#hm you know what fuck it this goes in the main tag

[theabyssgazesalsointoyou]

Abyss! Rant to me about your favorite bmc song >:)

aaaaa tysm for the ask!!! 💙

okay so it's actually been like 539463 years since i listened to bmc at all but. my fav bmc song is halloween 👻🎃 which might be an unpopular choice but considering my favorite characters it shouldn't be much of a surprise either lol

i have mentioned this several times before but listening to bmc for the first time was. an Experience for me lmao. i initially didn't vibe with the campy absurdity of it all but halloween was an exception bc it was sooo catchy and fun. yes even with the lyrics like 'i got a condom'. this musical opens with the line 'i'm waiting for my porno to load' the bar was not very high

agtikbi was also an exception as it's arguably the most basic(?) song but i preferred the energy of halloween. which i think it has some part to do with my high school experience irl?? like. i did not like school (honestly who does) and i certainly get the sentiment of mts/ilpr/tpg or whatever but as a high schooler i was wayyyy closer to brooke or jake than the main trio. by which i mean while i had my own struggles it didn't show and i did fine at school- i got good grades and i was generally well-liked by both students and teachers etcetera. but on the flip side i didn't have much of a personality and i'm 99% certain a fair amount of people thought of me as a shallow basic bitch lmao. (i am certainly not the target audience for bmc in that aspect lol) so halloween might have resonated with me the most. y'know how it is. Projection ™️.

but mostly yeah i just really like the sound and the fact that it's predominantly about my favorite characters and the knowledge of the sweet sweet angst that will happen after <3

#orca answers #hm you know what fuck it this goes in the main tag #bmc #be more chill

[notjustjavierpena]

Does hubby and his wife have rougher sex sometimes? I saw you wrote a post where you thought about him spanking her 🙊🙈

Rough (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: This is just a little treat because I love getting smutty anons. The monkey emojis really made me do it. As always, thank you to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta’ing. Absolute queen 🫡💖

Summary: PWP. It is what it is!

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: husband!javier loves his wife, dom/sub undertones, rough sex, doggy style, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, spanking, light choking, sprinkled with breeding kink, sprinkled with some love and devotion

Word count: 800

Rough

Javier has you on your hands and knees. The house is empty except for you, all doors and windows closed to allow what you are doing to reach a volume that would concern your neighbors if they heard.

“Put your hands on the headboard,” he commands as he fucks you and you immediately grab it so harshly that your knuckles start to hurt. However, you are too caught up in the way pleasure shoots through your system like tiny electric currents to notice.

“Who’s a good girl?” He asks and lets his palm come down on your ass and your moan is pathetic. The lingering sting makes you clamp down on his cock, causing a low growl to spill from his mouth in the midst of his strained panting. He goes impossibly rougher and sends you flying forward until you have to cross your arms in front of you, rest them on the headboard, and lay your forehead against them if you don’t want to bang into the wall.

“Me,” you whisper, trying to concentrate on your rapidly approaching orgasm. His cockhead is grinding against your g-spot with each thrust, and it feels so good that you cannot keep sounds from pouring from your lips. Your heart beats fast, your face is hot and you can feel sweat run down your spine as you share body heat with him.

“Say it louder, Princesa (princess),” he groans and smacks your ass again, “C’mon now, let me hear it.”

“It’s me,” you let him know in a higher-pitched voice. He makes a sound of approval but you keep begging for him to make you finish, “Please, baby.”

“And who did a good job tonight?” He continues his questions with a shakier voice. You try to imagine the way his forehead creases slightly when he is focused, and the mental image makes your clit jump.

“Me!” You try to grind back into him, “Oh God, I’m—“

“M-hm, baby. You’re my sweet, good girl,” his breath hitches in his throat when you start to flutter around him, signaling that your pleasure is just around the corner. He pounds your g-spot, “And who gets to come on my cock?”

“I do,” you reply without hesitation, and then you peak after those words. As you come with a loud cry of relief, he reaches around you to splay a hand on your chest and lifts you up until your back is against his chest. You moan feebly as you still feel the warm waves of pleasure pulsating between your legs, but the sound dies in your throat as his broad hand reaches upwards to grip around your neck. He holds you in place, the other hand going down to your cunt to stroke your clit until you cannot think anymore. It hurts so good to be forced to come again, and Javier drives into your sensitive cunt with newfound energy, desperate for his own release.

“Te quiero (I love you), I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant, baby, mi chica sucia (my dirty girl),” he bites at the spot behind your ear, squeezing around your throat. It is the sound of you choking on a moan as you come again that sends him over the edge, your walls pulling him further in and fucking the come from his cock. He groans and settles inside of you whilst he spills his load, giving you enough to make it drip down the sides of your abused hole whilst he is still nestled inside of you.

He slumps and holds your body close, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. When you think it’s over, he thrusts one last time to push his seed as far inside of your cunt as possible before he might go soft. You sound like you might cry.

“Shh,” he soothes, “I’m taking care of you. No crying, mi amor (my love).”

“I love you too,” you finally reply.

“Lo sé (I know),” he kisses your back gently, moans when he slips out of you, “I’m gonna move, let yourself move with me.”

You nod with a whimper. He lets the both of you fall to the side and hugs you around the middle in this new position. You close your eyes, relishing in the way it feels like his cock has molded you forever, and sigh with deep satisfaction.

“Más (more),” you say softly, “Quiero más (I want more).”

“Bebita (little baby),” there is a hint of something condescending in his voice. You whine but he soothes you by reaching down to cup your whole mound, easing two fingers into you until you mewl, “You can have whatever you want.”

.

.

.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #javier pena imagine #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javi p #javi peña #javi pena #javier peña #javier pena one shot #javier pena x reader #javi p x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos #javi pena x you #javier pena x you #husband!javi #siggy replies #my writing

[tinycozycomfort]

trust fall

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day two of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: fluid exchange -> read her day two here

summary: This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nice enough.

warnings/tags: pwp!, fluid exchange (come eating/spitting), oral sex (f receiving), anal play, dirty talk, mention of unprotected piv, dom/sub dynamics, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), praise kink, edging

word count: 1.6k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: arguably the filthiest thing i've ever written (nervous) but wow was it great practice. thank you for reading!

main masterlist

“What a mess. Who’s gonna clean all this up, sweetheart?” 

He’s thumbing at the crease of your thigh where it folds into your core, pulling against the bend so that your seam widens. You can feel him looking, each cool swing of his breath fanning over the heat at your center. The slow trickle of where he leaks out of you makes your skin tighten, shrinking uncomfortably over muscle in little welts. 

Joel doesn’t take well to your lack of focus, choosing to demand your attention instead; the press of his thumb turns harder, meeting the end of his pointer to pinch. The pain is instant, but the delay from your haze makes you skip a yelp all together, straight to words like he wants.

“I’ll clean myself.” 

He hums, releasing your flesh, petting the wound where it thrums, “Now how can you reach all the way down here?”

You know this game well—where he means to reduce you to less than incapable, framing it like you’ve lost your way after what he’s just done to you. He wants to act like he can help you, when in reality it’s done to service himself, only further fueling his need to be in control—a role that toes the line between offender and caretaker. He aches to relinquish you of every responsibility, even that of thought.

Joel swipes at the come that refuses to let up where it’s dripping out, making a slow show—one that only he can see and only you can feel—of gathering and pooling and reinserting it, just to watch it slip out again. 

“I-I don’t know. But I need to get clean.” 

He’s smiling something horrible, eyes shining when you gaze down to plead your case for assistance. 

“Oh, poor thing, I know. It’s not your fault,” he dips his thumb into you before trailing up just under the bead of skin above your opening, “There’s just so much. But you’re right, we can’t have you ruining the sheets.” Joel bares his teeth again when you hiss, narrowly missing your clit when you try to maneuver your way into his hand.

You pant, barely able to piece together your cue, “How?” 

“Hard to think after the way I fucked you, hm?” He brushes his free hand across the hill of your cheek, pitiful, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “I guess I could help you, sweetheart. Do you want that?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, please.” 

“There she goes. My polite girl. Same one who begged for all this mess in the first place—isn’t that right?” 

You can’t bear to try and find the words, just letting your head loll to the side so you can nod without the pain of keeping your neck straight. He’s unraveling your grip thread by thread so you can become the soft, helpless thing he needs you to be. 

He shoves himself down, ducks his head to be level with your cunt, the hot vent of air around his face bleeding onto you. He’s worked up—you know it from the delicate shudder in his hands, the uneven half-steps in his breathing—and while he swears he can’t, you wish he’d fuck you again. You wriggle, back flat to the bed and knees spreading instinctively. 

Joel starts at the slip of skin separating your cunt from what sits beneath it, careful to catch what he couldn’t collect on the last sweep. His mouth is warm and his tongue gentle, but the breath it punches out of you is hard—furious.

You’re humming high in your throat, past the point of well-mannered, and he’s delighted, slipping the muscle between his lips inside of you, tilting his head just enough so that his nose can’t touch where you’re throbbing for him most. 

You beg, “Joel. Joel, please,” rolling the knobs of your spine forcefully enough to sting, trying uselessly to make contact. He huffs, forearm mashing haphazardly against the curve of your hip, flustered.

“You don’t need it, honey. Now keep still.” 

You’re full-on whining now, little pieces of sound, reedy and loud and not enough to make him feel bad, apparently. 

He nestles himself back in, the wide flat of his tongue pressing hard enough to breach your hole, spooning out everything you saved for him inside you and you start to seethe, a thin film of sweat breaking out across your chest—boiling. 

The hand you haven’t felt in a while returns to a different place, the tips of his pointer and middle brushing under where he’s eating you, the hole there wet with whatever continues to evade his mouth. 

He circles it and you fidget, begging him for anything more, the slow working of his jaw not enough to bring you to the edge. 

There’s the other half of the game—if you can’t come before he’s deemed you clean, you don’t get to at all. 

A sticky curl of love swells in your belly at how familiar you are now with this routine, how far he’s come—peeling away enough of his distance to show his face, to bring you to this. This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nicely enough. 

Joel’s uncovered desire to see you need him, beg for him, just to make him relent in your favor, was intoxicating. In turn, he continues to make it harder every time for you both, upping the stakes after you barely manage to satisfy his last demand; narrow wins that remind you of just how much power he holds. Always sweet and comforting and protecting, even if from the severity of himself. 

Your stomach clenches, trying frantically to pace your breaths, to focus on the feeling of every too-long pass that has him nudging the underside of your clit, the way his fingers tease against your asshole. He hums in warning, almost done, and you knock a fist against the bed in frustration. 

He pulls away suddenly and your shoulders cave, upset by his unwarned finish, and you’re ready to apologize within an inch of your life when he pipes up. 

“Am I not enough for you, honey? You liked my cock, plenty. Why can’t you do it for my mouth, too?”

“Joel. Joel, you are—you’re enough. I just– right now I need more.” 

“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you again. Now—” he uses the hand not already playing with you to dig into the meat of your thigh, nails drawn, maybe a little upset by how many words you’ve managed despite his ministrations, “Make me happy.” 

He sways low again, the return of his mouth against-underneath-inside of you making your hands curl, a warm buzz floating up through your legs and forearms to meet together in the middle. He’s fervent, determined to prove you wrong now that you’ve challenged his ability and you’re squealing, so light-headed from the effort to breathe that you’re close to stopping all together. 

Joel feeds his lip between his teeth against you reflexively, like he’s trying to hold himself back for a moment, and the idea that he’s gearing up for a long night makes you heave. 

He tries to hide his tell, taking the quickest pause to spit onto his fingers, prodding at your asshole to divert your attention, hardly sliding in as to not give you more than you’ve earned, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Haven’t worked for much of anything yet.”

“But–”

“Show me you can be good, first. Shouldn’t be so hard for you, honey, c’mon.” He inches closer once more, breathing out against you, alternating between little puffs of cold exhales and firm pants of hot air.

You writhe, so pent up you feel restricted by your own body, like climbing out from a pool fully-clothed—heavy and sopping and always tipping back with resistance. Your face is on fire, fingers twisting to try and take the brunt of your need to move. 

Joel is ecstatic—you can hear the wet slide of his grin—and you’re right at the cusp of giving in when he breaks the gap, hot mouth latching onto your clit and you’re gone. You can feel it spread the length of your core first, filling out quickly to everywhere else and you jolt, legs snapping together fast enough that your knees knock above his head. 

He repositions his hands, squeezing between them to pry you open. You wedge a wrist behind you, trying to lift yourself in an effort to stop him but when you peer down, the look on his face is serene, pleading. An exercise in trust maybe—that he’s acquainted enough with your body to know your limit. 

You let yourself rest again and inhale deep, letting him work you down to a stop, the feeling of overstimulation falling into a wash of fuzzy static . Only after you unfold does Joel remove himself, pressing light kisses to the peak of your hip bone on his way up—proud. 

He leans over your torso, his chest parallel, the damp rub of your skin setting your heart off as you breathe in tandem. Selfishly, you scrabble a bit, wanting desperately to have more claim on his body. 

“Hey, hey. Shh. No need to do all that. I’m right here for you.” Joel gathers up your palm between his fingers, sliding your limp knuckles over his cheeks, the little curve of his lip. A moment passes and you reclaim ownership of it, caressing the underside of his jaw faintly. 

“Was I good?” you whisper.

“So good. See, I knew you could do it.” 

He nudges at the band of rib under your breast, “Maybe even a little too good—looking very empty now, sweetheart. What do you think we oughta do about that?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[hintsofhoney]

His Favorite Meal

Pairing(s): Rhysand x F!Reader

Summary: Rhysand hears your dirty thoughts while you're at dinner with your friends. It goes as expected.

Square(s) Filled: free space for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Tags: 18+, smutty smut smut, oral sex (female receiving), light dom/sub dynamics, use of magic, p in v, unprotected sex, light spanking

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hi, I just finished A Court of Mist and Fury and this is my new hyperfixation now. Funnily enough, I wrote this before I got to any kinds of sex scenes between Rhys and Feyre, and when I did finally get to Chapter 55, I was impressed with myself for how close to canon I wrote this 🤣 Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

MAIN MASTERLIST

You can’t stop thinking about him, not for lack of trying.

Rhysand and his stupid dark hair and violet eyes and the way the word darling rolls off his tongue and makes your thighs clench. 

You would even let him take you here and now, if it meant that the thoughts of him would subside.

He raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, Mor and Az and Cassian too caught up in their own conversation to notice. 

Really? Right on this table? With everyone watching? he sends down the bond. 

You shoot him a cold glare. Get out of my head.

If you didn’t want me in it, Y/N, darling, I wouldn’t be.

He isn’t wrong. You both know it.

I can make them leave, if the table is truly where you’d like me to fuck you. Personally, I find the bed —

Shut up, and eat your dinner . If you had said it outloud, it would have been through gritted teeth.

Rhys cocks his head to the side, briefly taken aback by your bite, and then smiles. Careful, darling , you hear in your head, if I have to take you over my knee, I won’t be asking anyone to leave first.

You squeeze your thighs together at the threat, the heat building between them becoming uncomfortable. You’re desperate. You need him.

That bad, hm? he asks.

You watch as he takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving yours.

Say the word and they’re gone, or continue to torture yourself. Up to you.

The prick wanted you to ask for it. Beg for it. As if your thoughts hadn’t been enough.

That “prick” will not hesitate to punish you in front of our friends. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing. 

Please, Rhys , you give in. 

He smirks, taking another sip from his glass. Please, what?

You swallow your pride. Not that there’s much left of it. Please fuck me.

Please fuck you, where?

This ass— 

His eyebrows raise — your final warning — and it stops your thought dead in its tracks. You take a deep breath. 

Please fuck me on the table, Rhys.

He grins. All you had to do was ask.

You put your shield up for a brief second so you can mentally roll your eyes in peace. When it comes down, Az, Cassian, and Mor are getting up from their seats.

“We eat here,” Cassian reminds the both of you as he stands.

Rhys is looking at you with hungry eyes as he replies, “Who says I won’t be eating?”

“Eugh!” Mor groans, making her way towards the exit. “At least wait until I’m out of earshot.”

Cassian snorts before following her out, Azriel having been the first to leave. 

And now it’s just you and Rhys and the table between you.

You blink, and suddenly his face is inches from yours, leaning over you with his hands resting on your thighs as he smirks at your shaky breaths. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He places a curled pointer finger underneath your chin, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, letting out a low chuckle at how your mouth begins to open ever so slightly.

He leans in, his lips meeting yours with a gentleness that doesn’t quite match the lust in his eyes, and you know you’re in for a long night. It could be hours before you were going to feel the release you had been begging him for.

“As far as I’m concerned, I shouldn’t let you cum at all, considering the names I’ve been called,” he murmurs, as he kisses your way up your jaw line, down your neck. 

You whimper at the notion, at the thought of being left reeling, wanting, on the table. Right now, you can’t imagine anything worse. 

“That’s very dramatic,” he whispers, his voice lined with a teasing smile. You watch him drop to his knees in front of you, slowly pushing your long gown up to your thighs. “But if you truly cannot imagine anything worse, then I suppose I’ll give you what you want, my darling girl.” 

You tense at his words, at the way he grabs ahold of your leg and places it over his shoulder, at the way he licks his lips, as if he’s about to dig into his favorite meal. 

He stops. “Of course, I had forgotten,” he says, and there’s a flash of darkness before you find yourself lying on the table, with Rhys kneeling at the end of it. His hands are gripping the underside of your thighs, pushing them upwards and outwards. In one fell swoop, he rips off the black lace covering your core, baring you to him. “I eat my meals at the table.” 

You let your head fall onto the hard surface underneath you. Fuck .

“Oh, I plan to,” he replies, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh. “But I’m going to have my fun first.”

You swear his tongue has magic of its own with the way it moves between your folds, pulling short breaths from your lungs as he circles it around your clit, never staying in one spot long enough to grant you the release that you so badly crave. When he adds two fingers, your back arches off the table, and you whimper as you feel his magic pinning you down in response. 

“ Please , Rhys,” you practically sob, your thighs quaking as you try to remain still, trying to keep your orgasm at bay. 

“You’re not going to cum already, are you, darling?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question you can say ‘yes’ to. You know you’re his . You won’t cum until he tells you to. 

He chuckles at your thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises, his fingers curling inside you at just the right spot, and the combination of the two almost sends you over the edge. Almost. Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. You find yourself on the precipice of release too many times to count, having to take deep breaths to keep yourself grounded. Eventually, you accept this new tortured existence.

Very dramatic , Rhys teases.

You yelp as he stops his ministrations and pulls out of you too abruptly for your liking, standing up before pulling you to the edge of the table and flipping you over by your hips, your bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. It only takes seconds before he’s dragging his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you even further. You wiggle your ass — a silent plea — and he spanks it in return — an audible warning to be still that echoes through the dining hall. 

“Ow!” you whine, forcing your body to comply with his demand. 

Another smack, on the other cheek this time.

“Rhys!”

“Do I need to gag you? Or are you going to quit your whining?” 

Another hit, harder than the others. A test. You remain silent and still.

“Although I must admit… I do love watching your ass change colors.” You brace yourself for another hit that never comes. Instead, you get no warning as Rhys thrusts into you in one swift motion. “But I’ll save it for the next time you feel like mouthing off.”

You grip the edges of the table as he pounds into you, his hand coming to wrap around your shoulder for leverage, his cock filling you up, hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. Your moans are unsteady and never-ending, only interrupted by the expletives falling from your lips.

“Oh m-my —  fuck — Rhys!”

He smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you up off of the table, your back flush with his muscled, tattooed chest. You start to wonder when his shirt came off before you realize that his hands are holding your bare breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Magic has a number of uses — making clothes vanish off bodies being one of them. 

He continues to thrust into you as one of his hands makes its way down to your core, swollen and throbbing. When his skillful fingers find your clit, you throw your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you chant. You’re unsure of how much longer you can take it. Five agonizing seconds pass — then ten — and then —

“Go ahead, darling, I’m right behind you,” he orders, and you practically scream as your orgasm washes over you, as you feel his cock twitch inside you, filling you up. “Fuuuuck,” he rasps, his hands holding onto your hips now as you fall forward onto the table from exhaustion, letting the cold surface cool your skin. 

Moments later, Rhys collapses on top of you, holding himself up by his forearms, caging you in between them. He’s still inside you as he trails soft kisses from one shoulder blade to the other.

I love you , he sends down the bond, still catching his breath.

A tired smile creeps onto your lips. I love you, too.

#rhysand x reader #acotar #acomaf #acotar fanfiction

[owlespresso]

the red fruit which ripens

alpha!blade/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is getting too close. tags: blackmail, mind games, nonconsensual touching, blade and luocha are just weirdos idk pt 2 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. the first part can be read here.

You have never known peace. You doubt any emanator ever has. The Mother of Harmony, of peace, bestowed upon you a fraction of her immortal grace. She cored herself, tore out a seed—jewel like and glistening, and beckoned you to feast. The taste went down so smooth and sweet.

That was the first and last time you held your blessing in awe. Xipe sentenced you, that day, to never know the peace she covets. You could catch glimpses of it, inhale the scent of it deep, but it would fade like morning mist, chased away by the winds of chaos and whatever awful business you were to tend to next.

When you strayed from The Family, tore yourself free of their clutches and hid where their millions of bulging eyes could not find you; you believed it possible to know peace. Perhaps not immediately. There was so much to take care of during your first days on the Luofu, paperwork and apartment hunting. It was all jarringly normal. You were mystified by the mundanity, delighted by it even. The world suddenly closed in for the better. There were no enemy factions to worry about corralling, no petty politics, no attempts to usurp you or take your life.

The world became the Luofu. It became your apartment. It became your favorite food stalls and your neighbors and the little birds fluttering about in the trees.

But it was not peace. Soon, you came to realize that even the average Luofu citizen did not know the concept as intimate as you hoped. They live in fear of Mara, of the Abundance, which they are so intimately intertwined with. Every pain is a life threatening risk, a potential trigger to a deadly malady. Outside of the Abundance, so many run themselves ragged, weighted by long work hours and petty squabbles with loved ones. The kindly folk by the docks find themselves cornered by the IPC.

No mortal knows peace, you have come to realize. Perfect tranquility is a ripe and red lie, birthed gold and glistening from the Goddess’s many lips, spread carelessly and listlessly across the universe. Unattainable by the emanator’s closest to her.

You believed once, and it hurt you. Not again. You will heed no honeyed words. You can only believe in what is cold, concrete, and solid.

—

“I feel like—” you begin, pushing through the rusted metal paneling of the dilapidated fence. “—you could have gotten here by yourself.” You usually don’t talk this much, but Blade’s habitual silence combined with your burgeoning irritation leaves you uncharacteristically eager to complain aloud.

The abandoned warehouse looms an eerie, empty monument of crumbling sheet metal and shattered glass. Long columns of broken machinery are gutted in pieces across the concrete yard. You make note to return later, just to make sure you’re not leaving valuable goods out to waste.

“I have never been here before. Kafka thought it wise to come with a guide.” 

“And what do you think?” you pause, shoulder buried in the outside paneling of the building itself.

“What I think… does not matter.” Blade says cooly. “A blade is meant to be wielded. It does not choose who it cuts down or where it goes.”

“Hm,” you don’t have much to say to that. You shouldn’t have opened your yap in the first place. The less you know about the bizarre relations of the Stellaron Hunters, the better. You squeeze into the building through the gap. Blade hardly two paces behind. The metal groans and squeaks as he forces his way in. It feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever fucking heard, an offensive and high pitched screech that probably rings through the yard and neighboring alleyways.

“At least try to be a little quieter,” you grumble, squinting into the dark. The main room is made a maze by haphazardly laid out storage containers, many cracked open and already emptied. Wires hang from the ceiling, which has become an amalgamation of mechanical matter and rotting parts. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Black grunts his assent.

“Well. You’re here, safe and sound.” you waste no time, doubling back towards the Blade-shaped hole in the wall. Did he just walk straight through!? What are they feeding this guy? “So I—”

The sound of thundering footsteps and approaching shouts freezes you mid-step. Momentary panic jars you still. The Cloud Knights? Here? Now?

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you turn tail, ready to haul ass in the opposite direction, only to collide face-first with Blade’s firm chest. He jostles you to the side with his shoulder, ignoring your grunt of complaint. His hand rests on the hilt of his blade. Your stomach jumps into your throat.

“Where are you going!?” you hiss.

“To take care of the vermin,” Blade replies drolly, looking down his nose at you. His lips twitch into the beginnings of a puzzled frown.

“Absolutely not!” you say, and his frown pulls deeper. “Where there’s ten, there’s bound to be twenty waiting to back them up.”

It is unlike you to be so bold, but you seize him by the wrist, pulling him further into the jagged steel labyrinth. He allows himself to be led, surprisingly docile as you round corners and scuttle down corridors. Pale moonlight covers the room in a silvery sheen, providing just enough light for you to make out a door embedded into the outermost wall. Footsteps echo around you, calling voices made cacophonous by the echo. Blade’s grip on your hand tightens, likely annoyed and sorely tempted to begin the slaughter, but you yank open the door and jam yourself inside what seems to be a cramped server room.

A few circuit towers stand side-by-side, dark and dusty with disuse. Blade shuts the door behind you, opening his mouth to speak, but you’re already wedging yourself into the lone aisle between the wall and the towers, pulling him behind you.

A few moments later sees you crammed in the narrow space. The back wall and server towers rise on either side of you, caging you up against your troublesome accomplice. One of Blade’s thighs presses tight to your own. Warm and firm. The proximity betrays what you’ve expected since your first meeting. Blade is an alpha. Only now, brought so obscenely close, are you fully able to realize that. It’s a footnote in comparison to your agitation, which swims and simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.

“How long were they following us for?” you grumble aloud. “Tell Kafka she owes an extra 20% when you see her, and that I’m not doing this ever again.”

Blade sighs out of his nose. You can’t see his face well enough to make out his expression.

“You’re wearing a mask. Your identity is safe.” he says.

“The threat of being arrested still remains,” you grumble, listening to the clamorous noise outside. Trained troops rush back and forth, kicking up dust and old grease. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, beyond a few paltry words, but no one has yet knocked on the door. Surely a good sign.

Blade squeezes your hand, and subsequently reminds you that you are holding it.

“That won’t happen. Destiny’s Slave would not risk your safety over something so simple. No harm will come to you, tonight.”

Well, isn’t that comforting. You wrest your hand away with a scowl, and clamp down on the pressing urge to let him know what you really think about his boss. He stares down at the place where your hands were once joined.

The next half-hour passes in relative silence. His eyes are all that is visible in the empty dark of the room, candlewick embers extinguished when he shuts them and leans back against the wall.

Eventually, the outside noise quiets. No more thudding boots or searching shouts, the warehouse silent as it had been when you arrived. Shimmying out from the pitch dark crevice is much more awkward without the frantic adrenaline, but you manage it, emerging in a new layer of dust.

“Alright. I’m heading out. Be careful.”

“They won’t return anytime soon,” Blade remains inside, arms crossed and impassive. Your frown deepens. You clamber through a hole in the wall. No Knights have remained behind. You feared a few would have stayed just in case, but none leap out from behind the rubble. Which means that the horrible feeling prickling up the back of your neck is just Blade’s cold, empty gaze trained on your retreating form.

Strange beast, you think to yourself, scuttling into the nearest alleyway.

—

One of your favorite things about Luocha’s home is that he is hardly ever in it. The first time you met him after helping him with his pre-heat, he pressed a silver house key into your palms, before turning and leaving. Not even allowing you to splutter a single, indignant protest. Back then, you mentally swore that you wouldn’t use it.

Now, you use it almost everyday. His neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of the Luofu, intersects with several of your regular routes. It’s just too easy so slide in between deliveries for a quick rest. It helps that he’s hardly ever home, leaving you to pilfer snacks from his fridge and take brief naps on the couch. You haven’t been bold enough to stay overnight. You’ve become far, far too intimate with the man.

No more, you decide, and stay firm to that decision even when he beseeches your company not a week later. It’s rude, but you can’t risk getting anymore attached than you already are. He’s become a bothersome burr stuck to your side, a looming presence in your thoughts even when he’s far across the stars, doing Xipe knows what.

There’s a knock at the door. You startle, because this has never happened before. You remain stock still on the couch. If you remain still, surely whoever is out there will get the message and bugger off. Another knock. You should have known that any solicitor determined to walk through the forest of a front yard would be too stubborn to give up after only seven knocks.

At the eleventh, you get up and stomp to the door. It’s mostly to preserve your own sanity. 

You throw open the door, prepared to give the nosy bastard on the other side an earful. 

It’s Blade. Blade is stood there. He blots out the afternoon sun, leaving you in the shadow he casts. It’s like seeing your clothes in the fridge. You blink several times.

“Ah. It’s you.”

“It is,” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his left hand. 

“What… why are you here?” 

“Kafka’s orders. She wanted you to have these,” he hands you the bouquet. You receive it. Fresh petunias and sprigs of rosemary curl next to daisies and tulips. It’s a nonsensical thing. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing particularly artful about the presentation besides the pretty colors. 

“I see… Is this your home?” He looks like he already knows the answer.

You decide not to humor him. You tuck the bouquet underneath your arm and lean up against the doorframe. “What’s it to you?” 

He blinks, looks confused, and then responds after a moment of silent thought. “I… there is someone else who lives here. I remember it clearly, now.”

“You two know each other, huh? What a coincidence. But… how did you know where I was?”

“I asked the woman next door. She directed me here. I’ve been searching for you since the early morning.” 

“All morning?” you tut, somewhat sympathetic. “That’s a lot of walking.”

“It is nothing compared to other pains I have endured.” Blade says, solemnly. “And I have traveled far greater distances on foot. You shouldn’t worry.”

“...Well,” you stare down at the bouquet for a moment. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t give you anything for the effort. You know that big, red maple by the pond? Go sit there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Two minutes later sees you outside, cradling two crystalline glasses filled with lemonade. You didn’t get him the fancy stuff—the strawberry-kiwi-whatever fruit stuff that you hand mixed. But it’s something.

He’s hunched beneath the red canopy. There’s a dark, inky type of handsomeness he possesses. Dark hair tumbles down his back, shaggy bangs frame that wolfish face. He looks dour almost all the time. Like the frown lines and cold apathy have permanently creased it. He’s hunched beneath the shade. Like it sits on his shoulders as a physical weight. He looks up at you as you settle next to him, accepts his glass without fuss or thanks. Which is just fine, with you. You probably shouldn’t be doing this, anyways. He’s an intergalactic criminal. The less time you spend together, the better.

But at the same time… you can’t help but be curious. Curious about the mara which buzzes underneath his skin, yet somehow never breaches it. Curious about what manner of creature he must be to withstand the final stages of Yaoshi’s curse. Curious if there’s any real, lingering emotion beyond the stoicism he treats… well, everything with. 

The two of you sit in silence and sip. You don’t feel any need for artificial conversation. It’s easy to sit down and simply exist next to him. No impulsive need for niceties. 

“This house isn’t yours,” he says.

“No. The owner is a client of mine. He lets me stop by here, in between deliveries. It’s convenient.”

A few beats of silence. “How well do you know the man that lives here?”

“As well as I know any other client,” he looks at you expectantly, as though waiting for you to finish that statement. “Which isn’t very well. He’s not here most of the time.”

“You should remain cautious while in his presence,” he says, and you nearly raise a brow at the unsolicited advice. He levels you with his dull, candlewick gaze, as impassive as ever. A leaf flutters from the lowest branches onto his head. “That man draws his power from the source of the mara. He wields it under the guise of a blessing, and yet…” Blade frowns, almost a grimace, and doesn’t say anything else. 

“I know.”

“Yet you take shelter under his roof and exist willingly in his space.” Blade stares at you. There’s a faint bristling in the air. A shuddering of the atmosphere that emerges from him. Thorny tendrils of bitter gold crackle beneath his pale skin. You don’t know exactly what aggrieves him so, but you get the feeling that you should say something to appease him, quickly.

“Well. I don’t know any other rich diplomats willing to offer me a free, mostly empty house to take a break in for… around twenty minutes a day,” you shrug. “It’s convenient.”

That seems to settle him.

“Do you… not like him? The merchant?” Does he even know Luocha’s name? What kind of relationship do these two weirdos have?

“In the strange purgatory of my existence, he acts as both poison and cure.” Blade informs you, as if it tells you really anything. As if sensing your befuddlement, he deflates a little, nose scrunching. He looks like a dour cat, stuck out in the rain. “He wants something from me. I can’t tell what it is. His unseemly fascination means it can be nothing good.” His attempt at elaboration gives you somewhat of a clearer picture, but it’s still some insanity that you’ll have to unpack later.

“I see. I’ll make sure to remember that,” you’re not sure if it’s possible to forget a conversation with Blade. Especially one that lasts more than a few moments. What prompted this? Genuine concern for your well-being? You have a hard time believing that. There are many things that are better off left unsaid, in your experience, so you don’t ask. 

The rest of the visit passes in relative quiet. Blade finishes his lemonade.

You reach over. His gaze snaps to you immediately, a beaten dog evaluating a potential threat.

“You have something in your hair,” you inform him helpfully, plucking the leaf from his sable locks. You curl the stem around your fingers. 

He doesn’t say anything after that. The two of you stand. He murmurs a brief farewell, and is off through the yard, slipping through the ferns to become one with the cast shadows. You’re not sure how long you remain after he leaves. The pond water ripples with each gentle breeze. Glimmering koi bob to the surface, in search of mid-afternoon snacks. When they find none, they dive beneath, water droplets flickering off their lashing tail fins.

Well, you think after another moment, at least you learned something.

Now, it is high time that you tend to the bouquet so generously sent your way. You dump the glasses in the sink, halfheartedly vowing to deal with them later, before taking a closer look at the arrangement of flowers. As you expected, it’s more than a paltry, sentimental gift. Tucked into the plastic wrapping is a small card.

Bladie said you got in quite the mess, the other day. You have my deepest gratitude for handling it so cleanly. He’s not that good at talking things out. He seems to like you, though! I wonder what makes you so special?

P.S. Next Tuesday, please escort Bladie to the address written on the back of this note. Please? Do it for me. :)

—

You hate working with criminals. Criminals other than yourself.

Though, you don’t fancy yourself much a criminal.  Deliveries are an entirely different beast, simple points of contact which last at most for five minutes. Escorting a known, intergalactic criminal through multiple layers of the Luofu is completely different—something you would never do if anyone besides Kafka asked. You’ll dance to her tune, run her errands if it keeps you off her shitlist. But is there even a point if keeping off of hers just puts you onto someone else’s?

You’ll have some fierce thinking to do after you shake off the six Cloud Knights currently on your tail. You dive between market stalls. You leap over a counter, sending an array of fruits and vegetables tumbling onto the pavement. You ignore the enraged shout of the peddler behind you, pulse thundering in your ears as you weave between the passerby, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates.

The air stings at the corners of your eyes. The marketplace blends together to the point of featurelessness. You don’t know who you pass or what else you know over, too focused on what’s ahead to care about the wreckage left behind. At the very least, it may hamper the Knights as they shout and stomp and rush after you—and Blade, whose fault all this is.

You slide around a corner and into a red-bricked alleyway, lanterns strung between the two rooftops, gold and glittering against that fake, blue sky.

“Dead end.” Blade grunts. You hear the telltale click of his sword being unsheathed.

“No! Just follow me!” you snap, seizing his wrist and pulling him forward, all the way to the end. As you trudge forward, you tap a sequence into the walls on either side. The worn clay surfaces are coarse under your fingertips. None move after you touch them, but you feel a subtle shift in the energy as it rushes down to the focal point. The pattern ends at the back of the alley. You tap a chipped, ragged brick embedded into the dead-end wall. The slabs unfold, layer-by-layer, to form an opening.

You pull him through.

It folds shut behind you, the quiet sound of grinding stone following you through the passage. The hollering and thudding of the pursuit have been silenced. Their chaos of the market sealed away behind the otherwise impenetrable seal. You doubt the low-ranking footmen who chased you will know the way.

Yellow-green vines crawl up the pulsing walls. Luminous particles bob and float in the air like fireflies. The place is silent, leaving you with only the sound of your own panting and Blade—Blade’s rasping, spluttering wheezes.

You stop, right where you are, because you have never heard him make such a sound before. Even after a chase, or a fight. 

The passage opens to a wider tunnel up ahead. You drop Blade’s hand, and turn to look at him. The adrenaline is fading, now leaving room for fresh, common sense. 

Blades hunches up against the wall. The air enters and leaves his lungs in winded, rushed wheezes. His eyes are wide and unseeing. Those candlewick irises dart from the floor, to the place where your hands had been joined, and finally, then, to you. 

A scent, like firewood charred too long, blistering into crumbled charcoal, blooms in and clouds the thin space. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelled before, the vicious pheromones of an alpha at the very end of their tether. Something more, too, something earthen and ancient and charged. A flavor which has graced your palate only once or twice before.

Encroaching mara. You don’t know what he’s like, when his symptoms flare. You’re not eager to find out. The capricious nature of his mara has not once posed a threat to you. But his composure is slipping, his hands curling like claws and flexing. Like he’s getting a feel for his own body. Like the joints are sore and need stretching.

“Blade,” you stumble forward, pressing your palm to the cold, pale pane of his cheek. “Blade, look at me.”

His shaky irises hover awkwardly over your shoulder, before at last meeting your gaze. 

“It approaches,” he rasps, looking as haunted as you have ever seen him.

“Blade, do not let the mara take you.” you take in a deep, steadying breath. The violent pulsing in your ears returns in full force, the unhinged mass of his disease gnawing at your physical form.

Bracing yourself, you reach within. You touch the very bottom of your long neglected wellspring. Harmonic Essence leaps to the surface, warm and loving and so eager to be put to use. It feels like an old coat slipped around your shoulders, a familiarity you wouldn’t dare indulge in under ordinary circumstances. It is a power long wasted on you, but useful this very once. It pulses from underneath your fingertips, washes underneath his pallid skin.

The acrid taste of his mara brashes against the tip of your tongue for a single, fleeting moment. It then skitters backwards. Retreats into the dark, churning void of what you assume to be his subconsciousness. It’s a temporary balancing of the scales, but his wild pulse settles.

You sigh, shoulder slumping in relief. The tension winds out of your body, hand dropping back to your side.

He still looms above you, jet black hair curtaining you in. When did he get so close? Or had it been you in your haste to soothe him? He runs hot as a hearth, the warmth which radiates from him thick enough to feel. This close, you can see his every breath, soft mounds of his chest straining the fastenings which hold his shirt together. Slender stripes of pale skin peek through his chest wrappings. You swallow and look away, up at the strong column of his neck.

“Are you with me?” you murmur. You don’t dare move, lest your retreat trigger the chase instinct which some alphas are known to possess. You don’t like making assumptions. You feel like Blade would be among that number anyways.

“Yes,” Blade’s voice is sandpaper rough. He moves before you do, shouldering past you into the wider tunnel. “You make use of these often, I take it.”

As though nothing had ever happened. Something bitter churns in your gut, but you don’t bring it up. There’s no reason to. He probably wants to distance himself from this episode as quickly as possible. You don’t blame him. The mara must be a humiliating affliction to live and cope with. 

“It’s the fastest way to get around,” you break into a brisk walk, overtaking him. You’re the one who knows your way around, here.

“The mara would rend asunder the minds of anyone not wearing the correct protective gear,” Blade observes. There’s nothing pointed in his voice, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin crawl. Its keen focus is that of an apex predator’s, a beast somehow sated enough to keep his teeth from your throat. How long will that last? Fifteen minutes? An hour? The air here swelters with abundance. His mara must sup on it like a starved prisoner, far stronger and fuller than it could ever be on the surface. 

He could easily match your pace, but he chooses to walk behind you.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I am an abomination of Yaoshi. The abundance has already taken hold of me.” Blade says, grimacing. You toy with the fraying edge of your sleeve between your forefinger and thumb. “All the saturation here does is spur on the symptoms.”

You make a face. He must sense your unease.

“I should be able to resist the pull until we surface. Provided we do not linger overlong.” Blade replies. It does remarkably little to reassure you. 

A predator stalks at your back, one whose sanity may pop like an overfilled balloon at really any moment. Against your better sense, you feel anxiety lash at the bottom of your stomach, guts churning with that primal fear.

“Reassuring.” you bite out thoughtlessly. 

“It would be in your best interest to focus on finding a way out, rather than back-talking me.” Blade says, and you swallow. 

“Back-talking? I think my frustration is quite justified. You’re the reason we’re in this mess, after all.” you pointedly remind him. The words roll bitter off your tongue. Prickling discomfort coalesces with the saturation of abundance in the air, becoming a consistent buzz against the back of your skull.

Blade makes a ragged little noise, wedged between a wheeze and a laugh.

“Another do I make pay the price. I was not always like this. deathless beast borne of blind ambition and hubris…” he trails off. “I was once a man. Death walked with me as it walked with every other. It was never meant to—to become—”

A distorted warble slowly creeps into his voice. Shit, you just shouldn’t have said anything. The hovering energy coalesces, thin whispers congealing into thick, mist-like mass around him. It’s drawn to him. 

“What’s your favorite food?” you turn on your heel and ask, crossing your arms. He looks down at you, brows furrowing as he roots around for an answer. “You haven’t thought about it, have you?” Do the mara-struck even have to eat? Blade is a particularly unique case among them, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he even remembers to eat. He is a blade, according to his own words. And a blade doesn’t need to eat. How desolate an existence he must have lived. Must still be living if his own preferences evade him.

“Well. Try to find an answer while I get us out of here.” you command. He’s quiet for the remainder of the trek. You emerge topside and immediately feel several pounds lighter. The air is fresh and sweet, the skies blue and open. You’re two blocks from your apartment in a dark, neglected alleyway. 

“You can find your way back from here,” you sigh, chancing a glance at your companion as you stretch your arms above your head. “Right?”

He’s still quiet. You don’t sense the acrid tang of the illness. He looks thoughtful. You wish he would just give you an answer already. You’re not eager to be chanced upon again by a patrol, or by any other witnesses for that matter. 

“Your question. I don’t have an answer.” Blade says. He sounds almost regretful. 

Over your few interactions, you’ve come to realize that not much bothers him. Very little manages to budge that glacial mien. His demeanor, as you have come to understand, either sits as stoney neutrality or maniacal, giddy rage. The shades between are so very visited.

“It’s no big deal. You can just tell me next time, if you want.” If he even remembers. The idea of turning your back to him still riddles you with unease, but you do it anyway. Your steps are slow and measured. He stares you down until you disappear around the corner, meld into the crowds like just another thread in a blanket.

—

The sky above hangs a pale grey. It’s the threat of a light drizzle rather than a raging storm. You slip through the abundant foliage of Luocha’s front yard, unable but to notice that the shrubs and vibrant blooms have somehow grown in size since your last visit. The greens are hearty, fresh dewdrops glimmering off grass and unfurled leaves.

It’s not difficult to spot him. He’s lounged beneath the sole scarlet maple of the yard. He’s a spot of red himself, swathed in a richly-colored, likely richly-made, robe of it. The fabric pools on the lawn chair he lounges atop of. His eyes are shut, blonde lashes fanning against his perfect cheeks. Those eyes open as you skirt along the jagged stone edge of the pond, manilla envelope clutched in your left hand. He smiles, but does not lift his head. Sumptuous locks of golden blonde fan out behind his head like a halo. The very picture of serenity. 

“Well, well. To what do I owe this visit?” he tilts his head, smiling like a contented cat. You huff, and avoid looking below his neck, where the plush robe parts to reveal the pale soft of his chest. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but any sliver of intimacy you may have granted him has long passed. The moment you look down, he’ll notice and impose upon you another outlandish favor.

“Don’t get excited.” You hand him the package, and begin to pull back, but he’s faster. He darts for you like a viper. Long fingers curl around your wrist to hold you in place. The look in his eyes is beseeching. He gently deposits the envelope on the side table next to his seat. He doesn’t look away from you for even a moment. 

“Always so busy… doesn’t it exhaust you?” he murmurs, a sympathetic coo. He’s putting just enough strain on your arm to make standing uncomfortable, in hopes that you’ll sit down beside him. 

“No. I’m used to it. I like being busy,” you bear the ache in your arm with unyielding ease. It is so small and insignificant in comparison to every other you have endured.

“Do you… like being busy, or is it that you’ve never known anything else?” Luocha tilts his head to the side, smiling. Your skin prickles. You resist the urge to swallow. 

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Which is why I’m glad I’m not making one. You go to awfully desperate lengths to not be known, Courier.”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, and his eyes gleam. “Don’t be coy with me. Did you talk to them?” You ask. The question has lingered on your mind for weeks, leaving you restless and more unkind than usual. The persistent threat of him is always at the back of your mind, represented in the throbbing between your temples, in the harshness of your voice as you snap at someone who might not deserve it. There’s no sense in beating around the bush, anymore. Not if you want to preserve your sanity.

“How very vague, for someone who just accused me of being coy. Be at ease, I haven’t had any contact with The Family. Merely some… particularly useful informants who have heard a thing or two. Hunches based on speculation that you’ve proven by being cagey.” Luocha assures you.

“...So, what do you want from me?”

“Merely conversation. I do find our interactions so compelling, however short they may be.”

“Being blackmailed doesn’t put me in the mood for conversation. There’s not much for us to talk about.”

“I beg to differ. I know so very little about you, despite all we’ve shared. I’m curious—what set you on the path of Harmony?” 

“...” You look away, internally evaluating the pros and cons of going along with his little game. “Peace. She promised us peace. Because that’s what Harmony was supposed to be.” His eyes soften. The indignation sizzling inside of you sparks into a raw flame (he has no right to look at you like that), but you smother it. 

“Did it live up to your expectations?” he asks. His thumb rubs circles against the hollow of your wrist. His gaze sweeps from your face, down your arm, to where he’s still got you. He’s waiting for you to be vulnerable, you just know it. A shark that smells blood in the water, circling and searching for tender flesh to lay its rows of teeth into. How does he imagine it will taste? Soft and meaty, melting underneath teeth and tongue? Layers of skin peeled back and pried open, made thin by older slices?

“It didn’t work out.” you reply. sagacious enough to play along only minimally. When you elaborate no further, he releases you with a smile.

“How interesting,” he hums. He reclines further, eyes fluttering shut. You could pounce on him so easily, like this. You could fix your teeth into his jugular and make it so he never threatens you again. The blood would be so warm in your mouth. His skin would be so sweet.

Don’t be gross. You grimace.

He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

The fluttering of wings erupts in the canopy above you, a flock of songbirds taking an afternoon flight. He cracks open his eyes, then. He tracks some sort of movement (you aren’t looking up), idle, like you aren’t even there. He tilts his head to the side, the slender column of his neck completely exposed. The robe slips off of his shoulders, curvature of his collarbones and soft expanse of his chest open for your viewing pleasure. You’re annoyed.

 “I’ve held you long enough,” he sighs. “Thank you for sharing. Though, I do hope we can manage a longer conversation next time.”

“We’ll see,” you just barely keep a sigh out of your voice as you turn to leave, speed-walking up the grassy slope.

—

“That old man’s damn cat has been coming into the yard and bothering all the birds,” you grumble, squinting into the aforementioned patch of forest. 

Blade makes a noncommittal noise, indicating that he’s heard you.

“It pisses me off.”

“You care about the birds in someone else’s yard.” Blade observes. You frown deeper.

“It’s annoying. Cats are an invasive species, here. They slaughter all of the native wildlife—and sometimes they don’t even eat what they kill,” you sigh, tampering down your rising agitation. If you’ve learned one thing in your short and storied life, it’s that being impassioned isn’t good for you. 

“So, how would you suggest the problem be solved? If the owner insists on letting it out…”

“I don’t really live here, so it’s not like I have any right to get involved,” you shrug, “It’s just… if you’re gonna be that irresponsible with an animal, you don’t deserve to have it. You know?”

Blade makes another noise. Closer to a hum, this time. You don’t know if he knows or not. But you do know that he’s listening. You stare into the yard, and in your periphery you can see him staring at you.

—

You see Blade more in the coming days. Despite your best attempts, a routine slips into being, like weeds through cracks in the cement. Silver Wolf doesn’t show up to accept her own packages nearly as much, anymore. It’s almost always Blade. You see him so often that you question if he even has a job anymore.

He glowers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, low voice almost lost amongst the bustle of the crowd. The markets are especially full today. Nestled in the crook of your elbow is a plastic shopping basket, loaded with some bread, some spices, and some vegetables. The stall you’re at rests beneath a red tarp, casts warm shadows onto his pale, bone-weary skin. “There are currently no tasks which command my presence at the moment.”

“Well. It’s good to have time off, but you don’t need to follow me around.”

“...” he doesn’t reply, but he does follow you all the way up to the counter. You can’t tell if he doesn’t understand the nuance, or if he’s just being bizarre and stubborn. Regardless, tailing you like a lost puppy seems to alleviate his boredom. To each their own.

“If you’re just going to walk behind me, can you—” you shift the basket from the crook of your arm, preparing to offer it. He snatches it from you before you can even finish speaking. 

“...Thanks.” 

He takes his newfound job as the basket carrier very seriously. His dour face doesn't budge an inch as you peruse the rest of the wares, plucking a few items from open crates and wooden shelves to add to the bundle. 

“So, see anything that piques your interest?” you’re not sure what prompts you to speak up. You should get through this as silently and as quickly as possible. The less time you spend in public with this man, the better. The presence of the Cloud Knights isn’t nearly as felt on this level, making it as safe a haven for criminals as can be. You suspect, sometimes, that it’s purposeful. In your many travels, you have come to realize that the criminal class is a valuable part of any economy, no matter how much those at the top may protest it. Those who disavow it the most fervently are usually the most involved, under the table.

Blade doesn’t respond, at first. His crimson gaze glances over the nearby shelves. He grabs a bottle of cloves and presents it to you, completely straight-faced.

You get the overwhelming sense he’s appeasing you more than anything.

“...Yeah,” you pluck it from his hand and halfheartedly eye the label. It’s hard to muster the energy to argue with him, especially when he looks so resolute. The fact that he’s continuing to tail you through the market is cause enough to ignore him. You drop the bottle into your basket and move on.

Thankfully, the rest of the trip passes in peaceful silence. You can feel Blade’s gaze, unreadable, lingering on your form as you pull your wallet out of one of your many pockets. The shopkeep, a sprightly young man with a head of bouncy, brown hair beams at the sight of you. You don’t remember his name, but you’re familiar with him. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts his mouth tight before he can get a word out.

He glances over your shoulder. You swivel just barely to look at your stubborn shadow. Blade looms closer than you remember him being, leaving you with an up close and personal view of his chest. You tsk and look up at his face. 

“Can you get a bottle of white cardamom for me? It should be with the rest of the spices.”

Blade looks at you, and looks at the shopkeep. He is silent. The lines of his face are harsher than usual, burdened with deeper shadow. For a few, agonizing moments, you fear he may object, but he turns almost robotically and walks off. You’re not sure what’s upset him this time. You don’t particularly care. If you troubled yourself with the qualms of every pouting client, you’d be just as miserable as you were with The Family.

“Thanks. I could hardly get a word out while he was giving me those evil eyes,” the shopkeep says, shuddering.

“I guess his manners still need work,” Not that men in his line of work really needed any. 

“Alphas that smell that strong and don’t even try to put a lid on it are the worst,” he gripes, bagging your produce with nimble hands, before pausing and looking back up at you. He wrings his hands, contrite and sheepish. “—er, no offense.” 

“He smells strong?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Well, yeah. He’s all over you,” the man blinks. Some of his bangs fall over his big, brown eyes. He swipes them behind his ear thoughtlessly. “You guys just get together? He’s probably trying to flaunt it. Stake his ‘claim’, y’know?” he says with a sympathetic roll of the eyes.

You don’t particularly care what he says about Blade. A man able to lift a three-thousand pound sword doesn’t need defending.  It’s his misconceptions about your relationship that irks you, for some reason. You don’t care about the opinions of others (you try not to care about the opinions of others) but you can’t resist the sudden urge to correct him.

“We’re not together.”

“Oh,” he blinks at you. “Does he know that?”

“Ugh. Enough. It’s none of your business.” your lips twist, a sliver of teeth exposed in your displeasure.

The shopkeep nods and beams at you, all previous curiosity wiped clean off his face. “Heard loud and clear!”

He finishes ringing you up and sees you off with a “have a nice day~!”. Blade follows you to your next stop, a stall that sells fresh fruits. 

The frustration builds within you slowly. It’s a candlewick of a thing, at first. Blade is following you around. Irritating, but you can cope with it. He would leave if he was asked. Maybe Kafka told him to stick around for a while. She’s gotten into a bad habit of pawning him off on you, like he’s a child that needs watching rather than one of the universe’s most efficient killing machines. That’s fine. You’re not keen to get on her bad side.

Blade is scenting you. He’s sticking to you tight as a cobweb and giving dirty looks to people you talk to. That, you cannot abide by. It takes you at least five minutes to simmer, from the crate of apples to the lefternmost all of the stall to the bundle of leeks close to its middle. You’re not really looking at anything. Lost in thought.

“I am not an omega for you to covet. I don’t need your protection,” you tell him, letting your gaze idly roam over the prices. They’re written on fancy little labels with red accents, each one neatly stickered just below the lip of each crate. 

“I never said you did,” Blade replies after a moment of deliberating. You look over a crate of cantaloupe. Selecting a ripe one is a practiced art.

“You didn’t have to,” you pause, melon held in your hands as you give him a scathing look. “Control your pheromones. You’re not an animal.”

“No. Worse, I am a blade.” he sighs, suddenly sounding unusually surly. Your lips twitch in the barest beginnings of a frown. 

“Not an excuse,” you helpfully remind him. A shadow is cast over his face, then, dark and brooding. The space between his brows wrinkles, an uncertainty you haven’t quite seen from him before. There’s so little need to deliberate in a life like his own, so what troubles him now? It nettles something in you, makes you feel in a way that you don’t care to name and don’t want to look into. You deliberate asking, but he makes the choice for you.

“I will leave you, now.” When you turn to look at him, he’s already walked away from your side, strides longer than usual. He dissolves into the crowd like a sunset shadow, naught left in his wake but the scent you know still clings to your clothes. 

—

“My, my. You rarely ever visit at this hour,” Luocha says, giving you one of those mirthful smiles where his eyes scrunch, unabashedly delighted (and undeniably smug) to see you. He lounges on the ottoman, slender fingers parting the pages of a furniture catalogue. “To what do I owe the honor?”’ He’s already deduced that you want something from him. You take no excessive pride in your poker face but it still pains you to be so easily read. Luocha stands apart from the crowd with his soft hands and feigned delicacy, but he smells blood in the water just as easily as any other follower of the Hunt.

“I just wanted to talk,” you see no reason to dance around it.

“You came all this way for a conversation?” He rests his chin on the palm of his hand in a haughty way that pisses you off.

“Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?” you grouse, and he laughs.

“I’m flattered, regardless. Come, sit and tell me all that is on your mind.” he beckons to a seat at his side, which you stiffly sink into, unable to relax beneath his hunter’s gaze.

“You’re an omega—”

“Yes, quite,” his smile is now coquettish. You feel your face wrinkle in annoyance, line of your brows dipping low. 

“I wasn’t done. You know more about secondary genders than I do—and I don’t have anyone else to talk about it with, so…”

“I appreciate you confiding in me like this,” Luocha says, sweet as honey, timbre smooth as silk. There’s an ease about him here, in his own domain, that soothes and disarms you despite your best efforts. “It couldn’t have been easy for you to ask, so unused to relying on anyone else. I’m no professional, but I will answer your questions as best as I am able.”

He steeples his fingers with a smile, way too delighted for you to feel good about his generosity. He just likes knowing something you don’t, doesn’t he?

“Well. I’ve been spending time with an alpha, lately. It’s a work thing, but he keeps hovering around. Even after I tell him he can leave.”

“Ah.” Luocha says. The corners of his smile grow taut with something you don’t quite recognize. 

And it’s a question you suddenly have to wonder for yourself. Is Blade bothering you? You can count on one hand the amount of times you have been genuinely upset with him. He’s quiet, most of the time. He answers your questions and attempts to appease you whenever possible. He carries your bags whenever you happen to be at the markets, together. Even if you really wish he wouldn’t, you can tell he’s trying to be kind. 

“He hardly speaks. And when I does, I don’t really mind. But he hovers and keeps grabbing my shopping bags whenever we’re at the markets. I don’t get it. Is it some sort of courting gesture?”

“He certainly sounds like a character,” Luocha muses, sounding far off for a moment. “You have the right idea. He’s carrying your things to both lessen your burden and to prove himself capable, even if he himself does not realize it.”

You grimace, face twisting up, The truth has an acerbic tang to it. Luocha laughs unabashedly at your dismay, the sound melodic and trilling. The longer you spend in his presence, the more convinced you become that the Aeons crafted him specifically to vex you. You give him a scathing look.

“Come, now,” Luocha wheedles. “My humblest apologies, Courier—it’s simply so rare for you to be so expressive. I was caught off guard. Shall I get you something to drink? Come, please, sit back down. Surely you have more to ask of me?”

Reluctantly, you drop into the armchair closest to the door, leaning back as far as you have the space for, You fold your fingers together, elbows perched on an arm rest each.

“I don’t envy you. It must be difficult to bear the attentions of such a peculiar alpha,” Luocha says.

“You know him, then.” You can’t keep the accusation from your voice, something frenetic and ugly kicking up your pulse, making your stomach go sour. How deeply do they know each other? Enough for Luocha to consider spilling your secrets? Enough for them to conspire against your purposes unknown?

No, don't be ridiculous. You're not important enough a figure to be the center of any such elaborate scheme. Weak, as far as emanators go. Painfully average, even as far as betas go. Unremarkable in status and career. All that threatens you is what you have long left behind.

“I do know him. Quite well, in fact.” Luocha muses, undisputed fondness in his voice. How close are they? The question lingers bitter on the tip of your tongue. It vibrates underneath your skin, wild and desperate and gods, you want to know so badly.  “Though he may deny it, he can be shy. You’re alike, in that way.”

“I am not shy,” you bristle. It’s your curiosity alone that keeps you in his company. 

“An argument best saved for another day. Let’s not get off track—Blade is an alpha, but he bears few of the typical mannerisms associated with his secondary gender, which makes this newfound attachment to you all the more significant.”

Progressively, throughout your conversation, you’ve been able to feel the wrinkles on your face multiplying and darkening.

“It makes sense, if you ask me. You’re quite the extraordinary individual,” Luocha says, drumming his fingers idly against the armrest.

“So how do I get him to stop?” you brush past his superfluous flattery with practiced indifference. He wants to fluster you, to see you squirm. It’s one of the ugly truths behind the chivalrous front he wears in polite company.

“Are you sure you want him to stop?” he inquires.

“What are you getting at?”

“If you truly wanted to no longer be the object of these behaviors, you would have no problem telling him yourself.”

You laugh, and it’s a cold and bitter thing. “Not all men take rejection well.”

“As I well know,” Luocha reminds you. He’s so haughty, so utterly confident that sometimes you forget he’s an omega, a demographic as subject to unwanted advances as any you are a part of. He stands up, empty glass cradled in hand. The sheer material of his robe billows around him like fine mist, treating you to the outline of his smooth, toned legs. Blade is more built, the thought comes to you unbidden. You squish it like the raspberries you juiced only a week ago on Luocha's kitchen counter. You wonder if the stains ever came out.

“Objectively speaking, you have more of a reason to hold your tongue around me than you do him. Yet, you hardly hesitate to make your displeasure known in my company,” he points out. “It’s not because of my secondary sex. You hardly ever remember that I’m an omega, unless my heat is soon.”

“And your point is?”

He seizes your chin, then tilts your head up until you’re forced to look into those grass green eyes. Cradled between his forefinger and thumb, you are left with nowhere else to go. You wonder briefly if it thrills him to do this because he is an omega. If he finds some kind of perverse pleasure in subverting the roles society espouses about his kind.

“You could have told him off on your own. Instead, you went out of your way to consult someone you deeply dislike, looking for another, less direct way of handling it. All of that implies some degree of care, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He’s right, and you hate nothing more than when he’s right.

“Thank you for your time,” you dip back into your customer service with a placid and empty drone, because you know how much he hates it. You say it to his chest, refusing to give him the eye contact. Unwilling to expend the effort. For plausible deniability, because you don’t know what you’ll find on his face. The air has grown balmy and cloying and fragrant. You stand up, and he steps backwards. “But I must be going, now.”

“How unfortunate,” Luocha coos as you awkwardly find your way around him, having been sandwiched between his body and the coffee table. “I was going to put the kettle on…”

—

The shroud of night has settled over the Luofu. A crescent moon winks down at you from the artificial sky, peering between the treetops. You’re laid on your back, on the concrete patio near the shed. 

Footsteps head in your direction. You already know who it is. There’s no one else that has that blistering, writhing aura. Blade comes to stand over you. His brows wrinkle in displeasure. You don’t know why. It’s not his patio that you’ve gotten your blood all over.

“You’re injured,” he says, frowning. He crouches over you. A pale thumb smears the drying crimson on your upper lip. Your entire face scrunches up, gnarled like a gargoyle, recoiling from the unexpected touch.

“Nosebleed,” you mutter. The space behind your eyes throbs in protest, accompanied by a fierce pressure at the bridge of your nose. All typical symptoms. The gifts bestowed upon you as Emanator unfortunately do not shield you from your allergies. To think, an Emanator could still be laid low by something as mundane as allergies. 

“Who gave it to you?” Blade looms a little closer, gaze steely.

“No one. Sometimes my allergies act up. That’s all.” you assure him, squinting irritably. You hope your judgmental flower will shame him out of your personal space, but he lingers.

“You should remain indoors, then.” he draws. He lifts his bloodied hand and looks at it, too contemplative for your liking. 

“I take medication for it. Just forgot today,” it feels wrong to justify yourself. He isn't owed an answer, but this is a rare moment. Blade showing such outright concern over something so novel is interesting (a more sentimental person might call it touching). Has his immortality rendered him incapable of distinguishing a few pesky allergies from a deadly ammonia? You can’t imagine someone so riddled with regeneration to register the difference between a gaping gash and a papercut. 

“Then remember to take them.” he advises coolly. 

“I will.”

You lay there, then, in silence unperturbed for a few moments. The hard ground is cool against your back. It’ll fix your aching spine, you’re sure. 

“Are you not going to get up?” Blade asks.

“No. It feels nice to be on the floor, sometimes.” you assure him quickly, lest he assume your nosebleed has robbed you of all mobility. He stares at you, blank-faced, but you somehow can tell he is skeptical. You pat the space next to you, a silent offering.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it. This rare creature, crackling with the energy of his divine “gift”. You don’t indulge in typical sentiments, and you spurn love and limerence for your own sanity, due to the madness you have seen both inspire. To adore is to give of yourself, to exhaust what limited energy you have left. Yet, there is no arguing the fact of his beauty. His hair pools like fresh slick pitch. Faint moonlight catches on the sable strands. His jaw cuts a sharp and handsome shape, eyelashes long and thick. He stares up at the sky, unreadable. 

“Kafka has no need of me in the coming days.” “It is… strange. The Stellaron Hunters are few in number, so our hands are always full. To be bereft of any responsibility… is rare.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

“No. It will leave me restless. And the silence will only give the mara room to spread. It’s better—more manageable when there is a task at hand.” Blade admits, a shiver in his voice.

“I do. I believe you are familiar with the place,” he says. That catches your attention. And makes you just a little nervous. 

“Do you even have anywhere to stay?” The Stellaron Hunters surely have a vessel of their own where he can lodge. You’re ultimately not too concerned. You shut your eyes and listen to the midnight breeze, feel the black of the night against your skin.

You turn to look at him, almost afraid to ask. “Familiar?”

“The merchant has opened his home to me. I will remain there for the duration of my… off time.”

Again, you are sorely tempted to question the exact nature and origin of their relationship, but it’s truly none of your business. You’ve long espoused a policy of isolation, but there’s no denying how thoroughly entangled you have become in them. Elbows deep. You’re not quite sure how it happened. They’re infiltrated your monotonous life, moved in so slowly that you didn’t even notice until this very moment. 

“Well. He’s not there most of the time, so it’ll be like having your own place,” You can’t imagine Blade as a homeowner, for some reason. It just invokes the image of him mowing a lawn in khaki shorts with that same, placid face he always wears. He’s too ethereal and strange to trim the hedges or fix a leaky faucet. Sometimes, you think he’d look more in-place if he levitated instead of just walking everywhere.

“I had lemonade the other day,” he says, and this fascinates you, because it is so very rare for him to initiate conversation about something so little.

“...And? Did you like it?” Perhaps it’s petty, but you already have a feeling that he didn’t. You hate to presume, but you think you have similar palettes. 

“...It was too sweet, and burdened by a lingering, chemical taste,” he confirms your vague conjecture and you very nearly laugh. Or make some sort of short, wry noise like a horse’s snort.

“Yeah. Ones that aren’t made from scratch tend to be like that.”

“And that is why you make your own.” 

“Exactly,” you lift your gaze from him and return it to the sky. “When you make something from scratch, you can make however you like. Ones you buy pre-bottled have too much sugar.” He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else.

The twinkling stars are no more authentic than the clouds which hover during the day. But you wonder how many far off stars he has visited across the span of his long un-life. How many civilizations he has seen toppled, how many lives have ended at his hands. What a terrifying beast Yaoshi has created. Yet, here he lay beneath a sky he has likely long tired of, humoring your purposeless requests for reasons unknown.

—

You’re tucked on the steps off the side door, head leaned back and eyes shut, drinking in the warmth of the artificial midday sun. Blade leans up against the wall next to you, arms crossed. You don’t blame him for staying in the shade, not when he’s always dressed so darkly.

You shouldn’t show your stomach to a known apex predator. Your instincts are tampered down, but you still curl your spine and lift your knees to your chest when you usually it on the stoop. You haven’t done it, today. Anxiety thrums in the space right behind your eyes. The scared animal inside of you writhes in his presence. You look at him, gaze by happenstance falling on the profile of his chest.

Breasts, you think stupidly, and laugh aloud. The noise is so sudden that you almost don’t realize it came from you. Blade looks down at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you're still too caught up in your own disbelief. Spending so much time with him has softened your skill, started to fry your remaining brain cells. He’s always been handsome. But you’ve started to too keenly note the bow curve of his lips, the narrowness of his waist.

And you hate, hate, hate proving Luocha right.

“What is it that you find so amusing?” Blade speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a scared dog or a lost child.

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting it thump against the top step. Blade inhales sharply. “Just remembered a stupid joke I heard a few days ago.” When you open your eyes, Blade has turned away, inspecting a row of gladiolus planted next to the nearby shed. The line of his shoulders has gone tense.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” you muse.

“Did you plant them?”

“No. I delivered the seeds. Only a week ago, I think. They wouldn’t have been able to sprout this fast.”

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Blade skates a finger over a bright orange petal. “That merchant utilizes his gift so shamelessly. Even while at the heart of his natural born enemy.”

“And it’ll all be for nothing if that damn cat comes and eats them,” you grunt. You’ev stumbled upon torn up patches of grass and bitten through flower patches, stems snapped and petals crushed. You briefly, in one of your pettiest and cruelest moments, nearly suggested Luocha plant lilies next. The callousness of your own thought had startled you into silence, so gladiolus it was.

“Ah. About the cat,” Blade begins. You blink, wide-eyed. A cold pit forms in your stomach, because—

“You didn’t,” you gape.

“I did not kill it,” Blade says sourly, clearly affronted by the assumption. “I brought it to Kafka. They seem to get along.”

The tension melts out of you at once. Your petty grudge isn’t worth the blood of an innocent animal. You let yourself fall back against the stoop. The edges of the stairs dig into your spine. 

“That makes sense,” you say, a touch wry.

Blade grimaces. “They send me images of the little beast every day I am not there. If Silver Wolf is to be believed, it ‘eats better’ than she does.”

Does Silver Wolf eat well to begin with? “That was kind of you,” you say instead. 

“Was it? Or was it cruel to the man who will wonder where his pet has gone?” Blade inquires. He doesn’t sound particularly bothered by the possibility. 

You scoff. “I doubt he’ll even notice.”

—

You are natant in the dull haze of half-sleep. The soft scent of camelias and fabric softener and linens. A cloying warmth cocoons you, keeps you mired in a state of partial sleep. Burrowed beneath the comfort exists a nagging feeling of wrongness, like a pebble in your boot. You cling to the sensation, let it pull you from the inky, peaceful depths. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to breach the surface. It feels like ages by the time you pry your weary eyes open.

There’s a body crushed into you. An unyielding, solid mass of muscle. The scent of something charred wreathes around you. Your cheek is pressed up against a heartbeat, steady and strong. It would be comforting if you knew where you were, or who you were with.

Alarm, molten hot, jots down your spine. Shaken from your stupor, you begin to writhe. Your palms slap against the chest of the man beneath you. You brace yourself against him in an effort to pry yourself free.

An arm around your midriff tightens, and the panic grows. You lash out, snarl, a hand reaching behind you to grab onto the assailant’s wrist.

The room blurs, then. The breath is knocked from your lungs as you’re reoriented and pinned with minimal effort. Your eyes blow wide, gaze caught by those candlewick eyes. Blade’s hair is mussed from both sleep and the struggle. His lips are pulled into a snarl. Your gut squirms at the flash of those deadly canines—sharper than you’d imagined (he’s never bared his teeth at you).

“Stop,” he commands, low and throaty. You shudder, foolish hindbrain moved to obey the order. This, you realize, is what an alpha’s command must sound like.

As you lay beneath him, chest to heaving chest, the pieces of the previous night return to you in fragments and shades.

Blade came to your door at dusk’s end. The shuttles had shut down for the night. You let him in, quickly, before anyone could witness a known fucking criminal at your door. You fed him dinner, anyways. Spoke late into the night—about what you cannot truly recall. Somewhere around three in the morning, you must have nodded off. 

“Have you calmed down?” Blade asks.

“Yes,” you grumble, feeling thoroughly chastised despite his flat and empty tone. You attempt to dislodge yourself a second time, but Blade stops you fast. “Blade—” The beginning of a feeling you cannot quite name crawls up your spine, up the back of your skull. It’s a creeping, white hot sensation. A sudden deprivation of air. His eyes have closed. You feel your pulse spike. “Blade.” You try again. “Let me up.”

He draws a shaky breath.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there for me to understand?” you ask, voice a tepid little thing. He laughs. The sound is manic and bitter. When he opens his eyes, they’re hot enough to burn a hole in you.

“I… remember you,” he begins slowly. There’s a creeping breathiness there, you feel it under your palms, writhing inside of his ribcage. “When you are not there. I remember how warm your hands are, the smell of your sweat—the taste of when we are… together. And I crave it every moment we are apart. It’s—maddening.”

“What.” you’re taken back, all the sudden, to the sixth time Sunday called you to his office. A servant of the Harmony, you were, still protected by your naivete, still convinced by the smiling faces and open arms which surrounded you. A child. A seed, among the older and wiser trees in Xipe’s forests. 

You remember the exact shape of his lips when he said it—you remember how it felt. You feel the same way now, pinned like a little butterfly. Lost in the reeds.

“I remember you,” Blade continues, slower and calmer, now. Burning wood to dead charcoal. “When we are apart, you are all I remember, and the emptiness that exists in your shape is too much to bear. I need—” he licks his lips, his empty pupils blown so very wide.

“The mara becomes quiet, when we are together,” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. His eyes close. His forehead is a wide rash of heat, pressed against yours. He takes a single, shuddering inhale, breathing your air. 

And you—you’re still frozen there, caught up in the vice of his body and the couch. You stare emptily beyond him. His face settles into the crook of your neck. 

The lamplight flickers on and off. 

#oz write #hungering for hsr #blade/reader #hsr/reader

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Hangover Cure

Summary: In which Karl helps you through a hefty hangover with peculiar methods.

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x afab!reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Content Warnings: Plot? What plot? Porn! 18+!, Heavy On The Daddy Kink 🥴, Karl Has A Dad Bod Because It's Hot AF, Karl Is A Service Dom, Pet Names, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Mentions Of Drinking, Intoxication Kink, Slight Praise

A/N: The brain rot is actually insane this time…

-I'm adapting the fanon that Heisenberg is German because I wanna use my language for a cool thing for once, please and thank you! 🙏🏻-

Tagging in case you're interested: @blueberrypancakesworld @queer-crusader

Show me where it hurts this dirty little curse

Don't have to be ashamed if you wanna scream my name

While I fuck away the pain

- Fuck Away The Pain - Divide The Day

There were few things Karl Heisenberg really, genuinely loved but your ass shamelessly grinding into his crotch was certainly one of them.

You hadn't even opened your eyes properly and yet your body already did the talking for you. A wide grins stretched across Karl's lips as he felt how you pressed your thighs together, your still halfway asleep silhouette whispering to him what it needed as it had done plenty of times before. Karl knew you well enough to know what you needed after you got into his vodka stash. He certainly enjoyed drinking with you but the mornings after were even better. So much so that the lord of metal sometimes fucked you up entirely on purpose, refilling your glass faster than you could decline the highly alcoholic offerings.

“Oh, sugar, let daddy help with that, hm?” He cooed into your ear in a smooth whisper, his warm breath gently stroking along the shell of your ear and the skin of your neck coaxing a soft rush of goosebumps to wash along.

“Hm-hmm…” You agreed with a sleep-drunken tone and a wobbly nod of your pounding head.

The ache pulsing away inside of your skull rendered you regretful towards the copious drinks you had knocked back the night prior but once the booze hit you, you couldn’t find it in you to stop. It felt purely too good, the loss of inhibition accompanied by the warm buzz growing in your guts and you knew just fine that Karl enjoyed it, too. Besides, what else, really, was there to do at the factory since the dust around mother dearest had settled? Fucking and drinking had turned into the main attractions next to rebuilding the land around the factory.

A groan heavy with remorse slipped from your lips as you tried opening your eyes for a moment. Immediately back to the soothing dark of your eyelids before another jolt of pain could shoot right to the forefront of your head.

“It's okay, keine Sorge, you can be a sleepy pillow princess for me while I take good care of that gnarly hangover, buttercup.” The soothing words slithered into your ear as you turned your hip to give Karl enough access, effectively pressing the round of your ass along his muscular thighs once more.

“Hell, so needy today? Daddy better be quick.” The sly grin plastered on his face was audible as your truly desperate way to gather his attention went straight to his rapidly hardening cock.

Karl's lips peppered a few quick pecks to your earlobe whilst his calloused fingers snaked along your hip down to your panty. To not just give in to your need immediately, his fingertips brushed over the thin layer of fabric to cup your pussy with the full width of his palm. His warmth seeped into the increasingly dampening cloth immediately and sent a tingle through your lower abdomen. Karl's hand pressed lightly, caressing your cunt to draw the focus from the pain emitting from sore and thoroughly toxicated synapses and you couldn't keep yourself from rolling your hips into his gentle grasp, it made you feel too good to not do.

“Could ride yaself all fuzzy on my thigh later, sugar, I bet you'd love that, huh? Get yourself all silly and wet until the pain goes away, no?” Just the way Karl talked to you, pulled a new gush of arousal from amidst your legs to soak through the panties and a breathy moan spilled from your lips as you felt the heat creeping up into your cheeks, giving you away.

“Ah, thought so.”, Karl clicked his tongue, playfully taunting you a little, “I know how you need'ta chase those orgasms when your hungover, makes it all so much easier n’ don't worry, I'll make you cum so many times that you can't walk tomorrow.” He sealed his lewd promise with a kiss to your cheek before languidly stroking over your gradually more needy cunt.

“Mhmm, thank you, Daddy.” You quipped in response, knowing that it rendered your lover a little more feral with each time.

“Nothing but the best, für meine Liebe.” The tip of his nose nudged against the shell of your ear as his fingers slowly started worked you.

“Love you touching me like that so much.” You whined, buttering him further up whilst the wish for his fingers to sneak past the lacey fabric grew.

“N’ I fuckinh love fingering that pretty pussy just as much, sugar.”, just as if to prove that he knew your own body better than you yourself, Karl led his fingertips to play over the seams of your string, edging it to the side little by little, “Imma have my fingers right up in that wet hot cunt all day long.”

With every further brush of his broad fingers his breath alongside yours turned more labored and shallow.

“Please…” You begged unto him, the tease growing nearly unbearable.

“Fuck it, can hardly wait either.” The words hadn't properly rolled over Karl's tongue as his fingers were spearheading through your slick-soaked folds already, dragging down for his index- and middle finger to thrust inside you whilst the thick pad of his thumb nudged your throbbing clit.

The doubled stimulation sent an almost electric jolt of pleasure through your entire body and straight into your head, making you effectively forget about the hammering ache in your skull for a moment because the ache between your thighs gained the high ground.

“Hmm, yeah, that's better, buttercup.”, He sneered, his fingers stroking and curving against your insides in a devilishly slow pace that led you to arch yourself against them, “Fuck, so wet for me, good girl. There you go, fuck Daddy's fingers.”

Moving with his fingers, you jutted your hips, the lewd squelching sound of Karl's digits rutting in and back out of you repeatedly, filling the gloomy bedroom and being joined by poorly choked-back moans. The forming soundscape intoxicated Karl and fogged his mind to the point where it went entirely past him how he himself grinded his waist against your side to alleviate the pressure in his pulsing and twitching cock held back by the confines of his boxers, pre-cum leaking through the cotton. If it wouldn't have been for the raging hangover, he'd fuck you stupid on the spot and gotten himself balls-deep inside of you until you were a cock-drunk, babbling mess but that had to wait. He'd coax and pull two or three orgasms out of you before getting his dick properly wet.

“Fuck…shit…” Your breaths came quick and shallow, your rib cage fluttering up and down whilst your muscles started to tense up with every flick of his thumb.

“There, there… issok, let yourself go.” His lips pressed a sloppy kiss behind your ear, the pleasurable tingle nearly sending you over the threshold, however, you kept yourself tethering right at the edge with your pelvis thrusting against Karl's fingers harshly now.

You felt your insides clench around his fingers, worked-up muscles starting to contract in the first spasms of an explosive orgasm that rippled through your entire body. For mere seconds all the pain was washed from your system and instead flooded with the purest of bliss. The coil inside your stomach had snapped and with it, warm and soothing ecstasy sprung from one nerve ending to the next like a spark that carried the raging fire to the entire forest.

Karl didn't bother to move his fingers by just an inch, not until every last orgasmic contraction had faded and left his hand covered in your release. A meak wince fell from your lips as he left your cunt empty and instead brought the fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean in feral enthusiasm.

“How ‘bout you sit that pretty pussy on my face next, huh?

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg smut #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #karl heisenberg fanfic

[shinestarhwaa]

I’m hereeeee !!

Okay okay so you may or may not know my sub Mingi agenda, that man is so fekjshejejsjdjd

But but but, what if he were to get with a virgin ? I think the dynamic would be pretty interesting because it isn’t in his nature to be dominant but he wants to comfort and help you because it’s your first time :((

would it end with him guiding you in how to please him ? would it end with him on a service top wavelength ? I’ll leave that up to you ml <3

I've never written this before but I think this plot is interesting so here goes nothing-

NIRVANA || SONG MINGI

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Bf!Mingi x Male reader

Word Count: 0.9K

Warnings/tags: Dirty language, virginity loss, blowjob, handjob, fingering, anal protected sex, mingi has a bigass cock, mingi is actually a sub but will be a softdom for you bb <3, catch is he will still take dick in his ass even if he ain't a sub

@anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86

Tell me if u wanna be added to my taglist ❣️

ENJOY!

You were nervous, so nervous your heart was pounding against your chest. You wondered if Mingi could hear it. You straddled him on his bed and you had just confessed to be a virgin.

"That's not a problem," he smiled, "I can show you how to do it."

Mingi pressed his lips on yours, softly moving them against you as he started unbottoning your shirt. His hands slid over your chest as he deepened the kiss.

You felt yourself getting weak at the knees, even while sitting, completely melting into Mingi's arms.

It didn't take long before both your pants and boxers were off, leaving you two in nothing but your unbuttoned shirt and his oversized hoodie.

Your cock stood proudly against your stomach, twitching at the anticipation of what would happen tonight. "I'll show you how a blowjob feels, hm? You deserve to get your dick sucked, baby."

He gestured you to sit at the edge of the bed, where you sat down as he got on his knees in front of you.

The way his eyes looked up at you as he took the tip of your cock in his mouth had you shuddering with anticipation. You had been waiting for this moment for too long.

Mingi lightly sucked on the tip, flicking his tongue around it. You whined softly, grabbing a handful of his hair when he lowered his mouth on you.

"O-oh god, M-Mingi!" You moaned out when his pace quickened. Mingi took it slow but the slurping noises leaving his mouth nearly made you reach Nirvana.

"F-fuck, just like that, t-that's so good Mingi!"

He made sure your eyes were focussed on him as he took care of your cock, palming your balls and massaging them to increase the stimulation.

His head bobbed up and down your cock quickly as he dug his nails in your thighs. You groaned as you felt the familiar warmth in your lower tummy.

"Mingi, oh God, I swear, I'm gonna cum if you don't sto-- Oh- oh- Oh god, god, yes, c-cumming!"

He pulled off your cock and pumped it quickly in his large hand, making you cum all over his face.

"Gosh," you panted out, "you're insane." Your boyfriend grinned as he swiped some cum off his face. "You're quite delicious, Y/N."

"Now, I'm gonna teach you how to finger me," Mingi said as he layed down on the bed, spreading his legs. Your eyes widened at his casualness. Mingi reached over to his nightstand to grab a bottle of lube.

"Come on, Y/N, I'm not waiting forever," he grinned. "How can I focus with this view?" You defended yourself as you crawled over to him.

Mingi squirts the lube on your fingers and some on his hole, biting his lip at the coldness.

"Okay, you can insert one finger." "Any finger?" Mingi rolled his eyes. "Use your middle finger, idiot." You laughed and carefully inserted your middle finger into his puckering hole.

"Now slowly... Don't go too crazy right away, go easy," Mingi gasped. He folded his legs up to his chest, giving you perfectly easy access.

You slowly moved your fingers in and out of him, deeper and deeper every time. Mingi whined when he felt your long, slender finger reach places he couldn't himself.

"N-now put in a second one, put it in baby," he moaned. You pushed a second finger into Mingi, picking up the pace. You felt a bump inside him and Mingi groaned and twitched at the feeling of you hitting it.

"Right, right there baby, do that again," he moaned. You smirked, gaining confidence and you entered a third finger, fucking him deeply, scissoring him open.

"God, yes, that's it baby, keep doing that!" He moaned out. "Right there, Mingi? Do you like that?" "O-oh I like it, I love it, fuck, oh~"

Your soul nearly projected from your body as Mingi started to moan louder, jerking off his own cock as you fucked him with your fingers.

He stopped when he felt himself get close. He pinned you down on the bed and licked a stripe up your neck with a big smirk. "Gonna ride you now, okay? Gonna bounce on your pretty cock."

Mingi positioned himself above you, sinking down on your length rising back up to bottom out. He repeated this a few times before completely taking your cock, sitting on you, adjusting to the stretch of his hole around your dick.

Your boyfriend started bouncing on your member, sounds of skin clapping together and whiny moans filling the room.

You closed your eyes, groaning at the feeling of Mingi's hole on your cock. "Keep your eyes open, for me. Watch me. Watch me bounce on your cock, look at me."

Looking straight into his eyes, you saw the pleasure taking over. He quickened his pace, cock twitching as it leaked with pre-cum.

He looked just adorable like this, even if he was a tall guy, the way he took your cock in his ass and the way his hands played with his dick made you lose your mind.

"I'm so close! Gonna fucking cum!" Mingi moaned loudly. "M-me too, Me too, baby!" You moaned when he picked up the pace. His hole clenched around your dick, sending you over the edge.

"Yes! Yes, pump your fucking seeds in me!" Mingi moaned as he came over your chest. When he was done he layed down on your chest, face right in his cum as your cum dribbled out of his ass.

"Y-you got it now?"

"Yeah I think I got the hang of it, time for round 2?"

#kpop #ateez #smut #mingi #song mingi #ateez x reader #ateez x male reader #mingi x male reader #m x m

[silverskye13]

I've been meaning to ask about this because I love love LOVE your writing but aren't really very deep into the hermitcraft fandom....

would I need to know anything prior to reading your hc fics? I've heard very many good things about redstone and skulk and I want to read it , but I dunno if walking in clueless is a good idea...

Oh. Hm. Well. I'm maybe not the best person to ask this, ironically. I have a hard time differentiating between actual common knowledge and fandom osmosis common knowledge. My thoughts under the cut because this might get long, but here are my, I guess, fandom initiation thoughts on my fics, for anyone curious?

Redstone and Skulk:

I think it can reasonably be read with little-to-no prior knowledge of the fandom. I do a decent job of explaining what the story is about, since most of it is original worldbuilding with (mostly) original characters. It's a mirror world, where in the main world death doesn't exist, but in the mirror world it does. All the mirror world characters are the bad parts / evil twins of the main world characters, and how they cope with that varies (and is sometimes explicitly stated). The first few chapters do a decent job of establishing this information, and I've had a few people mention RnS was either their first delve into hc fandom, or they had never been in the fandom and read it anyway because it came recommended by a friend. This signals to me it would be about like reading a sequel to a book series. You're clearly missing some establishing character stuff, and maybe some setting stuff, but you're not missing enough to be completely lost.

[basic knowledge of Minecraft mobs and game mechanics would definitely do you good, but that goes for all of these].

Monsters Splitting Hairs:

I personally think you can jump into this with no prior knowledge. All the characters are loosely based on the hc members they're named for personality wise, and place names [Octagon, Horsehead Farms] come from builds the players have made. Just about everything else is my personal world building though. The only upper hand knowing about HC will give you, is maybe cluing you in to who/what the different monster characters are before they're revealed [a la Rendog, who walks around with dog ears on his MC skin, is very obviously a werewolf in the fic.]

This fic is unfinished, and while I plan on finishing it eventually, it isn't being actively updated, and probably won't until RnS is done. It does have a lot of words on it though.

Hound's Tooth:

You need to know a lot of information to go into this one. Not only do you need to know a decent amount about the HC characters, knowing about both 3rd Life and Last Life is also kinda necessary, since the crux of the character motivation is Doc angsting over Ren doing Last Life after 3rd Life fucked up all his friends so bad the first time. Also, you need to know a decent amount about the early Octagon plotlines in s8 of Hermitcraft, the different adventure mode trial rooms they did.

This fic is finished.

Everything else I've written are ficlets, little one or two chapter deals. Anything tagged "RnS fic", you should probably read RnS before reading. Most of the others you need specific information for, since they're generally addressing topics that I had /just/ watched an episode for at the time, and I was responding to an idea or plot point being brought up. Anything with "Hels" or "Helsmet" in the tags or title, know it's about the mirror world and the evil twins.

[shrug]

I hope this helps?

#answering asks #anonymous #im glad you like my writing enough to try to read stuff out of your normal fandom sphere :') #thats very very cool of you #if you do give the fics a shot i hope you like them! and i hope theyre not confusing

[avanatural]

Mind Games

Part 5

Series summary: Set in 1984. It’s that time of the year – the supes are having the time of their lives at the Herogasm festival. Soldier Boy seems to have taken a special interest in Y/N, a fellow superhero.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x female Reader

Category: Angst, little bit of fluff, 18+

Word count: 4.2k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of disordered eating and mental abuse, sexual harassment, heavy drinking, mentions of drugs, mentions of masturbation

A/N: Welcome to part 5! There’s tension between Y/N and Ben, but who knows? They might actually warm up to each other some more 😉 I hope you enjoy. Wanna be added to my Soldier Boy tag list? Send me an ask ❤️

Part 4 | Series Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“I’m fine,” I grunted out an obvious lie and pulled my white leather dress down my thighs, adjusting my seated position.

“Hm-mh…,” he hummed, taunting me with that guttural voice, “Are you jealous? That your sister beat you to finding out my name?” The grin that widened across his mouth begged me to slap it off his face.

Soldier Boy… Excuse me, Ben and I were sitting under obnoxiously bright lights, on a hard expensive couch, cameras ready to roll, waiting for the talk show host to join us in the studio.

“Look, I’m tired,” I mumbled, blinking my heavy eyelids and meeting his pompous gaze, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Christ on a cross,” he breathed, leaning back a little to get a closer look at me was a whole. His apple green eyes were roaming my face through the slits of his helmet. “Where’s the fucking fire in your eyes?”

Instead of replying, I fled into my own head. Unfortunately, my nerves were soaring and I couldn’t manipulate myself into a calmer state of mind. I didn’t know if I could credibly pretend to be over the moon about Payback Rising. But I had to force myself to. The future of my bank account depended on this. My sister’s future depended on this.

“Seriously, though,” Ben suddenly spoke up again, startling my tense body and my racing mind, “Lily’s a good kid. You’re doin’ a nice job.”

My eyebrows lowered as I examined his face, searching for any hint, any sign that he might be messing with me. Imagine my surprise when realization finally hit me – he wasn’t playing. It was a truthful fucking compliment. I opened my mouth, about to thank him, but I didn’t get to.

The host dropped down on the armchair opposite us, holding a bunch of note cards in her hands, instantly receiving a touch-up from the make-up artist. Her blazer and pencil skirt made me feel underdressed. Though I had to admit, her shoulder pads were massive enough to rival Ben’s armor. 

Well, here goes nothing, I thought to myself. A few dreadful heartbeats and quick “hellos” later, the show’s quirky introduction melody rang through the studio, sealing my fate. There was no way out now.

“Welcome to Power Hour! I’m your host, Amanda Donaldson. And today, I brought lots of juicy news for you to enjoy! First and foremost, I have two very special guests here with me. They’re gorgeous, they’re talented, and they’re superheroes! Vought legend Soldier Boy and rising underdog Trouble!”

A round of pre-taped applause supported Amanda’s upbeat announcement. I wanted to roll my eyes so badly that I had to bite my tongue to refrain from doing so.

Ben, on the contrary, wore a smirk on his face that ranged from one ear to the other. “It’s good to be back!”, he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“It’s good to see you again! And you brought a new guest to our show!” Amanda turned to me with her million-dollar smile. “Trouble, thank you for being here!”

“Thank you for having me,” I said, nodding politely at the host.

“You just landed your very first role in a Vought movie! How exciting is that?”

“Oh, it’s incredible!”, I replied, trying my best to keep up with the two professional grinners, “I still can’t believe I got to work with the greatest superheroes in the world. It baffles me, truly.”

Amanda turned to Ben. “Soldier Boy, what has it been like working with Trouble?”

“Oh, we had a blast! This one right ‘ere…” He pointed his thumb at me and leaned forward in the host’s direction, hypnotizing her with his sparkling green gems. “Made the rest of us look like amateurs. Let me tell ya. She only needed one take for her scene.” He leaned back again and lifted his pointer finger. “One take!”

My shoulder twitched against his as I laughed for the camera. “Only because you made it easy for me.” 

Ben looked at me when I addressed him, a cocky smile on his face, licking his lips. 

“I felt so comfortable on set that nothing could go wrong, really,” I added, not missing the way my colleague was basking in my compliments.

“What can I say? You’re a natural,” he said, planting his hand on top of mine, which was resting in my lap. His voice dropped, the tone so pleasant yet menacing that his next words froze the blood in my veins. “Made for the game.”

I paused, not knowing what to say. His hand tightened around mine, trapping me in his hold. His eyes were like bear traps, snapping me into place. 

“Wow, you two have chemistry!”, Amanda barged into our staring match like a hound smelling blood, “Which is not surprising, I mean, aside from your homage to Trouble on Solid Gold,” she spoke, lifting her hand in Ben’s direction, “We’ve been granted a behind-the-scenes peek of the Payback Rising set. And it looks intimate.”

The host pulled out a copy of the picture of Ben and I that had made it into the newspapers. Of course, she was gonna do that. The photograph of him carrying me was accompanied by a cheering track. “Can the two of you walk us through what’s going on here?”, she asked.

“Ha-ha, I see what you’re doin’ there, Mandy.” Ben let go of my hand to point at Amanda and gave her a charming wink. “You never fail to tickle information out of me, sweetheart.”

She giggled, trapped like a little rat in his mace. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I’m afraid we can’t say anything until the movie is released,” I chimed in, shrugging my shoulders as apologetically as possible.

“So, you can’t give us anything official,” Amanda acknowledged, “But maybe we can discuss something a little more… private.”

“Like what?”, I asked, trying to keep the smile on my face even though every fiber of my being was telling me to get out of there.

“Well, your dating lives are very much a topic of public interest. People are speculating around the clock. You got yourselves a ‘will-they-won’t they’-type situation. Your fans would love to see you two together! Is there any chance of that happening?”

“Oh, Amanda, don’t put us on the spot like that,” Ben said with an angelic, exaggerated chuckle, “You’re gonna make us blush.”

“We’re just friends,” I stated, cutting through his innocent act.

“Close friends,” Ben corrected me with a pointed look to my face.

“You sure it’s not more than that?”, Amanda questioned, eyeing us with a hawk’s unwavering focus.

“I guess we’ll see,” Soldier Boy spoke, directing a playful wink at the camera that was surely going to keep the audience on their toes.

A week later

Tossing my head back, I emptied the shot glass into my throat. Lily was at a sleepover with her friends, and I desperately needed some time to unwind. The talk show had been a huge success. The only place I could unwind now without being fawned over was the underground supe bar.

But down there, things weren’t exactly calm, either. The air was flooded with tension. I slammed my empty glass onto the bar, my gaze wandering back to the two supes I’d been watching – an older guy and a young woman.

The guy was a shapeshifter, borrowing the meatsuit of a middle-aged, successful, well-groomed businessman. He was getting a little too comfortable with the young woman. Palm on her hip, wearing a dirty smirk on his face while the girl wore a frown on her own. One wrong move, and I was gonna turn his brain to mush.

He leered at the young woman, flashing his thousand-watt smile as he tried to claim her mouth. She leaned back on instinct, trying to escape his grip, and I decided I’d seen enough.

My eyes lit up, glowing with anger, as I took over the shifter’s head. The confused expression on his face was priceless. He had zero clue what was going on. Game on, you prick. He turned crimson when I replayed his most embarrassing secret not just in his mind, but also in the minds of his drinking buddies. Apparently, he’d peed himself during a sexual encounter at Herogasm. My tongue peeked through my teeth as I chuckled to myself.

The shapeshifter put his fingers on his temples, wondering where the banging headache and the intense memories were suddenly coming from, and why his friends were laughing at him.

The young woman stepped away from the shifter and met my gaze. I could see a look of relief and recognition pass her pale face. She nodded at me and hurried to the exit. 

Unfortunately for us women, male supes behaved like that a lot. They were a lot more powerful than your average Joe, and too many of them loved to show it.

“You!”

I turned my head to see the shapeshifter staring at me, red-faced, the veins in his neck about to burst with fury. “Hm?”

“You think this is funny?”, he barked, making himself taller by straightening his back.

I shrugged my shoulders. In situations like that, it was best to remain calm. “I do, yeah.” Oh, and to provoke. You couldn’t pick a fight and walk away. With supes, the only way out was through.

“You little cunt! I’m gonna fucking end you-“

I could feel the muscles bulge in my jaw. “I see you treat a woman like that again, you’re dead,” I threatened, “You understand?”

“Oh, someone’s about to be dead.” The shapeshifter started rolling up his sleeves. His nostrils were flaring along with his angry breaths.

“We got a fucking problem here?”, a gruff voice entered our little argument. His heavy footsteps echoed through the bar, silencing those around him. His wide shoulders entered my line of vision, filling my sight completely as he stepped in front of me – Soldier Boy.

Ben radiated authority, despite only wearing half his suit. He’d lost the protective gear on his head and legs, as well as his shield and his other weapons. But the angered look on his face showed he meant business.

“N-no,” the shapeshifter started to ramble, “No problem here. All good.” He gulped, his Adam’s apple dancing with worry.

Ben aimed a glove-clad finger at the shapeshifter. “I see you gettin’ outta line again-“

“I won’t. I won’t, Soldier Boy,” the shifter assured him. After some meaningless sucking up, he left, and the women in the bar could breathe again. Everyone went on about their business as though nothing had happened.

Ben claimed the stool next to me, pushing out a groan of comfort as he got settled at the bar. “Didn’t expect to see Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes in this fucking dump.”

I blinked at him with a bewildered expression. “Goody-Two-Shoes?”

“You’re called Trouble. And I’m wonderin’ why.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, side-eying me with hooded eyes. “One would think you’re more intimidating. A lot fucking worse than… this.”

“Excuse me?”

“You could’ve killed the guy.” Ben tilted his head toward the exit of the bar. “Would probably have been the better choice ‘cause scum like that tends to retaliate. If you want respect, you gotta live up to your reputation. Fuck shit up.” His face was slightly flushed, and his brick wall of a body moved more fluidly than usual, making me wonder how long he’d already been drinking. “But instead, you’re a caregiver who saves damsels in distress and makes assholes blush,” he cackled, flashing his pearly whites.

“You know what…” I paused, trying to find my defiance, but it evaporated with my next sharp exhale. My heart was yearning for some peace of mind. Just for one night. “I really don’t have it in me to bicker tonight.” I waved at the bartender to pour me another shot.

Ben raised his giant hand along with mine, signaling for the bartender to make that two. “Wow. A woman keeping quiet,” he praised sourly, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Wow. A man being sexist. How original,” I shot back. So much for peace. Ben could lure my fire back to the surface like no one else. I had to give him that.

Instead of lashing out at me, he just cocked his head and chuckled. He seemed oddly satisfied with my response. “Atta girl.”

“Ben… You can leave,” I huffed, eyeing him over my shoulder after pushing my key into the lock. “You didn’t have to walk me all the way home.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? That’s what a man does.” When I stepped into my apartment, Ben squeezed himself through the narrow doorframe and passed me in the tight hallway. It only took him a few steps to take in the entire view of my small living space. He let out a low whistle as he looked around. “This is where you live?”

“Yeah.” I shut the door and joined him in the living room. With sarcasm running through my veins, I raised my arms and feigned a smile. “Welcome to my humble home.”

“This is…” His freckle-stained nose wrinkled. “A fucking disgrace.”

“That’s one way to put it.” When his disappointed frown turned to face me, I snapped, “I’m working on it, okay?”

He nodded his head at Lily’s bedroom. “Your sister home?” The door war closed, so I had no clue how the hell he could tell it was her room.

“No.” I shook my head, reaching for the whiskey bottle on one of the bookshelves in the living room. “I wouldn’t leave her by herself.”

He scoffed and planted himself in front of the window, staring down at the colorless yard of the apartment complex. “What is she, three years old? Nobody gave a shit about my whereabouts when I was her age.”

My brows knitted. “Are we really gonna talk about how we grew up?”, I asked with a joking undertone, but I was secretly dreading that kind of conversation.

Slowly, Ben turned around on his bowed legs, palms on his hips. Under the pale lights, he looked like a gigantic replica of the little superhero action figures in Lily’s room. “Oh, we’re gonna need more booze for that,” he claimed, pointing at the liquor bottle in my grasp, batting those damn eyelashes at me.

I sized him up, wondering if it was a good idea to have fucking Soldier Boy as my guest. But I was seriously starting to doubt that he was ever going to kill me. Somehow, I doubted he even had it in him. 

“Alright, fine,” I sighed out, placing the bottle on the couch table with a dull clinking sound, “Make yourself at home.”  

Ben licked his lips, pleased by my invitation. He sat down on the worn couch, grinding his jaw when he sank lower than he expected to. “You need to fucking move,” he groused like a spoiled child.

I placed a glass in front of each of us, then let myself drop onto the cushion next to him. “Do you insult the homes of all the people you visit?”

“Ha. No, I, uh…,” he trailed off, looking lost in thought, and then suddenly cleared his throat. “Never mind.” He reached out his hand and wiggled his thick fingers, silently telling me to turn over the booze.

With my heart sinking in an odd way, I concluded that not a lot of people invited him to their homes and gave him the bottle. Maybe he needed the alcohol even more than I did. I waited for my turn while he poured himself a generous shot.

“You ever see the Soldier Boy story?”, Ben asked, handing me the bottle, and then proceeded to swallow his shot whole.

“Are you kidding me?”, I retorted, filling my own tumbler, “They show that movie in schools to this day. A poor child from South Philly finds out he’s got magical powers to match his heart of gold.” With an exaggerated movement, I put my right hand over my heart while my left hand lifted my shot glass to my lips.

“Yeah, well… It’s a load of bullshit,” he grumbled and spilled a fresh amber pool of liquor into his tumbler.

“You mean you don’t have a heart of gold?”, I asked, feigning shock. 

The way he narrowed his eyes at me could have scared me, but it only made me smile. And I could have sworn that his mouth twitched, too.

“My father owned half the steel mills in the state,” he revealed, “I never lived in the streets, was never poor. Vought made all that shit up.”

I nodded to myself. The man that I’d admired growing up was nothing more than a false myth. A bedtime story. Instead of being a true hero, he really was the spoiled child he came off as. “Well… I can’t say that I’m surprised,” I muttered, “It seems all Vought cares about is profit.”

“They’re gonna do the same fucking thing to you,” he said, his bitter face meeting mine, “They’re probably gonna invent some kind of… sob story to raise your popularity. If our love story ain’t enough, that is. You should up your fucking game on that one.”

“Love story, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see that one comin’,” he taunted, his lips curling into a half-grin. “To be popular, you need to either be loved or hated. Vought is starting to consider the American Sweetheart narrative for you. That’s what The Legend’s hopin’ for, anyway.”

I chewed on my lower lip, staring at nothing in particular, mind draped in floating thoughts. Maybe there was someone to support me, to root for me, after all. Maybe I could really pull it all off somehow. Become one of the greater supes. And it was fucking Soldier Boy, of all people, who was pushing me over the edge toward ambition. 

“If the Soldier Boy story is nothing but a bunch of lies… Then what’s your real story?”, I inquired.

He huffed and downed yet another shot. With a hiss, he slammed the tumbler onto the couch table. “My father sent me to boarding school. Bein’ away from home was… the best damn time of my life.” His body froze like a perfect painting, emerald eyes turning glassy. It was only after he cleared his throat that he continued, “I got kicked out of boarding school ‘cause I was a fuck-up. So… Back home, it was. Father said I was a disappointment. That I didn’t deserve to carry his name.” Another pause. Another far-away look in his face. “That didn’t change when I became a fucking superhero.”

I tried catching his eye, but failed due to the pain he was trying to hide away. “How did you become a supe?”

“Went to my father’s golf buddies in the war department,” he scoffed, “Got injected with some blue substance, and voilà, Soldier Boy was born. I became the strongest fucking man alive, and… it still wasn’t good enough for my old man.” When he finally looked up, he’d blinked away the salty shimmers, but there were still golden specks of sorrow in those green orbs. “I hate to break it to you, princess, but none of us are born superheroes.”

“I know.”

He arched his eyebrows at my reply.

“My dad, he…” My chest expanded and shrunk as I recalled how my father had told me about the drug I’d been given as a baby. “He told me about Compound V. When I was eleven, I think.”

“Your old man still around?”

“No.”

“Was he good to you?”, Ben wondered casually, but the way he studied my face told me he was indeed curious.

“Yeah.” The corners of my lips bent upward as I remembered some happier moments of my childhood. “My father… He loved my powers. But he loved me more.” My eyes started to burn with tears, the air started to hurt in my lungs, and I tried to keep myself under control. “Sometimes, when my mother put me on yet another diet, he would slip me candy bars and money for proper food.” 

While I spoke, Ben was just observing me. Not mocking me, not moving in any way, surprisingly just waiting.

“My mother, she…,” I went on, “Ugh, she wanted a perfect little Miss Superhero. Dragged me to all the pageants. When I think back, I can still smell the goddamn hairspray and hear the mothers yell at their daughters. I never lived up to my mom’s expectations. I was never talented enough, polite enough, or pretty enough.”

He hummed quietly to himself, and I wasn’t sure anymore if he was caught up in my story or his own.

My lips sagged as I continued, “So, I got frustrated and just… Started working against her. I got into fights, started taking drugs, shoplifted. She loved my powers. But she hated me.” My gaze dropped to my wildly fidgeting fingers, and I cracked my knuckles in an attempt to self-soothe. “She made sure I knew I was a fuck-up. She would turn in her grave if she could see that I’m the one raising Lily now.”

Ben sighed through his pursed mouth and raised his glass to me. “To fucked-up parenting.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and bumped my glass against his. “To fucked-up parenting.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, we were wired to the fucking gills,” Ben chuckled, comfortably buzzed. His cheeks wore a freckled tinge of red, and he’d taken off his gloves.

“Holy shit!”, I cried out and downed the light brown liquid in my glass once more. 

Though, let’s be honest, I should’ve stopped drinking quite a while ago. My mind was foggy, yet excited, and my body felt drowsy. Don’t get me wrong, I was a fun drunk. But also a reckless one. I made bad decisions if I crossed that line from tipsy to wasted. And I hadn’t just tiptoed along that line, like I’d told myself I would. I had crossed it with a powerful somersault to the deep end.

“You disappointed?”, he questioned, examining my flushed face.

“What?”, I mumbled, turning to fully face him, sitting cross-legged on the couch, the shoes missing from my feet.

He cocked his head and said, “They say never meet your fucking idols for a reason.”

“Who said you were my idol?”, I babbled, close to laughing again. Why was everything so funny when I was drunk?

Ben raised one of his eyebrows at me, his head moving backward in surprise, creating half a double chin on his upper throat. 

I paused for a second and realized just how close we were sitting to each other. Even offended, he was gorgeous. On the outside, at least.

“Alright, fine. I used to have a poster of you,” I confessed through a tiny embarrassed fit of laughter. Blame it on the whiskey. It made me chatty.

“Ha! For real?”, he exclaimed, a genuine gleam of interest flashing through his eyes.

“Yeah… It was a rare one, too. Aaall my friends were jealous.” Having lost my sensitivity for personal space, I leaned forward a little too far, leaving only a few inches of alcohol breaths between us. “My green wallpaper really brought out the color of your eyes.”

His gaze fell to my mouth. It was just a tiny, soft movement, but its impact on the atmosphere was harsh like the slap of a whip. “You ever touched yourself to the thought of me?”, he questioned, then sunk his teeth into his plump lip.

“You have no shame, do you?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The corner of his mouth pulled up, lining his face with a drowsy half-smirk. He tilted his face so that he could look directly into my eyes. “I’ve certainly beat my meat thinkin’ ‘bout that pretty little cunt of yours.”

His raspy tone shot a hot shiver down my body. The sparks even reached the tips of my fucking toes. I dragged my tongue along my lower lip. His hungry gaze followed the pink muscle. “You have?”  

Blunt fingertips met my cheekbone with the softest of touches. They skimmed along my skin with great care, latching on to some rogue strands of hair to place them behind my ear.  “Ever since I had you in my fucking trailer, I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” his captivating voice admitted, urging me to believe him.

Oh boy, charm-alert. I was a weak woman. Longing to be held, even more so when I was intoxicated. And there was a well-built, handsome man sitting on my couch, making advances at me.

When I got up, the alcohol swirled around in my system, and I stumbled a little.

“Whoa, princess, you’re fucking wasted, aren’t you?” His hands steadied me by my hips as I climbed onto his lap. Amusement overtook his face. “Maybe it’s time for a little nap.”

“You wanna come to bed with me?”, I whispered against his bearded cheek.

His gravelly, honey-coated chuckles touched my very core. Then suddenly, he hauled me up along with him, holding me up by the backs of my thighs. My legs wound around his middle as he carried me to my bedroom. I pressed my lips to his neck to stop more drunk giggles from coming out.

Tag list: @akshi8278 @leigh70 @impalaslytherin @mimzy1994 @asgardiandeadpoetsociety​ @panhufflestugf @spnwoman​ @themerc-with-a-mouth​ @waynes-multiverse​ @tzillas​ @josephslittlemetalballs​ @deliriouslybi​ @ryethebrokengae​ @epiphany-of-a-madwoman​ @rach5ive​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @may85​ @jassackles​ @mimaria420​ @calsjack @gingersass​ @madigabiab @tmb510​ 

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy #soldier boy x y/n #the boys fanfiction

[sidestepping]

Fanfic Writer Questions

@askweisswolf tagged me, thank youuuuu for thinking of me ♡

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Huh, 12 apparently? A lot of them are shorts and gifts, though.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

66,495???? When did THAT happen (I have never opened the statistics tab before can you tell)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly and forever Fallen Hero my beloved, but I have one (1) foray into Baldur's Gate 3.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hmmm, my "main" fics really: 1. Splinters (Fallen Hero, Una and Ortega's relationship's turning points) 2. Dialogue Box (Fallen Hero, people having conversations) 3. Hopefully, No Biting (I can't believe this is in the top three JKLHGLKHGLH. Probably the oral sex helped.) 4. Hauntings (Fallen Hero, little mindfucks and experimental chapters) 5. The Heist, a three-part gift about Hollow Ground and @kittlesandbugs Sidestep, Riley. This one was a passion project, very happy to find it (surprisingly) in the top 5.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Usually, yes, if I can't reply directly to the commenter on another platform! If people are lovely enough to take the time to write, you know... Right back at them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

No endings to my fics, really, but the angstiest as a rule is Hauntings.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

No endings to my fics, really, but I think my happiest / sweetest / peacefullest might be one of my recent ones--Shipname: Burnt to the Ground (it's sex, but not sad babygirl sex, you get me?)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No.......... But if you want to go and hate on Hollow Ground when they appear in my fic please be my guest lads I'm right there with you.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not sure my sex scenes count as smut considering I'm firmly rooted in the suggestive rather than explicit territory. I write metaphors for fucking, more like.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not really! I'm such a one-trick pony man, all my money's on Los Diablos.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hmmm.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not! I do like to fuck around with language and I have translated part of my fics once or twice and then back again just to throw a punch into the English and its pacing though. And I used to translate fics out loud for my friends who couldn't read English when I was, like, a teen.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Started to, didn't finish, but the idea's there somewhere—co-writing with @astarien is the heights of existence obviously.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

... Chargestep. I guess. I guess they're alright. Whatever.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If I want to finish a work I do—but there's nothing I'm gunning to end yet, except for shorts, which I finish in one-go.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hm, I don't really know... I enjoy dialogue, action scenes, and fucking up pace, musicality, analogy, words and format so that language says more than it usually does, or shows more than it usually does—goes further than it wants to go if you don't give it a shake—and makes you FEEL. That's what's in my brain when I write.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fucking... plot. Logical pathways. Lore. I do not have a brain.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Love it! I gesture at it but keep it in English when I don't know the language (too scared of fucking it up, and not enough control over tone / nuances / connotations), but if I do know the language then absolutely.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In my little notebooks when I was 8? A French Child Fantasy book I loved. But the only fandom I've written seriously for is FHR.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

My darling, though not my easiest, is Splinters. The hard-hitting writing moments are compiled there, I usually break out of a chapter a little brain-weird and all rabbit-hearted, it's always a blast to get to work on it.

Annnnd I'll tag @astarien, @kittlesandbugs, @ejunkiet, @impossible-rat-babies, @rab-bitly, @witchfall, @silvery-bluish, @ladyshivs, and anyone who feels like it!

#notebooks #writing

[livfastdieyoung69]

I just got such a scrumptious idea😭

Jeff hardy x reader

Ok so reader is also a high flyer and has about the same amount of concern for themselves as jeff does for himself and they suffer a really bad injury in a 3 way tag team that's with every gender probably with Stephanie, stone cold and hhh and the injury gets taken advantage of and jeff just goes feral

-ANTITHESIS OF BEFORE

(part 3 to No Promises, Simply Threats (p.1) and Little Devil (p.2), can be read alone, might be a lil confusing)

After the constant drama the rest of the week, another match was due on Heat. This time, Lita had been taken out of the match, and substituted for Y/N for obvious dramatic effect reasons. For the first time in what seemed like a while, maybe even the first time ever, wwf fans were actually watching Heat, and it was simply for their match.

5 minutes, a staff member yelled from outside the teams locker room with a knock, catching only Matts attention. Jeff was cutting up a shirt from the merch table into whatever he pleased with no worries in the world, while Y/N paced the room stuck in though, worrying enough for the entire building.

“Five minutes, guys. Guys?” Matt repeated again, finally gaining Jeff's attention. Matt called for Y/N but received no show of hearing him until Jeff gave their bicep a tap. Matt repeated their remaining time once more and let Y/N go back to their pacing before Jeff interrupted them again.

“What’s goin’ on up there, hm?” He asked softly, pulling them in closer by their elbow.

“You know how I get, just nervous.” The reply was quick, a hand coming to rub at their lips hoping to find some sort of relief from the stress. Jeff pulled their hand away from the almost self-deprecating act considering how rough their hand was moving and threaded his own through it.

“Y/N, you’re never like this before a match, not ever this much. I can’t help you if you don’t let me, baby.” Embarrassed under this loving gaze and sweet words, they turned to gaze away from him and knowing their limits, Jeff let them.

“I just- it’s…I..everyones here for us. Everyones waiting for this match, we’re the main event of the night. You guys already made it all the way, I-I haven’t. This is my way in, and if I fuck this up, its over for me, everything I’ve been working for will be over if this doesn’t go perfect.” Y/N spoke fast, clearly still riddled with anxiety though what they spoke was true.

They had been working for the company for quite some time, but not as much as the Hardys or Lita and this whole situation against such huge people in the business truly was what was going to make them a superstar in the industry, not the weak storylines against other newer wrestlers or older ones fading out.

Jeff’s other hand moved to grasp at their elbow in an attempt to grab their attention and put their eyes back onto him, which was successful.

“I know this is big. But you always do great, always. The second you get out there all of that worry goes away, and I know it does, I see it happen every time- and you are perfect. The ring is where you’re supposed to be, and it's where you feel the best. No matter if the people like you or not, don’t let them take that away from you. Please, sweetheart.” His words brought clear solace, the weight on their shoulders drops along with a breath of air leaving their newly working lungs. Noticing they were still struggling Jeff brought them into his arms, Y/N’s nose nudging into his neck, eyes closing in comfort.

“C’mere, for a sec. Breathe, baby.” His hands moved to bring theirs to his side and after, he brought his own to rub up and down their back. A knock rang on the door, this time no words spoken, leaving them with the assumption that it was time. Y/N let out one last breath before leaving Jeff’s arms. Feet bouncing and hands wringing with suspence, the group made their way to the gorilla, and much like last time the others were already out. The arena was loud but louder when their music hit. Louder than when Triple H’s team had, louder as they danced around the ramp and sprayed water out of their mouth. And just had Jeff had predicted, Y/N was put back in the adrenaline rushed environment they thrive off of. The bell rung.

Matt and Stone Cold started first, still a little bit of anger left from the last time they were in the ring- or out, I guess- together. Stone Cold had a bit of an upper hand, but eventually with a tag to Jeff and a poetry in motion they were able to get control, but now Jeff was in. Stone Cold was quick to get a tag when the chance presented itself, slapping whoever was near him which happened to be Stephanie. The young girl gave a sly grin to the man on the floor and went to send a kick to him until Y/N reached through the ropes and slapped at Jeff’s chest quickly making their way into the ring. Stephanie’s smile quickly disappeared and she turned around, tagging her husband even quicker. The Hardy’s quickly shoved their hands through the ropes but Y/N refused to tag them in.

The atmosphere was tense as both superstars glared each other down as they circled the ring, the crowd eerily quiet as they waited in anticipation. The superstars locked arms, Triple H managing to get them under one of his arms before Y/N sent an elbow to his side, bringing them back into their earlier position. Hunter moved forward first again, bringing a punch to Y/N’s stomach causing them to stumble back and putting them into the perfect position to deliver a kick to the chin and letting them bring Hunter into a submission hold before he grabbed onto the rope, and jumped back up with the refs call. The cycle continued, until it didn’t.

Both moved forward, Y/N using their size in advantage compared to the huge man in front of them and slid between his legs quickly kicking at the back of his knees. The move didn’t seem to keep him down for long, but it unfortunately left Y/N on the mat. Noticing the disadvantage, Y/N scurried to make their way up but were too late- Triple H had grabbed their ankle and was twisting it, hard. Secluded in the middle of the ring, listening to the Hardy’s yell at the ref to do something while they tried not to scream at the pain. They tried to move closer to the rope, but it seemed they would never get there with the speed they were moving.

Crack

Y/N let out a yell of agony, their elbows giving out under them but still refused to tap out as black quickly invaded their vision. The bell rang as their unconsciousness quite obviously invaded them, the multiple refs that had made their way out finally pulling Triple H off of Y/N and letting the Hardy’s away from their corner as the EMT’s made their way to the ring.

Regaining consciousness rapidly from the EMT’s touches, Y/N was quick to call out for Jeff, using the last of their adrenaline left to push onto their elbows much to the EMT’s dislikement. They continued to call for Jeff but only his brother came to comfort them, softly pushing them to lay back down.

“Don’t worry about Jeff, N/N. He’s beating the shit out of Hunter so just lay down so we can get you out of here, alright?” Matt practically had to shout his words over the boisterous arena causing Y/N to finally give up on their mission in finding Jeff a grunt leaving their lips at the uncomfortable touches to their probably broken ankle.

One of the technicians tried to tell Y/N what was going on but were unable to keep their attention and instead told Matt as they hauled Y/N out of the ring, Matt refusing to leave their side and helping the other EMT by helping them limp up the ramp before Jeff noticed they were leaving and quickly took their other shoulder from the EMT.

Finally making their way over to where the other doctors were- specifically the ones that toured with WWF, not just the ones that they hired along the way for a day- Y/N sat down in one chair and placed their injured foot on another. Jeff stood next to them, breath heavy from his beating to Triple H finished simply seconds ago while Matt went to find Lita knowing she was definitely worrying somewhere and unable to find them in her panic.

“That didn’t go so good did it?” Y/N spoke with as much fake humor as they could find left in them, trying to bring down the awkwardness of the room. Jeff’s calming hand was quick to leave their shoulder and moved to the side of their head, bringing their face into the side of his lower stomach.

“Well, not for your ankle or that asshole, but from the way they were reactin’ the crowd loved you baby. They loved you.” A sigh of relief, truly more of a sob, left Y/N’s mouth, their nose shoving further into Jeff's hip at the realization, that finally, they had made it.

They had made it, and hadn’t even realized it all thanks to Hunter. Jeff’s hand, though knuckles seeped with blood, his or not, he truly couldn’t tell, still laid gently against the side of their head, his own breath becoming tight at the thought of such a moment being taken away from Y/N.

“We’re gonna get you all taken care of, and then I’m gonna go beat the hell out of that son of a bitch some more.” Jeff’s words were heated with an anger he had obviously been holding.

“I don’t have any objections. S’long as you make sure it's on camera I gotta see that.” Y/N’s words were still muffled into him, a hand that had long since rested on his other hip moving to push him closer, pressing a quick kiss into his stomach, his laughter making it much harder. But his laughter soon left as he remembered just what they were talking about.

“I promise, no matter how much it takes from me, how bad I get hurt, doesn’t matter, I’m gonna make him hurt, a lot more than how much he made you hurt.”

“Well who’s the devil now, hm?”

I kind of hate this but whatever this took me way too long, and its barely even what the request was I’m sorry 😭😭 I didn’t even read this back over I’m so done with it

Sorry for the Heat dis i luv it but apparently no one else did, i really wish they would bring it back I desperately need another form of wwe I’m so bored the rest of the week

#liv writes;*! #I’m sick of capitalizing #jeff hardy #wwe #wwe smackdown #jeff hardy x reader #wwf #matt hardy #wwe heat #wwf heat #wwe raw #raw is war #Friday night smackdown

[ctommy-chileno]

Here's a list of some ongoing fanfictions I've been following if you want some literature

(Ongoing as in. Updated in the past month or this month)

Butterfly Reign: You know this one, it's the angst full and oddly yellow one. I always end up finding out it updated a day before it released how does that keep happening?. It's a good read, the characters get deeper the more you read it, and yet even with all their hidden lore and ok ish intentions I still want them to suffer because I'm a spiteful bitch. Unreliable narrator to you I believe him.

In the name of the fucking moon: Its a magical girls AU with the benchers and the family, more on the old school monster of the week type of magical girls but with continuity. If you imagine the scenes in your head while reading please add an 80's anime filter over it. Fun to read 👍 I got halfway through and I'm waiting for it to finish so I can binge it.

Guided evolution: Only read this if you have a lot of free time or the time management skills of a lawyer because this here is 300.000+ words and incredibly good. Every chapter I do nothing but worry for my spider son. Hasn't he been through enough I ask, while seeing I'm on chapter 52 out of 75. I know the answer, and it only serves to hurt me.

How to be the biggest trainer ever: Crimeboys go in a pokemon adventure. A very friendly fun read, like the pokemon anime but with your favourite white boys having fun 👍the world is set on gen 1 I think, so use that soundtrack

The stars and their children: Ive only read till chapter 5 and that's enough to know its good (also the fact that I follow the author here on tumblr so I get spoiled every once in a while hehe) This one is more sandduo focused and it has cool sci fi monarchy and it's also very near to end?? I didn't know that. Guess I'll get up to date then. Star tommy did nothing wrong I haven't seen him do much of anything but if he does in the other 19 chapters be aware he did nothing wrong

By the morrow: this one is weird and interesting in the most enticing way possible. What the fuck is going on. I must know all the reasons behind what is happening here. It can be quite macabre so be aware. I only found this one because the author posted the updates to tumblr. Oh yeah the synopsis, superhero au where the ctommy is a nobody who dies and fucks around the town in his ghost form but shit hits the fan incredibly quickly.

Who the ever loving fuck made me a prince: Its an Isekai yipee, our main boy (el ctommy) reads a book where a kid prince dies. L. Then he wakes up as that same kid!!! Oh no!!! Good news is he's reincarnated right in baby zone so he has plenty of time and skill to make sure won't die 👍, its fun, if you like isekais and don't mind some anime trope baby ism then you will live another day

Proof that life hates tommyinnit personally: This is a mystery!!! Spooky!! With touches of angst, perhaps more than some touches but hey the thrill!! The search!! I enjoy the use of the "it's not paranoia if they're really put to get you" tag. Its one of those fics that if it ever gets dropped I would go to the authors house to ask how was it supposed to end. I need. To know. Oh yeah summary: el ctommy is homeless and has many friends in a local mall who don't know that. This is only one (1) of his problems as he's recently gained a stalker, and everything points to being someone he knows ?? Question mark?? Fun.

TommyInnit's Declassified Vigilante Survival Guide: Ah a good old vigilante fic, just like mama used to make. it checks all the marks: benchtrio living together, villain sbi, when the family is founded, heroes yet bad?? and introducing a cool new power to the boy, what a joy! It is funny and it is cool

Our love it's like a burning sun: you've heard of racconinnit, birdinnit, ratinnit, cat shifter innit, possumi- hm I haven't heard that actually, anyways get ready for Red Panda innit, here's a red panda shifter who runs away from mean kingdom and goes to nice kingdom where he can find some family. And sometimes that's all you need to face the horrors

Thunder on my bones: ANOTHER superhero au listen man this one is good trust me. We have superhero boy being sidekick to mean superhero then gets moved to nice family of superheroes and the family is found :)) but also there's villains that want to fuck him up , uh oh! How will they found the family in this conditions! I also really like the design of the tommy superhero outfit, it has a really nice detail that I love imagining in my head ^^

There are more but these are long and easy to get into

#tommyinnit #sbi #sleepy boys inc #crimeboys #longpost #it is a long ass post #i follow some of these authors on tumblr and some on twitter #so ill always be aware qhen its update time

[rigil-kentauris]

9 people you’d like to get to know better

tagged by @valerianvault

Three Ships: JUST THREE???

i am ALSO on that ffxiv juice and as yall MAY have guessed from all my aymericposting its wol/aymeric.

id be here all night if i did ffxiv ships so moving on.

hm.

hm.

ffxiv has really taken oven my brain space huh? tbqh the other games im playing rn arent big shipping arenas for me. what do you ship in frostpunk? coal x generator fics i suppose. if youve got time to fuck youve got time to truck in some more steel from the steel pile. extended shifts for everyone.

this is where i would have put my feh ships if feh wasnt dead to me

well i could put bylad/claude three houses here. power couple of the century. going to get an emulator/mod at some point to restore justice in s supports. i havent got anything against bylass ships but usually the way people write her drives me fucking INSANE.

hm what for three. ugh. ugh. ugh i said no more ffxiv. but i would be lying if - and would LOVE to lie about it though - i would be lying if i tried to act like cidnero hasnt consumed at minimum 15% of my waking thoughts in recent months. its like a fucking perplexus sphere. a very Puzzle. like the rct2(?) roller coaster auto complete function. i WILL figure it out. whatever It is. but everytime i solve a piece another puzzle pops up. gonna reduce this fucking fraction youll see. youll all see.

First Ever Ship: lol. so way back when, my sister was trying to tell me her Lame Older Sister about this cool new thing called shipping. which i was NOT getting at all. and she, i would imagine because of the relative mainstream awareness at the time and the largely practical fact that i knew what marvel movies were, decided to offer the example of 'its like What If iron man and captain america were together'

which i thought was patently silly. i dont remember why now. i think my main objection was that it did not happen, and why would people spend so much time thinking about things that did not happen.

well anyway. tale old as time i thought it was very funny to ironically talk about it. and then it was not ironic anymore. so it goes.

Last Song: well according to my phone music app it was of the night by bastille.

Last Movie: hm what WAS the last movie i watched? i havent watched a movie in a minute. well we're going to be rewatching the gran turismo movie probably tonight. i liked it quite a bit in the theater (went to an empty matinée).

Currently Reading: UGH still slogging through Utopia. im at a part where it seems tommy has lost the thread, so, its difficult. and then my friend wrote a book! and im very excited to read the new draft

Currently Watching: SCAVENGERS REIGN!!!! a very beautiful and thought provoking show about a group of people who get stranded on an alien planet and how they interact with that biosphere and themselves. the animation is beautiful and colorful. it is on hbo max or whereever you receive hbo products. the last episodes drop today idk if i can handle it

Currently Consuming: nothing because i just woke up. im going to haul myself out of bed for some frosted shredded miniature wheats soon i hope

Currently Craving: anything but frosted shredded miniature wheats. bacon cheese egg wrap. chocolate chip brioch bun. pasta. hm i might be hungry. lets say Food

Tagging: @czigonas @plaidypus @lieutenantk thanks for joing me on my breadmaking saga yesterday.

#guess how many times ive built the brothel in frostpunk ONLY ONCE SUCK AND FUCK? MORE LIKE LETS PICK UP. THE PACE. #WRAP UP WELL? UH YEAH? THE COLD ISHERE #about me #ask games

[snimeat]

Wait. Sorry, but I read your tags and you have dyscalculia? I didn't even think it has a name, I thought it was part of the dyslexia chain of disorders... Which it is! But I didn't know it had a name! I can't believe someone has the same type of inconvenient bullshit as me! Tho, I'm guessing mine is much lighter, since I'm actually pretty good at math. With a lot of checking and people triple checking for me, and struggling with a line of an equation for like an hour before I can comprehend how simple it is in reality. Same with letters tho. The brain sometimes not comprehending what is visually presented and convincing itself it is wrong, when in fact it isn't. Words appearing out of nowhere in the middle of sentences when writing. Or words changing shapes and meanings as you read them, so you have to re-read a few times until your brain understands it. Fun times, sorry, I got into it.

I can't differentiate between 7 and 9 what's the quirk you got from it? XD I know it ain't funny, but I got excited! I mean, if this makes you uncomfortable to talk about, absolutely ignore this please ☀️

oh don’t worry, it’s part of the tumblrcore experience to read tags lmao.

but i do actually, i was also diagnosed quite late i was fourteen at the time. and boy, the struggles i had with it was huge and still is. i didn’t know it was in the same chain as dyslexia but thinking of it now, makes a lot of sense. nice to know a fellow dyscalculic too, i’ve never met anyone either. i don’t think i can define mine as lighter since it was one of the main source of anxiety for me growing up lmao. i just god, i suffered with the bare minimum when it comes to math. even the simplest of problems is difficult for me. i have trouble helping my almost 10 year old sister with her math stuff, to give you an example. i just run from it in any given circumstance. i think i do also double, triple check any calculations i do. i even take a step further and do it at least five times to make sure and my mind sometimes still goes “are you actually sure it’s correct?” and proceeds to count at least two or three more times to be sure, even when i have a calculator with me. my main struggle is forgetting the numbers i’m seeing, exchanging them, i have trouble telling the difference between thousands and millions and whatever else gets too may zeros or too many numbers, basically anything after 900 gets hard for me. it also affects my left and right, cannot get it right for the life of me. reading old clocks takes a few minutes lmao. but truly exchanging things was one of the main issues for me, and i wouldn’t even realise it. it was like my brain couldn’t see the mistake unless someone helped me get there. hm, what else?

< > these two symbols? trust me, i still don’t remember them to this day, i would have to use a visual written explanation to remember which one was which and i still would take a bit of time to get there because it’s just confusing to me. i never had trouble with letters necessarily, i don’t remember rn anyway. those math problems that required you to get an answer after seeing something like “matt has two apples and karen has whatever blah blah blah” i just couldn’t do it. geometric math was my deathbed. pythagora’s theorems HOLY FUCKING HELL my most hated back then. my brain would shut down and not work at all. the multiplication table thing? i swear to god unless it’s two or five (counting on my fingers btw) i can’t do it. it’s like i see math and i think i get it but i don’t, not really. it makes no sense in my brain, i can’t seem to grasp it fully. and it’s so frustrating. i could complain about my brain’s lack of understanding for a lifetime, okay?! 🤣

#maybe it’s also related to my adhd? idk #i read somewhere that the possibility of having one and the other is quite high but im not sure #i truly feel so much anxiety when i have to deal with numbers #i used to work in two places where i had to deal with cash. i used to play it off laughing and saying iit can’t count just to take some weig #weight of my shoulders if i made any mistake #which i did often #repeatedly because i just overlooked them #sometimes iI just don’t see the numbers and i skip something #but i guess that’s also my adhd brain being inattentive lmao #who knows where one begins and the other ends at this point #ra☀️ #youdontloveme-yet #gei’s nonsense answers #dyscalculia

[whimsyqueen]

To Make a Fool of Death; The Vampire Rules

I mentioned yesterday that I wanted to make a post about the specifics of the worldbuilding in To Make a Fool of Death, and today is Worldbuilding Wednesday, so here it is! I'm still messing around with some ideas and things, but this is where I'm at right now. I'll be tagging the Vampire Club Taglist below!

First and foremost, it's important to note that To Make a Fool of Death began as a love letter to Tim Hutchings' 1,000 Year Old Vampire. I began writing Verity's story as a series of diary entries using that format, and I will be forever grateful to indie tabletop games and solo journaling games for allowing me that. Go check it out, if you get the chance!

Because of that, and because of a lot of my own biases towards vampire lore, a lot of what you're gonna see here is... pretty basic. If it ain't broke, don't fix it! However, there are a few things that I really love about Hutchings' vampire lore that I've decided to include and extrapolate on, because it makes this whole thing just so much more interesting for me.

I'm gonna talk in terms of Verity, mostly, because she's the main vampire we experience throughout the story (though there are a few more) and kinda go basic myth-by-myth, if y'all don't mind. If there's anything I miss or anything y'all have further questions about, please feel free to just ask me! I love talking about these guys, and will take any excuse to do it!

First Myth: Vampires can shapeshift into bats

True! I like this one, and so I decided to stick with it. Yes, Verity can turn into a bat. I feel like not enough vampire media utilizes this nowadays, most of them go straight for the mind-control powers. I get it, they're cool, I heavily considered them for a while (and they're present in Verity's original diary, but I've since edited them out) but turning into a bat is just so much cooler to me?

Second: Vampires cast no reflection

Also true! Listen, I know that this is based in the idea of pure silver having been used to make mirrors in the past and in the present is entirely irrelevant and wouldn't be the case, but there's just something so interesting and sad to me about a vampire not being able to check her reflection before she goes on a date. At around 350 years or so, Verity's gotten pretty good at knowing how she looks without mirrors, but still!!!

Third: Vampires cannot cross running water

False! Verity loves to travel, and does it frequently. She can go where she wants, when she wants, as long as it's at night (for personal reasons she stays away from churches, and Massachusetts.)

Fourth: Vampires are destroyed by sunlight

True! Sorta... Direct sunlight, yeah, fuck you, you're toast (HAH) because it will burn you to pieces Buffy-The-Vampire-Slayer style. HOWEVER. Indirect sunlight is fine! A day that is cloudy and gross and you can't see the sun in the sky because the rain is so thick? As long as you've got your long sleeves, parasol, sunglasses, etc, you'll be a-okay. Just keep an eye out for those changes in weather, you wouldn't wanna get caught outside with nowhere to turn...

Fifth: Vampires must sleep in their native earth/in a coffin

False! The Fool of Death vampires simply do not sleep at all, not in a coffin, not in the earth, not anywhere. They don't need to, they're designed to be the ultimate predators. Why sleep when you can hunt?

Sixth: Vampires are "undead"

True! You have to die to become a vampire, and often, humans can be saved from the cold embrace of death by getting turned into a vampire! The process of becoming a vampire will literally kill you and then bring you back, entirely changed. Vampires do not have a heartbeat, they do not have anything that would indicate that they "live" and they heal so fast that to cut one open and try to figure out what's going on inside would be entirely pointless (trust Verity here, she's tried to figure out her own anatomy via this process MORE THAN ONCE)

Seventh: Vampires must drink blood to survive

Hm... true, to a point. While Vampires do consume blood as their main source of food, it isn't impossible to go entirely without. However, the downside to this is that if you starve yourself long enough, eventually you enter what Verity refers to as the Blood Frenzy, which is where if there's blood around? You NEED to consume it. No ifs ands or buts, and you will consume it in the messiest, most immediate way possible. It really is best to just... not starve yourself here. And don't even start with the whole "animal blood" thing, no it doesn't work, it's the same as if a vampire were to try to eat a cheeseburger. It's gotta be human or nothing, babe.

Eighth: Vampires hate garlic

False! Vampires simply don't eat. They have no need to, and can't really... digest food in the same way that a human can. The same could be said for garlic as it could for all foods. They avoid them because there's just no point.

Ninth: Vampires cannot be killed/are immortal/invincible

False! While they're ALMOST invincible, they can still super die if you really really put your mind to it. The most effective way to go about it would be to behead the vampire, and then toss the body and the head into a big ol' fire (ideally a fire that you've pre-prepared, because you truly won't have that much time before the vampire wakes up again and starts trying to fix itself...) They'll only really burn if the body is in small enough pieces, though, so feel free to get creative!

Tenth: All vampires have sharp fangs with which to suck blood

Only halfway false. Most vampires do, yes, absolutely, without question. I think they're sexy. However, what I will say is this. All vampires have some sort of "mark" that designates them as one of their kind, and they can procure more "marks" the more inhuman acts they commit. The most common first "mark" that appears upon turning is yes, fangs, for almost everyone, but it's sort of like a genetic trait. Not everyone gets them. Other examples of "marks" like this are Verity's bright red eyes (which Benevolence received when she was turned) or various sort of stains on the skin (like magical evil tattoos that don't do anything). Sometimes they also present as indications of the way you were originally killed (the two dot scars on the neck, for example, appear on some, or the faint ghosts of other scars that have remained past the change from human to vampire.)

I hope you enjoyed reading this, and have gotten some decent insight into Verity's world and how she operates! Be sure to check back here for more info, I post as often as I can (and I'm a busy bitch rn)! See below the cut for the taglist, and how to join if you wanna stay up-to-date on all the vampire news!!

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to join the taglist, you can do so here! @athenixrose @bardic-tales @drowsy-quill @thelibraryofchaos @cyparissos @kittyphoenix12-xx @destiniescollide @aeipathys @fearofahumanplanet @cactusmotif @writeblrsupport @midnights-melodiverse @ninirito @antique-symbolism-main @annetilney @athenswrites @the-void-writes @wip-nook

#fool of death #vampires #worldbuilding #writeblr #my writing #my wips #verity #benevolence #ruby #Eleanor #matilda #creative writing #about the author #writer things #my ocs #writing community

[feuqueerfire]

Badhaai Do Live Blogging

Queer brown people who get into a lavender marriage! A Bollywood movie about gay people, I'm so excited. Also I've been told it's a happy ending, so here we goooo

Aug 20

Genuine delight at the family gathering full of legit everyone + the marriage discussion and how the son gets so much more choice + although I don't speak Hindi, I understand tiny bits because of its similarity to Bengali

lmfaoooo my guy had really chosen a random girl he'd agree to marry, never expecting the family to agree to let him but whelp, now they have

lmfao and the girl avoids marriage by the 'my last fiance mysteriously passed away, you wanna take that chance?'

For shows in Korean or Hindi, I'm forever reminded that the subs don't fully express what's being said because I can understand enough to pick up that something different/more is being said but it's sad that I can't tell what exactly is the meaning

Anyway, forever glad I don't have a brother because in both families, we just saw a sister/female cousin be resentful of how the sons get special treatment

omg father-daughter good relationship :0 hope it remains that way pleaseee

O.O she's got a creepy stalker mans ?!

lmfao not her complaining about the stalker to the cops but Mr cop guy basically now stalking her T.T it's only lmfao because i know he's the main gay lead, otherwise i wouldn't be a lot more

omggg a dance number!!!!! let's goooo

ngl drunk ppl scary as hell even though it seems to turn out fine and jokey

Aww Sumi tagging along with Shardul and Kabir is cute and them having like kind of a 3 person honeymoon is adorable but I don't like Kabir so hm

ngl the guys' happiness + Sumi's longing made me sad though like I didn't tear up but could've

naurrr I'm dead not her overhearing them arguing about sex I'd T.T cry fr

kasdjf ahhh Sumi's meet cute with her future gf is when she goes to give her dad's stool sample

lmfao she's like when people have crushes on baristas and so go to get coffee everyday but she's out here doing some health tests

aww the future gf's family don't talk to her anymore T.T

lol the problems of living together as roommates arising now

ahhhhhh a queer party :0000 bro I'm boutta cry fr

oh yeah gf's name is Rimjhim. Also are we to understand that she's not Hindu? because of her not understanding/complying with the title + namaste thing?

aww Sumi bonding with her ex-gf's child

the passport thing and inability to go abroad always hits like damn the weight of a specific country's passport...

dang a sumi and rimjhim fight :(

ummm Shardul straight up slapping his boyfriend?!?! ummm O.O the fuck this is different from the KinnPorsche which made me be like oh? 0.0 ;) because this is like oh?! O.O D: anxiety like I'm here for the comedy + some angst and heartbreak, not... hitting your partner

arghhhhh okay let's see how they handle it ig like he apologized and I'm guessing Kabir's gone for good now.

damn the pressure of having kids starts now ig

omgggg sleeping on floors altogether is making me miss being young and sleeping at my grandma's so much! sharing rooms with cousins when a few of us came or when all of us were sleeping on floors of every room during my uncle's wedding

lmfao "noo don't tell anyone that's Sumi can't have a child hehe" to Mr blabbermouth

the calling Naaznin is killing me fr lmfaoooo

bro I'm so nervous but also I'm laughing cuz it's hilarious

lmfaooo Mummy's written method of what to say as a mother-in-law (nightmare fuel for desi women)

yooo this lawyer mans. so cool i want to be you

ahhhh double dates ahhhhhh ^.^

yo Guru funny as hell and also loves playing with fire

fuckkkkk Mummy saw Sumi and Rimjhim in bed

bro I'm boutta come and beat Sumi's bro's ass

omg the "lower your eyes!" thing when getting yelled at by mom. childhood memories

Sumi's father stand up for her pleaseeeeeee

omg :0 Shardul finally standing up for Sumi (my guy has been perfect desi son so far, no protest while his family hounds his wife lmfao so at least he's standing up for her now)

Shardul coming out omg (me trying not to be resentful that he gets to come out to his family with his own mouth rather than get walked in on by his mother-in-law)

Mummy T.T

I was wonderingggg when the pride parade will come in

omg another under the pride flag moment line in Not Me

something about this scene...

omggggg CRYING SCREAMING PULLING MY HAIR OUT at shardul, sumi, rimjhim, guru all being present at this puja for the child along with shardul's family + sumi's father

I love watching East or South East Asian media because it has similarities to my South Asian culture and I enjoy seeing these similarities that I wouldn't see in Western shows. However, seeing an actual South Asian movie where the culture is so similar to mine (different religions, so not quite the same) is so good! Family everywhere and all of them nosy! Familial pressure from all sides! The CNGs that they rode! The hustle and bustle of the city and of life! Hindi's similar to Bengali! Unfamiliar with the ultimate acceptance from many family members though lol but I can live vicariously through them I guess.

Sumi and Rimjhim (love her name) are so freaking beautiful. They were so beautiful.

I didn't like Shardul (lmfao patriarchal cop mans) but I guess... this movie wasn't necessarily about liking him. He deserves rights and for his queerness to be accepted even if I don't like him. I wish we got some more of the lawyer mans and Shardul, he was the most interesting character for sure.

Happy ending, funny moments, tinged with some sadness and struggles. I enjoyed it.

Rating: 7.5/10 hmm

Tiktoks:

Pride March - freaking loved it when I watched it and is definitely a reason why this went up my list and was one of my Highest priority ones

Twitter edit of Sumi/Rimjhim (cr: jinsolgbt)

#ep by ep commentary #badhaai do