#i get attached to a thing and then i make it way more complicated in my brain than it actually is
Text
the coring, the goring
alpha!blade/beta!reader/omega!luocha
you are a beta courier. kafka asks of you a favor.
tags: filth and spice below like you wouldn't believe, extremely dubious consent, luocha and blade are freaks but that's nothing new, prone bone
pt 3 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. they've been extremely generous enough to beta read all three parts and give feedback. i could not have done this without them!
part 1, part 2, collab masterlist
Kafka shows up at your apartment, one afternoon. After Blade stayed over, flayed you open, left your tender underbelly exposed to the pale moonlight. You still don’t know how you feel about him. You do, however, know how you feel about her.
You’ve never told her where you live, but it doesn’t surprise you that she knows. She lingers in the doorway, leaned up against the left side. Her coy smile is more subdued than usual.
“I need your help with something,” she says. At least she isn’t wasting time on the pleasantries, today. That’ll get her to leave quicker, and that’s pretty much all you’re concerned with. You still blanch, because she wants something from you. That’s always a dire sign. Something in your life is about to go awry.
“You can’t find someone else? I’m a bit busy today.” you narrow your eyes at her. Her smile tightens. Whatever she’s come here for, it must be urgent.
“Whatever your clients pay you, I’ll double it for the days you miss. Every single one. I’ll even throw in some of those honey candies you like to sweeten the deal.”
“Days?” you blink, already beginning to calculate the potential gains and losses in your head. Missing several shifts could lose you a few clients—could you wheedle her into paying you that difference until you find new ones?
“Yes, days,” Kafka twirls a lock of her hair absentmindedly. “You see, Bladie has a little problem that needs delicate taking care of—” she begins, voice pitching up, preparing to wind around the crux of the whole thing until you lose your mind.
You cut her off there. “Just give it to me straight.”
“Always so forward,” she pouts. Her voice winds up like she’s about to give you a scolding, but she flattens out, lips curling into a lazy smile. “I like that about you.”
“Bladie is in rut,” she continues. Slowly, like she’s explaining the concept to a child. “He has someone to take care of him—that merchant, the blonde one. The only problem is, well… their paths don’t make them entirely compatible.”
Your lips twitch into a frown. Destruction and Abundance, on opposite ends of the spectrum. If they were both normal people, it wouldn’t pose a problem… but you have no idea if Blade’s unique condition could cause complications. Regardless, you’re not sure why she’s telling you. This isn’t your problem.
“They’ll need a mediator—” she begins.
You’ve heard enough. “Absolutely not.”
“Aw, c’mon. These two have been barking up your tree for more than a month and you’re not curious?” she teases,
“No.”
She says your name. Your spine goes rigid. Something sweet and cloying pricks its claws into the soft flesh of your consciousness. This is suddenly no longer a negotiation.
“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be… present, in case Blade’s mara rears its ugly head.”
“You could do that,” you point out.
Kafka shrugs. “I could, but that isn’t the only benefit of having an emanator of Harmony around. I can’t mediate like you can,” You hold your tongue only because you know she’s right. “I know it’s a hassle, but I’ll make it worth your while. And I’ll pay you triple of what you would have made this week.”
You narrow your eyes. “And if his rut doesn’t last a week?” Unease churns at the bottom of your gut. This isn’t your wheelhouse. To delve to the depths of intimacy when you haven’t even waded the shallows is unwise at the very best, life-endangering at the worst. You’re not attached to Luocha and Blade in the way they are attached to each other. And the moment you lower the drawbridge and weaken your walls, you anchor yourself even further to the Luofu.
“You’ll be paid the same, regardless.” Kafka says, as though it’s in any way comforting.
You loosen the tensed muscles of your jaw. It’s not as though you… dislike Blade. You think about him, early in the morning, when you’re too sleepy to get your thoughts straight. You remember keenly the press of his lips, the smell of him as he breached your personal space, permitted himself to your skin—
You shut your eyes. You feel too hot, all of the sudden, “Can I get that in writing?”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I can wire you the money right now—” Kafka slides her phone out of her pocket, nimble fingers clicking all over the screen. You still aren’t comforted.
“No, it’s fine,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, already feeling the oncoming headache. You can’t believe you’re doing this. “When do I have to be there?”
—
The house looks the same as it always does. There’s nothing new on the breeze. Nothing beside the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. You knock on the door. Luocha stands in the doorway, red robe hanging off his shoulder. Bruises bloom on his skin like blood in water, spots of bluish-purple that run up the left side of his neck. You blink, speechless. He’s greeted you dressed like this, before, but he’s never looked so ragged. So run-down. His lips are kiss-swollen, lit up an angry pink. Flaxen blond flows down his shoulders like a river stream, strands sent awry in several places—they look like they’ve been tugged at, manhandled in a way you never imagined he would allow.
“Oh, good. You’re here,” he chimes, and steps aside. He motions for you to come in. It’s a threshold you’ve crossed many times, but something about this feels permanent. There’s a heavy feeling in the air. The faint scent of something spiced and smoked lingers throughout the entryway and living room. Unease prickles up the back of your neck. The door clicks shut behind you. A hand lands on your shoulder. “No need to be so tense, my dear Courier. Nothing bad will happen to you here.”
“What exactly will happen here? Kafka gave me the rundown, but…”
“Well, that depends on you,” Luocha hums. The warm hand on your shoulder slides down to your bicep. He stands behind you, a solid stroke of heat along your back. “I know I speak for us both when I say we would very much like you to participate, but all you really have to do is… watch.” He breathes the word, breath soft and hot against your ear.
He slips away from your side. The space he occupied at your back feels cool and empty. You shiver.
“—And you’ll have to intervene should anything go awry. While I can sate his carnal urges, the same cannot be said for his mara,” Luocha continues, cracking open the bedroom door.
“You came,” Blade’s voice rumbles, raspy with sleep and something else. He’s laid across the bed like a lounging panther, appraising you with eyes half-open. The long stretch of his body is completely bare, all broad muscle and softness in certain places. He’s taken the bandages off his chest, you realize after a few moments of looking (staring) at him from the doorway. Free of clothes and free of scars, a perfect statue of a man.
Luocha, behind you, mistakes your shock for apprehension. He laughs by your ear.
“It’s only natural to be apprehensive. Come. Just watch for a bit.” His fingers squeeze your shoulders. You let him steer you over to an armchair with green cushions sat by the nightstand, up against the wall. Blade stares at you from the other side of the bed.
He doesn’t stop looking at you. Even when Luocha rests a knee on the bed, robe slipping off his arm, inch by inch of pale skin opened to the gaping maw of his gaze. His back—it’s as broad as you would expect from a man who lugs around a coffin on the daily. Not as big as Blade. There’s a sinuous grace to his figure, with narrow hips and—you don’t dare let your gaze lower. Because he’s looking at you looking at him over his shoulder with that coy little smile, just waiting for you to slip up.
And then he’s not looking at you, anymore. You’re entreated to a view of those long, luscious locks—sliding over the alabaster of his back as he approaches Blade on his knees.
“Well, Blade. I know you’re excited, but you’ll have to settle for me for just a little longer,” he says. You nearly open your mouth to remind him that you haven’t agreed to anything, but the breath is robbed from you as he mounts Blade’s thighs.
The alpha’s cock is long and thick enough to make you cringe as the tip nestles between Luocha’s cheeks. Twin groans fill the air. Blade’s voice is low and coarse, the vibrating thrum of an old engine.
Luocha luxuriates in the stretch. His back arches, head bowing back as he takes the other man inch-by-inch. The dim light which reaches in through the closed blinds casts him in perfect clarity, and you can see his thighs begin to shake as he seats himself fully on Blade’s lap. His fingers fist in the sheets on either side of him, glimmering silk bunched between long pianist’s fingers. Cock taken to the hilt.
“You’re putting on a show,” Blade accuses.
“And you’re watching.” Luocha replies, voice breathy and soft. He starts to say something else—but Blade’s hands fit over his hips, bulky fingers nestling into his v-lines. His voice devolves into a choked little sound as he’s lifted, until only the tip remains inside of him. The effortless gesture of strength makes you swallow and sink back in your seat. The air swells with unabated sweetness. And you—you react to it.
Your fingers tense briefly, gripping the hard cushion armrests as you watch Blade fuck into him with voracity bordering unhinged. Luocha’s soft moans reverberate through the room, each one goes straight to your wetting cunt. Your thighs squirm and shift, pressed tight together.
Blade grunts. His thrusts lose what little rhythm they possessed to begin with. You see every slide of his thick cock into Luocha’s loosened hole—slick-doused and swelling. You can see the muscles in Luocha’s back tense and stretch as he arches. The orgasm wracks him bone-deep. His toes curl. And Blade—Blade’s grip only tightens. Luocha’s thin waist is clutched entirely in his hands. His nails dig into the skin as he sheathes himself with a throaty snarl. The cum is so excessive that it drips and pools on the silken sheets, running down Luocha’s creamy thighs.
The room goes quiet. There’s only the steady sound of their mixed breathing, desperate huffs which level out over the next however long. You’re stuck there, still. The room smells of sex. A strange, hot feeling rolls down your spine. You feel like an exposed nerve. Like a trigger a hair away from being pulled.
Luocha, eventually, pulls himself off of Blade with another slick sound. Blade shuts his eyes and reaches out a shaky hand, wrapping it tight around Luocha’s shoulder. His nails bite into the pale skin, thick fingers right next to a ring of recent bitemarks.
“Mm,” Luocha pauses. He presses his lips to the scarred fingers which clutch him. At this distance—you can sense the sudden lurch of Destruction, spurred on by cloying mara and the natural, ingrained need to give chase. To empty the wellspring of Luocha’s Abundance like a man parched. You tense in your seat. Pushing your scrambled nerves aside, you reach for the Harmony—expel it and let it float through the chamber. “I'm not going anywhere, Blade. You know that.” Luocha says. Blade’s grip loosens. The wildfire in his eyes dims to a hearth. He settles.
Now free to be as obnoxious as he likes, Luocha turns fully to you.
“Ah,” his eyes twinkle as he licks his lips, looking at you now. “Did that do it for you?”
“N…No.” your voice feels thick in your throat. The most bold-faced lie you’ve ever told.
Luocha laughs a little. “It’s alright; you don’t have to say it. How about you come over here? Or do you want me to come over there?”
“I’m perfectly content to watch,” you insist. Your voice comes out steadier than you thought it would. But Luocha only smiles. He regards you with that same, infuriating knowingness that he always does.
He slides off the mattress, smooth as fine grain sand and assured in his nakedness. You feel the tips of your ears get hot as he approaches, crosses the breadth of the room with swaying hips.
He has you, and he knows it. Long fingers slide over your arms where they clutch the armrest. His thumbs rub over the back of your palms as he looms close.
“You can stop this,” he murmurs, voice close to a whisper. He pries your fingers off the armrest, urges your hands to go limp. “Any time you want,” he says, but you don’t feel like it. You feel pinned by the voracity in Blade’s eyes as he stares at you from his perch on the mattress.
Luocha slides to his knees like a swan takes to water. Slender fingers work the buttons of your trousers open, thumbs which slide beneath your waistband pull them down. You make a grab for the elastic, clutching it in your fist. The breath rushes in and out of your lungs, something in you suddenly awoke. The fear and an apprehension you should have felt from the start snap to life like a bolt of lightning.
But Luocha. Luocha gently pulls it again. More like an ask than a demand, and you let it go. You swallow as he slides them off. revealing the seat of your panties. Wet.
“Oh? All for us? That’s very flattering,” he says, like you’re a child who's earned the praise. You don't know what kind of face you make, but it must accurately convey your displeasure because his eyes crinkle, unmistakably fond. “Forgive me. I simply can’t resist teasing you… and I was under the impression that you hated me for the longest time.”
Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. Your throat feels full of something thick and unsweet.
Your underwear comes next. It's a simple black pair. He thankfully spares you the commentary as he delicately slides it down your thighs, your legs, so meticulously careful in his handling of you.
“Well, you still might,” he continues, once you're bare from the waist down. “But at the very least, I know you feel some base level of attraction.”
His tongue parts the wet folds of your pussy. You tilt your head back, fingers curling to clutch the armrests, unwilling to watch him make a mess of you. The air feels liquid around you, murky with their scents—which have taken on, somehow, a new intensity.
You don’t get to think about it, because Luocha brings your knee over his shoulder and puts his lips on your clit, tip of his tongue flirting with your entrance. He laps up your slick, drinks you in like a man starved. You jerk, a wheeze rattling out from between your ribs, but Luocha holds you fast.
Pleasure surges in you like a current, a clever twist of his tongue making you jerk—and moan, like the harlot you know you are not. It sinks in, then and only then, as you clench his flaxen locks in your fist, that this is happening.
But you don’t get to digest it. Something hot snaps in the core of you, toes curling as you gush wet and hot into his eager mouth.
His lips are shiny with your slick when he pulls away, lips curved into an unmistakably satisfied grin. Your chest rises and falls as you try and catch your breath. You feel—wrung out, hazy in the remnants of your climax.
“I hope I lived up to your expectations.”
You blink blearily at him. “I didn’t expect anything from you after all.”
There’s a small huff from behind him. A small smirk pulls at the corners of Blade’s lips.
“How charmingly candid,” Luocha says, unbothered. You’re still too witless to muster a witty retort. Or any sort of retort at all, because as soon as you try, he heaves you into his arms with an ease you hadn’t expected.
An undignified sound bleats from deep in your throat, words on the tip of your tongue mangled as you scramble for purchase. You dig your nails into the pale skin of his shoulders. The muscles there are broad and smooth. Exactly what you would expect from a man who carries a coffin around with him all day.
“Wait just a second—”
“You surely don’t think the chair will be a more comfortable place for this than the bed, do you?” he asks, hands big and warm on the backs of your thighs.
“Don’t just go picking someone up without warning,” you seethe, and it still feels like a concession.
“Ah,” Luocha’s smiling again. “My apologies—I forgot how easily you scare. I’ll be sure to give you due warning, next time.”
“I don’t scare easily.” you mutter. He hums. Then he gently deposits you onto the mattress. Blade lounges easily, passion only betrayed by his smoldering, half-lidded gaze. The long line of his body is caked in muscle. The kind of body you’d expect from someone who carries around a sword that heavy—whose hands have ended a number of lives and worlds beyond your reckoning.His chin rests idly on the palm of his hand. Your gaze drifts over the smooth ridges of his abdomen, the plush of his chest.
Luocha settles up against the headboard. His cock is out, you realize belatedly. It stands hard and proud against his stomach. And his thighs glisten with release—both his and Blade’s. Your cunt throbs.
A hand reaches over and fists in Luocha’s hair, dragging him downwards for an open-mouthed kiss. He tongues your release from Luocha’s mouth. Lewd, wet sounds fill the balmy air, rumbling groans and soft little whines. Even now, in this deep between them, you feel like a voyeur. Yet, you watch them with lips parted and eyes wide.
You shudder.
Eventually, they separate.Wordlessly, Blade sits up and disappears behind you. You try to crane your neck to follow where he goes, but Luocha’s nimble fingers yet again seize your jaw.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice delicate as it hovers in the air between you. “Blade’s not going anywhere, dear. Just focus on me for the time being, alright?”
But it’s so hard when you can feel the presence behind you, hovering like a dark cloud. You swallow, the noise impossibly loud in your own ears. Your cunt is wet and you’re sweating and your shirt is still on—but Luocha endeavors to fix that in the next moments. It’s difficult, in the haze of everything, to keep track of where his fingers go or when your button-up slides off your shoulders, to breathe when he unlatches the clasp of your bra like he’s done it a thousand times before.
How many people has he done this with, before? A bitter taste twinges at the back of your mouth. Unprovoked and without reason.
Blade’s big hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing the space above your waist.
“Handle her gently, Blade,” Luocha murmurs gently. His soft hands stroke down your bare arms. His verdant gaze drags down your torso, too slow to be anything but indecent.
Blade grunts. He squeezes, once, before he lifts you without warning. You splutter, hands snapping to perch on Luocha’s shoulders for some sense of balance as you’re moved with near pitiful ease. The show of strength sends a fresh wave of heat flush to your drooling cunt, and you try not to pant as you feel the tip of Luocha’s cock nestle against your folds.
Your fingers curl and your eyes shut.
“Just like that,” Luocha says, simple and light. Another pair of hands settles on your thighs—and he’s breached you. You choke.
The stretch hurts. You didn’t expect anything else, but your head still falls back, eyes clenching shut as your walls spasm and squeeze tight. Behind you, Blade pants like a dog, huffing into the crook of your neck, inhaling you by the lungful. There’s a tremble in his hips that you can feel.
It takes you a moment to realize that the whimpers filling the room are yours.
“Re—lax,” he breathes, sounding almost pained. Like he has the right to. Like he isn’t fucking you open, pushing deep in as your greedy cunt squeezes and struggles to take him. Your knees press hard into the mattress, instinct prompting your aching thighs to buck upwards and flee the intrusion, but Blade holds you fast, grinding his teeth into your aching skin.
“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Luocha praises, cooing as your cunt clenches, “Oh,” he sighs, like he’s awed by it. His green eyes, unseeing, blown wide—your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders as Blade lifts you again, up and up until only the head of his cock remains inside. “Gentle, Blade.” he bids, eyelids low—
And then Blade eases you down. It’s a slow drag. It hurts less, this time. Sparks of pleasure roll up your spine and send your cunt aflutter, your nails raking into his shoulders as they set the pace. He rolls his hips as Blade moves you—puppeteers you, his mouth tracking wet, open-mouthed kisses over your shoulders and up the sides of your neck. His teeth score into your yielding flesh.
“Stop—gnawing at me,” you snarl, reaching a hand back to swat him like an unruly animal. His lips find the meat of your palm, lips tenderly grazing the skin there as if in apology. He growls and inhales, again, and you marvel in fear and awe at just how stupid the chemicals in his brain have made him. Are all alphas like this, during their ruts?
Luocha says something else, but it’s all lost to the filth, to your moans and cries and other undignified noises as they further unravel you. Blade grips hard enough to bruise, his breath heavy against your skin, your ears. They work in tandem. Blade fucks you up and down on Luocha’s cock like a fleshlight, and Luocha rocks his hips into your fluttering, tight pussy in a quickly unraveling rhythm.
And Blade—you feel his cock press hot up against your back just as dexterous fingers glide over your clit, Luocha’s touch making you thrash. Your sweat-slicked skin grinds up against Blade’s front, and he snarls.
You come, orgasm a searing and unwieldy thing. You crash over the precipice, head tossed against Blade’s shoulder as your cunt spasms around Luocha’s cock. Milking him, shaking body trying to suck him in deep. Your entire body is one hot line of heat, pressed between them and oh fuck, Blade keeps fucking you onto Luocha’s cock. The blonde’s consistent and precise thrusts stuttering out of pace until he comes with an obscene groan. His fingers dig into your thighs as he fills you, rope after rope of his release hitting inside.
The room fades into a calm quiet. The air is dense with the smell of sex. Even through the exhaustion, the pheromones pry under your skin and keep you as hot as the bodies you’re wedged between. Blade lifts you from Luocha’s cock with pitiful ease, and the noise you let out at the separation is downright pathetic. Your mixed releases slide slick down your thighs and onto the sheets below, and your consciousness rouses just enough to feel a twinge of humiliation.
“Lovely little thing, you were even more incredible than I anticipated,” His fingers clumsily draw over your cheek, your neck, your side. Petting you, palms shaping around your breasts and stomach as you come down from the high. You all but collapse against Blade’s front, boneless.
The moment he releases you, you topple onto the bedding next to Luocha. It’s hard to breathe. The air feels thick. You fight to regain your bearings amongst the haze, covered in sweat and cum and sore spots all over your neck and shoulders.
Luocha coos. The pads of his fingers gently prod one such spot.
“You didn’t have to be so rough,” Luocha hums at Blade. His touches delicately circle every point of pain, “This is your first impression in bed. You may be in rut, but you have enough self-control to not chew on your caretakers. You aren’t an animal, are you?”
“No,”
“No,” Luocha repeats, airy and fond as he pulls away. “You’re a blade. I don’t know if that’s more or less of an excuse.” He says, but he doesn’t sound frustrated. His scolding is light-handed and more amused than anything.
“Will you two quiet down?.” you grouse, finally coherent enough to complain again.
“Our apologies. We really should be putting our mouths to better use,” Luocha says, rubbing your back again. You throw a hand back to try and swat him away, but he pushes you aside with frustrating ease. “As much as I would like to afford you the proper time to rest—”
He doesn’t get a word in before you’re being manhandled onto your back.
Big hands pin your hips to the mattress. Blade’s palms are hot and clammy, sweat rubbing into your exposed skin.
“I appreciate this,” he rumbles lowly. His candlewick irises threaten to swallow you whole as he ducks close, pressing your foreheads together. Blade’s keen gaze shifts from your eyes, rolls down your face and over your throat like a soft breeze.
You swallow, your breath stolen from you in a gasp as he turns you over yet again. He maneuvers you how he likes, front pressed right against the sheets from head to toe. His hand settles in the crook of your left knee, opening you for the hot press of his head. The slow press of him is a sweet agony. He’s too big, he’s so fucking big—your cunt struggles to accommodate him as he bullies his way inside. Short, aborted thrusts which grate against your velvet walls. Your entire body twitches, overworked nerves crying out in muted protest, but the pleasure is open and heady, your entire body made pliant by the pheromones and—oh and it’s so much easier to go prone, like this.
Blade’s eager mouth tooths a path along your shoulder, seeking the crook of your neck with single minded hunger.
It’s a slow, heavy push aided by previous climaxes, but he’s still much too big. You weren’t meant to take anything like this, you can’t help but think.
Luocha gives a sympathetic coo. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Is it? You try to answer, but all that comes out is a low, animal sound. Half pained but all pleasured. If Luocha filled you, Blade bursts you to the seams. Your fingers claw at the bedding as you struggle to take him, unable to stifle your voice. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to hilt. Minutes or hours. Time is lost to you, all of your focus centered on the tight space between your legs and how he swells in it.
A wet, warbling sound wanders out of your weary throat as you feel his thighs press to the back of yours. At last complete. The grip he has around the crook of your knee tightens, his breath sputtering onto the back of your neck as he pulls out.
The first plunge back in is no better than the initial fit. He pumps you full, over and over, pace breaking into something ravenous at the first sign of your acquiescence. You can’t think, you can hardly breathe as your velvet walls suck him in. Every thrust has his cockhead teasing your sweet spot. You try to arch your back, but you’re met by the solid wall of muscle that comprises him, flattening you to the bed, leaving you cored and flayed open for him to fuck, to fill, to stick his fingers and tongue inside. He scrapes his teeth over what feels like the marrow of you and makes your vision go hazy with tears. They roll down your cheeks, fat droplets soaking the bedding beneath you.
Your orgasm isn’t a steady trickle but a sudden burst, white hot pleasure erupting behind your clenched eyelids. He fucks you through it. His knees dig into the mattress on either side of your body, pelvis slapping your ass with each disjointed thrust. Whatever rhythm he might have had sputters into nothingness. He mindlessly pursues his own climax, lips fitting over your shoulders. He kisses your spin. His hot tongue laps at your sweat and your bruises, almost tender.
There’s an ask, there. A request for your forgiveness, or your acknowledgement. But you are too spent to speak.
He cums inside of you, his release splattering your walls and dripping onto the sheets below. It’s so vulgar it almost makes you nauseous. But your toes curl and your voice pitches into a watery whine because he’s still fucking you.
“Blade,” you find your voice, but do not recognize the ragged, ruined thing it has become. “Blade!” The pleasure has long tilted over the edge into pain. You claw at the sheets. You can’t tell if you’re trying to squirm away or arch closer, all that you know is the heat of his body and smell of sex and wetness of his cum running down your thighs.
“Blade,” a different voice says. You completely forgot Luocha was even there. You can’t see where he is, “Remember what we talked about? Don’t knot her. She’ll break.”
“The poor thing,” he says, voice soaked in sympathy. A slender hand curls beneath your cheek, wedged between it and the pillow. Your lips press against the palm as your face is forced up.
Luocha’s eyelids are low. His lips slightly parted, and his expression so impossibly benevolent as he observes you.
“Just a bit more,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against the swell of your bottom lip. You huff and squeal into his hand as Blade’s body tenses, readying itself for another orgasm. And as he spills within you a second time, Luocha steals the moan off your tongue with a deep, searching kiss.
—
Afternoon has shifted into late evening. The living room is cooler than the shaded bedroom. Somewhere after a third climax, you had been cleaned, a robe maneuvered onto your form by clinging, roughened hands. You’re not sure who did what. For the past hour, you think you’ve hovered dangerously close to unconsciousness, barely able to open your lips to sip on the glass of water someone held up for you. The rim was blissfully cold. You swallow the drink down with a voracity you’ve scarcely ever shown, let it soothe your sore throat and float some of the life back into you.
You’re endlessly grateful for this as you scarf down dinner. Some greasy takeout that fills your empty stomach, fried batter crunching nice between your teeth.
Exhausted, and sore, and something related to satisfied, you finally rest your weary eyes. Your fingers find Blade’s silken strands. His face is nestled into your lap, nose pressed into the inseam of your thigh. He all but flopped atop of you after you finished eating, content to doze half-under a red blanket.
Each breath taken is a warm puff you can feel through your robe. When did it go this far? How did it go this far? In a few hours, will he be just as voracious as he was when you walked in? You rummage through what remains of your cognizance in search of answers, but come up blank. All it amounts to is feeble frustration. Your fingers still comb through those long, luscious locks.
Footsteps pads in your direction from behind. You don’t bother to look up at Luocha until he nudges something into your hand. The stem of a wine glass is pressed into your shaking fingers.
When you look up at him, he only smiles, “For the nerves,” he says, and settles on the other sofa. “And the pain.”
You stare into the glass. The person reflected in the deep cherry looks sleepy and sated. A feeling of defeat churns in the depths of you. Your stomach sinks. You shut your eyes and let your head loll onto the back of the armchair. The plush upholstery cushions the back of your skull. The steady, building buzz of anxiety building behind your eyes amounts to a soft, yet still aching throb.
You lift the glass, and press your lips to the rim.
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anyway my trans Devo headcanons:
He got a tonewheel for his birthday when he was 16, and that's where he learned what being queer was from Seldom's broadcasts. He identified as a lesbian pretty strongly for a while, but he always kinda knew that wasn't quite it. He was 17ish when he finally admitted to himself he was trans. (and once he started perceiving himself as a man more often, he realized he was bi -- he just hated the idea of being with a guy as a girl)
He's not a binary/monogender trans guy. BUT he is in heavy denial about it. He'll get there eventually...
Seldom gave him guy's clothes when he came to his school, but they're all very basic and colorless and boring. He was never a big fan of them. He didn't really come into his own with masculine presentation until Nermal's Pile; she lets him try out whatever he wants. He's still kinda feeling things out, but he's way happier and has a lot more fun with it now.
Hair length isn't strongly gendered in Founders' Wake, it’s more tied to practicality. Guidance always kept his at shoulder-length and never let him change it at all. He was growing it out after leaving, but after confronting Orlean in the infinite clam he had a breakdown and chopped it all off. Amber helped him tidy it up and he's kept it short ever since.
There's some sort of magic HRT in Founders Wake, but since magic is rationed he hasn't gotten on it yet. Seldom was helping him with it; he's on a waiting list.
His chest dysphoria used to be a lot worse, he did a lot of unsafe homemade binding back at the parish, which gave him chronic back pain. Seldom convinced him to stop and got him a proper binder. Even that he can't wear too often cuz of his pain. It sucked a lot at first, but he's started to make peace with his chest and his dysphoria isn't quite as bad. He still binds more than he probably should though.
He has a decent amount of bottom dysphoria, he packs pretty much constantly.
The name Damian is the one he first picked out when he was accepting himself, as a replacement for his birth name (not Devotion, the Cern one). But he started to really hate being called Devotion, and Devo was something he could spin as a nickname without raising suspicion. Guidance hated it and told people not to use it, but at least a few people did, so when it came time to pick a new name, he was attached enough to it he went with that instead of Damian Cern (also cuz his relationship with the Cerns is. complicated.)
(The Cerns do call him Damian, but Tolliver had no idea, he isn't exactly a part of family dinner. Last he heard he had some little sister who he’d never met. So when Devo was like "my real name is... Damian Cern" Tolliver's response was a cover for him internally going "what the fuck what the fuck since when do i have a relative named Damian hold on????? did i forget a cousin or something????????? oh my god this is humiliating" Devo does not clarify and Tolliver is too proud to admit to not knowing so it's a good couple weeks after that when he finally learns how exactly theyre related)
#theres definitely more but ive been sitting here typing this for half an hour so i think this is enough lmao#icarus is talking#devo la main#taz ethersea#taz#taz ethersea spoilers#for the last bit
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#it's me i'm the wind blowing#y'all things are a little more complicated when it comes to these two#(sits down and takes a sip from my dark blue coffee mug)#(thinks: i wish i had springtrap coffee mug)#so...#both of them have difficult pasts#both are parents trying their best on raising their children#THE THING IS#one can't let herself get too attached#while the other is still afraid all humans are the same#but at the same time. they just want to find peace and happiness#and they've found it at home#they found happiness living those very brief and mundane moments#like waking up every morning#having breakfast next to people that make you smile#making your way to school/work and seeing sunlight pass through the trees#and going home after a tough day and there are rain clouds approaching. you just know you're going to sleep well at night#this is how they heal. and in the mean time. let themselves open up to each other#I have a feeling this is gonna be a slow burn kinda thing#COUGHING REALLY HARD#ENDING THIS RIGHT HERE OKAY BYE#starbstalks#springdad au
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hey does anyone who knows how cgi works wanna explain tristamp to me. bc i’m intrigued and fascinated and i could just use google but that’s boring.
namely, i may be a little slow, but i didn’t even realize it was cgi until i was thinking about how there’s more…motion? than i’m used to in animation. like it didnt key in my brain that it was 3d. i figured they must be using some crazy framerate and be extremely dedicated. so i looked it up.
which is when i found out that it is a) 100% cgi and b) on a limited framerate?? i think i saw 12fps?? also some people called it choppy which it does not seem like to me but perhaps i just don’t have an eye for it. i’m not an artist.
but i don’t understand? i mean. i understand 2d animation pretty well. i know a lot of stylistic things in animation are done to avoid Too Much Drawing, but i don’t. know how cgi works, conceptually. meryl’s bangs move very slightly in the wind all the time, and ik that wasn’t done by hand.
i mean. it’s computer-generated, right. so are we at the point where the computers just know physics? programming hurts my brain. help.
it’s probably way simpler than i’m making it out to be. i just think it’s cool, especially how close to 2d it looks
#bird noises#trigun stampede#animation#i dont know what to tag#i always do this#i get attached to a thing and then i make it way more complicated in my brain than it actually is#i did it with interior book design which is not relevant but it is cool as FUCK to me#and way less artistic/more technical than i thought :((#i was sad about that one#anyway if anyone out there knows how this works or has a link to a good explanation!#also IF I USED WORDS WRONG OR EXPLAINED SOMETHING WEIRD be nice pls bc i will cry about it
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There is this whole idea that flipping a two sided coin doesn't have a 50-50 probability. It's not a new idea by any means, but the explanation is if you measured the mass of the coin, the force of the flip, the temperature of the coin & of the room, the force of any breeze, wind, or vibration in the air as it traveled, and so on, you could accurately determine within a small margin of error what side the coin will land on every time, and if you kept those constant it would flip on the same side every time. And that idea is also KIND OF the explanation for the conclusion in quantum physics that there is no free will.
A lot of people hear that and either clutch their pearls, roll their eyes, or aren't interested either way. (I mean, when you say some shit like that you're just going to immediately turn off any interest most people would have otherwise had but I'm digressing now). We all like to think we make decisions and choices, and then amateurs who want to talk about quantum mechanics alienate everyone by saying it's not true: you were always going to make these choices with no chance to make the other one.
But what I said in the first paragraph is something-like (but not exactly) what it means when you hear or read that according to quantum physics we have no free will. That if we had an unfathomable device that has been measuring all the variables of every single particle that was expelled during the Big Bang, with an also-sufficient/also-currently-unfathomable algorithm to plug those variables into, all within a computer that could do all of the calulations for BILLIONS of years, we could compute exactly where every particle was going and where it would end up, including those that make up the stars and planets, that make up the ground and oceans, that make up the animals and plants, that make up your brain and all of the proteins and neurotransmitters. That if it could all be measured and an algorithm sufficiently built then the decisions you make are already determined by the ongoing relationships and interactions the particles that make up your brain had in the past and are having right now.
However, humans cannot measure that, they likely never ever will.
Anyone that tells me they don't like quantum mechanics because something something affront to nature blah blah "they" don't believe in free will, etc. literally doesn't know it's just a rescale of the coin toss description. You still believe coin tosses are 50-50 because you aren't going to measure the variables used to receive an answer, you can still believe in free will because you can't measure the variables used to determine the ultimate path of all particles; I mean, I wouldn't become a theoretical physicist if that meant so much to you but I'm not your dad, do what you want.
Edit: I know I described the science mostly wrong, please check out the replies and reblogs for others' corrections and feel free to add corrections of your own for mine and others' learning, thank you.
#as has been pointed out to me you can't measure quantum functions in a meaningful way without collapse#I'm not a quantum physics person‚#(i mean‚ that is pretty clear)#but there are concepts that can be simplified to make them easier to process l#so that people interested can be pointed in the right direction and feel more familiar#before they find corrections and understand the bigger stuff‚ it's basically how middle school conventional science classes teach stuff#like i remember not really understanding dependant/independent variables#or not really understanding why endothermic/exothermic meant cold/hot#or how electrons don't really orbit atoms/have fixed places when attached to each other#we're taught simplified versions of things that are sometimes not the whole picture or sometimes wrong#to get you thinking in the right direction#anyway I'm not saying I crafted this post to be like that‚ just that I do understand some of the concepts aren't correct#it's just too complicated to get into specifics and that's the best way I can describe how I understand it#sorry if you do know better and bothered‚ I'll make any necessary edits if you message me and they don't over complicate the post#otherwise for everyone else go look this stuff up and get corrected#physics#quantum mechanics#quantum physics#op
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i made this a few months ago for a discord and i figured i might as well share it here too
#loz#legend of zelda#phantom hourglass#bellum#bellum is kind of a nothing villain but i like him#this image is basically the framework for how i write bellum's relationship with linebeck a lot of the time#the severity and seriousness of 'ruined your life' varies between aus n shit#ironically post-ph is one of the ones where 'ruined your life' is a bit hyperbolic#im in a talkative mood rn so im gonna have a little tag tangent going on#bellum is fun and like with this image you can take him many different ways depending on your own tastes and readings n stuff#recently i pinpointed some character i mightve accidentally based my take of bellum on and it escapes me rn#but i like to have him come off as a sort of brash young god sort of thing whos been very gung-ho about what hes been created to do and#represent and ive def leaned into him acting differently in different aus but backing it up with the idea that. hes immortal and thinks its#fun to try different things hwne he earnestly interacts with and among mortals. like in my crimson king au (the uh. one where he has a#homoerotic relationship with linebeck) his purpose behind masquerading as human and settling for a decidedly slower and more complicated#method of obtaining food and taking control is because he wants to challenge himself after years of just smashing through and taking what h#wants and because hes more interested in the more minute details of mortal interaction and how he could play along for a while#hes a bit more... whimsical? laid-back? something for the most part with linebeck because he's used to being a fuckin demonic god whos#mostly just playing around and not making attachments bc fuck it if he gets bored he can just eat these people and this one guy gets his#mercy and support because he's interesting and useful as a tool (and eventually as a source of genuine friendship. a common theme i seem to#have with bellum [perhaps as an accidental parallel or smth to the spirits n oshus] is him stumbling into finally understanding why#relationships are worth it? like a lot of the time his interactions with linebeck give him a new understanding of humans and he learns to#care about linebeck despite starting off seeing him as just an interested subject to watch or tinker with idk how to describe it#like in post-ph [ig post ph spoilers] as the fourth member of the main cast his main arc is abt kinda being forced to mingle with mortals#and ends up really caring and supporting these people and considering his own role and place in the world after kind of isolating and#surrounding himself with effectively a literal hivemind and loyal monsters and just reacting to outside forces with the intent to consume#and eradicate all danger so ig theres some parallel with linebeck too? bellum is a work in progress he's kinda a weird oc at this point?#when does an existing character stop being that and starts becoming an oc idk. its a weird line here bc bellum has minimal characterization#) anyways. funny meme or whatever. the discord seemed to like it im not used to sharing memes or whatever.#my post
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So many isekai start off as a person from an abusive family getting reborn into that of a loving one, but I'd love to read one that focuses on the opposite. Well, half. I want to read more of a person from a loving family getting reborn into a loving family.
I can't help but wonder of the resentment and guilt one would feel when their new family starts replacing the old in their heart. Or if they'd completely reject their new family because they already have a family they belong to. Or even the guilt of not treating their old family better before their death. And then there's the desire to return to their previous life. If they had the chance to return, would they take it? Or would they come to except the new world as their home?
Following up on that last thought, if they do have the chance to return, how will the people around them respond? Do they fear that one day the person they've come to love will abandon them for their old life? Do they feel guilt for taking that person away from their old home? What's it like living like that?
#story ideas#isekai#isekai has so much potential but the same plot appears over and over#i mean i get it but i would like to see something more realistic#isekai protagonists always come from abusive families where the family members are utterly irredeemable#but that does not make up majority of people today#even people that did not have the easiest childhood can still feel attachment to their parents and siblings even if it's complicated#the closest ive ever seen touch on this general concept was ascendance of a bookworm#the mc didn't have a father in her old life so she felt very uncomfortable with her father in her new life#she had continuous guilt to her old mother for not being a good daughter#all of her accomplishments was from the ways her old mom would spend time with her learning new hobbies#it was such a small part of the story in the whole scheme of things but it just felt so... it really touched your emotions
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wanna sit on nerd miguel’s face while i use my phone to snap other guys that’s my little chair fr😔😻
this just changed the trajectory of my life in a way you cannot understand.
cw: slight d/s dynamics, sending nudes, munch miguel makes an appearance once more, bro literally FEASTS, new character yippee (v minor), brief choking (more like a neck squeeze tbh), praise, squirting LOL, miguel gets kicked out again 😔 reader catching feelings?? we may never know. semi proofread today i felt nice. this is a longer one than usual, so enjoy!
“stop fuckin’ squirming down there and eat me out properly,” you say, looking down at miguel. his eyes are hazy and hooded, his glasses somewhere on the bed, his brown eyes clear as day. you grip his head by his hair and position him to where his nose brushes above your clit, and you moan at the feeling. “l-like that, okay miguel? be good for mommy.”
miguel takes heed of your instructions and begins to lick, suck, and thrust up into your wetness, making it hard for you to maintain something relative to your composure. in the throes of miguel’s mouth work, your phone screen, next to miguel’s head, lights up with a snapchat notification from none other than the star quarterback of your school, peter parker. you bite the corner of your lip, mouth pulling up in a smile at an idea. you grab your phone and open it to snapchat, seeing peters name at the top of your snap list. you open his snap and it’s a picture of him shirtless, abs on display, his happy trail just peeking over the band of his pants. his snap is captioned with text reading ‘wyd?’
you prop your camera up, angling it enough that miguel’s face and your pussy are out of frame. miguel stops for a moment to ask what you’re doing, but before he can get a word in you speak up, “if you stop, this will be the last time i ever let you touch me. got it? keep fucking going.” and wordless, miguel does as he’s told, going back to eating you but with a new energy this time. it catches you off guard a bit, and you let out a light f-fuck in response, but you don’t let it derail you from answering peter back.
peter. you and him have had.. complicated history to say the least. since high school, the two of you ran in the same social circles, with him being on your high school football team and you, a cheerleader. a true status quo. the two of you had ended up attending the same underaged parties, hooking up and even going steady for some time, until the blonde busty thing known as gwen stacy walked into your high school in sophomore year and made her claim on your then boyfriend. you figured it out after you walked in on them under the bleachers post-game, the spot where you habitually got on your knees to congratulate peter for his win. you stayed with him after a profuse apology and intense “i’m sorry” fuck session, to your dismay, but broke up with him in the beginning of your senior year. now, you two fuck from time to time, scratching an itch when you have it.
you look back at the tease of a photo on your phone, your tits spilling out your plunge neck crop top and your abdomen cutting off right above your pubic area, your pink thong still visible coming up the sides of your hips. you feel miguel plunge his tongue into you, causing you to fall forward, steadying yourself with one hand, phone in the other. “keep this up and i’m gonna squirt on you, but i bet you’re into that huh?” you laugh out a little, miguel moaning into you in response. you try not to get distracted and caption your snap to peter ‘nothing really’ and press send.
immediately, you see that he opens it and he replies just as fast, this time the photo of him in grey sweats with a visible tent, layer out on his bed. the caption attached, ‘wanna turn your nothing to a something? ;)’ and you roll your eyes. you move to answer him with another midriff picture, but you change your mind. “hey, look at me dweeb,” you say, turning the camera so that it’s capturing the angle of miguel’s mouth on your pussy, covered in spit and your juices. he looks up and sees the camera of your phone pointed down towards him and he goes red in the face and tight lipped. “remember what i told you about stopping,” you remind him, and he maintains eye contact with the camera as he goes back to lick a strip up your pussy, from your leaking hole to your clit. you move your unoccupied hand to his face, palm to his cheek as you slowly caress him with your thumb. “that’s a good boy.”
you move your hand from his cheek, trailing softly down to his strong neck and you wrap your hand around his neck and squeeze. at the pressure he lets out a groan, his hands moving to grip your thighs tighter to his face. “fuck miguel, you’re making mommy so happy right now- ah! fuck, just like that. keep doing that, o-okay?” you moan out. he says nothing, his eyes, still maintaining contact with the camera, clouded with lust, answering for him.
you snap a picture, turned on at the lewdness of it. it’s your pussy on miguel’s face, pink panties pushed to the side as his mouth is sucking on your clit, his hands gripping the fat of your thighs, and your hand around his neck at the same time. you make quick work to save the photo and caption it ‘busy, sorry’, feeling your orgasm approach. you press send and drop your phone, ignoring the back to back buzzing, probably of peters reply to your salacious snap.
a steady heat begins to boil in the pit of your stomach, and you keen forwards, your hand leaving miguel’s neck to grip the white sheets on your bed. “i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna-“ and with that, you feel the pleasure within you tighten then burst, like a damn breaking way, and you begin to tremble as miguel continues his work down on you. the overstimulation begins to hit you, and you feel a spurt of liquid leave your body and miguel groan and suck. “oh my god,” you heave out, “st-stop, no more.”
miguel places a final kiss to your mound as he moves to lift your limp hips for you. he feels sheepish how, his sweater and mouth drenched with your liquids. he wipes his lips and makes way to speak to your still firm on the bed. “are- are you okay?”
you say nothing, grab the nearest pillow you have, and throw it at him. miguel dodges and understands that means get the fuck out.
after collecting yourself, your body still spent and sheets still wet, you roll over on your back and grab your phone to look at what peter replied to you. you open his snap, and laugh a little at his responses.
peter 🚮
| is that fucking o’hara..?
| you’re fucking with me???
| fucking whore
| you sleep with nerds now??
you make way to reply to peter one more time, opening the camera and taking a picture of the wet bedsheets, caption it ‘nerds that can make me cum? yeah’ and unadd him after.
you finally haul yourself up to change your sheets when you see miguel’s glasses on your bed. you grab them and put them on your nightstand, feeling heat rush through your blood to your face, thinking of him and the mess he made of you.
fucking dweeb.
#the ask had me sweatin#u guys need to start writing instead of me 😭#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel atsv smut#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel atsv#sub miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#you’ve got mail💌#<nerd!miguel3
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I love thinking about the fact that when you romance Astarion, like, actually start to romance him, you don’t have sex with him. At all. And it comes up in other interactions later on, like if you get propositioned by Halsin, Astarion checks if his lack of participation is a factor in your consideration? And if you mess with Mizora, similar thing. So it’s clear that since he confessed his true feelings, that part of your relationship pauses, as he requested. Because he’s got trauma and needs a gentle loving space to work through that to be intimate in a healthy way that doesn’t repulse him or taint your bond.
And I love that he gets that narrative because it’s such a rare option for a masculine character to experience sexual abuse and trauma and be allowed a chance to work through and heal from it. Especially if they’re young and gorgeous and virile like he is. He’s only 39 at his death/turning, he was so young, and Cazador treats him like a boy in so many ways while simultaneously using his adult sex appeal as a lure and a weapon to control him and destroy other lives through his body. It’s such an integral part of his abusive enslavement and I appreciate that choice for his story rather than a simple one of monstrous violence, murder, etc which is a more common trope for male characters.
So he’s coming from that place, and then he meets you and his default setting is to fuck you to secure his safety, his worth in your eyes. But if you show him true love and care, he starts to see a way to return that which is something he’s never been able to do before, but the sex complicates it suddenly. And you can just back off from it, give him the space he needs, make him feel safe to trust love and security isn’t bound to what he can offer you physically. It’s not bound to his body, his functions. It’s his personhood that you desire, his essence without strings attached, and he gets to learn that and trust it and grow it without pressure or judgement. Even the times after where you ask to kiss him feel so sweet, to check in with him on such a simple act of intimacy, where he gets his autonomy to consent.
And then, at the end of his storyline in the graveyard, when he’s reclaiming his life in symbolic and literal ways, that’s when he feels the most safe and in love with you, trusts you the most to care for him completely, and that’s when he initiates physicality again. And I just fucking love that for him. So much.
As a person who’s struggled with physical intimacy and learning I could have boundaries and need to take my time with stuff and my partner wouldn’t abandon me over it? Would stay even if I couldn’t promise to ever fulfill that part of our relationship again? The safety of that reassurance is everything, and it helps you find a way back to your body again, to loving it and wanting to share it with another. Because you get to choose when and how and anything offered is received with pure gratitude and admiration. And I love that Astarion gets that chance because he deserves to heal and feel whole again, to live fully without barriers. And you get to help him find that. It’s beautiful.
#cass says random shit#baldurs gate spoilers#bg3 spoilers#astarion#bg3 astarion#baldur’s gate 3#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#bg3#astarion baldurs gate#baldurs gate astarion
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NSFW Alphabet - Aventurine
In honor of the handsome gambler coming home, have some Aventurine smut.
I’m so sappy for this man, ugh.
Aventurine x fem!Reader
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
For the first while, the one doing majority of the aftercare would have to be you. Aventurine has had plenty of one-night stands where the other person got what they wanted from him and then left without engaging in any form of aftercare. He’s used to sex being transactional, a tool he used to win people over.
As such, Aventurine feels lost when it comes to providing aftercare for you since it’s not something he has experienced before. At first, it feels strange to him when you offer to get him water, massage his sore muscles, or cuddle with him right after sex. It felt strange, yet he found himself enjoying the moments when you allowed him to rest his head on your chest, feeling your fingers run through his hair as you chatted about various things.
Aventurine slowly warms up to the idea of receiving this type of treatment after sex, and once he becomes accustomed to it, will return the favor. He’s fond of giving you massages and kisses and joining you in the bath for some extra cuddles. He’s also very likely to order you a delicious meal to replenish your energy or spend the rest of the night lazing in bed with you until you both fall asleep.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
I know that this is supposed to be sexy and erotic and whatnot, but if I had to be honest, I would say Aventurine likes his eyes. As much scorn and discrimination as his eyes have brought him, they are his last remaining link to his family and people, and I think he treasures that. Plus, he likes it when you compliment his eyes and say they’re pretty. It makes him feel a bit better about his Avgin heritage.
On you, Aventurine likes your hands. He really likes how you gently caress him, be it in or out of the bedroom. From the way you hold his hand in yours, to the way you cup his cheek or trace your fingers along his body, he loves it all. He feels treasured under your touch, as if he were something precious to you, something irreplaceable. It makes him feel a complicated type of way, but he still seeks out that touch.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Is possessive, so he likes to cum inside and then watch his semen drip out of you. It’s a form of staking his claim on you. However, he’s perfectly happy to cum on your chest or face or wherever else you tell him to, though preferably in or on your body. Aventurine is also content to have your juices smeared all over his face from eating you out. Something about feeling how wet you are turns him on immensely.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Aventurine memorized your undergarment sizes and has spent a pretty penny buying you all kinds of fancy and risqué lingerie from expensive brands. He got you a few matching sets of high-quality lingerie among several costumes, such as a bunny girl suit, a maid dress, and a nurse outfit, to name a few.
He’s planning to give some of them to you as a gift on special occasions in the hopes of getting you to try them on and give him a little show. He loves seeing you dress up for him, and thinks it would be a fun way to spice up your sex life.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He’s pretty experienced. Aventurine has had a few partners in the past, though they were strictly one-night stands with no feelings attached. It was more of a means to an end for him to relieve stress or win over the person for a deal. He basically used his partner and got used in return, and although some of these encounters were fun, they always left Aventurine unfulfilled.
It wasn’t until he met you and engaged in real lovemaking that he finally understood what was so amazing about sex (more on this in the intimacy section).
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Aventurine is pretty versatile, and his favorite positions change depending on what he’s in the mood for.
If he’s in the mood for something rougher, then he defaults to taking you from behind. He presses his hand on your upper back, pushing you face-down into the bed with your ass up in the air for him. He’s also fond of taking you against the wall with one of your legs hooked around his hip for a deeper penetration.
If he feels like letting you take the lead, he’ll lay back and let you do as you please. You want to pin him down or ride him in cowgirl? Go for it, he’s game. Use him however you want. That said, expect him to be a bit of a brat by challenging your authority with the smuggest of grins on his face. You have to earn his submission.
During moments of sweet and tender lovemaking, Aventurine prefers missionary or lotus. These positions are perfect for exchanging kisses and holding hands, and the eye contact between you feels more intimate which heightens the experience for him. He loves being as close to you as possible, your bodies pressed flush together as your hips move in sync, so expect him to keep his arms wrapped around you for as long as possible.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Aventurine is both serious and humorous. He definitely verbally teases and taunts you because he wants to get a reaction out of you, especially in the early stages of your sex life. It’s also a mask he employs to hide his own nervousness and vulnerability. However, he’s still considerate and respectful of your boundaries and feelings, and he takes the time to discuss these things with you in a serious manner.
While he’s usually very teasing and playful during sex, Aventurine has his serious moments. Those usually come up during tender lovemaking since it’s a more emotionally charged experience that leaves him feeling vulnerable. Genuine words of affection from you go a long way during those moments, and Aventurine might even return them in kind if your relationship has progressed deep enough.
Once he’s past the stage of slowly opening up and has become comfortable being vulnerable with you, Aventurine will act more playful and teasing again. Unlike at the start, this time he doesn’t tease you to mask his true feelings, but as a way to engage in some playful banter and watch your cheeks flush because he finds you super cute when you’re embarrassed.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Just look at Aventurine and tell me he doesn’t groom himself all over. He definitely keeps his pubic hair neatly trimmed so it looks tidy. It’s also the same blond color as the hair on his head.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He's had sexual partners before, but there were no feelings involved, so the sex left Aventurine feeling unfulfilled. It felt good, sure, but it still didn't fill the void in his heart, and he was left empty. Sex with you feels completely different, though. You're devoted to his pleasure, you treat him with love and consideration, and he can feel how much you love him through your touch and words.
There is also something so fulfilling and joyous about making you feel good, of knowing that he is the cause for those moans and blissful expressions of yours. Sex with someone he loves is a completely different experience because it's more emotionally charged, and though it makes him vulnerable, he feels more connected to you. He loves that emotional connection even more than the physical one, and it also makes him realize that there's so much more to sex than simply reaching orgasm.
Getting Aventurine to lower his guard and allow himself to be vulnerable during sex is something that will take time, but once he learns to embrace the experience, he’ll be very romantic when making love to you.
As mentioned before, Aventurine likes to keep as much physical contact with you as possible, so he’ll hold you tight against his body while rocking his hips into you. He also enjoys holding hands, especially when close to orgasm.
He’s a very sensual lover, so he runs his hands along your sides or spine, leaves hot kisses on your jawline and neck, and whispers romantic words about how he loves you or how you’re being such a good girl for him. Feel free to do the same to him in return, he loves feeling your loving touch.
Even when he’s being rough, he’s still loving toward you so you’re never left feeling like he’s just using you to get off. He wants you to be comfortable being this intimate and vulnerable with him, plus he loves giving affection.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Aventurine accumulates a lot of stress from work, so I think he masturbates fairly regularly. He usually does it in the comfort of his own home when he has some downtime.
With your consent, he uses some lewd pictures and videos of you to jack off to, or he uses his imagination, recounting his favorite moments from your past sessions. He also pictures you in various risqué outfits or imagines what it would be like to try new kinks with you.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He's a switch but tends to take on a more dominant role because he likes having some for of control over a situation, be it in or out of the bedroom. He's quite adept at giving you commands and suggestions, such as watching you masturbate and giving you directions on how to play with yourself. Aventurine is also into mutual masturbation, with either both of you watching each other get off, or using your hands to please the other.
He's into dirty talk, but mostly giving. From you, he likes to receive praise on how good he makes you feel. He also enjoys hearing you beg and describe in as much detail as you can what exactly you want him to do to you. If the task embarrasses you, that's even better because he finds you incredibly cute when you're blushing.
Other things he likes is edging and overstimulation (giving and receiving), mild exhibitionism (see Location below), videotaping/photographing your body or your sex sessions (with your consent, of course), and mild choking (mostly receiving, but can also give).
Aventurine can handle and enjoy rougher treatment from you, but he loves it most when you worship his body. Your loving and gentle touches feel so good, and honestly, he needs the pampering. Bonus points if you compliment his body, be it his looks or physique.
I also feel like he's into footjobs and boobjobs, and getting you to go commando or with a vibrator stuffed in your pussy in public (but only if you're into that).
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Generally prefers to have sex somewhere comfortable and private, so the ideal place is usually your home. The kitchen, bathroom, living room, etc are all fair game because Aventurine is not very picky about the location, though he does have a preference for the comfort of a soft bed or couch.
If exhibitionism is something you’re into, Aventurine can also fuck you in riskier places like a public bathroom or near an open window, though he won’t let either of you get caught.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you in his clothes is a surefire way to get Aventurine in the mood. His shirts are too long for you, so he finds it cute how the sleeves cover your hands, and how the neckline dips lower to show off your cleavage. Bonus points if one of your shoulders is exposed. He finds the sight incredibly erotic and endearing.
Aventurine also likes seeing you dress up for him, be it pretty dresses and nicely done hair or perfectly applied makeup. The idea of you dolling yourself up for him just to have your neat appearance ruined by the end of the night arouses him. As does the idea of seeing those painted lips of yours leave lipstick marks on his cock while you suck him off.
Aventurine can get easily turned on if one of your make-outs turns hot and heavy. Feeling the desire and passion behind your kisses can get him aroused pretty quickly, and he’ll try to turn you on in response by deepening the kiss or sucking on a few sensitive spots on your neck he knows make you weak in the knees.
He also loves it when you tease him, especially sexually. If you give him fleeting touches against his clothed dick, press hot kisses along his throat, or tug on his lower lip with your teeth, he'll easily get worked up. Giving him a fleeting taste of pleasure before pulling away, leaving him yearning for more all day will drive him wild and he'll follow after you like a puppy. Expect to be teased into oblivion in return once he gets his hands on you.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
As a man with a truckload of trauma, there are certain kinks Aventurine isn’t comfortable participating in, or some that he flat-out rejects.
He’s not into roleplaying scenarios where one of you is subservient to the other, so things like slave play or petplay get a hard no from Aventurine. He also doesn’t like calling you mistress due to the time he was forced to call his enslaver ‘Master’.
While he’s ok with some light bondage like having you pin his wrists down with your hands, he gets uncomfortable if handcuffs or rope is involved because it conjures up bad memories from when he used to be restrained like that as a slave. For the same reason, he’s not into wearing collars or collaring you.
While he can handle some rough play like choking, spanking, and biting, he doesn’t like being heavily hit, because again, it triggers bad memories for him. He doesn’t like being injured or causing you injury. He also doesn’t enjoy demeaning dirty talk that treats you or himself as something lesser or as an object.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
His silver tongue is good for more than just talking. Aventurine enjoys giving oral because watching you writhe and fall apart under his mouth is a huge ego boost. He loves to play with and tease your pussy, memorizing all the motions that get the best reactions out of you or any directions you give him to please you right. He becomes an expert at eating you out.
Aventurine gets a deep satisfaction out of pleasing you, and it definitely gets him hard to hear your moans and watch you squirm because he’s making you feel good.
However, I think he prefers receiving just a teensy bit more. Just a smidge. Having you between his legs, eagerly sucking his cock while maintaining eye contact with him is just heaven. There’s something so nice about being lavished with your love and attention, of seeing and feeling how devoted you are to making him feel good. It makes him feel appreciated and desired, which is a huge turn-on.
That said, Aventurine really likes 69ing because that way you both get to give and receive pleasure at the same time, which is a win-win. Though he does miss seeing your pretty eyes looking up at him while your mouth is stuffed with his cock.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Again, depends on his mood. If he’s feeling frisky, he’ll opt for a quicker and rougher pace, snapping his hips into yours in quick, sharp thrusts while holding onto your hips or arms to hold you in place. However, he’s never rough to the point of it being painful. He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’s never that rough with you.
Since he’s a sensual person, Aventurine definitely enjoys slower sex. It’s his go-to when making love to you. The thrusts are slow yet deep, his cock dragging against the walls of your pussy, allowing you to feel him properly and fully. With a slower pace, he can kiss you deeper, press his forehead against yours, and exchange words of love more easily. He’s also a fan of slow morning sex.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He’s fond of quickies. As much as he loves to take the time to work you up and explore your body, sometimes he just needs to quickly release all that pent-up lust to clear his mind. Especially if you’ve been teasing him for a portion of the day or you guys don’t have an opportunity to seclude yourselves for a longer session of sex. He can wait until you get home, but if you’re also willing, he’d much rather have a quickie.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He’s a gambler and lives for the thrill of taking risks, so I’d say he’s open to experimenting in the bedroom. Aside from the things mentioned in the ‘No’ section, Aventurine is very open to trying new things, even more dangerous ones like choking or exhibitionism. Even if he’s not into something, he’s willing to at least try it once if it’s something you really want to do with him.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Has average to a bit above average stamina. Can go for one long round with a lot of foreplay, maybe two if he’s particularly horny. Probably recovers quicker than you, though.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Does own a variety of sex toys he experimented with, but his favorite is a bullet vibrator that he uses while masturbating.
Will absolutely buy toys to use on you, like dildos, vibrators, ballgags, crops, etc… feel free to use the toys on him too, if you want.
He finds toys to be a fun way to occasionally spice up sex to prevent things from getting too stale in the bedroom.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Huge tease. The biggest tease. The kind of tease to overstimulate or edge you until you’re crying and beginning him for relief or to stop—you won’t even know which one. Thankfully he’s rarely that mean, but he likes to edge you a bit before diving into the good stuff.
Aventurine loves to hear you beg, and he will deny you what you want unless you ask for it nicely. You want him inside? In what way? His fingers or his cock? You need to be more specific, darling~
He also verbally teases you, commenting about how eager you are for his dick or how wet you already are despite just starting, etc… And he always says it with that smug, confident smirk of his.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Aventurine tries to be quiet because he’d rather hear you over himself, but he does let out his voice a fair bit. He’s prone to whining when you pleasure him, letting out low groans and soft moans, sometimes even growling if you get him particularly worked up, though that sound is rare.
He also talks a lot. Even if he’s breathless from exertion, he’ll still talk dirty, complimenting you on taking him so well, on how eager you are to please him, or how good you feel inside. If he’s making love to you, you might even catch him whispering a strained “I love you” when he’s close to climax.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Aventurine has nimble hands and knows exactly how to use them to drive you crazy with pleasure. He’s an expert at fingering you, knowing just the right way to curl his fingers inside your pussy to hit your g-spot, what pressure and speed to thrust them in and out of your sopping cunt until your toes curl and you’re clamping down on him as you orgasm.
He also likes to slip a hand between your legs to rub at your clit while fucking into you or to gently tweak and pinch your nipples. The little squeaks and sighs you let out in response are music to his ears.
If at any point you’re frustrated by him constantly edging and teasing you, he’ll quickly shut down your cute protests by deftly rubbing at your clit in exactly the way he knows you love. The way your jaw goes slack as you forget what you wanted to say, reduced to a moaning mess, has him gloating and grinning in triumph. He loves watching you succumb to his touch.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Is 4.5 inches (11.5 cm) long when erect, and 4.1 inches (10.5 cm) in circumference (girth). His dick is slender with a few prominent veins running along the shaft. The tip is a nice pink color.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Average. Generally, Aventurine engages in sex 2-3 times per week, but can easily go for more since he’s easy to arouse. The only issue is that he’s often too busy to find the time. You better believe that when he comes home from his weeks-long business trips, he’s taking you to bed for some passionate sex.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
It depends on the situation. If he has work to do after, then he will cuddle for a bit before reluctantly parting from you.
If it’s nighttime or if he has no pressing matters for the day, then Aventurine might let his exhaustion take over and allow himself to fall asleep. It doesn’t happen immediately, though. He prefers to indulge in the afterglow with you, chatting and cuddling for a while, maybe taking a bath together to clean up before bed. He falls asleep a lot easier with you by his side, feeling your fingers tenderly card through his hair or burying his nose into the crown of your head and breathing in your scent.
Unrelated, but he can be both the big and little spoon, though I think he prefers being the little spoon more often. It makes him feel secure when your arms are wrapped around him. He likes falling asleep while facing you, too. Being wrapped up in each other’s arms brings him comfort.
#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#star rail x reader#aventurine x reader#hsr aventurine x reader#aventurine x fem!reader#aventurine x reader smut
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Just This Once
Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader
Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie
Word Count: 5.3k
Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.
Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On
—
Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.
You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night.
So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you?
Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication.
You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.
What the hell is he doing?
He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.
It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way.
“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.”
Your birth control must be overdue, then.
“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.
He should have known then that he was getting too attached.
Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way.
As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.
He could get you pregnant.
A jolt of arousal shoots through him.
Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…
His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.
Kakashi swears. Loudly.
You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.
He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached.
—
Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone.
His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.
What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.
Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.
The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.
The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier.
“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.
“Mm. Do you want me to?”
His question hangs heavy in the air.
The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.
You want to say no, he realises.
He wants you to say no.
“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk.
Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership.
His.
Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.
He agrees.
“Just this once.”
Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.
Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth.
He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go.
As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat.
He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well.
To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl.
“More than okay,” you sigh.
As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.
He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.
“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”
So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.
He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?
He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste.
Later.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?”
Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows.
He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go.
“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you.
“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.
It’s selfish, he knows.
The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take.
He wants it to take.
Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.
“Close?”
Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.
He stamps it down.
“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?”
When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”
“Really?”
To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.
It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.
“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily.
His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”
Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.
Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.
“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—”
“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.
You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.
Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.
He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his.
He’s too attached.
To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.
It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.
Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—”
“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.
When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.
“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.
His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up—
“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off.
If he moves right now, he’s done for.
When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.
You finish first. Always.
“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.
Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”
“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy.
Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”
Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple—
“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time.
He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.
You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you.
“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—”
Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.”
Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight.
His jaw tenses at the reminder.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?”
Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves.
No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen.
And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee.
Get her there, then pull out.
Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch.
A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon.
“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—”
Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now—
He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall.
Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it.
“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—”
He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra.
Get her there, then pull out.
Get her there, then pull out.
Get her there, then—
You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips.
Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.
“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—”
“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want.
The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.
He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry.
Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.
It feels good. It feels right.
He’s too attached.
He doesn’t care.
As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits.
Why the hell did he do that?
What the hell did he do?
Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.
He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.
Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.
“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen.
“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.”
Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.
His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?”
You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.”
Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur.
They’re happy tears, you said.
You’re happy with him.
He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.
You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”
Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.
“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.
You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”
That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight.
He wants to do it again.
He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane.
“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came.
It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine?
“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”
Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.”
When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.
“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.”
You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.
It’s cute. You’re cute.
“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.
“What?”
This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?”
“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”
“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”
You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!”
Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then.
Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot.
“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?”
A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.
You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?”
“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real. “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”
How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate.
But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could.
A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed.
“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.”
Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”
And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back.
“Because,” he rasps.
The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed.
“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?”
A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads.
“Hm? Why not?”
To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.”
“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?”
The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.
Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation.
He likes that you understand him as well as you do.
He likes you.
“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached.
—
Snippet #1:
“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you.
“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue. “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”
He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?”
“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.”
—
Snippet #2:
Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.”
You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?”
He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye.
You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.”
He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission.
Looks like you’re on the same page, then.
Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home.
That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—”
“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused.
You worry your lip between your teeth and nod.
“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.”
Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?”
Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—”
When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.
—
A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)
#kakashi smut#kakashi x reader smut#kakashi x reader#kakashi x you#kakashi fanfiction#kakashi imagine#kakashi#kakashi hatake#hatake kakashi
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Jungkook
𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Attachment
There's something growing between the two of you- or are you simply growing closer?
Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Jungkook's ex wife, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of alcohol abuse, fluff, flirty Jungkook, fluff!!, reader is a bit jumpy, some more lore, smut, slow sex, position changes, mentioned round two, some angy jungkook (but not at reader), some angst in the end but it's all resolved dw
Length: 7.2k words
There is no taglist for this fic.
-> Masterlist
A/N: I did not proofread this I'm sorry
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"Do you even know where we're going?" Jungkook worries, sitting next to you on the subway, but you just shrug.
"I know how to get back though, that's more important." You simply say, making him even more nervous.
Jungkook isn't used to giving up control like this. He's not used to being spontaneous and just doing things out of the blue because you feel like it. Things have to be structured, planned out and with a Plan B to go with it in case something goes wrong. He's an overthinker, and it shows, as he keeps looking around and asking.
"Just relax. There's a park nearby that I wanna go to. We can get some food close by and just eat it there." You say, and he sighs.
"I'm sorry." He admits, leaning back into the seat to try and relax more.
"Its alright. Most people panic whenever I talk about trips I take." You laugh.
"Do you travel a lot?" He asks, and you shrug.
"Used to. But.. he was more of a homebody. Didn't like staying at hotels." You explain, watching the scenery pass by next to you outside the window. "He kind of ruined it for me because he'd just.. continuously point out flaws in everything." You say, and Jungkook listens quietly. "Flaws that I'd.. overlook most of the time, because, nothing's ever perfect anyways, so why focus on that all the time?" You giggle, looking at him now.
"I'd disagree, but also agree." He chuckles. "There can be perfect things. It's just a matter of perspective, and how it's perceived by someone." He offers. "What's perfect to one might not be for another." Jungkook explains, and you nod.
"Thats the more.. complicated way of explaining it, I guess." You joke.
"I tend to overcomplicate things." He bashfully agrees, making you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.
"You'll.. tell me when I get too much, right?" You ask quietly, and he nods, arm wrapping around you as if to reassure.
"I will, don't worry." He reassures you, before he moves to pull your hand up to kiss the back for it-
A gesture that makes you blush, especially from the people around you fawning over it as well.
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He's caught off guard when you walk around in nothing but underwear, visibly unbothered by him seeing you like this.
"Do you.. want to join me?" You ask. "The tub is a bit small but..?" You question, looking over your shoulder at him, who looks oddly unsure. Considering you both have had sex twice now- or more so once, really, it's odd to think that he's like this now. Is it because the nature of your.. whatever it is, has changed?
You're no longer just strangers without any connection. There's something deeper now growing. And maybe that's what's putting him under pressure.
"If you'd like me to." He shrugs.
"Only if you want." You say. "I won't be upset if you say no. I'm a big girl, I can handle rejection." You giggle, and he chuckles as well, smile a bit less tense as before.
"I'm sure you can." He agrees. "Though I'd be stupid to reject." He jokes, getting up to walk closer to you.
"Or simply cautious." You shrug. "Nothing wrong with that." You remind him, but he simply nods, and follows you into the bathroom. The water is streaming in, hot, soap bubbling up. Jungkook watches how you easily shed your last items of clothing before you sink into the water, and he does the same now, revealing himself bare to join you in the barely big enough tub behind you.
You're comfortably leaning against his front, very obviously not shy about this at all- and in a way, oddly enough, it seems to rub off on him, as he feels himself relax with you so close. "I want to move into an apartment with a bathtub one day." You giggle randomly.
"Does yours not have one?" He asks, and you shake your head.
"No, it's too small for one." You deny. "Does yours?" You ask, and he hums his answer.
"It.. I have both. One guest bathroom with a shower. The main one has a tub." He explains to you. "Maybe.. you could come over someday. See it for yourself." Jungkook chuckles.
"Hm. Maybe. When you want me to." You say.
"I do want you to-" He starts, feeling like he needs to argue- though he's not sure what about.
"I know, but you also don't, and that's fine." You laugh. "I.. you know, I kind of get the vibe from you that.." you start, but drift off.
"..that?" He softly urges, hands now moving underneath the water to find yours to hold.
"..that you're not used to.. you know. People asking for permission. Or just.. I don't know." You shrug. "You're always so surprised whenever I do nothing but simply take your feelings into account. You seem so caught off guard whenever I ask you if you're okay with things." You tell him, and his eyes stare at the slowly disappearing soapy bubbles on the water surface as he begins to think.
It's true that it's not common. He's the man- always has been one, and with that always came the burden of decisions. Evelyn always took the things he did for granted- saw it as something natural. The fact that he provided her with a place to stay, money and security was just a given to her, and so was the fact that whenever she decided where to go for dinner, or what to do on his days off. He always drove her to her appointments, always had to please her, treat her right, because that's always been his role to play.
So, you're right. He's not used to being given a choice, asked for permission, or questioned whether or not he was okay with something. And it's become so normal for him, that he truly believed that that was how things had to be like-
and maybe that's also why he was so hesitant with you. Why he still hesitates.
What if he does something wrong? What if he decides something you don't like? What if he's not what you want him to be?
You want him to be himself. But he's not sure he even knows how to be himself anymore.
"You should.. be more selfish, you know?" You say, voice echoing off the walls a little as you move around in the water. "Then I won't feel so bad every time I want to ask you to do something for me." You laugh, joking- but he catches the hidden words.
"You can ask anything of me." He chuckles. "Trust me, I can make decisions just fine." He reassures you, placing his hands on your shoulders.
"I'm not doubting that!" You laugh. "But just- You're.. really nice, and I'm kind of scared I'll screw this up." You sigh, trying to sit up and lean away from him- but he holds you towards him, keeping you close.
"There's no 'screwing up' for either of us. We might not work out for reasons, but I doubt we'll really.. screw up like you say." He offers kindly. "I kind of.. just want to be with you for the next few days. Nothing more, nothing less."
"In what way?" You almost whisper, and he chuckles against your skin, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.
"In whatever way you'd like." He hums against your skin, hands traveling up and down the length of your arms.
"What way would you like?" You ask, and he leans his head a little to rest his face in the crook of your neck.
"Right now.. exactly this." He sighs out. "I'm enjoying this a lot." He reveals, and at that, you lean back into him, and you can feel the way his lips twist into a smile against your skin.
"Is.. what made you fall in love with uhm.. Evelyn was it, right?" You ask, and he nods.
"I'm not sure." He admits. "She was pretty. She liked me, or at least that's what she told me- asked me out one night, and I just said yes because why not?" He shrugs, water sloshing around a bit at that movement. "I didn't.. have much interest in her back then, but I felt like it could just.. grow down the line."
"I mean, she's still pretty from what I could tell." You giggle, though he shakes his head. "No?" You wonder, and again, he shakes.
"Not anymore." He denies. Maybe conventionally attractive. Physically." Jungkook sighs. "But inside, she's just.. ugly."
You nod at that. You understand what he means.
"What about Greg?" He wonders, since the situation seems as good as ever to gain some more information on the guy he's never even seen before.
"He was.. or, you know, isn't as tall as you. A bit shorter. Uhm.. harsher facial features." You remember. "He always looked a little intimidating to me. But I thought it was just appearance. He used to be really nice to me, you know?" You explain, before you sigh. "But.. I don't know. Over time, after we started living together, it just went downhill." You explain to the man currently holding you. "There were warning signs before, sure- but I thought he was just stressed."
Jungkook listens, and makes sure you know that he is doing it- though he also provides some slight physical comfort as well.
"I should've left when he started to yell at me. Insult me, you know? But I didn't. I thought, if I was nice enough.." You stare at the bubbles slowly dissolving. "..I thought it would be okay."
"You were in love." He reassures you. "And we do stupid things when we're in love." Jungkook admits, making you nod as you lift your head a little to look at him.
Finally realizing that while his situation might not have been the same-
he still understands. More than anyone else.
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The next day starts rather.. interesting to him.
He's wondering how long it'll take for you to snap- because he's noticed that some of his habits and behaviours are clearly getting onto your nerves. But he's not hiding any of it away- you need to face the truth after all, that he's no angel, and no perfect man without any flaws. He's not sugarcoating things- but you are. And he's waiting for you to drop that façade.
You're never truly relaxing. You act like you are- but he knows you're not.
Meanwhile he's just himself, even exaggerates some of what he knows are his nasty habits- and you're just quietly stepping over his pants thrown in the middle of the floor in the hotel room, though he notices the way your eyes cling to them for a good second. And when you actually trip over them on your way out, it's when you finally decide to speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums, lifting his head from his phone to look at you. "Can you.. could you maybe try and I don't know.. put your clothes in one place only?" You ask, meekly, and that's when he notices something important. When he realizes something.
You seem awfully.. wary saying that. Almost fearful.
Oh.
"Of course." He nods, getting up to put them away- and your reaction to that, is that just instantly fall into apologizing for your words- as if what you said could've insulted him in some way.
"It's just that you could lose something you know?" You hum, wringing your hands anxiously. "And maybe you trip too and-"
"It's fine, really." Jungkook reassures you after dropping his pants and shirt that's been laying around in his still opened travel bag, now turning towards you. "Come here." He sighs, and you do, walking close to him until he pulls you in and hugs you. "I'm not mad." He offers, and from the way you tense up, he realizes he's hit the nail on the head. "I'll never be mad- never like that. I can promise you that much."
"I'm sorry." You apologize. "I know you're not like that-"
"But it's a habit, I get it." He offers, before he lets you go to look at you properly. "I can imagine why you feel like you have to apologize right now- but there's no need to pacify me." He tells you. “I’m not angry.”
"I know. I'm sorry- I never thought you were like that either." You sigh.
“Small steps.” He chuckles. “We’ve got time.” he reassures. “Let’s go out and see if we can find a restaurant we want to eat at, hm? Something casual.” He teases lightly, making you nod.
Just like he said- it’s a habit.
You’re so used to having to justify your actions, having to apologize for everything, having to just suck it up and get over it that it’ll be probably a long road until you’re truly free again. Does he want to deal with that? Maybe not, maybe he’s just too nice to say it right now because you’re.. well, stuck together in this hotel on this trip together for a few more days to come, since he ended up making an entire week out of the three day trip. Maybe he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, because he’s just a nice guy like that.
“Hey.” He rips you out of your thoughts. “let’s order room service instead.” He offers, and you’re confused.
“But you wanted to eat out?” You wonder. “and.. we’re wasting an entire day by staying inside-“
“We’re not wasting anything.” He chuckles. “I went on this trip with you to spend time with you. Which is what I’m doing right now.” He offers you, pulling your hands to have you close as he sits on the edge of the bed you both share. “you’re getting stressed. Tell me how I can help you.” He asks gently, as you sit on his thighs, unsure.
You don’t know why you’re so on edge today. You can’t turn it off.
“it just feels like.. any second now, something might happen.” You sigh, playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I’m not used to things being so.. okay.”
“I understand that.” He nods. “you’ll get used to it in the future, I promise.” Jungkook makes sure to tell you, before he takes your hands again. “can I.. ask you something? And please don’t.. I’m not going to say the things I’ll say because something is wrong with you or anything.” He says, and you nod for him to go on. “have you considered.. talking to someone about your past experiences? Someone professional?” He wonders, but you shake your head.
“I feel like.. it wasn’t bad enough to really go to therapy for it. Lots of people go through tough times like that, and they manage just fine.” You shrug. “I’m just being dramatic about it. Like you said, I’ll get used to it with time.” You defend yourself by instinct.
“You’ve been through something traumatic. There’s no.. threshold of how bad something needs to be to be able to seek out help.” He explains with a gentle tone of voice. “I’m not going to force you, obviously. But just so you know, your pain isn’t invalid just because others had it worse.” He says. “Think about it, at some point. Doesn’t have to be right now.”
“I’ll.. keep it in mind.” You nod. “thank you.” You offer him, and he nods as well.
“Nothing to thank me for.”
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Jungkook is agitated.
He’s been silent for a bit now, desperately searching for a spot to charge the electric rental car at- but all he finds are either in use or out of order. It’s raining too, meaning there’s not really anything you both could do other than just drive back to the hotel- but this charging spot has to work now, or the car won’t make it back.
Everything is just going wrong.
From the restaurant reservation somehow getting mixed up, to his phone constantly ringing because people won’t let him have his days off- poor device slipping out his hand at some point as he’d wanted to take it out the pocket of his pants, clattering to the ground, screen cracked in several places. Then, he’s informed of something urgent at work- he’s needed back earlier than he wanted to take time off for, meaning you’ll have to pack your things tonight already to fly back home by tomorrow morning.
And now, as he gets out wordlessly to take the charger from the station, he reaches his breaking point.
“fucking hell!” He barks out as he’s back inside the car, hand hitting the steering wheel once as the car denies any further distance. And he’s got tunnel vision too- not noticing the way you instinctively flinch next to him.
But it’s just a habit of your body. Your mind knows that Jungkook’s anger doesn’t work like you’re used to.
He’s on the phone, talking to a coworker when you take the chance to undo your seatbelt, before you open the door. His hand reaches out, softly holding your coat to send you an confused glance- worried even that he might’ve caused you distress. But you give him a smile in return, and get out to walk into the gas station, finding an employee.
“Sorry- I was just wondering.. the charging station outside doesn’t seem to work?” You ask, and the man behind the counter nods.
“Oh? Yeah it does it sometimes. Let me come check it, it’ll probably just need a restart.” The man shrugs, taking some keys with him before he walks back out with you trailing after him. “Ah yeah, stupid thing got a little crazy again. Go sit inside though, you’ll catch a cold!” He laughs, waving you towards the car standing in front of the little station. “let me know when it starts charging.”
You instead walk to open the trunk however, fetching an umbrella instead to hold over the man’s head- something he laughs at but thanks you for either way as he taps around on the panel.
Jungkook watches from inside, using this moment to calm down again.
He didn’t think at all. Did he scare you? Probably, considering he can be quite scary to other people as well if he gets frustrated like this. He hates how things like these just bubble beneath his skin all day until it boils over- especially considering that he’s been so eager to make sure that you know he’s not one to get angry easily. And yet here he is, having just yelled at a car for not working.
Maybe he’s not the right person for you after all. You need someone calm and collected, not someone like him.
Suddenly, the car chimes up, telling him it’s finally starting to charge- and outside, you’re thanking the man with the thick grey beard with a grateful smile, one he returns just as warmly before he walks back into the gas station with you. And when you emerge back out, you’re holding two cups of coffee to go- rain soaking your hair as you hold the closed umbrella beneath your arm.
Inside the car again, you offer one of the cups towards him as if nothing happened. “I didn’t know if.. you liked sugar or creamer with yours.” You say. “so I brought some of both.” You say, putting the little packages of sugar and creamer on the mid console- where his hand suddenly finds yours, silver rings catching your attention for a second.
“I’m sorry for earlier.” He apologizes, fingers tracing your cooled down hand that holds your own cup of hot liquid. “I didn’t mean to get so riled up.”
“You’re stressed.” You shrug. “Its understandable. Just.. maybe take a moment to calm down right now?” You offer, and he nods, a soft smile on his lips.
“thank you.” He says, before you nod and reach for the sugar packages to dump some into what he realizes is tea.
“The car is really quiet when it drives.” You say, and he nods, taking a sip from his coffee.
“It makes no sound.” He confirms. “the most you hear.. are really just the wheels on the road. The engine isn’t loud at all.” He explains.
“so when we drive fast it’s not the engine getting louder?” You ask, and he shakes his head.
“No. It’s all just friction, and the air passing over the car.” He tells you.
“Its kind of funny how far we’ve come.” You say, slipping out of your shoes to get comfortable in your seat, rain falling onto the roof of the car. “like, we have cars that we can just.. charge like phones. It feels weird.” You giggle, resting your head against the seat, while your back leans against the door.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” He asks, and you shake your head.
“I’m too scared to drive.” You deny. “I couldn’t handle memorizing all the rules and keeping them in mind at all times. I rather.. like being the passenger.” You nod. “you drive really well. I’d sleep if we went on a road trip.” You say, and he smiles.
“I take that as a compliment.” He tells you, and you nod.
“It was meant to be one.” You affirm. “earlier.. it was funny.” You say, suddenly not looking at anything- and he knows what you mean by ‘earlier’. “it’s like.. my body still reacts the same, but my head knows there’s no danger.” You explain. “they’re.. detached, in a way.”
“I’m really sorry I lashed out like that.” He apologizes again.
“don’t be.” You shake your head. “I need to face those situations too. There’s.. no use in wrapping me in bubble wrap. After all, you wanted to see if I can handle you, right?” You ask, and he nods. “See? I think my mind can. My body might not to some degree.”
“we can work on that.” He gently offers. “your.. body will learn too. I want you to heal with me.” He says, and you nod.
“I want that too.” You say. “I want you to heal with me too, even if all I can offer is just.. well, nothing.” You laugh, but he shakes his head.
“You offer me this.” He explains, eyes watching you as his hand reaches out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “you offer me a break. A.. moment to calm down, like you said.” He reminds you of your words.
“if that’s what you need, I can be just that.” You say, and he nods.
“I couldn’t ask for more.”
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You’re late, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He’d told himself to wait and not really indulge in any of this as long as you both don’t really know for sure where you want to take this- but you’re like a drug he can’t help but fall back on, a habit he can’t shake off. And it all happened so naturally, no words spoken as you both simply understood what the other was craving.
Right now, everything is slow. You’re not even really undressed, him having kicked off his underwear beneath the covers, having had to somewhat get up and pull his travel bag closer to find a condom in there he had packed just in case, even though he did not plan for this.
It should have been his moment of realization. But he just couldn’t hold himself back after the lazy, but warm and almost comforting foreplay you two had indulged in after just having woken up, barely conscious.
Your shirt is simply pushed up to reveal your naked skin beneath, and his hands are slow as they tug your underwear down your legs, sticky with your arousal from the earlier pleasure he’d brought you with nothing but his hand. You’re so warm from sleeping so close to him underneath the blanket you shared, eyes closed as you enjoy his offering of affection to you, kissing up your neck as he positions himself above you.
There’s still no need for words. And he also fears that any sentence uttered by him could shatter this delicate moment between the two of you.
Even though you should’ve woken up an hour ago, making you terribly late now, he just has to have this right now. It’s not just sex, and he hopes it’s not just that to you either- because this feels like a soft confession that’s not done in words, but actions instead. You really do offer him a feeling of weightlessness, as if time doesn’t exist, and no one expects anything of him. You just take him as he is, no questions asked.
Maybe you’re this timeless because it doesn’t matter to you yet, considering the difference in age between you two. Should he feel bad about it then?
Possibly. But then again, just like he’s using you to escape his own responsibilities and the pressure of his life, you’re using him just as much for a stable person to hold onto and rely on. And he’s fine with that. A good, healthy relationship should always have a balanced exchange. Give and take in equal amounts. Will this all become a problem in the future? Will you one day realize that he’s not able to offer you all the experiences you should have made in your twenties?
Maybe. But even so, he realizes you’re right. It still wouldn’t be wasted time, if it’s spent with you.
So what if he has to book and pay for another flight because you’ll surely miss the one he chose last night? He really couldn’t care less, because there’s no way he’s going to rush this. It’s the first chance at proper sex with you, finally a moment where he can give you actual attention as you deserve, not some quick fuck in the car or random blowjob on your couch. This isn’t just to satisfy your urges.
This is a chance for him to show you love.
And it’s clear that this is new to you- because you’re restless, as if you’re constantly expecting him to change pace, go faster, begin to rush towards his own pleasure. But he doesn’t, because that’s not his goal at all. His actual goal is to somewhat prove a point to you- that what he’s offering is not what you’re used to, in no way. He doesn’t see you as someone replaceable, someone who just has to be there, who has to listen to his every demand and do exactly as he says.
No- he wants you to be yourself. He wants you to gain back that autonomy you rightfully deserve.
Because one of the biggest things he noticed is how you constantly seem to live in a state of trying to pacify him at all times. As if you have to make sure he’s always happy and content with decisions made and words said, and he wonders just how bad your past relationship must’ve been to cause you to develop such behavior. So right now, he’s attempting to show you that he’s quite honestly the most calm around you anyways, even if you don’t do anything at all but exist alongside him.
That’s enough already. He doesn’t need anything special from you, but yourself.
Do you feel it? The way he’s pushing himself inside you isn’t an act of pure lust, but an attempt to connect with you, oddly enough. Jungkook has never seen sex as just that- but he has to admit that with Evelyn, the act had lost it’s appeal to him over time, mostly because he both knew that she was seeking out other people’s company aside from his own, and also because it just felt empty and unfulfilling to him. There was nothing to be gained from it, not for him at least- it only made him feel dirty and used, and towards the end of his relationship with her, he couldn’t bare to really let her touch him any longer.
No matter what intention she had.
But right now, with you, he’s feeling something- an urge he’s not felt in a long time, an excitement for possibilities and an eagerness to explore. And right now, he wants to take his time, watch you squirm beneath him, maybe even push you towards the limit of your patience. Will you beg?
Why does that sound so arousing to him?
He’s curious to know what you enjoy, what you want to explore, what you think about when you feel that specific need. He wants to ask what it was like before, has so many questions- but he also doesn’t want to speak right now, feels like this is neither the place nor perfect time to have a conversation like this. So instead, he just does what feels right-
And judging by the way you sigh and reach out to touch him as well, it appears to be exactly what you like as well.
Though he can also spot that impatience of yours growing, his smile not possible to be hidden as he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, simply enjoying the closeness of it all as his hands run up and down over your body, exploring what he’s already seen before by now. But it doesn’t get old, doesn’t get boring- it never will be, most likely. He doesn’t know how long this will last, how long you’ll stay with him, or how long he’ll stay with you- but he wouldn’t mind to have you at his side long term, he knows that much.
Or at least, he wants to try and make this permanent.
Your legs wrap around his waist, clearly a sign of your dissatisfaction with the way he only occasionally actually moves, if anything, this all could count more as cockwarming than anything else. And now’s the time he has to break his silence, as he chuckles against your skin, placing faint barely felt kisses against the side of your neck. “What’s wrong, darling?” He purrs almost, while your hands move to rest on his shoulders.
“Move.!” You complain, and he loves the demand so much. Not because he wants to go faster, but because you demand anything at all- something you should do more often. Maybe this is his way to go, moving forward. Maybe he could fuck some confidence into you.
He surely wouldn’t mind doing it that way.
“I am moving.” He teases, his low tone still raspy from lack of use during sleep causing your core to clench around him.
“Our flight..” You mumble, fingers running over the back of his neck, causing him to involuntarily shiver.
“I’ll book a different one later.” He denies, adjusting his position a little, pressing himelf as deep as he can inside you, leaning back to have his hands on your thighs, fingers running over the warm skin.
“But that’s wasted money..” You say, unable to really resist his touch however, your arguing weak in nature and delivery. “And you’re needed back at work..”
“I’m needed here, right now.” He instead teases, using your legs to pull you closer, slowly starting to thrust, your chest swaying alongside the pace he sets. “By someone I find way more important than work.”
“But-” You start, but he decides to play dirty now, delivering a particularly hard thrust to shut you up or at least give him the chance to speak before you can finish your sentence.
“You’re important.” He simply chuckles. “Right now, and afterwards, too.” He makes sure to tell you, before he leans over again, faces close. “Can I kiss you?” He wonders, eyes falling to your lips for just a second. “You can say no. I won’t be upset at it.”
But you nod. “I want you to.” You say, for a second questioning if your words might’ve been too demanding- but it doesn’t appear to be the case, as he leans in to catch your lips, first kiss between you both passionate and warm- not hot, nowhere near burning. It’s like a promise, a silent gesture of devotion from him, an offering of his to show that he’s actually taking this seriously.
He’s in it now. This is no longer just playing around.
He’s not going to tell you he loves you- because he’s not there yet, and he knows neither are you. But he truly believes that these feelings can grow if he nurtures them well, and if you accept them and let him plant them in your heart. He wants the vines of what might grow to connect you both, because that’s what you both deserve.
He knows his own worth. And he wants you to know yours, too.
His lip piercings are a little foreign, but in a way, they make it a unique experience to you. Or maybe it’s the sincerity he has in his actions, the way he treats you, the fact that he pays so much attention to you as well during this whole thing. You’re not used to this. He doesn’t seem to expect anything of you, and it makes you a bit anxious.
But even that, he notices.
“Let go, darling.” He chuckles against your lips, barely apart from you. “I’ll take care of you.”
“But shouldn’t you be taken care of too?” You worry, and he just smiles.
“This is more than enough for me, trust me.” Jungkook responds, moving a bit faster now. “I just want you.” He tells you, and you're sure he doesn’t know the weight of that statement.
Or how long you’ve waited for someone to say it like that.
Because even though it’s said right now, during the act, but it’s not actually sexually charged. It’s not said in the context of ‘I want you right now’- but it’s more generalized. He wants you.. In general. Not just in this moment, or for this specific action.
So when you simply trust yourself in the heat of the moment, turning the tables or more so positions, you feel a strange sense of confidence as you now ride him, his hands on your hips taken by yours, fingers intertwining while he watches you for a moment, clearly fighting the urge to just relax and close his eyes, sight of you too pretty to miss. But he can’t help it, leans his head back into the pillows with a lazy smirk on his lips, pulling you closer to wrap his arms around you, slow pace all you both need as you push each other over the edge, coming undone at different times- but still, that doesn’t make the moment any less meaningful.
He keeps you in this position for a moment while he spills into the condom inside of you, not utterly exhausted, but entirely satisfied nonetheless. He feels nice, like his mind and body have been reset, truly giving him a fresh start to the day as he finally opens his eyes after bathing in his own afterglow.
A glance to the side offers him the time. Your flight has left almost half an hour ago by now.
“We missed it.” You mumble sleepily, and he nods, before he playfully manhandles you around to lay on your back on the bed again, pulling your shirt over your head. “Jungkook!” You laugh, and he chuckles along, attacking your shoulder and neck with kisses and even bites, visibly energized now.
“Good.” He purrs against your skin. “Up for a round two?”
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You feel a bit embarrassed.
You’ve been home for two days now, and you miss him. Terribly so. Even though you try and occupy yourself with work, your mind keeps going back to the time spent with him, and you’re conflicted. Should you reach out? Text him? He told you he wouldn’t mind, but he also seemed a little stressed about work, so you probably shouldn’t bother him.
Maybe you could ask Tae?
But he doesn’t really give you an answer, somehow sounding oddly reluctant even to just talk about his friend in any way, and it makes you suspicious. So today, you finally jump over your shadow, and text him- just to get no reply for hours. It’s not until later that day that you receive a phone call instead- his voice sounding tired. “I’m sorry I’ve been silent.” He simply says, and you’re immediately alarmed.
“What’s that noise in the background?” You want to know, because it sounds very much like something you’re very much familiar with. And with the way he dodges an answer by sighing first, you just know what’s going on. “Which hospital are you in? Do you need anything?” You rant. “What even happened?”
“Nothing happened-” He quietly argues, sounding awfully like a scolded child almost, but you cut him off.
“Well something clearly happened for you to be in hospital!” You argue, before you calm down. “I’m sorry, I just-”
But Jungkook reassures you as always, giving you the name of the hospital he’s staying at, as well as the room he’s in, so you can visit him. And the moment you walk in with some snacks approved by the doctors, you feel like you’re the one in need of medical attention.
“What happened?” You weakly ask, carefully sitting down next to his bed where he’s in, a hand running over his face, careful not to twist the delicate tubes connected to the needle in his arm.
“Just an accident.” He says, though he’s not looking at you- and it makes you anxious.
“What accident?” You ask, and when he doesn’t answer, you press on, unable to keep your emotions in check properly. “Jungkook please. You said we should be honest-” You softly say, and he sighs, licking his lips.
“I.. Fell asleep.” He mumbles quietly. “While driving to a meeting. I was late, and it was.. Just for a split second- and suddenly it all went to shit.” He explains. “I was- the road was empty. And it was so fucking late, I- don't know what I was thinking.”
It’s quiet after that, apart from staff and visitors moving outside in the hall, barely heard through the closed door, but the machine that’s keeping close measurement of his vitals occasionally makes a sound.
Jungkook barely manages to look at you, and when he does, he’s not sure what that expression on your face means. You’re looking at a nasty bruise on his wrist, face unreadable, before you eventually speak again.
“Jungkook.” You say his name, and your voice is bone chillingly serious, demanding his full attention.
“Don’t you ever do that again.”
Your words are heavy, full of emotion and yet delivered in a monotone anger that makes him realize the gravity of the situation. He’s lucky he didn’t hit anyone in that tiny second, should be forever grateful nothing major happened at all except for his car getting crashed beyond repair.
“I’m sorry-” He begins, but you shake your head, speaking after you take a deep breath as if to collect yourself.
“No, I don’t want an apology.” You deny. “You can’t do this.” You say, and he’s a bit unsure what you mean, when you turn to look at him with glossy eyes. “You can’t make me get attached just to... pull something like this.” You say. “That’s cruel, Jungkook. You could’ve killed someone.” You tell him, and he nods, quietly. “Get a cab next time, or have someone drive you, fuck I don’t care!” You become a bit louder now. “But you can’t do this. You can’t be this selfish.” Is your response, as you finally properly look at him, close to tears. “I’m starting to need you, Jungkook.” You confess.
“You can’t leave me alone like that.”
And at the first tear falling, he chooses to ignore his physical pain, to move over a little and have you sit on the side of his bed, clinging to him as the full force of it all hits you, arms reaching out for him, grabbing hard at the hospital gown he’s in, desperate to hold him.
As if you need to know he’s still there, that he’ll be fine.
“I’ll make sure to rest properly from now on.” He promises, hand that’s not hooked up to anything running over your back as you cry into his chest. “I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.” He tells you, and you nod, though you stay close.
It takes a good moment for you to calm down again, and when you are, he uses that energy you both have now to dig a little deeper.
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, by the way.” He tells you, and you shrug. “No, I mean it. There’s no excuse for it.”
“You were busy.” You mumble, but he shakes his head.
“Doesn’t matter.” He denies. “I’ll make more time for you. I need to rest anyways, and even after I’m healed, I should take a step back in general. Like I said-” He offers, wincing a bit when a movement causes him pain. “-I have to take better care of myself. For you.”
“I’m sorry.” You mumble, detaching yourself a little from him again as you sit up, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. “I’m getting clingy already-”
“No, please.” He encourages, giving you a soft smile. “Be clingy. I promise you, I’m just.. It's just a bit odd to me at the moment.” Jungkook reveals. “I’ve not had someone care for me in such a way in.. A while.” Or ever, he wants to actually say- but he doesn’t want to put so much pressure on you.
He can leave those big confessions to a later date.
“Should I.. do you need help at home once you get out of here?” You wonder. “I could help you? Or, maybe you can.. I don’t know-”
“I’d really appreciate your company.” He smiles. “And your help too. But mostly your company.” Jungkook teases, making you laugh in relief.
Not just because he clearly looks worse than it actually is-
But also because his smile looks oddly youthful- and most of all, truly genuine.
#bts imagine#bts fanfic#bts fic#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook imagine#bts smut#bts jungkook imagine#bts jungkook fanfic#bts jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook imagines#jungkook imagines#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jungkook fanfic
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animalic (1)
series masterlist
pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader
rating: mature
word count: 1.9k
summary: he won't stop until he gets you
warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters
notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha
“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.”
Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.
You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie.
(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long.
But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.)
He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way.
But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic.
You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios.
“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?”
The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop.
You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.
Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time.
Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now.
For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in.
Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.
(Greater good and all that.)
Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way.
You’re not dead.
The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too.
He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead.
But–
You’re not dead.
It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is.
A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly.
(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be.
His voice overrode theirs. Always.)
It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.
On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later.
“How–”
The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor.
“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben.
“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke.
You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.
And now you’re here.
“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.
“That won’t be happ–”
“Leave us.”
The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order.
His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly.
You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.
He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours.
His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure.
You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you.
Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.
Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you.
His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away.
Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck.
He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.
Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–
“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp.
“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.
It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer.
You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time.
His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own.
He’s huge.
Closer.
Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–
Closer.
Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something.
Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either.
You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected.
(World-shattering, all the same.)
Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.
chapter 2 →
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#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#spider-man: across the spider-verse#spiderman: into the spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#spider man across the spider verse#spider man#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099#marvel#fanfiction#miguel o'hara fanfic#x reader#enemies to lovers#slow burn#animalic
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Tips for wring amputees: its ok if your amputee can't repair their own prosthetics
There's a trope in fiction for amputees to always be these mechanical geniuses who can make and repair their own prosthetics, endlessly tinkering away and improving them. This isn't a particularly trope, and i dont think its harmful or anything, but in reality, prosthetics are REALLY, REALLY complicated, and a lot of amputees cant do their own repairs. And thats ok. Like, prosthetic creation and repair is way, way harder than I think people expect. Well outside the skillset of your standard mechanic, handy man or craftsperson.
People who make and repair prosthetics are called prosthetists. To become a prosthetist, most countries around the world today require you to have completed a bachelor's degree in specifically in prosthetics and orthotics, which covers not only how to make a prosthetics (and orthodics) but a great deal of medical knowledge, physics, how different forces impact "non-standard" bodies, the additional biological wear-and-tear that comes with being an amputee and so much more. This will qualify you to do the job of fitting/making the prosthetic socket (the part that attaches to your body) and putting premade components together to make a functioning device. On top of this, many prosthetists are also expected to have artistic skills, sewing skills, good physical strength and dexterity, IT skills, and more recently, knowledge of 3D modelling and printing.
You want to make all the high-tech components the prosthetists put together to make the full prosthetic? The requirements for that vary country to country, but most will require at least some level study in the field of engineering and/or medicine, on top of what was already required for the prosthetics course.
The reason for all this is because even "basic" prosthetics are extremely finicky, and messing up one thing will have a domino effect on the rest of the body, especially in more complicated prosthetics. It can also result in people getting severally injured if anything is even slightly off. many leg amputees for example end up with spinal issues due to extremely minor issues with their prosthetic that weren't caught until years later, and by then the damage had been done.
Some amputees do learn to do basic repairs. This is most common in places like the US, where a visit to the prosthetist can cost hundred to thousands of dollars (depending on your insurance), but it's also quite common in rural parts of countries like Australia, where cost isn't an issue but access is due to vast distances between major cities. I was personally in this category; as a kid, my nearest prosthetist was 6 hours away. My prosthetist was able to teach my dad, who later taught me, how to do some of the simple repairs, but we still needed to go in every few weeks for the more complex stuff (Kids prosthetic need more adjusting than adults because they're still growing. Also I was rough on my prosthetics and broke them a lot lol).
But even after being taught how to do repairs and having my prosthetics for 20+ years, I only ever did these sorts of repairs to my below-knee prosthetic. I will not do any repairs of any kind to my above knee leg, which is much more technologically complex. Every time I tried, I made it worse to the point where the leg was unusable. I just leave those repairs to the guy who went to university to learn how to do it, and sometimes even he needs to send it off to someone with even more specialist knowledge when it's really badly messed up lol. Last time that happened Australia post lost the package. Not really relevant to this post, I just find the idea of it being sent to the wrong place by accident hilarious, it was one of my more realistic legs too so someone probably had a heart attack when they opened that package lmao.
Anyway, back on track lol.
This isn't even touching on the fact that on some more advanced prosthetics, many features are actually locked behind a security barrier only prosthetists can access. My prosthetic knee has an app on my phone I can pair it to, that allows me to change certain settings and swap between certain modes for different activities that tell the leg to change its behaviour depending on what I'm doing (e.g. a mode for running, a mode for cycling etc). but most of the more in-depth settings I can't access, only my prosthetist can, and he can only gain access to those settings with a security key given to him by the manufacturing company that requires him to provide proof of his credentials to receive it. I don't really agree with this btw, something about being locked out of my own leg's settings makes me feel a bit of an ick, but it's set up like this because people used to be able to access these settings and they would mess with things to the point their leg was virtually unusable. Because altering one setting had a domino effect on all the others, and a lot of folks weren't really paying attention to what they were messing with, all their prosthetists could do was factory reset the whole leg, which causes some issues too. Prosthetic arms are often similarly complex, as I understand it and have similar security barriers in place for more advanced arms. I don't know for sure though, so take that with a grain of salt.
All this to say these are incredibly delicate, finicky and complex pieces of equipment. There's nothing wrong with having a techy amputee character who can do their own repairs, but in reality, that is pretty rare, and its ok to have your character need to see a prosthetist or someone more knowledgeable than them. It's a part of the amputee experience I don't see reflected very often in media. In fact, the only examples I can think of in fiction (meaning not stories based on real people) where this is reflected are Full metal alchemist.
technically I think Subnautica Below Zero also mentions prosthetists are a thing in that world, but its a very "blink and you'll miss it" kind of thing...in fact I did miss it until my last playthrough lol.
#Writing Disability with Cy Cyborg#long post#id in alt text#amputee#writing disability#disability#disabilities#disabled#actually disabled#writing advice#writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writerscommunity#disability representation#authors of tumblr#prosthetics#disability aids#mobility aids#amputee life#amputee problems#full metal alchemist#automail#amputee representation
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Megumi falling in love for the first time?
Attempts at Friendship are Unappreciated
Synopsis: Megumi doesn’t have a need for friends, let alone a lover. But upon getting his first crush, he learns some new things about himself, like maybe he cares more than he thinks.
pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x GN!Reader
content warning: SFW, potential friends to lovers, Megumi sorting out his feelings sort of stuff because cynical, overthinker Megumi is my favorite Megumi.
If you were to ask Megumi, he didn’t have any need for friends. And he has been asked before by people like Gojo and his sister. The answer was always the same. He prefers being alone. People were too complicated. Too selfish. Too good. Too everything, really. And he was, well, himself.
Even after arriving at Jujutsu High, it’s still unnerving to him to have someone talk to him so earnestly, like his eyes weren’t permanently fixed with irritation, like he wasn’t constantly avoiding others, like he didn’t wear indifference like a new fur coat in the height of winter.
Itadori was an unexpected exception. An outburst of emotion intravenously linked him to the other boy, the golden strings of their destinies twined and knotted together on Fate’s spinning wheel.
You, on the other hand, have no reason to befriend him. He’s never had anything to offer others in return for their company, which never bothered him until he met you.
Megumi questioned what it was about you that allows you to get so close. So, he lets you talk, chattering his ear off in the covered walkway hosting the vending machines.
He studies you inch by inch, searching for something in the bright expression on your face and the crinkle of your eyes when you smile; he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for. Your motive – the reason for wanting to talk to someone like him?
“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.
“I don’t have one.”
It may sound like a rude dismissal of your question but it's the truth, the painfully boring truth. He’s never put much thought into trivial things like that. The fact settles heavily in his stomach and rings hollow in his chest like when his sister said he’d never learn to make friends if he didn’t put himself out there.
Back then, Megumi pretended not to have heard her. In truth, it bothered him when she said it, only for the feeling to quickly fade away before he even left school that day. That strange void he felt back then always seems to resurface at the worst of times.
“Would you say that you like black or silver better? How about blue?”
Megumi looks down and plays with the tab on his orange juice can, avoiding the thing about you that makes him want to hear you talk. Megumi has no need for friends. Attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.
“They’re all fine,” he grumbles out. It’s the maximum he allows.
Megumi doesn’t have a type. It’s another one of those trivial things he’s never bothered to think about until his head was literally cracked through the pavement.
He knows all about types though, and he knows as much as he cares about romance from the bad to the good. Sweaty palms, blushing faces, pounding hearts were all reoccuring themes in his books.
Megumi never thought he’d have romantic feelings for anyone, no matter how fleeting. He reckons he isn’t capable of it. He just isn’t wired that way.
It’s comforting in a sense. It means he didn’t have to worry about attachments. Sure, he loves his sister, and Gojo, well, he cares for his benefactor, but he’s never considered the older man someone he felt okay investing all his feelings into. People his own age were complicated enough; adults were worse, his father was worse; the little he remembers anyway.
When he thinks about the way he met Gojo who too conveniently saved him from the Zen’in clan in exchange for becoming his student, it’s hard for him to let his trust flow purely even after all this time; even when Gojo took it upon himself to do Megumi favors like putting Itadori's room right next door (another thing Megumi didn't appreciate).
Megumi blames his long-seated resentment for the reason his heart starts to work overtime the day you present friendship bracelets to everyone. They’re fancy; many steps above the cheap kind that you’d find at some discount convenience store with plastic alphabets and random beads and symbols. He assumes a couple of the pieces might be real.
Kugisaki’s is green, shining on her wrist like emeralds. Megumi thinks it suits someone like Kugisaki, who would undoubtedly love to be covered in jewels. Itadori has a similar one, rotating with a pattern of red and opaque white pieces.
Standing in that hall, drowning out the conversation between Kugisaki and Itadori about who has the prettier bracelet, Megumi realizes he’s next.
It starts when you step in front of him; there’s a cautious tone to your voice when you say his name because you already know: attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.
It's with a roll of anxiousness, the one that always comes with the mystery of whether his exchange with someone will be positive or negative and the skeptic thought in his head that reminds him most people always want something in return, that makes him throw up a wall.
“These probably aren’t your thing but I made one for you too,” you preface. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t really sure what to put on it so I made some guesses.”
You’re right. Friendship bracelets aren’t his thing; needing a token like a bracelet to prove your relationship to someone is asinine. It’s against what is supposed to make a friendship special. Strong friendships should need no words, right?
Most importantly, he doesn’t need it, and there’s no reason for you to give him one.
“You keep it,” he starts. However, it’s already too late as you grab his arm and slide the trinket over his hand.
“I don’t—” he starts again; there’s a bit of surprise in the way you look at him, the way everyone stops and looks at him actually. This quickly becomes one of those times where it’d be easier to go with the flow than to fight the current. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Only because you already made it,” he explains more fully, stifling the embarrassment that wants to bubble from his chest with so much attention.
Like before, he finds himself too focused on watching you, the way your eyes soften from surprise and rejection to shining stars. He thinks this must be how the protagonists in those books feel when heat creeps up their neck. Those books also left him sorely unprepared that it would go past neck to his face and ears.
He breaks away from the situation, finding a way to retreat into the background to shield himself from the gooey feeling permeating the air. He drops his gaze to his arm, focusing on the bracelet with his name accompanied by a repetition of blue and silver, connecting the two—four—of you together.
Megumi fixes his sleeve over the bracelet, but he can’t hide how painfully aware he is of the charms rolling against his skin.
It was both a pleasant feeling and completely alien.
It broke.
Megumi was a bit reckless against a low-level curse, and it broke. He didn’t even realize it until after the battle was over and one of the silver charms were rolling under his foot.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was bound to happen eventually considering this line of work. Yet, he still picked up the few pieces he could separate from the gravel, and the entire ride home his wrist feels unreasonably bare.
Thinking about how he messed up makes him annoyed at himself, especially when he wonders what you’d think if you noticed he wasn’t wearing it. You’d probably think he tossed it somewhere; that he didn’t like it. He liked it. The same way he likes to listen to you talk on car rides home after missions or when you ask him to hang out with you and the others or when you read all the books he recommends with the protagonists that are quickly becoming too relatable with every skipped heartbeat and tongue-tied word. He’s frustrated to acknowledge why that’s the case.
It’s only been three months since the start of the school year, he thinks. It took only three months for his thoughts to start drifting to his classmates, with you almost always center stage in them.
When he arrives back at the school, he finds your room and knocks on your door. He shows you what little remains of the gift you gave him, as if he needs to immediately absolve himself of any wrongdoing.
“Do you want me to make you another one?” you ask cautiously.
Megumi can guess why you’re hesitant considering he only accepted your gift because of peer pressure. He still believes gifts like this are silly and unnecessary.
But…
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
He wants it.
So, he goes into your room where he watches you begin the process of making him another bracelet. You ask him which accessories he would prefer, and like always he doesn’t have much preference other than what you think is best. As long as it isn’t too silly, of course.
He gives his undivided attention to how your fingertips pour over your work kit and the many square boxes filled with different miniature shapes before you carefully pick out one with a little dog face.
“I think this one is good,” you whisper to yourself before continuing your search for another complementing bead.
You smile as you work. It’s nice. Cute even as you bite down on your lip in concentration; and right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information other than note the way it makes his palms feel clammy especially when he notices your eyes lift back up to his.
Megumi notices a lot about you actually. He notices how you always go out your way to get his, well, everyone’s opinion on everything. He notices that whenever you share your snacks with everyone that you always save ginger for him. He notices how your gaze lingers on him when you ask if everyone is in one piece after difficult missions. He also notices how your finger stops over a silver square, one with a little black heart carved in each side. He wonders, perhaps too hopefully, if the charm is just one you think he’d like or if it means more than that.
“Why do you always keep trying to talk to me?” he asks, fighting the urge to beg you to stop getting stuck in his mind so much.
Your head snaps up from what you’re doing.
“What do you mean? We’re teammates,” you answer simply.
“Aren’t missions enough? We don’t need to interact aside from that.”
You pinch your eyebrows at him, and there’s a frown on your face. “Sure we do.”
“There’s no reason.”
It’s not like he ever saved your life, not like Itadori. It’s not like he has a somewhat familial relationship with you, like Gojo. You’re not his sibling or his parent; he’s not the friendlist either so there’s no reason to try to get closer any more than necessary, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so nervous right now.
“How about because I like talking to you? I think you’re pretty funny, and you’re a kind person.” You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t know. I just like being friends with you.”
Megumi doesn’t know what he was expecting. Some deep explanation why you keep trying to get close to him? Some selfish excuse from you that he could use to warrant pushing you away. A reason to justify why he likes you so much? A reason to hope you like him just as much?
Maybe.
There doesn’t need to be some special reason for you wanting to be his friend, which means he doesn’t really need a reason either.
“I see.”
“Finished,” you say, holding out his newly made bracelet to him. “I poured some of my cursed energy into it, so it won’t break so easily next time.”
Megumi feels calm once again when he feels the weight and roll of the beads on his skin again; the aura of your curse energy humming through it makes the connection back to you much more noticeable.
“What about me?” you ask, drawing his attention. “Do you like being friends with me?”
Megumi can’t answer that, not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he feels like his tongue weighs more than lead as you lean closer into him.
His eyes find your lips, soft and parted. This is the first time he’s gotten the urge to kiss someone. It makes his stomach whirlwind, and he quickly finds a way to answer you without having to look at you as he picks at one of the charms.
“Can I make you one?”
The next morning, Megumi decides to go out with you and the others for breakfast, which in hindsight was a mistake as Itadori points out the new accesory you’re wearing on your wrist.
“Hey, you got one too now.”
You smile, holding it up proudly. “Megumi made it for me!”
“Megumi?!” Itadori blurts out.
“Made it for you?” Nobara asks with raised eyebrows and a hand on her hip.
“He did a really good job.”
It’s like the time before when you first gave them their gifts, and everyone is looking at him again. “I didn’t do anything special; a monkey could do it,” he mumbles out.
Itadori is the first to crack a laugh followed by Kugisaki. Then, the two of them start muttering and teasing him in unison.
“He’s so modest,” Itadori points out.
“Loverboy,” Kugisaki whispers.
“Can we call you Megumi too?” Itadori asks.
Megumi doesn’t have the patience to consider whether the other boy is being genuine or not as he grits his teeth and growls out a quick “shut up” before konking Itadori on the head to prove his point. It’s enough to make them leave him alone for now as Itadori accidentally trips into Kugisaki from the force.
“That was completely unnecessary, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki grumbles as she pushes Itadori off and stands back to her feet.
Megumi sighs.
This is why he doesn’t want friends.
“Did you just sigh at me!”
“If that’s what you heard,” he tells her.
“You better sleep with both eyes open!”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
Yet if it’s those two then he guesses having friends isn’t completely unbareable.
Suddenly, Megumi loses focus at the timbre of your laugh.
“You guys are starting early today.”
You’re still laughing at them, harder now actually, and it’s precious. He throws his gaze to the wall as if he’s ignoring Kugisaki and not trying to hide the heat blooming on his cheeks when you glance at him, making him aware that he’s the reason for your laughter.
Megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his thumb over the bracelet and the heart you left behind there.
Friendship is something he’s coming around to. Having a crush for the first time, well, he still needs work on figuring that out.
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Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs by Horcrux ⚡👑🏆🔒💍
I wanted to put together a rec list of Harry/Tom fics with a core focus on horcruxes outside of Diary Tom (the most popular horcrux) and Voldemort himself. Please enjoy these 22 fics that feature one of Tom's horcruxes and their special relationship with Harry.
There’s a ton of interesting variation that can be explored within a Harry and horcrux Tom ship — from where the horcruxes are located and when Harry can conceivably meet them in canon (for example, the Cup horcrux is harder to access than the others); to what age they were made by Voldemort and how that would shape their personalities and interactions with Harry; to the different magical properties that they might embody, depending on the vessel that was chosen.
Finally, it looks like Scarcrux and Locket are the most popular choices (after Diary Tom), and we absolutely need more Cup horcrux fics!
*
⚡ Scarcrux
Amensalism by @cindle-writes (E, 6k, complete)
Scarcrux becomes sentient after the encounter in the Ministry in Harry's 5th year and takes Harry for an adventure.
Bolide by @vdoshu (T, 3k, complete)
On October 31, 1981, a tiny piece of soul attaches himself to Harry Potter in order to survive.
This is his story.
Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 28k, complete)
Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings warp all Harry could have become until no more than dark magic and devotion remains. Visions of a wraith with red eyes complicate matters, especially when Harry and the Voice follow it to Hogwarts so Master can get his hands on the Philosopher’s stone.
Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)
You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.
last rites by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)
Harry has an hour before he walks to his death in the Forbidden Forest. The horcrux in Harry’s scar decides to take matters into its own hands.
Look at me. by @crowcrowcrowthing (M, 1k, complete)
A dark night of the soul.
Pitch Black by @kagariasuha (E, 2k, complete)
The proximity of Horcruxes can influence anyone - especially Harry.
sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez (E, 27k, WIP)
Harry Potter survives the Killing Curse, but so does the horcrux within him.
And this horcrux has been dangerously infatuated with Harry for seventeen years.
saw you in a dream by @duplicitywrites (E, 2k, complete)
Harry has had this dream before.
*
👑 Diadem
A peculiar way of fitting together by @being-luminous (T, 2k, complete)
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m wearing a diadem?”
Dance Me On and On by @duplicitywrites (E, 19k, complete)
In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry overhears Quirrell interrogating Binns about an artifact from over a thousand years ago.
Five years later, Harry uncovers Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Requirement and finds himself pulled into a kingdom in the throes of a mysterious masquerade ball.
In Just a Moment, You’ll Be Mine by @dividawrites (E, 34k, WIP)
Tom has been stuck inside the Ravenclaw's Diadem for decades, alone, with nothing but his slowly fading memories. One day he feels a pull towards someone and gets interested.
And then he gets obsessed.
Death is not an Escape by @whitepinkdandelions (T, 2k, complete)
The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is full of endless wisdom, so it only makes sense that it gets its hooks into Harry much faster than the rest of them.
*
🏆 Cup
Thirst by @obsidianpen (E, 27k, complete)
Things go awry when the trio beaks into Gringotts. Harry finds himself trapped, locked in the Lestrange vault, wandless and alone...
With a horcrux.
*
🔒 Locket
Arson by @rudehellion (M, 8k, complete)
The hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes is going poorly. In need of some space to think, Harry offers to take the first watch over camp and slips out into the snowy night.
Unable to shake his dark thoughts, Harry finds himself drifting and he begins to dream. What he sees changes everything.
knock it off (part 1) / crave gets slaked (part 2) by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (E, 6k, complete)
At some point during Harry's time with the Dursleys, pain got crossed with affection. A kick from Dudley or having his arm yanked by Uncle Vernon at least means they’re acknowledging his existence. It’s not love, but it’s something.
Too bad for Harry he carries that through to his less dysfunctional relationships.
The Cost by Blood_Stained_Fingers (M, 8k, complete)
The cost of making a horcrux was steep and when Voldemort manages to kill Harry, destroying the horcrux within, Harry finds out the exact price of losing a piece of your soul. It made a cruel joke that if Voldemort loved his horcruxes, Harry should love them too.
The Dead of Night by @cybrid (E, 6k, complete)
An empty house. A glint of gold. A dream.
Or: running away from Privet Drive goes terribly for Harry.
The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)
Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out.
Or so Harry thinks.
Whole by Emriel (E, 20k, complete)
The horcrux hunt goes wrong and Harry fails to destroy the locket horcrux. Tom Riddle hands him over to the Dark Lord as a present for they know he holds part of their soul. In their care, Harry learns that feelings, no matter how toxic, are hard to get rid off.
*
💍 Ring
Personal Assistant by @phantomato (E, 10k, complete)
“And that’s it? I call ‘Tom’ and you show up?”
“Yes,” Tom answers.
shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes, @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)
After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.
*
#tomarrymort#tomarry#aethon recs#tomarry recs#tomarrymort recs#hp fic recs#ao3 recs#fanfic recs#harry/horcrux#horcrux tom#scarcrux#diadem horcrux#cup horcrux#locket horcrux#ring horcrux
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