#tempus x reader
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Tempus HQ&VG [NSFW Headcanons]
Warning; implied male reader, 2nd person narration. The way they moan and their favourite sex position.
Author's note; I wasn't sure about adding Magni and Vesper, but... I might add them later idk.
Masterlist.
VTubers Holostars EN/ Tempus
Their moans;
Altare| soft and quiet but high-pitched. gets very breathy when he's too overwhelmed and about to cum. he's able to let out small mewls of your name, muttering a barely audible, "cumming..."
Axel| grunting and gasping. he refuses to moan out loud when you're having sex. and he will try his hardest to not be loud. however, there are times when keeping quiet is the hardest task for him.
Bettel| whining, whimpering, crying... he's very, VERY vocal which embarrasses him a lot. even more so when he realizes you do things a certain way just to hear him get louder.
Hakka| mumbly. he mumbles and bangles a lot. a mixture of sounds and words come out of him when you're being intimate. he just feels so good that he can no longer understand words.
Shinri| grunts and deep, growly hums. as someone who is naturally quieter, his moans have turned into low, deep and grossly hums, which are... pretty sexy.
Flayon| high-pitched, whiny and loud. he doesn't give a damn if he's being "too loud". he loves the way you fuck him and he's gonna be vocal about it too.
Favourite Position;
Altare| a doggy-style kinda guy. there's something about it that just does something to him... maybe it's the feeling of your chest pressed up against his back while you moan on his ear, telling him how tight he feels around your cock and how he's such a good boy for taking you so well.
Axel| reverse cowgirl. he enjoys the feeling of control this position gives him, as if he could do anything he wants to you and there would be nothing you could do... completely ignoring the fact that your hands, holding onto his hips, are the reason he's bouncing on your cock like that. (he also likes it because he gets to hide his face from you)
Bettel| against the wall. babygirl likes being picked up and thrown around. he gets turned on at how easy you seem to be able to just carry him whenever you want and he's had a hard time controlling himself whenever you do. his reactions and thoughts about this are obvious, he is like an open book so... enjoy.
Hakka| missionary. babyboy likes a rough missionary. getting to see your face as you fuck into him is the cause of his mind turning into mush, leaving an incoherent Hakka lying on his back, too fucked dumb to be able to think.
Shinri| missionary or doggy. he's good with either, and chooses one or the other depending on his mood, whether he wants it slow or rough, however, he goes with what you want most of the time. (a little hesitant to try cowgirl just yet)
Flayon| mating press... you saw it coming. he just loves having his body practically folded under your weight as you pound his throbbing insides and call him a "dirty whore", or your "sweet puppy", whichever you say, always gets the same reaction out of him. his whines get louder, and you watch as his eyes roll back, hearing him cry your name while holding onto your arms, agreeing to your words while he moans and gasps. even more so when you call him your "slutty princess."
#holostars en#holotempus#holotempus x reader#tempus x reader#regis altare x reader#axel syrios x reader#gavis bettel x reader#banzoin hakka x reader#josuiji shinri x reader#machina x flayon x reader#altare x reader#axel x reader#bettel x reader#hakka x reader#shinri x reader#flayon x reader#holostars tempus#tempus hq#tempus vg#holostars en x reader#male reader#x reader#reader insert#smut#.mackjlee9 writes
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NNN Day 18 with Axel Syrios
Pairing: Axel Syrios x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, edging, biting, teasing, cuddlefucking, neck kissing
A/N: Favorite Holostars member. His taste in certain anime is questionable but other than that he's great.
No one was more surprised than you at how much Axel could take. He vowed that this would be the time he completed No Nut November no matter what it took. By the end of the first week he was slightly delirious, by the end of the second week he felt like he was gonna go completely insane, and by this morning he had had enough.
"Hold still will ya, how else am I supposed ta put it in?" Axel's arms were wrapped around you just like they were every morning but this time there was also the very nice poking of his cockhead against your entrance. The wetness didn't make it glide in any easier, it just made the length more lubed and therefore slipping past your lips, not into you when you wiggled your hips.
You turned your head slightly, a smug look on your face in contrast to his frustrated one. His hair fiery hair fell around his face, moving with every desperate thrust, "Thought you said you'd do it this time. What changed your mind Axel?"
"Ya know what. This god damn pussy did." He almost sounded like he was snarling, "Hold still for fucks sake. If ya can't-" You couldn't, it was too fun to tease him, "Fine then." His very sharp teeth sank into your shoulder and pressed you down, one of his arms around your shoulders, the other on your hip. The tip finally caught on your entrance and allowed his full cock to slip in. "Oh shit! Fuck!" Axel came instantly, faster then you've ever seen him come before.
Not that you could blame him, his dick couldn't do it for almost three weeks. His grip on you didn't loosen one bit, but his thrusts weren't matching his tone from before at all, rather they were almost a snail's pace kind of rolls of his hips, his cock barely pulling out. Perhaps holding out for this long wasn't the best idea, he would need a few more cuddlefucking sessions before his stamina came back again.
#axel syrios x reader#holostars x reader#tempus x reader#tempus hq x reader#axel syrios#holostars#holostars tempus#holostars en#smut drabble#x female reader
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May i request a short reader hc with any of the holotempus boys?
thanks for the request <3 ! i really liked this idea bcs im sort of short as well (5'2) *sobs* anyways, i decided to go with altare, axel, bettel and hakka since i'm not confident in writing for all of them yet (sorry!!) but i hope you liked this!
holotempus boys with a short! gn reader
characters: regis altare, axel syrios, gavis bettel, banzoin hakka
warnings: gender neutral reader, ooc, mentions of pet names (baby, babe, love), mild cursing, mentions of insecurity, nothing else just mostly teasing and fluff! (i did not proofread this (my bad) but lmk in case of errors.
regis altare
let's be real. the guy definitely feels a sense of pride knowing that there's someone shorter than him sksksks (since he's the shortest in hq)
he is the definition of a devil in disguise (affectionate) bcs mans will mess with you at any moment he gets despite having that soft smile on his face
he loves knowing that you rely on him esp if there's stuff you can't reach.
"what're you doing, babe? can't reach?". towers over you from behind to get whatever you're tryna reach.
if you're insecure with your height, altare would probably not mess with you as much bcs he wants you to be happy! for him, height doesn't really matter as long as the both of you are happy.
if you're just a little gremlin, expect having small silly banters with him that ends up becoming happy cuddles at the end of the day. let's just say teasing each other is your love language.
jokes aside, i think altare is the best person to be around with, mainly bcs he's attentive and focuses on your wellbeing most of the time.
imagine being in a crowd and separated from him, he would still be able to find you, ofc he would, he's just that good.
overall, altare's just being silly but definitely thinks you're cute to tease, and he uses that to his advantage.
axel syrios
menace. absolute menace.
he likes the feeling of being reliable, so he'd definitely purposely with full on intention place stuff on the highest spot so that you would have to come to him for help.
imagine his smug face when you come to him asking to get the plates placed on the highest shelf and as soon as you turn around, he silently fistbumps as a sign of victory. (he's goofy i just know it)
definitely extra protective of you, thinks you're really precious and he's like a bodyguard for some reason.
the type to always have his hand around your waist ueueueue.
if you're a little self conscious with your height, i expect axel to be really good with reassurance. he's playful, yeah, but he definitely cares more about you.
"no, baby! i think you're absolutely adorable and perfect the way you are!!", he would say this while cupping both your cheeks so you'd look him straight in the eye.
he's a hugger, so expect cuddle sessions almost 25/8.
he could be gaming and would suddenly ask you to sit on his lap or something bcs he just likes the warmth.
again, height isn't an issue for him, in fact, he finds it endearing with the height difference.
as long as you love him and he loves you, he would protect you at all costs (with a lot of teasing).
gavis bettel
pretty similar to axel, bettel definitely is big on teasing.
but his teasing are quick to follow with affection afterwards. definitely the type who jokes and then says sorry afterwards.
one time, he saw you sitting on his gaming chair while he went to grab some water and he noticed how your legs dangle slightly from how high he had his chair on. never told you this but that image of you is always on his mind, and he may or may not have snapped a picture, saved it in his phone, probably under an album filled with other pictures of you.
phantom reminds him so much of you bcs of how small he is, in a good way ofc. definitely pesters phantom abt it too.
if you're the type who would react to his antics (like get mad at him (jokingly) when he messes around), bettel sees that as an encouragement for him to mess around more.
rests-arm-on-your head typa beat
big spoon in bed for sure. the type that intertwines his legs with yours under the cover so that you're pretty much trapped under his larger build.
i headcannon that bettel is shy with pda but does stuff that indicates he wants touches!
for example: you're both sitting on the couch, and he would scooch closer to you when he sees you hella focused on whatever show is on the tv and if he thinks you noticed, he would stop. but then, he'd do it again and again until you get the hint and just lay your head on his shoulder. (mission accomplished, he thinks)
he probably doesn't realise this, but he's considerate of you. the type who would bend slightly when he kisses you without thinking bcs it's just something that happens.
definitely adorable.
banzoin hakka
hakka is a sweetheart. i just know so. in fact, i'm sure of it.
probably the opposite of the other three. jokes around but doesn't really do it much.
the type who would place stuff at a level that's reachable for you. (and for him lmfao)
probably doesn't mind about height because he's short too (his words, not mine).
still likes being the bigger spoon. one time, he was the small spoon and it was too much for him, he couldn't handle it. (weak to receiving affection).
definitely a giver. gives plenty of affection to you throughout the day that when you reward him with a little peck on the cheek, he gets all flustered and stumbles on his words (nerd.)
he's your protector. the type that would cover your head when you bend down to grab something, or would walk on the side of the road.
hakka heard you complaining abt your height one time and went full on nagging mode skksksks. doesn't like hearing you fret about your height because he thinks you're perfect!
"love, height shouldn't even be an issue because it's just height. i'd rather have you as you are bcs you're my y/n". he's so cute i can't.
lowkey feels like he would pat your butt sometimes, idk why this just popped up in my head but he does it whenever you start mumbling abt being short.
overall, he's very sweet. never lets height become an issue bcs fuck being tall!!! short is the new trend!! /j
a/n: sorry, this didn't come out as good as i was hoping bcs i ran out of ideas T.T i actually initially was planning on writing it longer but my brain is poof :( anyways, i hope this is fine huhuhu i'll try my best in the future! SORRY I SUCK i've been on tumblr for years but have never actually wrote anything so i'm a little stupid sksksksk. ok that's all, thank you !! -beanz
#this is so ooc but fuck it#holotempus x reader#tempus x reader#regis altare x reader#axel syrios x reader#gavis bettel x reader#banzoin hakka x reader#holotempus#holostars#regis altare#axel syrios#gavis bettel#banzoin hakka
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ahahwsjjejd,,,,im thinking about bettel and hakka w muzzles and chastity cages on,, <3 just them being soso desperate for you to touch them because the chastity cages are driving them crazy. dumb little pups.
-🤡
bettel and hakka have similar tastes in women.. toxic girls who can also take care of you and then beat you senseless..
( sounds like me. LMAO )
hakka is so upset he can’t kiss you, thrashing around and bucking his hips. whining, looking up at you with pretty eyes, hoping you’ll give into this cute, but caged bird. pretty metal gleaming as you step on his hips to hold him down, making blood rush down as much as he can’t get hard. step on his cock next? <3
hakka would be a bit of a bratty puppy, but just so you can punish him more.. <3 trying so hard to aggravate you until you push him down, unlock his cage and make him regret ever wanting his dick freed.
bettel gets embarrassed, but his true nature shows when he starts to beg. stuttering into your neck as plush thighs wrap around your waist.. pretty back arching as he’s desperately humping against you in a pathetic attempt to feel good.
bettel would be prideful, but it’s easy to break by embarrassing him.. grasping at the leash you tug him at, crying and shy.. begging cutely just for a chance at release. reprimanding you for being so mean.. but you both know that you two enjoy this game.
#.🤡 anon#i told you i’d come back if i got a holostarsen ask#holostars#holostars en#holostars en x reader#holostars x reader#tempus x reader#gavis bettel#gavis bettel x reader#gavis bettel smut#hakka banzoin#banzoin hakka#banzoin hakka x reader#banzoin hakka smut#.asks
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Hi Hiryur-san! I don't know why, I seem I'm fell in love with ur works when I saw it
Can I req luxiem members hc (or whoever you pick if you focused on fic) with ptsd s/o? I was stuck in this situation a while ago and need some comfort, ofc you can ignore this if you aren't comfortable. Thank you
❝...You're safe.❞ (PT. 1)
┆GN!Reader x Luxiem (Vox, Mysta, Luca)
┆┆Angst/Fluff (HCS/Short Fic??)
VOX AKUMA
Vox was, and is, by no means a genius. But, given his age, he knows enough to know what's happening. Seeing you trying to make yourself small as possible, seeming tied between moving away from him and running, or pressing yourself as close to him as possible.
The mall was.. definitely crowded. So much was happening, he couldn't even begin to fathom what might've triggered you. Could it have been the loud band playing? Maybe the play somewhere in the background? ..But what triggered it couldn't be the demon's concern right now. Vox had to get you away from these people and to a place of silence.
So where did he pick?
...A janitor closet.
His arm slipping around your shoulders, guiding you through the people, rubbing your back. "Shhh.. i'm here. You're safe with me, you'll be alright.." His lips were right up against your ear.
For a few long moments, you stayed like that. In his arms, hyperventilating. Vox was silent during that time- before beginning to talk softly. Hands running up and down your sides, keeping your head pressed against his chest. Only once before had he seen you like this: and, he had learned the easiest way to calm you was by talking. Giving you something positive to focus on- which currently meant Vox was- being, well, Vox. The voice demon. His voice soothing you slowly but surely.
After you had finally calmed down, Vox slowly began to kiss away your tears, hands cupping your face. "You're.. safe with me, darling."
MYSTA RIAS
Yeah.
Mysta was still getting to know you: having only recently begun dating, intimate and private knowledge was slowly being shared at a natural pace. Neither of you wanted to rush things- so when Mysta had invited you on the trip out on the water he didn't see anything wrong. It was a group get together with the boys and some of the girls, on a giant ass boat. When he noticed your jitters- he had assumed it would've been because of the fact there'd be so many people you had yet to meet in person. Because Mysta was a bit jittery, too.
But, he was quickly corrected, when it became clear with your deathly fear of the ocean.
Barely an hour in, Vox had been trying to convince you to get into the water. And you nearly did- but as Mysta watched you staring over the edge, he noticed it.
He noticed it, because your signs were the same as his own.
Which led to Mysta drawing you away to the cabin quick as humanly possible for him. "Heyy, darling, babe, light of my life-" he mumbled, hands on your shoulder as he stared into your terrified eyes. Heart aching, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close to him. "Im.. sorry. Didn't know ye were- ahh." Your grip around him tightened, sobs becoming audible; and he'd never once felt more helpless in his life.
So he sank to his knees with you, inwardly panicking, hugging you close. Allowing you to cry on his shoulder as Mysta held you. Word weren't near enough- but through his touch, you felt safe. Grounded, in a way.
"I've got you, babe."
LUCA KANESHIRO
"...Sweetheart?"
Maybe it was a mistake. Bringing you with him. Sometimes it was easy for the mafia boss to forget you weren't like him: weren't used to blood and death and the trauma his targets caused, or went through.
He forgot you weren't supposed to be involved with the mafia.
So seeing you, white as a sheet, hands gripping Luca's arm to a painful point- he realized maybe allowing you to see such a bloody mess was a bad idea.
Anther thing: he knew nothing of your past. It had just never come up- you'd never spoken about much past who your family was and odd memories, and Luca never pried past that. It wasn't his business, and he had complete faith that you'd tell him any bad information when you were ready.
It clicked in his mind immediately what was happening. The terror in your eyes. A large, gloved hand gently grabbed your head and pulled you into Luca's chest, fingers massaging your head and other arm wrapping just under your waist, picking you up with ease.
He barked an order to his men, but it fell on deaf ears. Terror was overwhelming you; your fingers gripping his shirt and head buried into his chest. God, how did Luca handle this? That sight.. Oh god. You felt as though you were going to vomit.
Before you knew it, you were set on a couch, and Luca was knelt down in front of you, hands on your sides, and staring up at you with his signature smile. But worry glinted in his eyes, seeing your frozen body. Even though your eyes were angled at him, it was as though you couldn't even see Luca; your mind still lingering on the scene he had caused you to witness just moments before.
Which left the boss struggling, mind racing in desperate attempts to figure out how to distract you. "Hey. Sweetheart. Look at me, 'kay? There's nothin bad here- just me! Unless you, yknow, count that I'm a big and evil mafia boss.. Legend, super evil, scary, yknowww the stufff."
As you can tell, Luca resorted to trying to make you smile.
He continued to talk, fingers brushing up your arms, crouched in front of you, until he finally, after so long of talking, getting you to focus, focus on him, run your fingers through his hair, Luca got a smile out of you.
Eyes growing serious, yet filled with love..
"I've got you, okay babe? You're safe here."
A/N: Im really glad you like my writing!! Im not 100% sure if this is what you had in mind, or if i portrayed it correctly.. but i did my best!
I kinda combined "short fic and headcanon" together.
I'll only do 3 characters a post-- but I'll do a part 2 with ike and shu soon! Hope you enjoy it :)
#luca kaneshiro x reader#vox akuma x reader#mysta rias x reader#luxiem x reader#vtuber x reader#vox akuma#mysta rias#luca kaneshiro#ike eveland#shu yamino#ike eveland x reader#shu yamino x reader#shxtou#shxtou x reader#noctyx x reader#noctyx#iluna#iluna x reader#tempus x reader#luxiem x you#luxiem fluff#luxiem angst#niji en#nijisanji en#nijisanji#nijisanji x reader
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Healslut
Summary: Not your own Leader caring this much about your DPS as a healer!
Truly, this training session is going to be so bothersome!
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: F!Reader/Regis
IYKYK 😭😭😭😭😭
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It was always the most pestering thing when the easiest of tasks was made to be impossibly difficult.
In this case, your current crux of aggravation was taking down a target dummy with the power of your offensive magic–a fair and straightforward endeavor for a healer of your prowess. After all, your association with the renowned Adventurer’s Guild TEMPUS brought some prestige to your name throughout the lands of Elysium.
And yet, here you were, barely able to cobble together any sense of concentration to imbue your staff with enough magic to fire at your target.
But how could you, really?
Even while you tightly gripped your staff with not a shred of slack in the slightest, you were still left to tremble, any recitations of magic marred by breathless gasps and whines.
Your knees buckled, your face scorched scarlet, your thighs quivered, your robes disheveled–your current visage was far and away from the adored image of TEMPUS’s trusted healer.
And it was all in part due to the land’s acclaimed hero.
Their Regis, your Altare.
For while you held a great deal of respect for your Leader, you yearned to take a nice and solid swing at his knee with your staff as penance for what he was currently doing to you.
A re-establishment of the basics to adventuring at the training hall–it was what he proposed exclusively to you after a recent dungeon endeavor with him and the other TEMPUS members. Under his watchful gaze, your insistence on overhealing instead of taking time to assist with needed offense only served to drag out your time descending further into the murky depths that awaited you all.
For the commonfolk of Elysium, such a suggestion from the soft-spoken, smiley hero would only serve to live up to his golden stellar reputation.
But before your eyes, in your ears, and on your skin, this advice only drew out your further ire.
Especially as you once again conjured up your magic to send a disk of magic ricocheting right over to the training dummy, it was at the same exact moment that your leader shifted ever so slightly from where he stood behind you.
His hands–ever skillfully deft with a sword and happily extended for any weary soul to take–continued to roam along your body, with one having been shoved through the front of your robes to fondle your breasts all while the other continued to travel along your side, giving your hip and your ass a squeeze.
This was all in tandem to the push and plunge of his cock in-between your bared thighs, his thick girth gliding seamlessly right against the slick, velvety warmth of your core’s entrance.
His lips, usually fixed in that serene and dreamy smile of his, continued to drag along the side of your neck, happy and eager to leave mementos of his presence from kisses and bites on your skin.
His voice, ever a sweet and soft articulated timber, only sought to make you cry out and shudder in anticipation from every filthy thing he murmured to you.
“Remember, if you can’t clear such a simple task, I get to stain that pretty face of yours with my cum while calling over Dez, Vesper, and Axel over to take a good long look at you~”
Whatever spell you were planning to release at last simply eviscerated before your very eyes as you whined with the helpless buckle of your knees and the tight press of your thighs.
Altare was laughing, taking a moment to steal yet another nibble to your neck while he quickened the pace of his thrusts.
“Ah, ah, ah, don’t think that cute thigh clench is gonna go unnoticed by me~ Not that I’m surprised–of course a healslut like you would be excited from being humiliated in front of your comrades.”
Your teeth clenched. “Don’t even start, Altare–”
“‘Me’?” There was amusement to his tone–without looking back at him, you knew his eyes were glittering with thrill at your defiance. “And just who is in this predicament right now, hmm?” He tested, this time bringing his teeth to your earlobe for a teasing nip. “Not my fault that our lovely healer isn’t being efficient while on the job~”
Your eyes narrowed, your face snapping towards him with a glare. “Do you want to survive, or what–?!”
It was in that moment that your staff instantly thrummed full with magic, of which you didn’t waste another moment further to send crackling through the air to send hurtling towards the training dummy, the weighted doll bursting apart upon impact.
The frustration in your eyes dissipated as you watched the debris hit the floor, with Altare doing much the same as he slowed his thrusts to a halt.
Silence settled into the room for a moment, up until you breathed in and exhaled with relief.
At last, you were finally done and finally free from this accursed exercise.
While you still had to deal with the needy ache between your thighs, you rejoiced at no longer having to put up with your leader’s shenanigans.
As you opened your lips to speak, you felt his arms squeeze around your waist as he began to laugh once more while he offered your cheeks a couple kisses. “Now that’s our healer!”
“Could’ve finished this a lot faster if it wasn’t for you–!” Whatever huffed retort you had to say in return was cut short as you were suddenly lifted up off from the ground, soon finding yourself hauled into his arms. “Leader–?”
His grinning lips found their way to yours, more soon following as he carried you over to one of the wooden tables within the training hall.
A trail of kisses soon made their way over to your ear as he then purred, “Did you think that was it? What you’ve shown to me is that there’s a lot to be desired with your stamina~”
While you greatly looked forward to seizing the pleasure of getting to give his knee a good whack with your staff afterwards, you sighed with content as you were laid across the table with him settling right between your thighs.
For as difficult as he made your days sometimes, it was so easy to love Altare.
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I don’t know what to title
An Axel Syrios X Reader fic.
Kinda nsfw near the end but only if u squint
I think it’s afab? HAHAHA I wrote the first half a few months ago and just finished it today whoops. Not proof read but I still hope you like it
“Oi! I said I was sorry!”
You couldn’t hear him. Well, more of you didn’t want to listen. It was all the same old same old. “She’s just a friend.” “I don’t care about her, I care about you.” It’s not like you didn’t want to believe him. You did. Oh with your whole being, you’d want to believe him. And maybe, just maybe, deep in your heart you actually do. Though right now as you’re hurriedly running away from him that small part of you that wants to believe is nowhere to be seen.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
This is the only word that runs through your mind as you try to run away from Axel. Try. You knew sooner or later he’d be able to catch up but you were hoping that in his “dumb” head he’d think to leave you alone, that you’d need time.
A strong hand desperately grasps your arm, forcing you to a halt. Two grown figures standing on the sidewalk as the sun sets behind them, both breathing heavily from running.
“Y/n, please you gotta listen to me…She”
“I’m sorry, Axel. But I’m tired of listening to you.” You take a deep breath. “Let’s talk when we get home okay? I’m sorry for running away. Let’s just.. Just go home for now.”
You angrily yank your arm away from him. Eyes on the road in front of you and no words were spoken as you guys made the train back home. Just a silence that was filled with so much anxiety it physically took a toll on you. You felt weak. Your head was spinning at the thought of things taking turns for the worst. But at long last, you’ve arrived at your destination.
Both of you place your shoes near the entrance, taking small and calm steps you made it to the living room. Before sitting down you took a deep breath and tried to focus on your breathing, trying to reassure yourself everything was going to be okay.
“Okay,” you start off. “What do you have to say now?” as you finish your sentence you slowly turn to look at a disheveled Axel.
“Listen, I know you’re getting tired of this. Again and again, you see me with another girl and later I beg for forgiveness. Nothing ever happens though, please believe me.” The boy says. And it’s true. Axel is the type of man that believes one can be friends with the opposite gender. Well, you are as well but the thing is the girls that Axel hangs out with don’t think that. Multiple times have you had threats from other girls saying that they’ll steal him away from you.
Maybe, just a little bit, the fault lies on you for not telling him. But how could you? He’s such an extroverted person. He loves being in the presence of other people. In his eyes, the time he spends with the other girls is just friendly dates. You’d dread having to tell him that you don’t want to see him hanging out with xxx person. He’s so dense. He doesn’t see how others look at him with such glimmer in their eyes. Axel doesn’t know the disgusted looks people give you when they see you both together. Heck, he didn’t even know you liked him at first. You needed to plain out and tell him that you had feelings for him. Even then the man was confused “What feelings? Ha?”. But still. You’d hope he’d take a hint that it makes you uncomfortable seeing your boyfriend with other girls.
“Babe, please. Altare was there. We weren’t the only two people there. He was just in the bathroom taking a shit. See, look at this, we even have a picture of us three together.” He said desperately trying to show you the picture. Sure enough, Altare was there. More tears flood your eyes.
I’m wrong. I caused such a scene. What the fuck am I even doing? You wonder to yourself. Your face gets hot as tears uncontrollably leave your eyes.
*sniffles* “I, I’m so sawwy aksel. Yu dident chu anything wrong and I- “ you could barely finish your sentence. Or could you even call it one?
“Shh, my love it’s okay.” He pulls you into a hug and wipes away your tears. You look up at him and see his face as red as yours with tears falling from it as well. Axel was never a cryer. All these years of being together and he rarely cried. Somehow every time that he did cry it was about something related to you. Your anniversary, a gift you gave him on his birthday, you making him the best damn meal he had his whole life, a surprise date. He was a crybaby when it came to you.
He cups your face and wipes away more of your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry anymore baby, okay? I know you feel guilty and all but I know it’s partially my fault as well. It was really just me and Altare today but she happened to be in the same restaurant by herself so we invited her over. And…. I know I’ve been an asshole of a boyfriend as well.”
You felt confused.
“Babe, you’ve been nothing but the best. Why would-”
“Let me finish yo. The whole reason why I was with Altare was that I wanted to get some advice on being a better boyfriend you know? We’ve been getting into a bit more fights recently and as per Altare it’s because ‘I am a dense motherfucker who doesn’t know that people are hitting on him’. “ He pauses. And you take that pause to thank the heavens for whoever was responsible for putting Regis Altare on the planet.
“After he pointed out shit I realized he was right. And that you were probably too scared to tell me.” He looks you in the eye expecting a response. You shyly nod.
“I’m so sorry for being ignorant, babe. It’s been causing you a lot of pain and here I was thinking everything was okay. I’ll be better from now on okay? I’ll be more cautious of people’s advances toward me.” He smiles and hugs you closer.
You hug him tighter. “And I’ll do my best to ward them off. Hehehe. They don’t know I’m the jealous type.” You say with a joking tone at the end.
Axel pulls away a bit and raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Is this jealousy the one you show more in the bedro-” He got cut off by you putting a hand over his mouth. Gently, he pulls your hand away from his mouth, chuckling as he does. “Just joking. A little bit of hehehaha won’t hurt anyone. Anyways, you’re right you can just ward them off!! If you see them making heart eyes at me just pull me closer and grab my ass like this.” He suddenly grabs your butt and you almost hit him in the head because of shock.
You laugh to yourself as the man in front of you has the cheekiest smile with a little bit of blush on his face.
“I love you.” You tell him as one of your hands gently cups half of his face. Axel turns his face a little to the side, nuzzling into your hand, and kisses it gently.
“I love you more.” He smiles, “So about that jealousy in the bedroom do you wanna give a demonstration or?”
“Oh shut up.” You say as you drag him into the bedroom.
_____________________________________________________
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i dont know the proper tags for this but i hoped you enjoyed cause i certainly did :3c
Love u always,
Shie-san.
#Axel Syrios#Axel Syrios x Reader#Holostars#Holostars x Reader#Tempus x Reader#Holostars Tempus#Holostars EN#Tempus HQ x Reader
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An idea so I ran with with.
Josuiji Shinri x Coffee Obsessed Male Reader
If Shinri could force you to put down the pit of coffee in your hand he would, but he remembers the last time someone tries. Their guild leader had tried once and failed, Altare didn't often have good habit but knew that drink way too much coffee was even unhealthy for his taste.
Shinri thought it was a joke, it could've been but when he saw you drinking straight from the pot when he first met you— concerned. He began to hand you cups of water when he could, sometimes even diluting the coffee but you could always tell.
Sometimes you would take it sweet, bittersweet, or straight black. He grew even more worried when you found out about espresso.
Tssst!
The guild was silent as you made yourself your 6th double shot of the day. "Maybe we should throw it out?" Flayon asked looking at Altare who shook his head slowly and held a finger to his lips- silently shushing the smallest. "Nope. It's not happening."
Shinri walked into the kitchen, you looked happy... But something was wrong. Your hands shook as you tried to pour another shot. Shinri had enough. "Darling," his voice rumbled through your head though you felt it much more than usual. Probably the coffee. His hand carefully pushing the shots away as he carefully herded you away from the machine. "Maybe you should slow down."
You stared. Slowly growing irritated by the suggestion, you knew your limits, why does he have to slow down? You opened your mouth before he leaned down and kissed you. It slowly grew deeper until you couldn't hold yourself up anymore and he had to hold you up.
You shook as he brushed your hair out of your face. "You taste so bitter. Maybe drink some water, okay babe?" You stared in shock before slowly nodding. "Good boy."
"Shinri," he stares confused at the sudden weakened state you were in. "Yes, M/n?" You felt yourself slowly become weak, probably from the coffee but you refused to admit it. You blame Shinri. "Catch me- hngh..."
A loud thud was heard.
"Shinri! You killed him!"
"M/n?!"
#male reader#male reader insert#x male reader#male y/n#pseudo's ff#seudo's ff#josuiji shinri#josuiji shinri x male reader#shinri josuiji x male reader#shinri josuiji#holostars x male reader#holostars#holostars guild tempus#guild tempus#holostars en
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sure would be cool if there were searchable tags for tempus fics that are not x reader fics as trying to stay out of main tags on tumblr makes things literally unfindable lol.
#to be clear im not against the x reader fics or anything#just saying if they get to run the risk of turning up in the main tags I think the ship fics should get to as well#gonna use#holotempus fic#holostars fic#tempus fic#ship fic#maybe??#musings
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copy that, romeo
— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡
⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆
CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER >
♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader
♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.
♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.
♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything]
. SERIES PLAYLIST .
WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet
Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.
May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.
Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.
But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.
Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.
Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.
Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.
And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.
Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.
It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.
January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.
February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.
March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.
April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.
May.
You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.
The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.
Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.
Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.
Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.
But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’
A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.
“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”
Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.
Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.
Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.
“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”
The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.
Too grim?
A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.
You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.
One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.
Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.
You took the job.
May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.
What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?
Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!
Clothing, check.
Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.
Accessories and essentials, check.
Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.
True American, illegal weaponry, check.
All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.
“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”
Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.
Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?
Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.
Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”
Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?
One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.
You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”
The tree bears no reply.
“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.
Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.
Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.
“Say cheese!”
America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.
Joy is a luxury now.
A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”
Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.
The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.
Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.
“Holy shit.”
Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.
An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.
A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.
Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.
Un–fucking–believable.
Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.
Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.
After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.
“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.
Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.
Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.
Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.
Not so good for the respiratory system though.
Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”
Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.
“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.
Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.
Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—
“Sup Maple lake, you there?”
A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.
But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.
Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—
“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”
Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.
You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.
The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.
Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”
“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”
Her?
Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—
“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?
“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.
And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.
“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.
“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.
“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.
Ouch.
“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”
“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.
“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.
“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.
“What?”
Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?
“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”
Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”
Please.
And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.
“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”
You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.
“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.
“Are you drunk?” has to be.
Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.
Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”
“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.
You a hundred percent forgot though.
Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”
“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.
A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.
“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”
“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.
“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”
Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”
“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.
Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.
Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”
“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.
“..”
A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”
You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”
An omissive summary, you meant.
There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.
A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.
“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.
“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”
Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.
Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.
“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.
That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.
“No problem, sleepyhead.”
So many nicknames.
Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.
Stygian tones.
“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.
“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.
“Yeah, man.”
“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”
How would you know?
In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.
Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.
“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.
Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.
A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”
They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.
There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”
“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.
“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”
“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.
Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.
“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.
You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”
“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.
“Don’t gotta tell me once.”
By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.
Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.
“Whatever you say, newbie.”
And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.
if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡
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A Found Flame
Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader
(Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)
{Spotify Playlist}
Synopsis: Gale guides you through casting a fire bolt, but in your search to find a warmth to channel, you revisit a late night with him that stirs up an unfamiliar feeling within you.
A/N: Completely SFW! Just cute romantic stuff while I continue crackin' away at this fine ass dork I've been presented with. I might turn this into a much longer story, because the dynamic of Mentor!Gale falling for his apprentice has so much potential, from fluff to angst to sexual tension, etc... but for now, here's this :) and with a side of the ever-lovely Tara!
Song rec.: Witchcraft - Vian Izak (X)
Word Count: 2k
“Now, right foot further… further…” A hand comes to rest on your hip, and you feel a tap against your right ankle, guiding your movements. You glance down, distracted from your target, and your mentor lets out a soft chuckle, his free hand moving under your arm. Two fingers push up on your chin, realigning your head. Doing your best to follow his directions, your right foot shifts forward, inching awkwardly across the ground until you no longer feel his shoe against your calf.
“Should I aim for the head?”
“The head?” He laughs, his fingers pulling away from your chin, his arm outstretching to be parallel with yours, showing you where to position your own. “No, Tempus, let’s keep it simple,” he teases, pointing a finger at the torso of a hay-stuffed target, elderly chainmail armor lazily draped over its shoulders. “Eyes on the torso. And, please, do refrain from igniting my tower in a fiery blaze. These shelves took far too long to fill.”
“I know, I know, I’ve got it,” you assure, earning a mewl of disbelief from a tabby Tressym resting a few feet away from the target, her tail and front paws hanging off of an empty space on the aforementioned bookshelves.
“Mr. Dekarios, are you sure this is the safest we can be?” Tara purrs, her right wing twitching, likely anxious that you were bound to do exactly as he asked you not to and burn the whole tower down.
“I trust them, Tara. After all, books can only get one so far. Hands-on practice is far more valuable!” He encourages, leaning down slightly, enough that you can hear his breathing beside your ear. “Now. Steady. Focus… and picture it. A small flame, mostly harmless. Landing square on the torso, created from your very–”
“Ignis!” You shout, and Tara shoots up from where she was laying, bouncing away from the target and landing on a pile of books. Despite her reaction, there was no flame, though you swore you could’ve spotted a spark from your fingertip.
Gale lowers his arm, giving you a little more space, and he removes his hand from your hip, even taking a step back, perhaps a little too aware of the vicinity between your bodies. “Again. The pronunciation was exquisite, I must avow. Reach into your mind, no matter how far you must travel. Hear her whispers, channel the inferno within. Whether it be rage, passion, optimism – you must grasp the element, and feel the heat,” he explains, earning a small nod from you. Your eyes close, and you seek out the embers he spoke of.
Your mind wanders– it has to, if you truly want to tame the element, no part of your mind should be off limits. Though it travels to unexpected places. You most certainly find warmth, it just wasn’t the warmth you expected. It wasn’t a burn, yet it was a heat. One that hovered around your body, brought on by closeness to another, breathing figure. You could see books, and the moon, hanging high outside, the room coated with a gentle blue glow. It was strange, like you were inspecting a faded picture rather than experiencing a dream.
Hardening your focus, you grit your teeth. There was a purring, quiet, under the desk. Yes! You sat at the desk, seated on a small velvet stool, stationed next to a figure cloaked in purple. His arm, carefully positioned to allow you to gaze at and read along with the book he studied, brushing lightly against your shoulder. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago, during one of your late-night mentoring sessions, when he’d caught you sneaking around in the library, looking for something to keep your sleepless mind occupied.
Reminding yourself of the mission at hand, you search for inspiration, and find a lone lit candle towards the back of the desk, the glow encapsulating the two of you and casting light on the material you read. With a deep breath, you do your best to channel that candle. As small as it was, it seemed the most helpful component in finding the blaze Gale directed, and you exhaled.
“Ignis!”
Your eyes open, feeling a half-second surge of heat in your fingertips, and much to your surprise, a tiny flame shot out from your index finger, though it fell to the floor and sizzled out before it made it halfway to your target.
Still, it was enough to earn a chuckle and a series of short claps from your mentor, pleased with your performance even with as amateur as it was. “See, Tara? Hardly a threat to the books!”
The tressym’s wings stretch, and her body follows, leaning back on her haunches as she yawns. With a flick of her tail, she muses “Hardly a threat to anyone, for that matter! I’m quite sure a crocked kobold could muster up a drink stronger than that.”
“Oh, be patient, Tara. Everyone must start somewhere.” You spot Gale’s shadow waving his hand dismissively, before that shadow approaches yours, and you feel a hand on each of your shoulders. “I presume you found your root. Return, and study it. Learn it. Conform to it. Again.”
You inhale, and once more close your eyes, returning to the moonlit scene. The candle seemed dimmer, now, and you wonder if you’d somehow extracted the power from a memory. You’ve heard – well, read – about plenty of curious happenings related to the power and influence of the weave, but it was quite a different experience to feel those effects. You knew that you had focused quite closely on the candle, and yet it bore disappointing results. And now, that flame burned weaker.
It may be best to turn to other means of fuel. Your eyes scan the memory, contemplating the moon, before deciding it was far too tame, and far too distant to harness. The temperate coziness you felt in the moment pulses through you again, soothing your nerves, easing the racing of your heart. Warmth.
It doesn’t take you long to realize just where the heat originates from. Though neither of you were aware in that moment, or perhaps you merely glossed over the fact, you sat close; in order to read the contents of the book, you had to be near to him. And near, you were.
The time aided you, your fatigue stronger than your dignity, and allowed you to rest your head against his shoulder as you hardly managed to keep up with the lines of text, let alone truly process the material you were attempting to soak up. It was warm, despite the winter that hadn’t yet faded. He was warm. You’d been close with him before, though it was always fleeting. Accidentally bumping into him as you gathered materials around his study, or the second-long contact of your hands when you answered his fetch requests. Occasionally, when he guided your hand to some place in particular, over the ridges of a carved staff or the spines of books on his shelves. Even once, just once, that he’d allowed you to press your palm against his chest, his purple robe displaced just enough to expose the stain of the Netherese orb, which had produced an alarming heat from beneath his skin, and he’d felt inclined to share it with you.
But here, this memory, this occurrence, was hardly fleeting. He must have been willed by weary exhaustion just as well, because he didn’t shy away from the close contact. Instead, Gale rested his jaw against the top of your head, continuing to idly review the book he’d read countless times. You were sure that, if he had fewer things to concern himself with, he very well could have recited the lectures on dead gods from memory.
You hear a distant ‘mrrow’ of boredom and you recount your steps, regaining sight of your mission once more. You relax your body, only maintaining enough control to keep yourself standing, and your arm aimed. As you burn this sight, this time with him, and these feelings into your memory – should you ever need to recall the sight again, perhaps in future lessons, you want to be prepared – there is an airiness that wraps your body. Although you are planted firmly on a surface, both in the real world and in this vision, it feels as though you’ve been granted feather falling and have leapt from the balcony, becoming one with the breeze. And yet there is no chill, there is no bite from the rush of air, merely a dazing high.
His breathing is all you hear. Mellow and stable. You focus on the patterned flow, the delicate and inviting tepidity, the velvety brush of his clothes against your face.
“Love?”
Your eyes open, head swiveling around to face him, and he seems taken aback by your response. You aren’t sure you heard him right, and he isn’t sure you heard him right either, so he points behind you, head tilting slightly. Following his attention, you find that the target now displays a moderately-sized searing hole in the torso, near the right shoulder. You don’t recall announcing the spell, but it’s quite possible that you were too wrapped up in channeling the fire bolt to realize you’d casted it.
When your attention clings to the training dummy for too long, Gale steps into your peripherals, and you turn to face him once more. Again, he motions towards your successful delivery. “Flames and Fatalities, volume one, chapter four.”
“Red for rage, orange for survival, white for hope, pink for love,” you recite, easily recalling the information provided in one of the spellbooks Gale had you study several times over.
“Precisely. Your flame contained a pink hue,” he elaborates, and your gaze flicks over to the training dummy, and then back at Gale.
A familiar warmth brushes against your ankle, and you look down, finding a sassy winged creature at your feet. “At least someone in this tower seeks romantic companionship. Mr. Dekarios may very well have something to learn himself,” Tara purrs, and Gale releases a short sigh at her taunt, running a hand through his loose brown hair. “You used to be such a romantic. Though you seem much more of the hopeless kind these days.”
“Well, Tara, I don’t possess an acropolis of free time, I fear. Romantic pursuits do not fit into my schedule,” Gale attempts to defend, though Tara merely tilts her chin up and turns her head away from him, tail stiffening with antipathy. When you look up from the feline-like familiar, you find Gale eyeing you, splitting his sight away the moment your eyes meet, rendering you incapable of registering whatever strange emotion you thought you caught a glimpse of in his eyes.
You don’t like the taste of the unforeseen tightness in the air, so you clear your throat, looking around the study. “Hells, I forgot to tend to the garden yesterday. Does that sum up my teachings today?” You ask, looking back at Gale. He stares at the mannequin for a few moments more, and for a second, you fear that you’d damaged it too much, but then he releases a gentle laugh, dipping his head.
“Indeed. You performed marvelously. Go on, I’ve got artifacts to busy myself with. If you’re not back by the time I finish, I’ll put together a meal.” Gale motions for the main doors, and steps past you, approaching a mid-sized woven basket containing a staff, an enchanted dagger, and a pair of leather gloves shining a faint orange hue. You watch him, and he pauses as he lifts the basket, glancing at you from over his shoulder, his smile aged, though it held a certain pride in the catenary of his lips. “May I ask?”
Confused, you narrow your eyes. “Ask what?”
“Where did you find your flame?”
Allowing yourself a moment to think, you made sure to keep your eyes on him, and then you provide a nonchalant shrug. “I thought of my parents.”
Gale is still, his reaction a delayed one, before he widens his smile in a quick chuckle. “Charming. Hold onto that. It’s a solid base.”
You nod, and then finally turn around as Gale resumes moving the basket from the floor to his desk. You grab an empty basket of your own on the way out, disappearing and leaving him to his artifacts.
#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#bg3#gale dekarios#gale bg3#bg3 gale#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios x reader#gale bg3 x reader#gale x reader
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May I request some Bratty!Gavis Bettel x Reader smut? The details are up to you but I feel like he would enjoy rilling up the reader during a meeting or something at the guild before meeting up with them behind closed doors if that's comfy with you
*intense fantasizing*
Okay, so I might've... Given this too much plot ehe 😅 I still hope you enjoy this!!
(I kept imagining taller!reader during this whole thing so it was hard to keep it neutral lol)
Gavis Bettel x Top!Male!Reader [Fluff&Smut]
Warning; thigh fucking, brat taming, dacryphilia, overstimulation.
Masterlist.
VTuber Holostars EN/Tempus Vanguard
This sight was an usual thing. Everyone in Guild Tempus had become accustomed to seeing the lively jester, Bettel, dragging around a male everywhere he went, even going as far as having him during their guild meetings, which has led to them getting to know this mysterious (h/c) haired male.
They had a soft spot for him, especially because he had to put up with Bettel twenty-four hours of the day, taking care of him and putting up with his antics and mischief. This kind, quiet, lovely man was called (M/n), and he didn't really mind being dragged around as much as he used to, why? Well, the answer is simple.
He was in love.
(M/n) didn't care how much he got dragged and pushed around by the jester, he was still happy being by his side. And Bettel grew attached to (M/n) as well, mainly because he was the only one that would always sincerely laugh at his jokes and would help him improve his comedic skills.
And with time, they had become so used to each other that feelings inevitably started blooming, slowly but surely, Bettel had found himself awake at night, trying to figure out why his heart was restlessly pounding inside his chest, and why he felt goosebumps whenever the image of (M/n)'s gentle smile flashed across his mind.
At first, he thought of ignoring these things occurring to him, maybe he was getting sick or something, and eventually, it'll go away, that was his thought process, but it became a hassle soon enough. He couldn't focus on anything other than (M/n), he was the only thing on his mind, which made him mad so, like the airhead he is, Bettel decided to confront the person causing this behavior in him, (M/n) himself.
A few days prior he had been testing out his reactions and feelings to the other guild members, but no one caused such a reaction in him as (M/n) did, so he must've been messing with him, (M/n) was doing something to him, wasn't he?!
His heels clicked on the tile floor, echoing off the empty halls as he made his way where he assumed (M/n) would be. He was walking out of his room, quietly minding his own business when he got pushed back into his room by an external force pressing against his chest.
As soon as recovered from that, he realized that the external force was Bettel, who had now closed his door and locked it, turning to look at him with a frown and pretty blush on his pale skin. He seemed mad but also flustered which made (M/n) wonder what had happened to make him behave like this all of a sudden.
"You good, Betsy?" The sound of his voice made shivers run down Bettel's spine, which made his mad exterior waver slightly, but he was gonna go through with this and find out what (M/n) had done to him.
"Tell me," he started saying, looking straight into (M/n)'s eyes, "Tell me what you did to me, right now," slowly blinking as the words connected in his brain, (M/n) stared at Bettel confused, frowning slightly as he tried to understand what he meant by that.
"Tell you...?" He mumbled slowly, racking his brain to find something that could maybe make him give Bettel the answer he was looking for, but nothing came to mind.
"Yes! Tell me what you did, right now!" And that only made (M/n) even more confused, was he supposed to know what he did? He hadn't done anything as far as he could remember.
"What did I do, exactly?" Bettel couldn't take it, to him (M/n) was mocking him when in reality he was getting concerned about him. His face turned redder with anger and he just yelled everything.
"You make me feel nervous, and giddy all the time! I can't stop thinking about you and how much I wanna be with you all day every day!" (M/n)'s eyes opened wide at the words he was hearing, feeling goosebumps cover his skin as he felt his heart flutter and his stomach tingling, "You're a fucking sorcerer you can easily do something like this! Now fix it!"
Before getting too ahead of himself, (M/n) took a deep breath and took a step closer to Bettel, who was still frowning at him.
"So, you're telling me that I've caused this?" Bettel groaned and nodded, trying to maintain his angry expression at having (M/n) in such close proximity, "Does this happen with anyone else?"
"No, it doesn't, why does that matter?" (M/n) took a deep breath and gulped, taking another step closer and forcing Bettel to back himself to the locked door, his frown disappeared from his face, looking at (M/n) with wide eyes, a nervous look in them
"What are you feeling right now, Bettel?" Flustered and nervous, Bettel looked away for a moment, but (M/n)'s hand gently held his chin, making him look into his eyes, which were seemingly looking into the deepest part of his soul.
"I'm... My heart is beating really fast, and... I feel very hot right now," (M/n) nodded at his answer, but he needed something more than just that.
"Anything else?" Having Bettel now pinned to the door, he observed up close how the red of face became flustered blush instead of anger, his mismatched eyes looking into his (e/c) ones, shining bright under the ceiling light.
"I want to..." He trailed on, his sight lowering to look at (M/n)'s lips for a few seconds, unconsciously licking his lips too.
Getting bolder, (M/n) leaned closer to Bettel's face, their breathing mixing as they were unable to tear their eyes away from each other's lips.
"You want to kiss me, don't you?" Gulping, Bettel nodded in complete silence, his gloved hands reaching to hold onto a piece of (M/n)'s clothing.
"Please... Kiss me," (M/n) felt Bettel's grip on his clothes getting tighter as he pulled him closer, and he just couldn't resist the dreamy look in Bettel's bright eyes.
Holding Bettel's face in his hands, (M/n) leaned closer as he felt the jester trembling under his hold, the warmth of his face against his palms, his glossy lips opening slightly as he inched closer and closer.
Shivers ran down their body the instant their lips graced, unable to contain themselves any longer they held each other's bodies tightly, releasing quiet moans and groans as they melted in their kiss. But it was short-lived due to the lack of air, so they pulled away and gasped for air for a few seconds, staring into each other's eyes.
Bettel looked at (M/n) with embarrassment, and he was about to gently push him away from him so he could leave, but the (h/c) haired male wasn't gonna let him go so quickly.
Wrapping his arms around Bettel's waist, he held the man and kissed him again, lifting his smaller body up, and pressing him against the door. Whimpers and whines left past Bettel's lips, only to be muffled against (M/n)'s, his arms wrapped around (M/n)'s neck, his gloved fingers playing with his hair, pulling on it when he felt how (M/n) pressed their hips together, letting him know that he was feeling just like he was.
A little bit... Happy.
So they had to do something about it, didn't they?
//////
It was a normal day at the Guild Hall, just like any other...
Well, if it wasn't because of how uneasy and squirmy (M/n) was. Of course, no one knew that it was because Bettel has been behaving like a brat all day, and now during the guild meeting he was doing the same thing.
This time (M/n) wondered why Bettel sat in front of him instead of next to him like he usually did, now he knows why. It started subtle, so subtle that (M/n) thought it was by accident, but the longer it passed it became more obvious that it was on purpose.
Bettel had placed his foot between (M/n)'s thighs, slowly applying pressure on his dick, gracing the heel of his shoe against it and he could barely hold himself back from just putting Bettel in his place after behaving like a brat all day.
He had gone quiet as he imagined how he was gonna make Bettel cry and beg for forgiveness later in his room, when he felt someone touching his shoulder. He jumped in place and turned to look at who it was.
Axel was looking at (M/n) expectantly in silence, as if he was waiting for him to say something back. He blinked cleared his throat and shifted around on his chair as he felt Bettel momentarily stop his teasing.
"You okay, dude? I've been calling you for a while now," (M/n) tried to smile at the blond, but it felt too forced so he decided to drop it.
"Y-yeah, I just... I haven't been sleeping well lately," he replied as vaguely as usual, he didn't want to make others worry or find out what was actually happening to him.
And it worked, 'cause Axel just chuckled and patted his back maybe a little too hard as he told him something along the lines of 'taking care of himself' which he half-heartedly agreed to.
The rest of the meet went slower than ever, with his jaw clenched (M/n) tried his hardest to contain himself, whether by snapping at Bettel and fucking him right then, or to prevent any kind of noise to leave past his lips, that wouldn't be good so he was really, really trying his best.
But thankfully, the moment the meeting ended, he fixed his clothes and stood up, rushing to hold Bettel's wrists and dragging him out of the meeting room, the jester was release mischievous chuckles as he was dragged by the (h/c) haired male, waving farewell to his guildmates on their way out.
As if in the blink of an eye, (M/n) reached his room, he opened the door and dragged Bettel inside, kicking the door closed with his foot and cornering Bettel to the bed, pinning him down to it.
"Oh? You're quite eager, aren't ya?" Bettel had a cheeky grin plastered on his face, making (M/n) frown, but without uttering a single word, he leaned down and kissed him. His hands roamed everywhere on Bettel's body, holding tightly onto his waist as he grinded their hips together.
Bettel moaned as his back arched off the bed, his hands holding onto the collar of (M/n)'s clothes, occasional giggles leaving him at (M/n)'s eagerness.
He observed how (M/n) backed away for a little bit, undoing the belt that was holding his pants up. Bettel bit his bottom lip and tried to spread his legs open, but (M/n) had another plan, he held his legs together, separated enough to put his twitching dick between his thighs, exposing more of his pale skin as he moved the short's fabric up more.
(M/n) knew that just doing this wasn't gonna be nearly enough for both of them, but he wanted to rile Bettel up, just like he had done all day, and this was the best way he could think up at the moment while also getting off himself.
Groaning at the smooth feeling of Bettel's thighs, (M/n) gripped his hips tightly, probably leaving marks that would become visible a few hours later. He wasn't paying attention to Bettel's reactions or noises, he just wanted to cum, he had been pent up all day thanks to his adorable yet bratty boyfriend.
Gritting his teeth, (M/n) held in his moans as his dick throbbed, hot cum dripping onto Bettel's shorts, staining them white. He took a few deep breaths and fixed his underwear, standing up from the bed, about to fix his pants to leave.
"You better not-" his eyes landed on Bettel, whose body was trembling, a wet stain on his shorts where you could see the cum seeping through it, his breath was ragged and loud, and there was some drool dripping down the corner of his mouth and he was covering his eyes with his forearm, "Betsy?" He called him with a gentle voice.
Maybe he should've handled the situation better, maybe...
Bettel lowered his arm slightly, now covering his mouth. His mismatched eyes were filled with tears and some of them had managed to fall and wet his blushing face.
"Ar-are you... W-why are you l-leaving~?" He whimpered while trying to sit up, more tears running down his red cheeks, "D-don't leave, please~ I'll be good!"
(M/n) watched how Bettel moved around on the bed until he was kneeling, his thighs trembling a bit as he did, his hands holding onto the hem of (M/n)'s shirt.
"Will you, now?" Bettel nodded frantically, trying to pull (M/n) closer to him, nuzzling against his stomach.
"I will, I promise," slowly looking up, Bettel released a quiet whine, "I want you to fuck me, (M/n)."
Well, how could he resist such a cute face and such a pretty voice?
++++
It's been so long since I've written something lol but hopefully this turned out good enough hehe
#holostars en#holotempus#holotempus x reader#tempus x reader#gavis bettel x reader#holostars tempus#holostars bettel#tempus#tempus vg#holostars en x reader#male reader#x reader#reader insert#bettel my beloved#fluff#smut#.mackjlee9 writes
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~When in Rome~
Part 1
Pairing: Mobius M Mobius x Fem!Reader
Warnings: None
*translated lines
~
You’d seen magic before, of course you have, it was the very being of your spirit. It was your purpose. So just as those two bodies stepped out of that orange glowing door, you knew it was finally your time to fulfil your destiny. The reason you were brought onto this very earth by your mother and father, the reason you harboured so many hardships and so much turmoil.
Looking at the pair as they whispered and bickered between each other, you stood still waiting for your chance to approach and just as your foot left the ground, the black hair god stood forward his long legs jumping on a cart and freeing a cart full of goats before shouting in a foreign language.
“Mihi nomen est Loki. Praefectus consilii ad tempus mutandem. Atque adfero acerbum nuntium ad vos omnes!” *My name is Loki. The commander of time. And I bring bitter news to you all!* he shouted to the unnerving crowd, but the more he spoke, the more you walked, covering your head more and more with your scarf, trying to be unnoticed by all.
The god's words started to be mixed about speaking in that foreign tongue once more to his… you didn’t know who he was.
You could hear the rumbling in the background growing larger and larger. An old tail telling that it was the gods speaking to us and reminding us of the offerings, but you knew it was a lie. It was a warning of some sort, something which spiralled wickedly and cruel.
You checked around seeing if anyone also saw the pair, but to your acknowledgment it was only you who could see them. You’ve been chosen… by him.
You turned the corner and there he stood, the figure you had been giving your whole to. He was the reason you went hungry, the reason you cried and laughed, he was everything you loved and breathed.
His tall stance and broad shoulders were met with his dark locks and brooding blue eyes. A mischievous glint in his eyes as his hands twitched, a green vapour surrounding them. You looked at his odd choice of clothing, but who were you to judge, he was after all a God. Your God. Your deity.
“O potens Mercurie, tibi gratias ago quod me praesentia tua benedixeris, quid meruisse tanto honore possum ?”*Oh mighty Mercury, thank you for blessing me with your presence. What can I have done to deserve such honour ?* you fell to your knees, scrambling forward as you whispered small prays holding your necklace tightly, your eyes shining bright with adoration and joy.
Finally, you thought to yourself, finally your talents and your ruthless loyalty have paid off. You were finally being seen for all you’ve done.
“Who is this Loki ?” The grey - hair man beside him spoke, but you ignored the gibberish that came out his mouth, understanding none of it.
“I’m not exactly certain.” Your god spoke back, but you couldn’t understand him. Why couldn’t you understand his sacred words. You looked up between the two, a pleading look in your eyes. “Mercurous oro, ver- nacula loquor” *Mercury I plead you speak in my mother tongue*
“Loki, what is she saying ?” Mobius muttered under his breath. “She’s speaking Latin, I think ?” Loki answered, looking down at you. “Uhh Salve… Humanum”*uhhh hello… Human* the god muttered, “O Mercurius te intellexi ! Tibi gratias ago tibi vere intellego ... Oportet te cito venire debes” * Oh Mercury, I understand you ! I understand you thank you truly... you must come quickly you must come* you pry at his legs as you rush to your feet, your body griping into his “mi Mercurius” *My dear Mercury,* you smiled at him, tears welling your eyes as you began to drag the man, but he quickly stopped in his tracks making your turn around to face him.
Was he not here for you ?
“Ohhh mihi paenitemus o magna una tibi Nymphe, ut venias nimis” *my apologies' oh Great one your Nymph may come too* you bowed your head in the direction of the grey - hair confused nymph and your God began to laugh “what did she say ?” He stepped forward toward the black haired God, “she… thinks you’re my nymph.” He laughed some more.
“Nymph ?” He looked between the two of you “look I’m not a nymph, my name is Mobius.” he explained to you exaggerating certain words “M-Mobius est valde pulchra nomen.”*M-Mobius is such a pretty name* You give him a short, tight-lipped smile, in which he nodded.
“What is she saying now ?” He asked Loki looking between the pair of you waiting for translation, “she said your name is very pretty.” Loki shook his head, looking down to his feet waiting for his coworker response, but he heard nothing and instead saw the small glint of awe in his eyes before he cleared his throat, “okay.” Mobius nodded. “Okay ?” Loki repeated his response, “okay.” Mobius nodded again.
“What happened to the full fear of not changing the timeline, Mobius ?” Loki looked at the man beside him, quirking his brow at his change of morals, “yeah, well she clearly confused, so it doesn’t really matter.” He challenges his own words while saying them.
“Mercuries et Mobius.” *Mercury and Mobius * you smiled and quickly nodded, grabbing the men’s hands tightly, and silver smoke began to swallow around you.
The three of you stood there still in the temple. Your home. You quickly dragged the black haired man and began to show him the shrine dedicated to him. It was decorated in snakes and gold with green and red fabrics draping all the way across the large stone.
“omnes enim vos”*All for you* you bowed a gleaming smile on your face as you watched the god move in scouring over the shrine focusing on the name engraved on the front. “Mercuries”*Mercury* he muttered before looking to you “Mercuries”*Mercury* his eye widened at the loud sounding rumbling.
“Loki, what is this ?” Mobius came forward, pulling on Loki's lapels, dragging his forward. He must have been tricked and betrayed once again by the God of mischief. “nolite tangere” *Don’t touch him.* You flicked your wrist upward, silver smoke emerging and sending the man back.
“No, no” Loki muttered, smiling, grabbing your hands and placing them down. “Mobius I have no idea what this possibly could be.” He spoke “tell her… to stop doing that” he groaned as he got up from the cold, hard floor.
There it was the final rumble, the explosion. “What I do know is we have to go now.” Loki grabbed Mobius hand helping him up, patting him on the back signalling him to hurry up with the temped.
“Mercuries ?” *Mercury ?* You quickly stood in the way of the two “Non sum qui me putas non sum deus tuus sum Loki deus mali sed Mercuries non sum” *I’m not who you think I am. I’m not your god. I am Loki god of mischief. I am not Mercury*
“Quid ?”*What ?* you asked, your smile slowly fading. “Mobius hurry we have to go now this volcano is about to erupt.” Loki shouted at his grey haired partner, “I am trying.” He fiddled with the buttons of the tempad.
No. No. No. You won’t be left here. You won’t be left to die. You won’t be left alone, not again you refuse. Not after all you have done, all you have sacrificed, all you have given. You give your life. Your life.
“Vale”*Goodbye* Loki smiled, waving before stepping through the large orange door. You stood up, your hands weak and frail.
The grey haired man turned to look at you. A saddened expression filled his face, he opened his mouth but closed it once more before looking to the floor and heading through the door.
You looked at the orange glowing door that stayed open for a few moments. This wasn’t meant to happen. It stayed open, the glowing portal called your name like the sun called Icarus. You inched forward, your hands delving into the orb… it didn’t hurt, you were left unharmed as you pushed your full body through the door.
Quick noise and fast chattering was all you heard as you appeared on the other side, of bright, blinding lights and a surge of… belonging.
“Mobius ?” Loki tapped his concentrated partner, looking straight at you. “What ?” He turned around to look at his friend worrying concern only to be greeted with you.
~
#loki season 2#loki laufeyson#i’m in love#mobius mcu#mobius loki#mobius m mobius#mobius x reader#mobius marvel#mobius#tva loki#loki series#mcu loki#loki spoilers#loki marvel#loki odinson#loki#lokius
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not a req but you’re literally carrying the tempus fandom on ur back thank you sm for the fics im eating them up
dude this means sm to me bcs i for sure want more tempus fics!!!! i crave for them, i yearn for them, i need them. im so glad you're enjoying them, and ill try to write more for my beloved tempus-starved readers out there.
with that being said homies, come and request tempus fics to me wink
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A Safe Place to Lay Your Head
Summary: Y/N sneaks into Regulus' room when she had a nightmare.
Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of Nightmare, Panic
Prompt: Dialogue 1.15, "I had a nightmare."
Y/N opened her eyes to the pitch black darkness of her dorm room. She felt her heartbeat pounding in every part of her body, the steady thump causing her body to pulse. She was breathing hard but not fast and she was intimately aware of every sensation that was pressed up against her body.
She couldn't remember the nightmare but the sensation of icy fear hadn't removed itself from the spine of her back. Her sheets were damp with the sweat from her body. Her sleep clothes clung to her body, adding to the feeling of constriction.
She sat up slowly, pushing the covers off of the top half of her body. A tempus charm told her that it was just past midnight. She sighed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The rest of Y/N's dorm mates were asleep in the other four beds in the room.
She moved quietly from her bed towards the shared batthroom. She turned the shower on and as the room filled with steam she pulled the sticky clothes from her body.
The warm water took the lingering sensations with it down the drain. She used her favorite soaps and took an unnecessarily long shower. She stood under the head of the shower and let the water pour down on her head.
She toweled off, brushed her hair, and dressed in a green jumper that she'd stolen from Regulus. His cologne saturated the fabric creating the illusion of being wrapped in his arms for a few blissful moments.
Y/N climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up. She stared at the dark ceiling and jumped as shadows on the walls taunted her with the unknown. She tried laying with her eyes closed but everytime she felt like someone was watching her which caused her to keep her eyes open.
She sighed and decided that she'd had enough. She slipped into her fuzzy slippers and made her way out of her room. She traveled the familiar path towards Regulus dorm, casting careful glances into the dark corners of the stone castle.
She knocked on the dorm room softly, three times. She heard a jumble of voices before heavy footsteps walked up to the door. It opened to reveal Evan Rosier.
"Y/N?" He asked.
She'd twisted her arms around herself trying to find some comfort and her hair was still damp on her head.
"Can I come in?" She whispered.
Evan cast a glance behind him. Nodding, he held the door open for her and she stepped past him into the room that was saturated in expensive smells. It looks like Evan had been one of two of them who had been awake, but Y/N wasn't looking for them. Regulus was propped up on his headboard reading one of his favorite novels. He looked up as she walked into the room.
"Y/N," he said softly. He was wearing a black sweater and his hair was soft. He must've taken a shower because it lacked the normal product that he put in it every morning.
Y/N moved quickly moved into his open arms. He pulled her into his chest and nodded to Evan who went to inhabit his own bed, pulling the curtains around it. He took a step back and examined her carefully, likely trying to determine why she'd snuck in to see him so late at night.
"I had a nightmare and I couldn't get back to sleep. I just think that I needed you," she said, staring into his swirling, grey eyes.
Regulus hummed, kissing the top of her head, "Do you want to try to sleep with me in my bed, Love?"
Y/N nodded, "Yes, please."
He moved to the side and let Y/N crawl into the bed first as he got to work closing the green curtains that surrounded the bed. When they were secured he crawled in after her, laying behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
His breath was warm against the back of her neck and he was rubbing small circles into the skin at her waist. Y/N scooted further back into him trying to eliminate any unnecessary space between them. Regulus let out a little chuckle at that but acquiesed.
"Sleep, darling. I'll be here to fight off anything that tries to come for you while you sleep," he told her. HIs voice was like a melody and it soothed the final tense pieces inside of her. She allowed herself to melt into the arms of her beloved.
"I love you," she whispered, as sleep took it's hold.
His arm tightened around her, "I love you, My Love."
#regulus black x reader#regulus black#harry potter#fluff#regulus black masterlist#regulus arcturus black#r.a.b#marauders#regulus black x female reader
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hello my name is unit 4402 but all my friends call me 4402. i don't like to take my tactical gear off but you can tell it's me because i have one yellow glove and lost the other one.
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