle will be yours within a fortnight if I have to tear it down with my bare hands. ❞

❝ Your courage takes my breath away. ❞

❝ You have a gallant brother. ❞

❝ Young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. ❞

❝ This plan of his is fraught with peril. ❞

❝ Why would you laugh? ❞

❝ Why? Elsewise I might weep. ❞

❝ That one has outlived any usefulness he ever had. ❞

❝ I had another sort of champion in mind. ❞

❝ What he lacks in gallantry he will give you tenfold in devotion. ❞

❝ So you say. Words are wind. ❞

❝ Might I ask about the armor? ❞

❝ Play me for a fool, and you’ll die screaming. ❞

❝ These walls have ears. ❞

❝ What hour is it? ❞

❝ Little sneaks, the lot of them. ❞

❝ Vapid, weepy creatures, always telling their tales and trying to worm their way between us. ❞

❝ An empty bed is a cold bed. ❞

❝ Let him weep in hell. ❞

❝ I was concerned when I woke and found you gone. ❞

❝ He does not have it in him to defy the Iron Throne. ❞

❝ She has made many friends about the court. ❞

❝ A few suitors does not concern me. ❞

❝ She repaid my kindness with betrayal. ❞

❝ I would be very sad if you ever betrayed my trust. ❞

❝ I will never give you cause to weep. ❞

❝ I want only to be close to you. To serve you, however you require. ❞

❝ And for this service, what reward will you require? ❞

❝ It pleases me to please you. ❞

❝ You hurt me. ❞

❝ It was the wine. I drank too much wine. ❞

❝ Our marriage was a melee. ❞

❝ You have a strange look in your eyes. Are you unwell? ❞

❝ I was just . . . remembering. ❞

❝ Has she lost her wits? ❞

❝ She’s . . . she’s not in a good way, if you take my meaning. ❞

❝ No, stay. One of us should get some rest, at least. ❞

❝ Gods be good, what has happened to your face? ❞

❝ Drink this. The wine will calm you. ❞

❝ Stop that weeping and tell me why you’re here. ❞

❝ Am I the only one here with a pinch of wits? ❞

❝ Your cretin of a husband wrote his own death warrant. ❞

❝ A splendid plan. Dare I ask how it went awry? ❞

❝ Sellswords have no pity. ❞

❝ An arrow gone astray, a fall from a horse, an angry boar . . . there are so many ways a man can die in the woods. ❞

❝ Where am I to go? What will I do? ❞

❝ You are weary and sick of heart, that’s plain to see. ❞

❝ I cannot have her spreading tales about the city. ❞

❝ Her grief has made her witless. ❞

❝ I am surrounded by enemies and imbeciles. ❞

❝ Why does he insist on vexing me? ❞

❝ Grin all you wish, you’ll be screaming soon enough. ❞

❝ When the time comes, I shall swat you as if you were a fly. ❞

❝ Too much wine and too little sleep. ❞

❝ Does that feel good? ❞

❝ I am the queen. I mean to claim my rights. ❞

❝ Do as you will with me. I’m yours. ❞

❝ You claimed your rights, but in the darkness I would eat your heirs. ❞

❝ She sounds as if she is being gored. ❞

❝ My sweet, how shall I pleasure you? ❞

❝ Tell me what you would have of me, my love. ❞

❝ His wounds are grievous. ❞

❝ Tell me. I want to know all of it, from the beginning to the end. ❞

❝ I do not want her to hear these tidings from a stranger. I will tell her myself. ❞

❝ How did he die? ❞

❝ I would spare you the worst of it. ❞

❝ Dying is not dead. ❞

❝ I know what you want. Get out. ❞

❝ Now you know how I felt, the night he died. ❞

❝ Let me be avenged at long last. ❞

❝ I see you are as lovely as the tales. Even beyond the Narrow Sea we have heard of your great beauty. ❞

❝ It is my hope I can at least offer you some balm for your pain. ❞

❝ I bring you justice. ❞

❝ It was a proud name once, before he dishonored it. ❞

❝ I suppose it was too much to hope for. ❞

❝ I ought to have him strangled. ❞

❝ It saddens me to see you so careworn. I say, run off and play and leave the Hand to hear these tiresome petitions. ❞

❝ We could dress as serving girls and spend the day amongst the smallfolk. ❞

❝ You are a wicked thing to tempt me so. ❞

❝ Drunk on gods, the lot of them. ❞

❝ Do not presume to preach at me. ❞

❝ They peck at you like a murder of crows. Every one wants a piece of your flesh. ❞

❝ I won’t let you hurt her. I won’t. ❞

❝ When I kissed her cheek, I could taste the salt of her tears. ❞

❝ Turn away. There is nothing here for you. ❞

❝ Never wake a sleeping sorceress. ❞

❝ You will not like my answers. ❞

❝ When will I wed the prince? ❞

❝ You will wed the king. ❞

❝ I require something stronger. Something that will not let me dream. ❞

❝ What did I just say? Have your ears grown as feeble as your cock? ❞

❝ Some doors are best left closed. ❞

❝ No harm will ever come to him as I live. ❞

❝ Blood magic is the darkest kind of sorcery. Some say it is the most powerful as well. ❞

❝ Swords have two edges. ❞

❝ The very men who guard her could be used to bring her down. ❞

❝ Her lovers are not like to confess, knowing it would mean their heads as well as hers. ❞

❝ I did my best to ease his passing. ❞

❝ I provide her with sleeping draughts and . . . other sorts of potions. ❞

❝ Are you blind or bought? ❞

❝ He stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. ❞

❝ My loyalty has always been to the crown, to the realm. ❞

❝ What I want to know is why she has need of you. ❞

❝ I’ll hear the truth, or you’ll wear chains. ❞

❝ I know what moon tea is for. ❞

❝ Get off your knees and try to remember what it was to be a man. ❞

❝ Moon tea. How foolish of her. Why would she do such a thing, take such a risk? ❞

❝ She has appetites he cannot satisfy. ❞

❝ She may claim he never touched her, but I will not believe it. ❞

❝ My son has been betrayed. ❞

❝ She has a lover. ❞

❝ She’s got a pretty little neck. A good sharp sword will go right through it. ❞

❝ I am awash in roses. ❞

❝ Treason is treason, but we must have proof. ❞

❝ We need to catch them during the deed. ❞

❝ She is too shrewd to be caught so easily. ❞

❝ Their names will live in shame. ❞

❝ It is in your blood. ❞

❝ Will you consent to serve? ❞

❝ It is easy to see why you are her favorite. ❞

❝ The man will confess before the night is done. ❞

❝ I am sorry if the guards were rough with you. ❞

❝ Her scheming forced this on me. She has soiled me with her treachery. ❞

❝ I must be strong. What I must do, I do for him and the realm. ❞

❝ Piss on your prophecy. ❞

❝ In a world so full of treachery, that was worth a few kisses. ❞

❝ She is no worse than most men. ❞

❝ A bath will set you right, my sweet. ❞

❝ It will go hard on him, to lose them all. ❞

❝ There is more of sly than shy in her. ❞

❝ Stay with me. I do not want to sleep alone. ❞

❝ Please, not my children, do not harm my children. ❞

❝ Did I scream? I’m sorry. ❞

❝ Why does he frighten you so? ❞

❝ I want to see my son. ❞

❝ All I do, I do for him. ❞

❝ I was never so sweet and innocent. ❞

❝ In this world the weak are always the victims of the strong. ❞

❝ You did me a valiant service once, but now I have a harder task for you. ❞

❝ Aye, and I have something hard for you. ❞

❝ It’s you I want. ❞

❝ You may take all the kisses you like. ❞

❝ Are you refusing to obey me? ❞

❝ The thing is, the best lies have some truth in them. ❞

❝ I would not want it said I made a liar of you. ❞

❝ Give me an hour, and meet me in my bedchamber. ❞

❝ We waited long enough. ❞

❝ You can keep the crown on. I like you in the crown. ❞

❝ First we must dance the dance and never miss a step. ❞

❝ A sweet face often hides a sinner’s heart. ❞

❝ I do not believe a word of this. ❞

❝ He is young and lusty, I will grant you. ❞

❝ A fool he may be, but he wears his folly honestly. ❞

❝ I am free of your croaking malice at last. ❞

❝ The smallfolk are fond of her. ❞

❝ They will not take well to this. ❞

❝ It must not come to blood, and I mean to see that it does not. ❞

❝ You are mistaken. A lion never cries. ❞

❝ I pray that I never offend you. You are terrible when roused. ❞

❝ Any mother would do the same to protect her children. ❞

❝ When do you mean to bring that boy of yours to court? ❞

❝ Last night I confessed to the Septa that I wished to scratch her eyes out. ❞

❝ Damn them all to the seven hells. ❞

❝ I love them all, and they love me. ❞

❝ He will never have a wife that you don’t hate. ❞

❝ I am not your daughter, thank the gods. ❞

❝ You are being foolish. I am only here to help you. ❞

❝ I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage. ❞

❝ Do not presume to touch me. ❞

❝ I need you now as I have never needed you before. ❞

❝ I love you. I love you. I love you. ❞

❝ I ask only as a mother, fearful for her child. ❞

❝ I was lonely and afraid. ❞

❝ I did not know who to trust, so I . . . I used the only means that I had to bind them to me. ❞

❝ Did you take him into your bed to win his loyalty as well? ❞

❝ He was kind and gentle and I needed someone. ❞

❝ Do they say I am a skinchanger now? A warg? ❞

❝ There is no shred of truth to it. I deny it. ❞

❝ I fucked him on the morning of my wedding. ❞

❝ It is good to see you smiling again. ❞

❝ You are still angry with me. I hear it in your voice. ❞

❝ He wanted me more than I ever wanted him. ❞

❝ Let them slaughter each other, the realm will be the better for it. ❞

❝ She was just a child, my precious princess. ❞

❝ No harm will come to me today. Only my pride will suffer. ❞

❝ I will not give you the pleasure of hearing me beg. ❞

❝ Hair grows back. ❞

❝ Remove your shift. ❞

❝ Do you find this amusing? ❞

❝ One day I will have your tongue ripped out with hot pincers, and that will be hilarious. ❞

❝ I will see you safely through the city. ❞

❝ My blood and my betrayer. ❞

❝ That was not supposed to happen. ❞

❝ I would have made her a good marriage. ❞

❝ If he’d only done as he was told, we would have never gone to war. ❞

❝ I can do this. I must. ❞

❝ Vain and proud she was, before. So haughty you’d think she’d forgotten she came from dirt. ❞

❝ I am a lioness. I will not cringe for them. ❞

❝ These creatures have no sweeter joy in life than jeering at their betters. ❞

❝ They think that this will break my pride, that it will make an end to me, but they are wrong. ❞

❝ I am not afraid. I am a lioness. ❞

❝ All hail the royal teats. ❞

❝ Have you forgotten who I am? ❞

❝ You do not need to drag me. ❞

❝ It will be over soon, it will be behind me, then I can forget. ❞

❝ I am beautiful, the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. ❞

❝ He never loved me, but he saw that I was beautiful. He wanted me. ❞

[the-music-maniac]

How fucked up would it be if Sefikura got Hanahaki? Either one of them. That ship is already toxic AF (affectionate) but imagine the HAVOC.

I'm gonna ramble a bit so I can get the brain worms out but feel free to correct me on any plot points, or character interpretations: I've absorbed all this shit from watching walkthroughs (cause I'm broke and video games are expensy) and I haven't finished watching yet. I'm also playing it fast and loose with when this occurs in canon - I have no idea tbh. My interpretations are probably influenced by fandom already cause I've been reading posts and fanfics, and I am aware that this is SO self indulgent, so again. Biased viewpoint here.

Also since I'm aware that sefikura is a controversial ship even with the ship's popularity and age, if you don't like it, that's fine, just block me or scroll on.

I can see the story being more interesting if Seph is the one to get the disease. Mostly because, while I understand his obsession with Cloud is quite complex and not really there bc of romantic reasons (Cloud has S-cells, Seph kinda just views Cloud as his to control I assume, plus Cloud is useful to him, and the fact that Sephiroth has a god complex a mile wide and Cloud was somehow able to beat him as a mere trooper, etc. etc.) I do think for an individual like Sephiroth, that level of obsession is likely the closest he's going to get to love, or at least a blurring of the lines between love and hate. I don't think he really feels that emotion much anymore, especially not after the first time he died, but whatever he DOES feel for Cloud could be strong enough and close enough in shape for something like Hanahaki to latch onto.

Sephiroth's course of action in response would be interesting to see. Hanahaki weakens the individual, which is something Seph is probably not gonna stand for, even if he has enough hubris that he doesn't think he'll die from it. Maybe similar to the degeneration Genesis was experiencing? There's a thought. I honestly think Sephiroth would find it more intolerable if he reaches a stalemate with the disease, not enough to kill him, but enough to weaken him to the point where it hurts his pride and gets in the way of his plans. That seems like it would grate on him more than the threat of death, which doesn't stick anyways.

Sephiroth's go-to in that situation (upon exhausting other avenues - the first and easiest being, y'know. Murder) would probably be to try the puppet route - force Cloud into feeling that reciprocating emotion. Which like. It doesn't work like that Sephy. And here's where it could get really dark if you were so inclined to write it that way, but I'm not in the mood for that right now so I'm gonna say this - that course of action would bring up a lot of PTSD for Cloud obviously, but a perplexing point would be if Sephiroth just y'know. Succeeded in controlling and forcing that emotion for a bit and then upon realizing Hanahaki doesn't work like that - immediately releases his control. Cloud is left there, sound of mind again and fucked up in the mental health but ultimately unharmed and very confused.

Second course of action, good old fashioned manipulation. Here is where it would probably get convoluted though, while I don't think Sephiroth would go down the full on cracky shit of trying to woo Cloud or anything like that (keep in mind up until now, I don't think the nature of Sephiroth's emotions for Cloud are necessarily romantic, so that's not where the Hanahaki is stemming from, or at least not at the beginning - since we are talking about Sefikura and I do like the romance even if I acknowledge it's a little out there in terms of canon. I'm aware he says some provocative shit, but I think that's to get a reaction - it's taunting more than flirting. So, I don't think it would necessarily occur to Sephiroth to do anything romantic here), I do think Sephiroth would be forced to do shit that's actually helpful. His world domination plans are at a standstill cause he's too weak to enact them, and he's trying to get some sort of reciprocation that's enough for the disease to be satisfied, so even if he doesn't give a shit and thinks it's stupid and a waste of time, he studies Cloud and his friends and their movements and acts accordingly to help. Probably in the most violent way possible, granted. Sending Cloud into more confusion.

What I do find interesting is if Cloud finds out what's happening. Fear in response to learning about possibly romantic feelings on Sephiroth's end is probably unavoidable with how fucked up their in game relations are (Sephiroth's attentions are not exactly kind), but once Cloud realizes the nature of those emotions are not romantic (and therefore not r*pey - while I do have a vested interest in avoiding that, I also don't think it's in character for Seph. He always struck me as someone who either didn't have interest in intercourse for its own sake or just never felt safe enough to try when he was still sane) ironically? I can see Cloud eventually feeling guilty. Because his first reaction would obviously be relief or even happiness at the fact that this is weakening Sephiroth and may potentially lead to his death, and I do believe that would be genuine relief. At the beginning there is no guilt. Just fury at the audacity and a vindictive type of happiness. And then the guilt stems from the insidiousness of a disease like this, as Sephiroth keeps being helpful, and seeing the reality of an individual who no longer acts untouchable like a God, suffering. Not beating the enemy by any honest means but by the simple fact that Cloud despises Sephiroth, and something is responding to that and doing the dirty work for him. And then, feeling guilty about feeling guilty bc he should be happy about keeping Seph contained and unable to hurt others by any means necessary, but he's not. He seems like the type of hero to spiral like that.

And then of course, as time progresses on, the hatred lessening the longer Sephiroth isn't doing any heinous shit, the worry of no longer being able to hold onto enough of that hatred to keep Sephiroth contained, because Cloud isn't stupid, he KNOWS Sephiroth isn't doing this out of anything genuine, but it's still working because humans are humans who have sympathy for those who look like they're suffering and memories that fade and get overwritten with time and new information. And so Cloud knows the second he lets go of that hatred, Sephiroth will go back to killing, but in the same breath he can't help feeling sympathetic. Knowing the manipulation and still falling for it despite yourself is probably uniquely infuriating and seems like the mindfuckery Sephiroth would enjoy.

Here's the kicker though, Cloud's response to that "not-hatred anymore, but not nearly indifferent enough to be neutral" emotion would probably be paired with him treating Sephiroth better than he was treated by any of the Shinra personnel, barring of course Angeal, Genesis and Zack, without even realizing it. Like Sephiroth was dehumanized for so long, both as a weapon to be used and feared and as a public figure to be idolized and adored - none of that was his own to control - so Cloud extending basic courtesies and concern is going to feel different. Maybe it reminds him of Angeal and Genesis, I dunno. It wouldn't be out of the left field, the disease probably already reminds him of the degeneration. So now he's reminded that he was capable of loving people, once. We don't got time to unpack Sephiroth's mile long list of issues in this post but let's say it actually makes Seph come to a couple epiphanies. If Sephiroth's feelings eventually shift to romantic love while Cloud's feelings are shifting to that not-hatred, not-quite-romantic-yet, but not-indifferent, Sephiroth is y'know. Still gonna be stuck with the disease cause it's not technically reciprocation. That would be hilarious wouldn't it. So let's say that happens and Sephy is confused and Cloudy is also confused at the fact that he's beginning to feel charitable towards Sephiroth but he's still not getting better.

On the contrary, I think he would get worse. Because NOW what the Hanahaki is latching onto is real and genuine love. Yeah, that previous weakening wasn't even the disease at full strength, have fun with that.

I can see Sephiroth getting frustrated at this point cause he doesn't seem well adjusted enough to notice his own feelings shifting and put two and two together, so upon realizing that Cloud feels some level of reciprocation and the disease is getting worse, he probably would just. Leave. And at this point in the story I think what would disturb Cloud the most is if he sees Sephiroth give up entirely. Because consistently, the man has never done that before. Sephiroth has never in all the crazy shit that he's done - given up.

Keep in mind, it's only really possible at this point cause Sephiroth has been feeling like absolute dogshit the entire time. Chronic pain wears on you, and for someone who has been inhumanly healthy and then the equivalent of a God, that constant exhaustion and weakness, the choking on your breaths and pain in your chest, and then being so sure of a solution and having hope, only for it to not work and to even get worse - also Seph doesn't have good coping mechanisms clearly - he gives up. And I think this is the push Cloud might need for his own feelings to shift.

And how fucked up would it be if the hanahaki flowers were sent by Aerith though. I don't think she would do that maliciously, but as a way to test if there's any hope for Sephiroth. She maybe didn't necessarily know it would manifest for Cloud, but just some type of reaction. A way to keep her loved ones safe from him? Weakening but not killing him because Sephiroth pollutes the lifestream if he enters it, and he also won't stay dead and everyone keeps suffering because of it and - basically they're at a stalemate. If there is no hope for Seph, then the flowers would do nothing. If there is, then the flowers may be a chance to change things. Imagine that. Whether or not it's in character for Aerith is up for debate but it would be quite interesting.

So Cloud talking to Aerith and learning that? Learning that things aren't as hopeless for Sephiroth as he had assumed? Another point that may cause Cloud's viewpoint to change. It's hard to deny the authenticity of someone's humanity when it's literally killing them.

And since my entire reason for liking Sefikura is partially because Sephiroth's backstory upsets me (most of it's because it's just an interesting dynamic, but the fact that Seph was made to be a weapon, abused throughout his entire life with little to no bodily autonomy nor freedom, thought he had been betrayed by two of the only people he loved, and then manipulated until he went insane, and is now never going to be free of Jenova or his anger and hatred because he gave into his worst demons - that makes me sad. So, admittedly I got into sefikura because of time travel fix-its where Cloud goes back and tries to fix things - which often includes people gradually realizing just how much abuse Sephiroth had suffered, and all the factors that were pushing Seph until he snapped. I mean granted, that doesn't excuse the awful shit he did by any means, but the odds were by every definition, against him from the beginning. The romance was just a large bonus of those fix-its) I'm going to give them a happy ending. Cloud stays there and tries to get Sephiroth back to how he was, and in the process with the amount of time they spend together, and the worry he's been feeling at how Sephiroth is deteriorating, helps push the feelings that are there into fruition. The Hanahaki clears, and Cloud expects to need to fight Sephiroth, expects that he would have to kill him. Sephiroth doesn't - not because he now values humanity or anything because I don't think any amount of redemption is enough for Sephiroth to reach that point, at least not that quickly, that shit would be a lifelong battle - but because he knows Cloud, and he knows he would kill him if he went back to how he was. If it really came down to it, to save the world, Cloud wouldn't hesitate. And once he crosses that line after they've had this dynamic, that's the last betrayal and there would be no going back, no returning. That would be the end, permanently. And he actually wants to stay by Cloud's side. There could be a moment where Sephiroth contemplates it, but in the end his better demons win out, if you wanna add more drama.

I have also thought about what it would be like if Cloud had Hanahaki and it would also be interesting, although the disease type wouldn't quite be the same as for Sephiroth, because Cloud does genuinely hate Seph. So, it would probably be more fucked up - if Sephiroth succeeded in keeping Cloud as a puppet, and that results in a manifestation of Hanahaki because of that forced devotion, since Sephiroth is only using Cloud as a tool. And it ironically weakens Cloud enough that he's no longer useful as a puppet and Sephiroth has to let go. Rinse repeat. Or if Sephiroth is somehow able to use his cells to induce a similar disease in Cloud. That'd be pretty damn fucked up, huh. Compels me though.

Anyways, I dunno if I'll ever use any of these ideas for anything, but it was still interesting to think about. Thank you for reading!