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eyrieofsynapses · 4 months

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why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

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I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

#aurora comic #aurora webcomic #comicaurora #art analysis #...I hope those are the right tags???#new fandom new tagging practices to learn ig #much thanks for something to read while I try to rest my wrists. carpal tunnel BAD. (ignore that I wrote this I've got braces ok it's fine)#anyway! I HAVE. MANY MORE THOUGHTS. ON THE STORY ITSELF. THIS LOVELY STORY #also a collection of reactions to a chunk of the comic before I hit the point where I was too busy reading to write anything down #idk how to format those tho #...yeet them into one post...???#eh I usually don't go off this much these days but this seems like a smaller tight-knit fandom so... might as well help build it?#and I have a little more time thanks to break so #oh yes also shoutout to my insanely awesome professor for teaching me all the technical stuff from this he is LOVELY #made an incredibly complex program into something comprehensible <3 #synapse talks

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captain-hawks · 5 months

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flower on my skin

— takashi mitsuya x f!reader

summary — In which getting fucked in the dressing room right before you're due to walk down the runway modeling Takashi Mitsuya's lingerie line has become a bit of a habit, to say the least.

18+ ONLY

wc — 1.5k

content — model/designer dynamic, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, light choking, pussy slapping, rimming, spit kink, cum eating, squirting, soft!dom Takashi

final!timeline Takashi, set after 2018

“Has anyone ever told you what a brat you are?” Takashi sighs, hooking one of his long fingers beneath your chin.

Hands clasped on the cold metal lip of the stool between your thighs, you look up at Takashi from where he’s standing over you, his lilac eyes mirroring the amusement in the tilt of his smile.

You shrug, reaching out to flick at the metal edge of the sewing tape draped around his neck, but he catches your hand in his, thumb scraping delicately across your palm. You’re due to walk the runway in less than an hour to model a new piece from Takashi’s lingerie line, but there’s no sense of urgency in his movements.

“The girls in the dressing room never tie the back of these outfits up right,” you pout, gesturing toward the silky ribbon that’s yet to be threaded through the eyelets running from your lower back up to your shoulder blades.

After sitting patiently through hair and makeup, you’d hardly given the stylist a chance to prepare your outfit before texting Takashi, pleading that he needed to meet you in one of the empty dressing rooms for an emergency.

Twirling the stool so you’re facing the large mirror mounted to the back of the table in front of you, Takashi stands behind you, eyes meeting yours in the reflection as his deft fingers get to work. He tightens the top more than necessary, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face when you sharply inhale at the arousing feeling of the sheer lace digging firmly into your peaked, sensitive nipples.

He leans in, lips tickling the shell of your ear. “I don’t think that’s it at all,” he murmurs.

You blink back at him innocently in the mirror, sitting perfectly still despite the rapid thrumming of your pulse. “Oh?”

Takashi chuckles, the sound low and rough as he splays a hand over your throat.

“You just like when I fuck you before you go out there,” he rasps, fingers tightening their grip just enough to make your spine arch in response. “You like looking at all those other girls wearing my clothes, knowing you’re the only one walking that runway with a pretty little pussy full of my cum.”

You gasp as he mouths at the side of your neck, his messy lavender and black locks of hair falling into his face as he drags his teeth over your soft skin. His fingers find their way to your breasts, and you fight the urge to drag your palm between your legs as he pinches at your pebbled nipples.

“Am I wrong?” he asks, staring at you in the mirror while he nips at your earlobe.

“No,” you exhale, spreading your legs even wider in invitation.

“So fucking needy,” he murmurs as he glances down at your glistening cunt on full display, though his tone is more appreciative than anything else.

The sexual tension brimming between the two of you had been suffocating from the very start when you began modeling for him, an ongoing, flirtatious game of cat and mouse that grew to a boiling point between each fitting and show. And after far too many dressing room make out sessions spent straddling one of Takashi’s firm thighs—which resulted in countless pairs of ruined panties, soaked and dripping with your arousal before you could even hit the runway—the designer had switched tactics, outfitting you exclusively in crotchless lingerie going forward.

Naturally, without that extra material in the way, your pre-show activities were upgraded from riding his thigh like a bitch in heat to muffled moans against the palm of his hand while he brought you over the edge with his long fingers quickly pumping in and out of you. And then when lapping at your cunt while he palmed at his throbbing erection through his slacks still wasn’t enough, he finally sunk his cock inside of you for the first time, fucking you so hard you had to swap out your precariously high heels for a more stable shoe for the catwalk that night, lest your wobbling legs give out on you midway through your strut.

And yes, you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t bring you an obnoxious sense of satisfaction—knowing that none of the other models batting their eyes at the devastatingly handsome fashion designer are wearing pieces designed solely for them.

None of them know what mischief lurks beneath his gentle smiles and sweet disposition.

None of them have wet and messy try-on sessions at his house that lead to long, long nights and breakfast in bed afterward.

None of them intimately know the pornographic sound of him moaning their name as he comes.

None of them see the possessive flash in his eyes when he murmurs, ��Mine.”

Takashi likes to tease you for being a brat when his hands are too full to take care of you on show days, but in reality, you know he loves it, too—watching you walk down the runway in his designs, freshly fucked and glowing. For him.

“Did you notice something different about this pair?” he l casually asks, interrupting your train of thought as he grasps your hips and motions for you to slide off of the stool.

His hand slowly trails down your back as he bends you over the table, only coming to a stop once he reaches the globes of your ass.

“There’s an extra hole,” you reply without hesitation, the surprise modification to the panties—it hadn’t been there during your try-on session—had left you aching with anticipation from the moment you slid them on earlier.

Takashi’s finger teases the added opening, which is positioned right over where your other tight ring of muscle is.

“I wonder if you’d be able to walk the runway after having your ass fucked,” he muses, gripping and spreading your ass cheeks. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of him spitting, a whimper escaping your lips as he spreads the glob of saliva over your tight little rim.

“Taaaa…Takashi,” you keen as he tugs at your puckered hole with the tip of one finger, and you can feel thick arousal begin to slide down the inside of your thighs.

He folds his body over yours and whispers in your ear, “What do you think, should we try?”

“Please,” you nearly sob, your untouched clit throbbing with need.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, dragging a shameless moan out of you when he reaches between your legs and slaps your wet cunt.

Spreading your legs wider apart, you push your ass out toward him, and Takashi chuckles. “You could come like this, couldn’t you?”

You nod feverishly, and Takashi smirks, “Come before I count to ten, and I’ll fuck your ass before you go out there.”

Six rough slaps to your messy, dripping pussy later, and you’re absolutely delirious with need, sobbing as your climax punches out of you, squirting all over Takashi’s hand and onto the floor in the process.

“Good girl,” he praises you, his tone rough and edged with his own desperation, and you hear the sound of a plastic cap popping open behind you.

Takashi’s in the process of carefully scissoring open your ass with three lube-slick fingers when you come again, fingers scraping across the table as every nerve ending in your body catches fire simultaneously.

But once he’s satisfied that you’re ready for the stretch of his thick length, nothing can compare to the feeling of his cock sinking into your ass—and the downright broken moan that crawls up his throat when he presses his body flush against your own as he bottoms out inside of you.

“Shit,” he groans, one hand sliding between your legs to tease your swollen clit. “You feel so good.”

When he starts to move, your vision nearly goes white, your entire body wracked with blistering pleasure as your lubed hole squelches wetly with each deep thrust. His fingers continue to stroke your drenched folds as he plunges in and out of your ass, the table squeaking in protest with the growing force behind the hungry snap of his hips.

You whimper his name, the aching tension coiling in your abdomen rendering you incapable of any words beyond that, and Takashi slides two fingers into your cunt, sliding right through your creamy channel.

And right as you find yourself dangling from the edge, it’s the sight of Takashi lustfully staring back at you in the mirror that sends you tumbling over, his composure entirely lost in a frenzied haze of pleasure.

Takashi moans while he watches you come for him, your entire body shuddering with the force of your orgasm, and that’s all it takes to have his hips sloppily stuttering as he comes right after you, dumping rope after rope of sticky, hot cum in your ass and filling you to the brim.

And even if you’re a little sore on the runway after, your tight hole still quivering from the firm, broad strokes of Takashi’s tongue when ate his cum right out of your ass—and spit it into your mouth afterward—it’s worth it for the adoring, satisfied grin that spreads across his face from the front row when you strut by.

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#takashi mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #mitsuya takashi #takashi mitsuya #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #dee writes

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peterporkerfan · 11 months

Text

sketchbook [earth 1610!miles morales x latina!reader]

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fluff, light cursing, kissing, relationship insecurities, lots of spanglish

a/n: i’m a puerto rican whose first language is spanish, so nothing here is google translated i promise 💀

It was a hot June afternoon, and the air was sizzling all over the city.

You and Miles laid on his bed, side by side, with his arm draped around your shoulder. The AC was on full blast, and Miles’ favorite album sounded all around the room. You were both humming and singing along contently. You looked up at him smiling every once in a while, and he’d look back, smiling even wider.

“Baby, do you hear this? No one does it like Kendrick. His music is on a whole ‘nother level.” He smiled back down at you, looking at you with sheer adoration.“You know, Gwen and I…we’d listen to him all the time when she’d swing by. I love his music.”

“Remember when your favorite rapper was Post Malone?” You joked, and he looked away awkwardly.

“Yeah…we don’t—we don’t talk about that.”

You laughed and you brought your hands to his cheeks, bringing him closer and kissing him deeply. He smiled into the kiss, bringing his hands to your waist and pulling you towards him until you were laying on top of him.

You pull away from the kiss, and look down at Miles while you smile.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Miles. Eres otra cosa.”

Miles smiled back at you, feeling so lucky to have someone like you in his life. “Just wait until you meet Peter, Hobie, or Gwen…especially Gwen. She’s the coolest person ever. You two would get along really well.” Miles rambled.

“I’m sure we would.” You smiled back at your boyfriend, knowing how much he cared about his friends.

“Miles, mijo! Baja un momentito. I need your help with something!” Mrs. Morales shouted from downstairs.

“Coming, Ma!” Miles shouted back, turning his head in the direction of the opened door.

“A mi tú no me grites!”

Miles sighed, “I’ll be back ya mismo”

“I’ll be right here” You smiled at him. Miles smiled back and walked out, leaving you alone in his room.

When Miles shut the door, you stood up from your position, sitting with your legs crossed on the edge of the twin sized bed. You took in his room, and how much it reminded you of him. His collectible figurines, countless posters of his favorite rappers and albums, and the constant clutter on his floor. You spotted his sketchbook on the ground right in front of you, and felt a sudden urge to pick it up.

Miles was generally open about most things with you, however he kept his drawings to himself. You never questioned it as maybe he just thought they were embarrassing or too personal. You slowly picked up the book and started flipping through its pages. At first you were met with images of his uncle, his suit, and the streets of Brooklyn. You smiled faintly as you flipped through, appreciating how utterly talented your boyfriend was. However, you were suddenly met with countless images of someone whose name you’d never forget: Gwen.

Miles’ face would always light up when he mentioned Gwen. You never thought much of it, however, there were so many drawings of her in his sketchbook, which must’ve taken hours to make, with every little detail about her captured on the paper. You began to feel an unfamiliar pain take over you, and you put the sketchbook down where you got it from. God, she was gorgeous. And cool. Of course Miles liked her…I mean who wouldn’t? The way he described her made her seem so…captivating. Before the thought took over you completely, Miles walked into the room again, holding a large laundry basket and setting it down besides his bed. You tried to change your expression, looking up at your boyfriend like you usually would.

“That’s a lot of clothes to sort through. Que mierda.” Miles sighed.

“You need any help?”

“Yeah, actually. That’d be pretty good.”

“Cual es la palabra mágica?” You teased, batting your eyes at him playfully.

Miles narrowed his eyes at you, acting playfully annoyed. “Please?”

You walked towards him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and leaned down to sort through the clothes in the basket.

“I think you might’ve outgrown this sweater a while ago.” You held it out so Miles could see. It was an orange cardigan, with patches embroidered into it.

“Haha, very funny, Y/N. That’s Gwen’s. She left it here last time que visitó.”

“Y tú—you wear it?” You asked, feeling the uneasiness you felt before come rushing back.

“Course not. Mami probably threw it in the laundry basket sorting through my room at some point.”

“Oh.”

“It’s nice to have something of her’s though. Just to remember her by.”

Some time went by and you continued to fold clothes while a question bubbled inside you. Finally, after a long silence, you asked.

“Miles, tú—do you still…”

“Do I still what, mi amor?”

“Have feelings for…”

Miles furrowed his brows. “For…Gwen?”

“I mean, you talk about her so much and I didn’t mean to violate your privacy or anything but I may or may not have looked through your sketchbook filled with drawings of her. And don’t get me wrong the drawings are really good pero—”

Miles interrupted your senseless ramble. “Mi amor…”

“Qué?”

“You don’t seriously think that I like her, right?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean I wouldn’t blame you for it, you know. You did once before, you could again but—“

“Baby…those drawings are old, did you go through the whole thing?”

“No, not really. I guess I thought I’d seen…enough.”

Miles picked up the sketchbook off the ground and flipped through it. He handed it to you and looked at you with adoration as he did so (unbeknownst to you, as you were staring down at your shoes with shame). You flipped the page from a drawing of Gwen and saw it: countless drawings of you. All done when you thought he wasn’t looking. A drawing of you looking at the board in math class, sitting across the room from Miles (only because the teacher thought you two were “too chatty” when you sat together). A drawing of you sitting on your windowsill with headphones on, drowning out the world around you. A drawing of you walking towards Miles, smiling at him. The drawings continued for countless pages, and your eyes began to water as you looked back up at Miles.

“You did all these…de mi?”

“Claro, you’re my girl. Why would I not?” Miles’ brows furrowed as he looked towards you.

“Dios mio, I’m so sorry for thinking you liked her. Soy tan estupida a veces.”

“Nah, don’t be, and you’re not. Yo soy el que es medio pendejo every once in a while. That’s on me.” Miles laughed.

“Y Miles, these drawings are really good. Why hadn’t you shown me?”

“I thought you wouldn’t—ay, no se. I thought you’d think they were stupid or something, I guess.” Miles mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

“Stupid? Miles, these are…you’re crazy talented. Are you kidding me?”

“Thanks…” Miles blushed as he smiled back at you faintly.

“Alright, well… enough of this sappy shit. Where were we?”

“Laundry.” Said Miles.

“Right, laundry.”

“Do we reeeeally want to do the laundry though?” Miles asked, hoping you’d just say no.

“Fuck no.” You laughed.

“Great!” You laughed as Miles webbed you back to were you were before, laying side by side on his bed.

You looked up at him. “Can I choose the music now?”

“Fine, baby. Play whatever you want.”

You unlocked his phone and searched for a Spanish pop song you knew Miles hated.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Seriously…”

“Miles, si no es así te vas a convertir en un gringo. Con esa B en español, imagínate…”

“Alright, alright…lo que tu digas, mami.” He laughed, kissing the top of your head.

As the song played and you sung along to each word, Miles became sure of one thing:

He’d never let you go.

send me requests for whatever (no smut and only latina or white/race not specified reader please)!! i’ll write mainly for miles morales but i’ll take requests for anyone else spiderverse/spiderman!!

#miles morales x reader #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales 1610 #peter parker #fluff #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #miles morales #miles morales x latina reader #miles borales blurb #earth 1610 miles morales #earth 1610 miles morales x latina reader

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nomazee · 6 days

Note

hello, could I request a model! Dan Heng x fashion designer! Reader? Here’s some keywords if they might help, tiredness, praise, warmth, try-on. The timestamp is 17:57, thank you so much!

as always i had too much fun with this... i love the idea of model dan heng but i still made him an awkward wet rag in this one (because i love him) THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

You greet Dan Heng with your usual warm smile and a “hey, love” that never fails to fluster him. He’s heard it from you a handful of times now, visiting your studio a few times a week at your request for fittings and some brainstorming sessions. He thinks that the frequency and timing of his visits is definitely unnecessary from a professional standpoint, but he’s not planning on bringing that up any time soon. Not when your hands are so kind, light on his shoulders as you guide him through your studio.

“I started on the pieces that I showed you the sketches for, um, last week, was it? I’m kind of losing track of time.” Dan Heng wouldn’t tell you out loud, but he can tell. There’s a huge table in the center of the room, and he can barely see its surface beneath all the cut fabric and tracing paper and tangled thread from your serger. For someone working under deadline after deadline, you’re handling yourself better than he would, but he still can’t help the heat of concern flickering in the crease of his brow.

This is your debut show, he knows as much. So he won’t meddle with your workflow. Only hope that you can somehow pick up the signals that he’s sending you to please sit down and maybe drink water?

“I need you to try them on,” you tell him, a gentle command as you hand him a hanger draped in silky fabrics and delicate laces. “There’s pants and a lace shirt. I’ll turn around while you change, but you need to be wearing pretty much nothing underneath these, if that’s okay. And then I’ll hem your pants—let me get you some shoes…” you’re trailing off, passing the clothes to him before turning around in a rush to find him a pair of heeled boots.

The fabric is— it’s nice. The pants are some kind of silky, lustrous material, dark blue and cool on his skin, and the shirt is embarrassingly sheer but you’ve seen him in and out of clothes in the last month often enough that he can’t really be too sheepish about it now. What does make him flush, however, is the look on your face as you turn around to stare at him, black heeled shoes forgotten in your hands as your eyes flit across Dan Heng’s form.

He can hear the soft breaths that you take, no more labored than usual, but it feels so intimate and so quiet that his palms grow damp. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he waits for you to— say something, anything, tell him to take it off and go home or maybe stay, instead. The back of his neck feels itchy and he’s pretty sure you haven’t blinked yet.

“The, um. It looks…” you’re trailing off, again, but you’re also walking towards him until you’re so close he can hear your breathing even more distinctly than before, along with the rustling of your own clothes as you lift up a hand to play with the ornamented collar of his shirt. “The color is nice on you. It’s different from the other pieces I’ve made you try, right?”

Dan Heng only has enough strength to nod in response, the rest of his energy taken away by the feeling of your finger tips on the soft, pliant skin beneath his jaw. He’s sweating— so much, it must be gross, but he can see you chewing the inside of your cheek as you drag your fingers to the seam on the shoulder.

“I was thinking a sash around the waist, but I don’t think it suits this outfit. Maybe I can add something like that to the pieces from last week, though.” And you’re back to your usual self, much to his dismay. Your rambling is endearing and tender, but your previously weighted gaze has now lightened, focused on the waist of his pants and the hand-sewn hook-and-bar closure, and Dan Heng misses having it trained on him. You’ve never been this close, this warm, this focused on him in particular, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight the urge to take your hands between his own.

“Dan Heng,” you say his name, breaking him out of his anxious reverie with a quiet call. “You have a lot on your plate for this show. You have three outfit changes, which can be a lot, but I know you’re capable. Do you know you’re capable?”

He wants to say this is silly, that you’re the last person who should be telling anybody else that they have a lot on their plate, considering that you’re sewing more than a dozen garments all on your own, with no assistants besides your in-and-out mentors who rarely find time to help. He says none of that, though, because your gaze is trained on his again and he’s busy hoping you don’t notice all the little involuntary twitches in his face.

“Yeah, I’m— I know.”

You smile, again, something saccharine and addictive and he wants to chase it, over and over and over. “Good. You’re my favorite model, you know. It’s important that you’re ready.”

Dan Heng could say a million things. He could say this is unprofessional, or joke and say that he’s currently one of your only models, or tell you that he’s always ready as long as he’s wearing something put together by you and your hands alone. Instead, he nods like a fool, stumbling over a weak “okay” and trying to ignore the way his stomach twists when you laugh a little.

“I’ll be doing your makeup for the show, too. I hope you don’t mind that. I just wanted to do something specific for you,” and it’s hit after hit with you, and his throat squeezes again because you’re still smiling and talking all about him like he’s your prized gift, and he really really doesn’t hate it. “You trust me with an eyeliner pen, right?”

His mouth is dry, but he forces himself to joke back before you kick him out for being so awkward. “I trust you with a needle more than I trust you with a makeup brush.” And you laugh, and his stomach still hurts but the tightness of his mouth loosens up into a diffident smile. It’s just a joke, really, because he wouldn’t mind you handling a brush against his face, or the gentle press of your fingers on his cheeks and on top of his eyelids, or the awestruck look you give him every time he tries something on, or the weight of your hands on his shoulders when you drag him around your studio.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dan heng x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #i have been progressively going more and more over the 1k word limit i set for myself

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idontplaytrack · 27 days

Text

I Want Coffee

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut. fingering, toy use(both receiving), oral, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, light choking(reader receiving)

Based off of a post I saw(ctto)

It was Saturday morning, and last night Janis had already promised you she'd come over today. Seeing her response to your innocent text, you went along with it, quickly feeling the same way she did. Janis simply had that effect on you...that, and you two simply could not keep your hands of each other especially when you two were alone - Janis was big on the PDA as it was, she loved showing you off and making it clear that you belonged to her. Once, a freshman looked at you a second too long and she'd nearly swung on him. Damian was walking together with the two of you when that went down and while you were slightly terrified that she'd get herself in trouble, Damian was savouring every moment of it, seeing the sheer terror in the eyes of that boy.

Pacing the living room impatiently, you tossed your phone aside, right as you heard a string of knocks on your front door. Eagerly swinging the door open, you certainly weren't disappointed by the sight before your eyes. "Hi, pretty girl." Janis had the usual grin on her face as she stepped inside and kissed you, her arms draped around your neck.

"I brought you your favourite..."

"Girl? I know, you're here." You quipped, smiling into the kiss.

"Why, aren't you sweet?" You could barely hear Janis, seeing that you barely gave her the time to speak before connecting your lips with hers again. "You're eager today, huh." She chuckles, breaking away completely to put down the cup of coffee. Well, she first put it down on the dining table then decided that the fridge would be a better option for an iced coffee. She asks you to jump onto her and you did, your legs bracketing her waist as she headed for your bedroom straight away.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Janis saw the full length mirror by your bed and got an idea. Hurriedly stripping you from your clothes, you seemingly read her mind and did the same to her. "Sit down in front of the mirror." Janis instructed, being close behind you as you sat on the floor.

“I want you…to keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror.” Janis says, making herself comfortable behind you as you laid your back against her front. Her hand begins to softly knead your breast as her kisses peppered your jaw and neck- and you watched. You watched her every move on you through the mirror, catching a glimpse of the arousal becoming obvious in between your legs. You squirmed under her ministrations as she attacked all your sensitive spots, marking your soft, bare skin as you fought the constant urge to whimper and moan already. As if on reflex, your hand was making its way to your clit to give it some attention as the ache seemed to be screaming at you to give it some relief.

Janis chuckles, her warm breath fanning against your neck, her eyes flicked to the mirror to watch as you started to touch yourself. A quiet moan escapes your lips.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” She whispers into your ear and you yelped, as a chill ran down your spine. “Look at that pretty pussy of yours…glistening wet, so, so desperate for me…”

You could barely keep your eyes open, until you felt her hand smack your cunt, causing a sharp gasp to exit your mouth. “Look at it.” She demanded, removing your slick-covered hand from it and replacing it with her own. Janis’ index finger traces your clit teasingly as she watches your mouth hanging agape. Flicking the sensitive bundle or nerves, she victoriously elicits a high pitched whine from you.

“That’s so gorgeous, baby.” She continues whispering sweet nothings into your ear, “You’re so hot, and you’re mine.” Your breathing hitches when an ache as good as punches you on the clit, feeling more wetness form in your cunt.

“Isn’t that right…y/n? I’m the only one who gets to fuck that sweet pussy of yours.” She asks, her tone demanding a specific answer from you.

“I’m yours.” You said back. And when you did, Janis dips a finger into your cunt, curling it upwards to hit your g-spot. “Say that again. Say you’re mine.” Each time you said it, she pushes her finger into you, harder and harder, faster and faster.

“Don’t stop.” Janis licks the shell of your ear, her teeth lightly holding your earlobe between them, “I love hearing you moan for me, telling me you belong to me. One more for me, baby?” Her voice was now soft and gentle, the direct opposite of how it sounded in her previous requests.

“I’m yours, I’m yours.” You replied, she added a second finger, sliding it in with no trouble whatsoever. “Fuck.” You groaned, your head tilting back and resting on her shoulder. Your hips bucked upwards against your will and Janis held it back down with her free hand which travels down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze. “I’m yours, Janis.” You repeated, a smile forming on your face. Just what she wanted to see.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

She told you to turn around to face her, and you obliged, her gaze locked in with yours as she kisses you feverishly. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel that on your back, baby…” She smirks, tilting your chin to look down in between her legs. A double ended dildo was inside her, the other end empty, waiting for you.

“You must be so fucked out you couldn’t feel anything else but me, hm?” She cups your cheek, kissing you deeply as you felt your own slick on your jaw where she held your face. Her other hand was using the dildo to tease you, and you moan in anticipation, right into her ear. Her arm moves from your face to wrap around your back as she pushes the tip of the toy into your entrance. You groaned at the new feeling, your hand feeling the need to touch her, “I got you, baby.” She tries to stop you, but you insisted on reciprocating. Which she quickly welcomed.

As she began thrusting into you, your fingers rubbed her clit rhythmically, earning a sweet, sweet moan from her lips. At the same time, the wet squelching noise was like a reward already, making you more needy for stimulation from Janis. She kept going until she knew you were close enough. You sounded different, and smelt different to her. She knew exactly how it was. You saw in your reflection that your eyes had rolled back into your head in pleasure as she continually pounded into you. But it was the intimacy of it all making you the most giddy, tightly gripping onto her back for support, she keeps whispering that she’s got you into your ear.

“Oh my God.” You cried out, “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“I know you are, baby. Be patient, for me, okay?” She coaxed. Next, she pulls out from you fully, much to your dismay. “It’s okay, baby. It’ll just be a second.” Janis promises, knowing the emptiness you must be feeling. She swiftly picks you up off the floor and laid you down on your mattress. “Legs around my neck, y/n.” She ran her fingers on the bottom of your thighs as she raised your legs high enough so that she could have them where she wanted them. Janis shifted herself slightly so that your ankles were rested on her shoulders and her feet were slightly apart on the ground so she could steady herself.

“How can you be so beautiful?” She says to herself while admiring your blissed out face. Once again, you felt the toy make its return as it slides into you easily. You practically screamed, feeling how deeply it reached inside you in this position. And there Janis goes, bucking her hip to fuck you- and herself, again. Her face made you go crazy, and it being so close to your own made your heart feel like it would explode. The constant eye contact made you grow shy, so you were blushing. It made her smile and coo and you, but she started to pick up her pace even more to make you cry out for more. And when you did, she was a moaning mess as well. It spurred her on, and you alike. “Oh, that’s right, baby.” Janis chuckled lowly, “Let me keep hearing you.” Watching her tits move along with her actions was really a treat to your eyes, but it definitely made you whine and moan like a needy little girl underneath her. But of course, Janis was thrilled to hear you need her so badly. To hear you need her to make you come. To let you come.

This position instantly became your new favourite but you still needed more. Looking at your ankles, you closed them together behind her neck to provide yourself with more friction. Janis looked at you, impressed, going faster like she could read your mind and know just what you needed from her. Once she started to do that, it triggers an incessant, extremely high pitched string of moans- both profanities and her name. Even sounds you didn’t know where possible to be made. They all just resounded through the enclosed space on a loop, pulling the two of you closer to the edge than ever. Feeling your own clit throbbing and your walls clenching around the shaft, on top of the deafining sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, you knew your climax was not far. Janis began to seem shaky, so you knew she was about done too. You decidedly bucked your hip upwards, aiding in her climax. She pushes back into harshly to push you over the edge as well, her hand briefly grabbed the front of your neck making you lightheaded for a few seconds. You unraveled right as she did, but she carries on pounding into you, just to hear you moan, and force the tears brimming your eyes to fall. Janis panted as she does so, proudly watching your face. How she made you smile, leaning down to meet your lips, the toy stays stagnant in you for a while as the clenching died down. You whined at the fullness of it, now fully aware of how big it was. Janis raised a brow and slowly moved off you, the dildo exits you simultaneously. You gasped at the emptiness you feel, but you were watching Janis as she removes it from herself and how she was immediately joining you again in bed, wrapping her arms around you with your legs now tangled together.

“You took me so well, my love.” Her embrace around you tightens as your head rested on her chest, “So well.” Janis kisses the crown of your head then stroked your cheek with her thumb, wiping a stray tear away. Strangely, your immediate reaction was to cry but that didn’t freak her out. Even when you actually did end up crying, she just held you in her arms until you stopped. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” She asks, voice laced with concern. “No, I just- I don’t know why I’m doing this.” You assured.

She nodded, rubbing your back, “I love you. So very much.” A smile creeps onto your face as you shifted slightly in order to kiss her in return.

“When do you want that coffee?” She asks cheekily, making you giggle. Janis grins, licking her lips as she peppered your face with soft, loving kisses.

“Maybe later.” Your nose scrunches, “You kinda wore me out there, Jan.”

“Oh, did I?” Janis asks knowingly, her eyebrow raised.

“You know you did.” Snuggling up against her, your eyes fluttered shut and you fell asleep feeling her caress your back along with the sound of her heartbeat.

#auli’i cravalho #lgbtqia #queer #lesbian #wlw #wlw fanfic #smut #mean girls 2024 #janis ‘imi’ike #soft sex

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unholyhelbig · 2 months

Text

Crescent 10/12 | Natasha Romanoff x Moonknight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina’s disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: This is 18+, if you are a minor I will block you. Fingering (r reciving), pet names, orgasm control, scars, mentions of pregnancy (Not what you think), suicidal idealations (in a martyr way), Car crashes, mentions of the afterlife, Dom/sub dynamic, horrible grammar

Masterlist | Request a Prompt | Join my Taglist

“God, I need a shower” the words escaped Natahsa’s lips when the door to the hotel closed behind you. It was air conditioned in here, drying the sweat to your skin and making it feel tight, nearly unbearable. For just a moment, you missed the sandy dry heat that Cairo had to offer.

The ex-Avenger in front of you pushed the doors to the balcony open despite her words. There was a soft breeze that blew back the sheer curtains. They moved like phantoms, caressing her arms and her shoulders when she turned to you.

A toxic orange light caught the heat of the day as the sun began to lower behind the horizon. It illuminated her. Natasha’s silhouette reminded you of a statue that Dina had taken you to see when you were young; located in the Louvre. The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

White Parian marble expertly carved in the beautiful shape of a woman draped in cloth. Often, her form was compared to an angel. As angelic as the Greeks could form without a biblical translation. Wings stretched behind her, upturned to the sky. Her hand reached forward, stoney fingers grasping for something- touch, perhaps. The comfort of companionship.

Natasha reached her hand out to you now, and how could you possibly deny her? She blinked at you with deep emerald eyes that were so alive compared to the art, the statues and artifacts, that you surrounded yourself with. There was no death in her gaze, no thrumming orders from an ancient god that meant you no good will.

“Come here,” Natasha purred.

You did what you were best known for and obeyed. One hand snaked around your waist, the other splayed against your shoulder. Her forehead pressed close to yours. You breathed in Natasha Romanoff like she was the only fresh air in the pristine hotel room. Her lavender scent was so strong and grounding. You wanted to savor it.

“You can join me, if you’d like.”

“Hmm,” You hummed, feeling your brow furrow. You were much too deep in her subtle touches to register what she had said. Not for a few moments. Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back enough to view her amused expression. “In the shower?”

She chuckled “Yes, in the shower y/n. If you want to, that is. We can take turns.”

“We should really conserve water. I’m pretty sure there’s a drought.”

Natasha made a soft noise in the back of her throat. Her smile gave her away, and so did her manicured fingers dragging down your arms. She stopped at your hand and pulled you along with her.

You recalled the first moment you met Natasha. It was in the bathroom of the apartment building your aunt called home. There was such a deep-seeded embarrassment that plagued you when the gorgeous woman caught you using hand soap to wipe away the musk of the journey there.

The two of you had seen each other, sure, but there was something intimate about what she was implying. Natasha had walked in on you changing your shirt a few weeks back. She’d seen the scars that pockmarked your skin, had averted her eyes out of respect. There was a silent agreement as she flicked on the water, that neither of you would turn away.

A slick type of heat filled the room and the sound of falling water eased your nerves. Natasha nodded so slightly, but you were close enough to see it. It was nearly laughable, how nervous you both were. There was an electric feeling that was building up in your chest. It felt like camp, almost, lifting your shirts in the darkness of a fire just to say that you did.

Your skin prickled when you did finally lift your shirt. Any trepidation you felt washed away when Natasha did the same. Of course, you knew she was going to be fit. She’s a secret agent, an Avenger, and before that… before that her muscles must have been carved from the same white Parian marble of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

Her back was marred with scars that cut deeper than any chisel could. You watched her in the mirror, the way her shoulders tensed and then untensed when she settled. She was the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen.

Your breath caught when her fingers, cold compared to the rest of the room, found the discoloration on your shoulder. A bra strap cut through the middle of the burning mark. She diligently pushed it aside and brushed her thumb over the raised skin.

The mirror had fogged up, so you directed your attention to her eyes. She was frowning at the mark, moving her hand to cup your cheek. You took a step closer, hooking your fingers around the loops of her jeans to pull her flush against you.

Natasha’s fingers moved to the brass button of your pants, unhooking it with a practice ease that made you giggle against the small of her neck. You could feel her smile widen when your fingers found the latch of her black lace bra. You wanted to get your hands on her, get as close to her as possible.

When you kissed the side of her neck she sighed and pushed her head back, giving you full access to the curves and dips of skin. A small whimper escaped her when you pulled away, letting the strip of fabric fall between you. Natasha panted, her chest pushing out. You wanted so badly to palm her.

“No touching, malen'kaya luna.” she demanded in a low growl, instead, flicking her eyes to your own chest.

She was really going to make you do this yourself? The deadpan look she gave you was all the answer you needed. You had never moved with so much fervor before, stretching unnaturally until you found what you were looking for. When the bra fell between you both, exposing your top-half to the Black Widow. You beamed at her proudly.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

It was like a game of strip poker at this point; she removed her pants, you painstakingly focused on your socks, much to her dismay. Eventually the two of you were naked in front of one another, taking in the soft curves of your bodies, the softness of her skin, the constellations of freckles.

Natasha reached her hand out to you and led you into the shower, your breath mingling with the steam. The water burned for just a moment, eliciting a sharp gasp until you felt Natasha’s hands soothe over the warmth.

She closed the distance between the two of you once more, her tongue sliding against your lips, begging for entry that you folded into without problem. Her hands found your breasts and squeezed. You mewled into her mouth at the sensation, craving the way she swallowed the sound. You were determined to make her feel the same.

“We’re alone, right?”

Her words were a distant growl, nearly drowned by the flow of water. You went to nod, to respond to her, when her lips attached to the pulse point on your neck, she cupped your center in one fluid motion, applying pressure but not giving into your silent demands.

An unholy noise escaped you at the sensation and you tried to ignore how attractive the knowing smirk against your skin was. Part of you wanted to fight that sensation, and the other part- well, the other part wanted to crumble beneath her.

One salacious finger traced across your folds, brushing your clit and you swallowed back a shiver. Your nails dug into the smooth skin of her back, head dropping to her shoulder. “Natasha,”

“You’re so wet for me.”

“We’re in the shower,” You gritted out.

She gave you a playful frown “Well, in that case, I can just-“

Natasha attempted to move her hand, but you grasped at her wrist desperately, holding her in place. Her pupils were blown out, stealing the green from her stare. A hungry breath escaped her lips and fanned your collarbone.

“If you’re going to be that needy, darling, I’ll need you to beg for it.”

Beg for it? Ha! Beg for it. It had been two years since you’d been touched by anyone other than a magic wand that was tired from use. There was always a small piece of you that was afraid of Konshu’s lurid interruption; but even he respected your boundaries.

You weren’t one to beg, not really. Anything that you could do with another person, you could do with your own fingers. Though, with Natasha’s hand cupping your cunt, her other one raking perfectly manicured nails across water-worn skin, you would resign yourself to begging. Hell; you get on your knees and worship this woman if you had the chance.

Her eyes gave her away, that animalistic lust flashing like canine teeth dripping with saliva. The Black Widow was nothing, if not patient. She’d wait for you to decide despite knowing exactly the choice you had made.

“Natty,” you nearly whined, blushing at how desperate your voice had become. “Can you please fuck me. I want to come on your fingers.”

“All you had to do was ask,”

The words were whispered in her husky voice that drove you wild, yet, she only gave you a small moment to let her words wash over you before she inserted her finger inside of you. A moan moved past your throat at the sudden intrusion. Natasha’s lips were on yours, swallowing the sound.

“More,”

“More? Wow, you really are desperate. How long has it been, detka?”

Her question was punctuated by another finger. They curled into you, pumping in and out of your pussy with a stamina that could only accompany an ex-avenger. She was an expert at this, her touch reaching further than your own awkward efforts under the alien light of a perfume billboard.

“Nat, I’m going to…”

You gasped against her, nails digging into her back, tracing the curved line of her spine. You couldn’t possibly get any closer to her, your breasts pushed flush to her own. She groaned at the sensation and the sound alone made you want to lose control.

“Go ahead, darling. Come for me.”

Natasha’s words were enough to let you give into the building sensation in the center of your stomach. You let out a cry as you tightened around her fingers, riding them greedily through your orgasm. She continued to work them inside of you, nursing you down from the high. You were shaking against her. How could you ever think a vibrator was enough?

She pulled her fingers from your cunt and brought them to her lips, sucking your wetness from them with a satisfied moan. The sight alone was enough to have you craving more. But you had manners, you’d been nothing, if not loyal.

It was your turn to satisfy her.

Sleep refused to fall over you despite the nights various activities. Natasha was tangled against you, having drifted into unconsciousness. You’d both been worn out from travel- from staying under the steam of the shower for much too long, and then continuing to taste her when the two of you vowed to get some rest.

Natasha’s arm was around your midsection, her nose pushed against her side of your neck. Your legs were tangled. You held her closer than you had ever held anyone before. The last thing you wanted to do was let her go. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

The occasional car horn drifted up from the city of Cairo below. The stars that lined the velvet sky bled so easily into the man-made boroughs below. Past the outer-limits was a vast desert that called to you, almost dreamlike. You longed to feel the warmth of the sand, smell the crispness of land without civilization.

Natasha drew in a sharp breath and you froze, her muscles tightened for just a moment in her slumber. She finally relaxed and tightened her grip against the smooth skin of your stomach. You stared at her with so much love and admiration in your eyes, reflecting the twinkling lights from the city.

If you were to die now, or tomorrow, while you fumbled your way through the Valley of Kings under Khonsu’s control, you figured you would be content. Just being able to know Natasha Romanoff like this, to lay with her like this, would be enough. Even if it were just for a fleeting moment.

You asked me if I have ever been infatuated with anyone before.

Khonsu had taken a moment of warm Egypt wind to materialize within the whisps of white curtains. You drew in your own breath, but relaxed. Intrusions such as this were expected, but much less welcome when you were only scarcely covered by a top sheet. You rushed to pull the fabric over your chest, cheeks enflamed.

He’d never shared much with you, if anything at all. If there was more than empty sockets where his eyes used to be, you would be able to see his vulnerability. Instead, you gave him a small nod, as if not trying to scare him away.

There was a woman once. Ruia. Her son was a high priest of an outlying village, a benevolent ruler that welcomed the Gods with open arms. Back then it was normal for us to show ourselves. There was no need for an avatar.

You’d heard of this from Layla. Her God was much more forthcoming with her history. She was much more forthcoming with every piece of information. Khonsu pulled away from the swaying curtains, pacing with nervousness at the foot of the bed. His staff was gripped in his wrapped hand.

Ruia and I fell in love quickly, and passionately He lilted his head, as if eluding to the woman wrapped around you at this very moment, her soft form, her rhythmic breathing. We lived in absolute bliss for fifty years.

“What happened?” You whispered.

I am a God that can manipulate time, but I cannot stop it. Slowing it down is one thing, but Ruia… Ruia loved me with everything she had. I could spend forever with her, I wanted to spend forever with her. But she wasn’t interested in infinite life. She wanted finality. She wants me to join her when I am ready.

There wasn’t a bitterness in Khonsu’s voice, there was just resignation. He looked down at the carpet, at the moon that hung like a broken fishbone in the sky. Then back at you with a sadness that was written all over his skin-stripped features.

“Are you ready?”

His height shrunk when he knelt at the bottom of the bed, still towering over the two of you. His shadow was stretched over the sheets, over your body. The half-moon of his staff hung like a blade over your head. Natasha did not stir.

Are you?

The Valley of Kings was a tomb. The answer had been right in front of you, carved into the gold finish of Lady Madja’s coffin. You’d been so focused on the map that you hadn’t thought of what it would lead you to. That seemed so trivial compared to the current cat and mouse game that you were playing with your aunt.

A cool breeze wafted from the Nile, it’s water was a different, vibrant type of blue that New York could never produce. Boats drifted against the current, their captains like ants among a hill. It was easier to focus on them, on the sunrise, than the looming trip ahead of you.

After Khonsu had left last night, you hadn’t gone back to sleep. You’d tightened your grip on Natasha and placed a soft kiss against her temple. She’d still been asleep when you’d gotten a message from Layla, asking to meet her. She promised coffee and Feteer Meshaltet from her favorite spot.

Though, you didn’t have much of an appetite, you accepted the baked pastry regardless, taking small nibbles as the two of you walked along the length of grass that bordered the Nile. Layla watched you as you watched the water. Neither of you said anything for a long time.

“I’ve gotten work from Mark that Dina and Chip left on a flight a few hours after yours. They should be landing by nightfall.”

When that didn’t draw an answer from you, Layla stopped and waved her ring-clad hand in front of your face. You blinked a few times at her, then frowned down at your barely-touched breakfast. You were brought back to yourself and hated the pit that formed in your stomach.

“You with me Moon Bitch?”

“Moon Bitch?”

“You’re the avatar for a Moon deity and you’re kind of a bitch. Especially under his hand.”

Yeah, you supposed you were kind of a bitch these last two years. It seemed stupid now, drawing away from your family, from your friends, from your emotions, just because a pile of celestial bones had ordered you to. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except for Natasha.

“Do you ever think about what happens when you die?” You asked, passing her your unfinished pastry. She fisted the white and red wax paper and lilted her head to the side, much like your master had the night before.

“We both have died.”

“Do you remember it?”

Layla clenched and unclenched her jaw before she frowned at the food and dropped it into the waste bin that lingered on the edges of a patch of green. Neither of you had much of an appetite. Food wasn’t something you thought about in the face of your ultimate demise.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, “I remember the snowstorm that night, how cold it was. It was barely visible but we’d gotten a call, you know? A woman was in labor and we were the only truck on service.”

You wanted to put your hand on your own and tell her stop but something held you back. She’d never been willing to share this with you before. You’d seen Taweret hit her with a warning stare when she’d been taunted mercilessly by the avatar of Mandulis. They’d always taken the high road.

Khonsu had found great amusement in the teasing. You had to swallow the lump in your throat and stand by his throne, staring down at the way the torches within the white sandstone flickered. There was a deep resentment towards yourself that day, how you’d abandoned her in that moment. If not for Khonsu’s bony hand engulfing your shoulder, you would have pushed forward.

Layla took a deep breath “The ambulance hit some black ice and spun out of control. Through a guardrail. I’d been flung from the vehicle and into a snowbank. I could see the highway above me, the headlights of a passerby who stopped to help. He saw me first and rushed to help, but I told him about the pregnant woman who was still in the back of the ambulance. I told him to go to her, and he listened.

“I fell asleep in the snow and when I woke up, I was in this stretching field of reeds. It was the warmest I had ever felt, it radiated from my core and all of that fear- all of that pain from the crash, had vanished just as quickly as it had come.”

It wasn’t like that for you, but you weren’t about to tell Layla that. She shrugged dismissively and started her slow stroll once more. You took a few moments before following her, shoulders drooping. Of course it was different for her, warmer, softer, acceptable.

“That’s when Taweret found me and offered me a second chance at life. It was almost… hard to leave that field, to enter the harshness of the world again, but I’m glad that I did.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Mm,” She hummed, frowning at you “Is there something you’re not telling me. Considering we’re having a group share.”

Was there? While Khonsu had implied that this was a suicide mission for him, he hadn’t said it outwardly. Through the course of your toxic relationship, you learned to read him. Despite trying to play it cool, he had the subtlety of a cinderblock.

“Did you know Khonsu had a wife?” You asked her another question, not ready to ponder the answer to her own.

Layla shook her head, using the back of her hand to wipe the sticky sweat from her forehead.

“He came to me last night after Natasha and I spent some time together. I think we remind him of what he used to have with Ruia. It was like he made his choice. Like he was done.”

She stopped and turned with a ferocity that was enough to snap her neck. There was confusion and then anger on her face. Layla wasn’t daft, she knew exactly what you were alluding to. There were Gods that had grown tired of their immortality before. The prospect of watching the world around you die had them craving the ever-falling sands. The deity equivalent to ending it all.

“No.” She closed the distance between the two of you “He can’t just let you die!”

You shushed her when a group of mothers walking their children around in strollers shot them wary looks. They were sidestepped and your voice found an even and soft tone. “Khonsu is the one keeping me alive, of course he can. Either way, I’m not meant to get the happy ending.”

Layla looked at you sadly, the tension in her body stifled with sudden realization. There was an odd type of peace that fell over her features, the same resignation that you felt last night. If you refused to take him to the Valley of Kings, then he’d sever the link right there and you wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Natasha the way that you wanted.

But, if you led him there, if you took him through the cold walls and the quiet crypts, he’d give you some form of mercy for your service these past two and a half years. That mercy would be in the form of one last moment with the woman that had crashed into your life unceremoniously.

“I’ve been labeled as a mistake. A worm, and I finally found the one person who never questioned my potential.” You grasped both of her hands, sadly running your thumbs over her bruised knuckles. “I’m not meant to stop Khonsu, I’m meant to lead him to his love.”

“And what about yours?”

“She’ll be okay.” You gave her palms a squeeze. “You’ll make sure of it.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Moonknight #Moonknight reader #Marvel #Marvel fanfiction #layla el faouly #I don't know anything about egypt lol #I'm doing my best I promise

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californiaboytoybilly · 6 months

Text

Eye Candy pt 2

My apologies that this took so long. I’ve been having a hectic few weeks. Part three will come faster!

Steve had no idea how to feel the moment his eyes locked on the man who’d spoken.

On one hand, he felt distinctly caught. Something like embarrassment crawled up the back of his neck, hot and twitchy, motivating his feet to take off in a run. Robin would probably kill him if he did, however.

But he was also warm for an entirely different reason.

Because holy fuck, this just might be the single most attractive man he’d ever seen and every single one of his nerves was firing sporadically.

They were about the same height, but that’s where the similarities ended. The man had soft looking blond curls pulled back from the sides of his face with sleek silver clips. A single, perfect ringlet dangled over his forehead artfully.

His eyes- a startling blue even in the dim light- were rimmed with smoked out eyeliner, sparkling with amusement as Steve’s silence stretched on. Golden skin was showcased by a silky ruby toned shirt only half done up, tucked into a leather corset style belt with hand etched designs so intricate Steve would bet it cost more than two months of his rent.

“I… I uh-“ Steve stuttered over his attempt to answer, cheeks flooding red. The pretty man ran his tongue over a pointed canine as he waited.

“We must’ve gotten the wrong address.” Robin interrupted when she realized Steve’s brain was fully broken.

More of those pearly teeth flashed at them with the answer. “Ah, of course.” He didn’t believe them at all, the dimple in his cheek twitching with the effort not to laugh. Robin grabbed Steve by the wrist, yanking him towards her and the door none too subtly.

“Sorry, we’ll be- uh, on our way!” She gave the guy a tight smile, tugging at Steve again. Giving in, the brunette man started to follow her towards the door, only to be stopped by a larger hand clasping around his opposite wrist.

Steve’s eyes shot up and back to lock with an intense blue gaze. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come in, I promise I don’t bite.”

*Unless you ask nicely*, Steve could’ve sworn he heard exhaled afterwards.

He should’ve said no, apologized and left probably. They didn’t know this guy and this had already been an embarrassing start. But Steve really was a sucker for pretty boys.

“Uh-uhm, yeah. Okay. Why not?” His voice was a little strained and he tried to ignore the stunned look Robin shot him. He was gonna get an earful for this later, that was clear.

“Perfect…” The man smiled more genuinely, letting go of his wrist. Steve tried not to mourn the loss. “You can call me Billy, by the way.”

Billy. Steve rolled the name around in his mouth and decided he liked it. He would’ve expected the fallen angel currently guiding them through the other guests to have a name as elegant as his clothes but for some reason the commonality of it almost stood out more.

It suited him.

“Steve. And that is Robin.” He replied with a tongue that felt too big for his mouth, trying not to drool. The entire back of Billy’s shirt was taken up by a sheer panel that showed each fluid shift of his back muscles as he walked.

Steve wanted to bite them.

He was shaken out of his trance when they arrived to a smaller living room than the one at the front, where only a small handful of guests lingered. Five or six people besides them, max. A guard stood at the entrance, but paid Steve and Robin no mind as they trailed in at Billy’s heels.

He led them to a couch, where only one other person was sitting. A lithe, wisp of a girl in a lilac satin cocktail dress, a silver chain belt draped over her hips and wild brown curls she’d hauled up into a bun. She was almost as captivating as the blond, with pointed, lovely features that reminded him of a little of the elves in Dustin’s movies.

Her eyes brightened as they landed on Billy, then turned sly as she moved to their guests. “Ooh, where’d you find these ones?” She all but purred, getting to her feet with feline grace. Steve didn’t have to feel guilty about his mind’s preoccupation with Billy, though.

Most of her attention seemed locked on Robin, who was currently wide eyed like a deer in traffic.

“They ah… got a little lost. Figured I’d be a good host and let them stay.” Billy sounded amused repeating their bad excuse, which made Steve bite down a little harder on his lip.

“I’m not complaining. Have a seat.” She said, taking a step back and lowering herself onto the black couch once again. “Heather.” She held out a hand towards Robin, who took it expecting a shake.

“Nice to meet you. I’m um- uh…“ Steve almost wanted to laugh at how flustered the girl was, but he was self aware he’d been even worse than her before. He wasn’t going to invite her to call him out.

“Robin?” She finally managed, though it sounded a little like a question. Heather let out a pleasant peal of soft laughter. “You’re an awfully cute one.” She said like a fact, Robin’s freckles officially vanishing as her blush darkened impossibly more.

Oh god, what had they gotten themselves into?

#Eye Candy Ficlet #model!billy #model!heather #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #heather holloway #robin buckley #buckleway #billy antis dni #part three coming when my brain likes me #🌌 — w r i t i n g

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void-writing · 3 months

Text

"Leaving so soon...?"

"Queen of the Mountain" Chapter 8

My interpretation of what it looked like for Shanzha--queen of our hearts, though not the mountain--hunted down a yellow-bellied chicken for sport :)

@centuryberry

(a few little details:

The design I made for Shanzha's fancy fit includes a pink sheer sash that's draped over her arms. Here, she's used it to tie back the long sleeves of her outfit so they didn't get in the way of her draw :) I took archery classes when I was younger, and one of the principles they drilled into us was that if you have long hair, you either tie it back or resign yourself to the likelihood of getting a chunk of your hair yanked out by the bowstring. I figured this principle would also apply to fancy clothes with elegant, flowing sleeves (Shanzha's hair is pulled back enough that she decided it was worth the risk to take the singular shot she needed without binding it further).

You can't really see it, sadly, but on the little seals at the ends of Shanzha's bow, I wrote out the (simplified) Chinese character for "ice". It's a small detail that sadly didn't render well, but it's there.

The flowers in Shanzha's hair are hellebore (the pink one on the viewer's right)--representing peace, serenity, and tranquility, though also anxiety, stress and scandal, which I think encapsulates Shanzha's otome game route AND her present life pretty well--and glory of the snow (the two blue ones on the viewer's left)--meaning hop, renewal, and resilience in the face of adversity, which I think also fits Shanzha's character pretty well, with the added bonus of it being a winter flower as a nod to the frigid climate she lived in before.

She also has archery bracers on her arms! For that detail, I also was calling upon my experience in archery class with this because these guards are meant to protect the archer's forearm from getting smacked by the bowstring. I had put one on Shanzha's left arm because it was more central and easier to see before tricking myself into thinking it wouldn't make sense for her to have an arm guard on the arm holding the bow (which was a whoops on my part because that's where you're supposed to put it. I guess I was mixing it up with the finger guard tab that you have on your draw hand) and so Shanzha has one on both.

This has the fun implication that Shanzha is an ambidextrous archer (say that five times fast), meaning she can draw on either side (another fun archery fact is that the arm you hold the bow with is determined by what your dominant hand and eye is. In my case, it was my left eye, so despite me being right handed, I used a left-handed bow. However, it's possible to use any bow, especially if it doesn't have an arrow shelf--the little hook an arrow can rest in as you line up your shot, which is frequently what determines if a bow is right or left handed (the arrow shelf being on the opposite side of what the name would imply, meaning a left-handed bow is held in your left and drawn with your right and vise-versa). Shanzha's doesn't, so it's an ambidextrous bow! It just happens that in the case of this image, she's firing left-handed because her quiver--and thus her draw hand--is on her right.

Art process notes:

I ended up only using like...2/3 of the canvas lol and didn't realize until I had already done up my line art. So that's why there's a big empty blue space in the bottom 1/3.

Rim lighting, my beloved.

I used two of the color palettes from @fantasy-angelo 's Yue reference in coloring Shanzha (Dreamscape and Heather House). I mostly tried to stick with a cooler color palette which I think helped make those gold accents pop.

I did a little concept sketch on a sticky note before actually buckling down to do it, but when I started with the line art, I decided to push the perspective and line of action more, which led to the wonderful little detail of Shanzha having her foot planted on Peng's back and her resting her right hand on her quiver.

(The sketch in question)

I kind of phoned it in a little with the ice and the metal armor highlights and used an airbrush to give it the glow effect, but I'm actually really happy with how it turned out regardless! Work smarter not harder lmao.

The waterfall behind Shanzha (aka, the entrance to Water Curtain Cave) was done with a watercolor brush. This was actually my first time painting a waterfall and I'm very pleased with how it looks! The foam at the base of the waterfall was, once again, an air brush (specifically a droplet one, which gave it that nice splattery particle effect). I liked how the waterfall looked spilling over the boarders, so I didn't erase it :3

And now, I leave you with a meme:

(I was originally going to have her hold her bow, but I didn't like how it looked so I changed it to the big ass knife Shanzha cut the lion's head meatball with)

#screaming from the void #my art #queen of the mountain #lego monkie kid #that ice took for fucking EVER but im pretty happy with it :)#i tried a lot of new things in this so im proud of myself

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foundress0fnothing · 10 months

Text

Summary: Elain runs a sex cult. She’s looking for something new. Lucien is new.

~5.3k words, rated E (explicit)

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

This is just PWP, so be warned (and enjoy)!

Written for @elucienweekofficial Day 7: AU.

Title from “Project for a Fainting” by Brenda Shaughnessy (I’m currently obsessed with this poem and it’s a banger and you should definitely read it).

Lucien POV

“What the fuck kind of bar is this?”

Lucien stared incredulously at the scene unfolding before his eyes. The room itself—what he could see of it, anyway—was innocuous enough. It looked the part of an upscale bar: dark wood furniture and walls painted a blue so deep they were almost black, softened by warm light spilling from lamps scattered throughout and low, plush couches in jewel tones that lined the outer perimeter of the room. There was greenery everywhere—ivy climbing the walls, monsteras arching out of pots in the corners of the room, philodendrons dripping off of the bar that was tucked into the back corner of the room. Music, something pulsing and rhythmic, played in the background, not quite loud enough to distinguish words or melody.

And the scent of the space—a heady mix of jasmine and honey that Lucien could feel twist around him as he stood on the threshold, inviting him to step inside, to linger, to lose himself in the promise of the evening.

But he resisted that pull, tempting as it was, instead standing frozen at the sight of the bar’s clientele. They gathered in groups of two or three or four, most draped intimately across each other, touching and fondling and teasing their partners, not caring who might see in the public space. They were all in various states of undress as well, some wearing regular street clothes that were haphazardly hanging off their bodies after one of their partners’ ministrations, some wearing what Lucien could only imagine was niche fetish wear.

Tearing his gaze away from what he was pretty sure was seconds from descending into a full orgy, he turned to look at Vassa and Jurian who stood a few paces behind him, “I’ll ask again,” he said, flicking his eyes between the two of them. Only Vassa had the grace to look slightly apologetic. “What the fuck kind of bar is this?”

“Their drinks are really good,” Vassa started, but Lucien cut her off.

“That’s not what I asked, Vas.”

“It’s what got Jurian in the door at least.”

Jurian offered a lazy grin. “And who wouldn’t want to stay for the rest?”

Lucien glared at him.

“And we figured,” Vassa continued, drawing his attention back to her, “that after Jes and everything, it might be good. For you.”

“It might be good for me?” Lucien raised an eyebrow skeptically, even if, on some level, he could see the appeal of a night of debauchery, of throwing himself into the throng of bodies and free-flowing booze. And it’s not like Vassa was wrong about Jes. Lucien had been ready to propose, had even picked out a ring, until she unceremoniously dumped him a month ago, deciding that she was looking for something different, something—how had she said it?—“more interesting.”

And he had been wallowing in that loss ever since. He didn’t go out anymore, didn’t reach out to friends, instead moving between work and his apartment and ghosting anyone who tried reaching out. For good reason apparently, he thought to himself, daring another glance into the room where he saw a short woman wearing only a bustier and sheer tights plant herself in the lap of a man wearing an identical outfit.

Vassa clarified, drawing his attention away from his efforts to make sense of the dynamics of that relationship. “You know—to meet someone new.”

“And,” Jurian added, “you’ve fucking sucked this last month. So. This is for us too.”

Lucien flipped him off. “Thanks, asshole.” He paused. “Look, guys, I appreciate what you’re trying to do—”

“Good.” Vassa grinned devilishly. “So stay.”

“But.” He gestured vaguely into the room, trying not to let his gaze linger for too long on any single thing. People notwithstanding, the room itself seemed determined to draw him in, the light and the music and the perfume and the heat all conspiring to make him take that first step over the threshold and find something—someone.

He shook it off. “I don’t think your little…club, or bar, or whatever it is, is really gonna fix the Jes thing.”

“It’s not just a club though,” Vassa argued.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“It’s—oh, what’d they say our first day here, Jurian? When we joined? ‘A place to get in touch with both the mental and physical self, and to meet others on similar journeys of self-discovery.’ She parroted the phrase, and Jurian nodded.

Lucien looked at them incredulously, waiting for one of them to burst out laughing, to tell him it was all a prank and that they put out some sketchy ad on Craigslist to cheer him up. When neither did, he clarified. “So…it’s a cult.”

“Cult is such a strong word, Lucien,” Vassa said with a frown.

“Yeah, but is it the right word though?” Not a prank then, he thought to himself, bewildered by the fact that his friends were apparently participating members. In a cult. In this cult.

“Lighten up, Lucien,” Jurian said, rolling his eyes. “Get a drink. See if anybody catches your eye.”

Lucien laughed in disbelief. “I’m not about to join your sex cult, assholes.”

Both of them ignored his protestations, giving him a slight shove and pushing him further into the room. He could feel its pull even more strongly now, teasing and promising, and wondered for a moment how bad it could be if he just spent one night here.

“No one’s going to make you join, Lucien. It’s not that kind of group.” Vassa smiled over his shoulder at someone she recognized, holding up a finger to let whoever it was know that she was on her way over.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, super glad you didn’t bring me to the join-or-die kind of sex cult.”

“Besides,” she continued. “The head gets to make the final call about members anyway.”

“The head?” He repeated. “Sorry—are you telling me there’s an application for the sex cult?”

Vassa winked at him. “It’s a very thorough review.”

Lucien snorted, imagining it must be. He looked around the room again, trying to guess who the head of a group like this might be. Not that he was about to join. But, as he ran his eyes over the people in the room, no one stood out to him as an obvious leader—they all touched and groped and moved between each other with apparently little regard for hierarchies or rules.

Vassa put a hand on his arm. “Stay for a drink at least. They are actually really good.” With that, she released Lucien and grabbed Jurian’s hand, pulling him into the room and aiming for a hideous pink couch where a beautiful woman with long black hair sat waiting for them.

Not wanting to linger awkwardly at the front of the room, Lucien began moving toward the bar, letting the atmosphere envelop him and guide him through whatever this night was about to be.

Everything felt more somehow, as if each step forward was turning a dial up tick by tick. The lights were warmer, the music more thrilling, the perfume more heady—and Lucien took it all in, giving himself over, at least slightly, to the magic of the room and the eroticism it promised.

He had done this—well, something like it—before Jes. He could do it again. And a drink would help.

“What’ll it be, handsome?”

Lucien glanced up at the voice coming from behind the bar, honey-smooth and sweet, only to lose himself in the beauty of the woman to whom it belonged. She had wide brown eyes the color of chestnuts and golden brown hair that framed her face with soft waves that stretched halfway down her back. And her dress—Lucien felt his mouth gape slightly as he took in the tight green satin bodice lined with lace that softened into something more loosely flowing as it hit her hips.

She was easily the most stunning woman Lucien had ever seen, and he felt any lingering irritation with Vassa and Jurian bleed away.

“So—are you going to order something?” The woman was still smiling up at him, although something mischievous danced in her eyes, clearly pleased by his reaction.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the menu written in neat script behind the bar and willing himself to focus on anything but the sensual curve of her lips. Each drink was artisanal, the ingredient lists long and propriety and brimming with herbs and berries in addition to the liquor. One glance at the bottles lining the wall told him that his usual bar drinks—an old fashioned or a scotch and soda—would be out of place here, would mark him even more as an outsider to the little world of this bar that he was increasingly interested in the longer he spent in the presence of the pretty bartender.

“I’ll have a Like the Fox.” It was gin and orgeat and falernum, tempered with berries and lime and bitters—and hopefully a suitably impressive order.

The bartender beamed up at him. “That’s what I would have chosen for you too.” She started to gather bottles in front of her.

“But,” Lucien said, leaning slightly over the bar. “I’ll only have it on one condition.”

She huffed a laugh. “And what’s that?”

Giving her what Vassa and Jurian called his ‘panty-dropping grin,’ he said, “If you have a drink with me.”

She held his gaze for a moment and then deliberately began looking him over, taking in every detail from the bright red hair he had gathered in a loose bun to the scar bisecting his eye from a failed biking stunt as a kid to the way his wine-red dress shirt hugged his chest. And then her gaze moved lower. He stood still, not wanting to fidget under her scrutiny. Everywhere her eyes landed burned, and Lucien found himself basking in that burn, the painful pleasure of it like midday August sunlight—longed for and too much and slightly sweet, all at once.

He watched as the bartender flicked her eyes back to his from where they had been lingering on the long line of his legs as if she could somehow see what was hidden underneath the gray slacks. He almost hoped she could.

And then she winked, grabbing a rocks glass and placing it alongside the coupe for his drink.

Lucien grinned, pleased that she was willing to play along. “And what is my drinking companion’s drink of choice?”

Reaching for its ingredients—whiskey, berries, honey, sage—she grinned right back. “Resist the Temptation.”

Elain POV

Elain had seen him the moment he stood on her doorway with Vassa and Jurian. Lucien Vanserra, Vassa had told her: tall, with rich brown skin and vibrant red hair and a scar across his left eye. He was dressed well, his clothes expensive and tailored to fit his broad frame, and he held himself with an ease that belied how uncomfortable he must have been at his first sight of her club.

She could kiss Vassa—and maybe she would later—for bringing him. Late one evening last weekend, spent and sweaty and draped over the pink couch that Vassa and Jurian seemed inordinately fond of, Elain lamented how bored she was, how familiar everyone and everything was, how she wanted something new.

And Vassa had smiled as she ran her fingers idly through Elain’s hair, a fire lighting in her eyes when she promised that she had the perfect something new in mind.

Looking up at Lucien now as she mixed their drinks, Elain suspected that Vassa had been right.

Not wanting the silence to stretch too long between them, she said, “I should have made you guess my drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” “Yes,” she said, humming slightly. “I would have found it terribly impressive.” Elain tossed her hair primly over her shoulder, smiling to herself as she watched how Lucien’s eyes glazed over slightly as they tracked the movement of the honey brown waves. “You’ll just have to find another way to impress me then, Fox,” she said, placing his drink down in front of him.

Blinking rapidly as he came back to himself, he picked up the glass and hit her again with one of the rakish smiles that she imagined got him anything he wanted. “And why do I get the sense you’re not easily impressed?”

He was right. She had been easily impressed once, had almost married a man straight out of college who listened to alt-right podcasts in his parents’ basement and refused to get a job, all because he had a sweet smile and told her he loved her. But he didn’t like that she didn’t want kids right away, that she wanted to travel first or open her own business, and he dumped her, expecting her to come crawling back. She didn’t.

No—instead, Elain mourned the loss of the relationship for exactly twenty-four hours before packing up and setting off on a backpacking trip around the world, eating good food and meeting new people and learning what it was she liked. And she found she liked people. And love—but not exclusivity. So when she got back, she opened the Larkspur Room, named after a flower that could mean both strong love and fickleness, and slowly began to gather its members. They came from all backgrounds, from all walks of life, but they were hers, and she was theirs. And she liked it.

But he didn’t need to know all of that. Not yet, at any rate. So she only smiled, letting a hint of mockery bleed into the expression. “Are you not up for it?”

“Are you?” He raised his glass to her in cheers, and then, holding her gaze, took a long, slow sip.

Elain watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Yes, she definitely owed Vassa. He would do very nicely. Even if he was far too cocky—that could be fixed.

She held out her hand. “I’m Elain.”

“Elain.” He repeated her name as he took her hand, shaking it once. He didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away, savoring the feeling of his hand, large and warm and sure.

“And you?” She asked, even though she already knew, before raising her own glass to her lips with the hand not currently bound up in Lucien’s.

“Lucien.”

“You came in with Vassa and Jurian?” Lucien nodded in confirmation, following her gaze to find the pair locked in an embrace with Nuan, one of their usual partners if Elain was busy. And sometimes if she wasn’t.

He glanced back at her, flushing slightly. “Old friends. They…left out a few key details about this bar.”

Elain laughed at that. “Based on your blush, I imagine they did.”

Lucien bristled. “I don’t blush.”

“You don’t?” She challenged, turning her laughter on him. “The pink on your cheeks is just a trick of the light?” Setting her drink down, she reached up with her free hand to trace the side of his face.

He started slightly but didn’t move away, instead leaning into the contact. “I’m used to a little more privacy when I take my lovers to bed.”

Lucien’s voice was low and full of promise, and Elain smiled to herself, feeling her own heart rate pick up ever so slightly.

“What if I could offer you some privacy?”

“Well then, Elain,” he said, releasing her hand and winding his fingers through her hair and pulling it ever so slightly to tilt her face up to look at his. “Then I could show you all the things I’d like to do with you.”

She bit her lip and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. Good. “There’s a room in the back.”

“Lead the way,” he said, releasing his grip on her hair and polishing off the rest of his drink.

As she moved out from behind the bar, she surveyed the room, taking in the groups milling around, chattering and embracing. Nothing had really started yet, despite Lucien’s reactions, and it wouldn’t—not until she gave the word anyway.

As she walked over to his side, having to crane her neck slightly to meet his eyes, she asked, “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they?”

“Is there more I need to know?” He had drawn close, and she breathed in the spicy smell of his cologne, a mix of apples and woodsmoke and bergamot that reminded her of crisp fall days.

Elain smirked but didn’t answer him, instead turning out to the larger room to address her friends, her partners, her family. “Have fun tonight, all.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the groups of people stopped their idle touching and fondling and teasing and began to reach for each other with an urgency and a desire that Elain felt rush through her and settle in her core.

“Come, Lucien,” she said, turning around and walking down the hall to her office. He followed after as if in a daze.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Lucien asked as he stepped into the room after her and closed the door. She didn’t use it for this often, but it would do—amongst the desk and the papers sat a low bed, framed by diaphanous lilac curtains and fairy lights that softened the administrative air the room would have otherwise carried.

Elain hummed contentedly. “For a few years now.”

“You run the sex cult.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

“I run the Larkspur Room. That’s the actual name. Not “the sex cult.” And it’s more a place for personal journeys and self-discovery anyway. Sex is just part of it.” She walked over to Lucien but didn’t reach out, didn’t restart her seduction. The next step was his to take.

“Yes, so Vassa told me,” he muttered, looking around the office.

“You disagree?”

He shifted his attention back to her. “A fancy motto doesn’t make it any less of a sex cult.”

“Are you complaining?” Elain could argue the semantics of the word cult with him later. After. Assuming he stayed.

He gently gripped her chin between his finger and his thumb, titling her face up and ghosting his thumb over her lips. “No. Not right now.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him. Time for something new.

He leaned down as if to kiss her but then stopped himself, pulling back slightly. “What does this mean? If we…”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it was clear he wasn’t about to, she rolled her eyes. Still hung up on the cult thing. “It can be nothing more than a night if that’s what you want, Lucien.” Disappointing as that would be. Her chin was still caught in his hands, giving her the perfect view of the effect that her saying his name had on him.

“And if I want more?” Slowly, still looking at her face, he began to run his hands down the sides of her body, rubbing teasing circles into her ribs, her hips.

“Then consider tonight your application for membership.”

“Into the cult?”

She looked at him disapprovingly. “Into the Larkspur Room. You could at least try to say the name.”

“And you’ll decide?”

“Who else?”

Lucien laughed sharply at that. “Vassa said it was a thorough review process. I assumed…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the door and the bodies thronging outside.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why, Lucien, perhaps you’re more adventurous than I thought. But,” she continued, seeing from his scowl that he was about to start arguing about logistics and throwing around the phrase “sex cult” again, “I don’t share on the first night.” She began tracing her hands across the muscles of his chest before slowly reaching up to pull loose his hair tie, allowing the crimson waves—almost as long as hers, she noted—to messily frame his face. “Is that acceptable to you?”

He nodded, running a hand through his now loose hair, and asked, “What’s so thorough about this review, then Elain?”

She liked the way he said her name. It was as if he was offering up a quiet prayer, like she was something to revere, something to cherish. “It’s a test. All you have to do,” she said, “is make me come three times.”

He raised an eyebrow, so she clarified.

“Once on your fingers,” she listed, drawing his hand to her mouth and holding his gaze as she delicately sucked two of his fingers into her mouth, watching as his nostrils flared.

“Once on your tongue,” she continued, releasing his fingers and leaning in so she could lick up the broad column of his neck.

“And once on your cock.” Still kissing his neck, she ghosted her hand down until she could grip him through his pants, delighting in the groan he let out. He was already hard and, she noted with an involuntary whimper, impressively long.

Releasing him and stepping away, she smiled in challenge. “Do you think you can manage?”

“Perhaps.” He grinned back at her as he answered, cockily adding, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “We’ll see.” But she hoped he was right. “Questions?”

“One,” he said as he started to unbutton his shirt, allowing her glimpses of his sculpted chest as the two sides slowly parted. “What does membership into your ‘Larkspur Room’ get me?”

Her mouth opened in shock. “Greedy already?”

“I just want to know if the effort is worth it.” His smug smile at the way her eyes kept catching on the planes of his chest was infuriating.

The fucking nerve of him. But Elain had an idea, smiling wickedly as she sank to her knees and said, looking up at him as she unbuttoned his pants, “You tell me.”

Lucien POV

Lucien was fucked. And probably about to join a sex cult.

Because if the way Elain was sucking him was any indication of how the rest of the night would go, he realized that he would do anything, would say anything, would join anything just to have another moment like this with her. He would worship at whatever altar she offered if it meant that she would invite him back to her bed.

Her mouth was impossibly soft and wet, and Lucien groaned at each new pass, willing his body to slow down, to let his mind catch up, to savor the experience.

But it—and Elain—had other plans, and he looked down to see the glint in her eyes as, without warning, she stopped the rhythmic bobbing of her head only to swallow him whole, the tip of her nose brushing against his stomach.

“Fuck, Elain—” he gasped out as his hips stuttered forward and she made a small choking sound at the force of the intrusion. She didn’t stop, although she glared up at him, only widening her mouth and relaxing her throat to allow him more space.

Wrapping fistfuls of her hair around his hands, Lucien began slowly thrusting, fucking her mouth as she braced herself against his thighs, still covered by his gray slacks. He laughed half-deliriously at the realization that he hadn’t even gotten fully undressed, although his laughter quickly turned into a moan, embarrassingly loud and desperate, as she hollowed out her cheeks.

He was going to come embarrassingly quickly, could feel his rhythm start to falter and his balls tighten and then—

It all stopped. Dazed and pleasure-drunk, Lucien looked down to see Elain pull away from his cock, wiping at her lips delicately.

“That,” she said, slightly out of breath, “is one of the things membership in my ‘sex cult’ gets you.” She gave a bratty tilt of her head. “Worth it?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grabbing Elain’s face in his hands and kissing her. His cock screamed at him, begging for release, but he ignored it in favor of continuing to pepper Elain’s lips with kisses. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m—yes. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.” He couldn’t lose this, couldn’t lose her.

She rewarded him with a smile. “I am. And now,” she reached between them, once again taking his cock in her hands, and Lucien gasped at her touch, overly-sensitive, the sensation almost enough to send him over the edge. “We’ll see if you are, Lucien.”

“Elain, I—”

“—have work to do. Because if you finish before you’ve completed your test,” she said, false sympathy in her voice as she continued to slide her hand absently up and down his cock, “I’m afraid you won’t be invited back.”

“Then stop that,” he said, reaching to still her movements, hoping that a reprieve from her maddening touch would give him a chance to get himself under control, to regain some kind of upper hand in this exchange.

“I was just answering your question.” She widened her eyes and blinked at him in false innocence.

He laughed at her performance, reaching behind her as he did so to find the zipper on her dress and tugging it down. “I’m not fooled by your act, Elain. In fact,” he said as the dress slipped off her frame and pooled at her feet, revealing the light green lingerie set she wore underneath. “I think you might just be a brat.”

She reached out for his clothes as well, rapidly undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt as he kicked off his pants and tucked himself back into his underwear. “Let’s hope you get to test that theory in the future, shall we?”

They stood there staring at each other. If Lucien thought Elain was stunning in her dress, it was nothing compared to how she looked now: still slightly flushed from her exertions before, her nipples hard and visible through her bra as she waited for him to make the next move.

“Oh, Elain,” Lucien said, stepping forward to close the distance between them, “that is a privilege I can’t wait to earn.”

And then he kissed her, hard and demanding. He felt her smile against his lips as she arched into him, and he slid his hands up her body to unhook the clasps of her bra, groaning into her mouth as he cupped her tits. “Fuck, Elain.”

“That’s the hope, Lucien.” Breaking the kiss, she shucked off her underwear and walked over to sit on the bed, leaning back slightly to give him a view of her cunt, bare and gleaming. “So what are you waiting for?”

“Brat,” he said, just to say something. Not that it had any bite—he had no control here apparently, no smooth words left, no final tricks, nothing but a desperate desire to see her head thrown back in pleasure, to hear her call his name, to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but this.

“Like what you see?”

He hummed appreciatively, mesmerized at the sight of her spread out like a feast before him. With a reverence that surprised even him, he asked, “Are you wet for me, Elain?”

“Come find out.”

Lucien followed her over the bed and knelt down in front of her, gently dragging a finger through the clear evidence of her arousal. He groaned at the wetness he found there as she arched into his touch. “Elain.”

And with her name on his lips, he began to circle her clit, teasing the bundle of nerves as he felt her begin to writhe against him. “That’s it, beautiful.” He kissed up her neck, sliding his finger lower and into her, pumping in and out.

“More, Lucien. I need more—” she gasped out, and he redoubled his efforts, sliding another finger into her and feeling her clench around him.

“Lucien, I—”

“Are you going to come for me?” He sucked a kiss into her neck, and her moan was like the sweetest music. “Come for me, Elain.”

And she did, clamping down on his hand so hard he swore he could feel it on his cock as she shattered, and he rode her through wave after wave of her climax. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and nothing he had ever seen could match the sight of her like this.

And he wanted—needed—to see it again. Lucien slid down her body and plunged his tongue into her cunt as her walls continued to pulse around him. Elain moaned at the invasion, still sensitive from her first orgasm, but didn’t pull away, and he groaned at the taste of her, somehow musky and floral and sweet all at once.

He devoured her like a man starved, wet and messy and wildly lost in her. Elain, for her part, thrust her hands through his hair, wrapping it around her fist and using her hold to grind herself against his face, chasing her pleasure. Before long, Lucien could feel her start to tighten again, her climax rising higher and higher until it crested and she followed it over the peak, arching her back and crying out loudly enough that he was positive that everyone in the other room knew exactly what the two of them were doing.

She panted as she came down, blearily lolling her head against the pillow as she rode the aftershocks of her second orgasm. Her hair was messily haloed around her head, and Lucien, pleased with himself, dragged his hand through the tangled silken waves.

She turned to look at him. “Are you done, Lucien?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and he looked at her skeptically. “Can you take one more, Elain?”

“Yes, Lucien. Of course.” she breathed out, throwing him a look that was probably meant to be scathing but only came across as pleasantly sated, her eyes lust-drunk. “Make me come on your cock.”

She reached out a hand to the table next to her bed, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a condom that she handed to him. Lucien pulled off his underwear and unwrapped the condom, rolling it over his length and he pumped himself once, twice to the sight of Elain, still naked and breathless beneath him.

He looked at her and she nodded, and without needing any more encouragement, he plunged into her. She was dripping wet and tight and hot, and Lucien groaned at the sensation.

“Christ, Elain,” he moaned, his hips snapping forward as he thrust in and out of her perfect cunt. “So fucking perfect. You are—”

She finished the sentence for him. “Mine, Lucien. You are mine.”

“Yours. I’m yours.” She was a dream, lurid and perfect, something he wanted every day for the rest of his life. He felt his pace stutter at the thought. “I’m not going to last long, Elain.”

She smiled up at him. “Then make it count.”

He drove deeper and deeper into her, reaching between them to find her clit and rolling it over with his fingers until he could feel her breathing hitch, her walls tighten.

“One more time, Elain. Come for me. Let me be yours.”

And for the final time, she shattered against him, and he let the strength of her climax carry him along with it as he came with a shout.

Spent and panting, he rolled off the condom and threw it away, turning to gather Elain into his arms and close to his chest. For now, nothing else mattered—only him and Elain and the absolute bliss of the moment.

She nuzzled into him and smiled. “Welcome to the Larkspur Room, Lucien.”

“Honored to be a member.”

“Want to tell your friends?” She asked sleepily.

“Later.” He gently kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, letting the room—the warm lights, the soft pulse of the music from outside that he could just make out, the sweet smell of jasmine and honey—lull him to sleep.

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elucienweek #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic

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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months

Text

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 8/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma, TW: Self Harm

Chapter Eight: Brady

"I hope this wears off soon... I've been to the store more times than I can count, looking for clothes that fit him," Bruce muttered as he changed Jason into pajamas that Steph picked out. Jason sucked his thumb as Bruce zipped up the front of his onesie.

Duke changed the color of Jason's onesie to a darker green. Jason jumped up and down. "Again! Again!" Jason yelled.

"Okay, but you gotta climb in bed first," Duke replied. Jason frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Not tired," Jason mumbled.

"But we played all-. I'm gonna help you get tired," Duke replied as Bruce left the room.

Steph scooped him up. "Do you know who he looks like?" Steph asked as she held Jason facing Duke. Jason clicked his heels and giggled.

"Who?" Duke asked.

"Like a curly-headed Peter Brady," Steph replied. Duke chuckled and turned the lights down. "Duke, let's build him a fort."

"Bruce wants him in bed," Duke whispered. Steph clicked her tongue.

"He's only gonna be two once," Steph replied as she set him down. Jason squatted down and leaped up into Steph's arms. She held him on her hip. "Jason, do you want a nice pretty blanket fort?" Jason nodded.

Duke smiled and took extra blankets down from the top of the closet. "I gotta go to school tomorrow, so you've gotta-."

"I got it. Kids love me," Steph whispered, "Isn't that right, Jason?"

Jason took a stack of pillows and followed Steph around the room while she hung up the blankets, creating cascades of colorful sheer canopies. Jason dropped the cushions and stared slackjawed at Steph's work. "You're like magic," Jason whispered. Steph chuckled and welcomed Jason in. He followed her and placed the pillows down on the floor. Steph propped her phone up and played a movie while she grabbed his quilt. Jason lay on his stomach, staring at the screen.

She draped the quilt over him and sat down. "Miss Steph? Are you gonna stay with me?" Jason asked. Steph nodded.

Jason lifted the blanket and offered it to her. "Thanks," Steph smiled. She pulled the blanket over herself.

"Are you a mommy?" Jason asked.

"I almost was," Steph replied.

"What happened?" Jason questioned. Steph messed up his hair.

"I gave my baby to a family so she could have a better mommy. I wasn't grown up enough," Steph explained.

"Are you grown up now?" Jason asked. Steph smiled.

"Why?" Steph asked.

"Will you be my mommy?" Jason asked.

"You have a mommy," Steph replied sweetly.

"But not tonight... Who's gonna give me a kiss before bed?" Jason asked. Steph took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Watch the movie, sweetheart," Steph whispered. Jason obeyed and sucked his thumb until his eyes were too heavy to stay awake. Steph stayed awake by his side.

Jason stretched his arms and legs in his sleep, and they grew. Steph took her phone and texted Bruce. She watched for a while as he gradually grew out of his pajamas. "Okay, stop growing," Steph whispered as she got up and looked for a t-shirt to pull over his head. She found an extra large shirt and put it on for him as he slept. He didn't stir during the struggle. Bruce came in. By then, Steph got him out of the too-small onesie, and he laid across her lap with a hand draped over his forehead. "Help." Bruce picked Jason up and put him to bed in the too-big tee.

"You saw him grow?" Bruce asked as he joined Steph in the fort.

"Yeah, and it freaked me out. I had to switch Jason into that shirt because he wouldn't stop-."

Jason sat up with a start. "Mommy? Mommy, did we run away again?" Jason questioned as he looked around the room. "Mommy, I get scared when you don't answer."

Jason climbed out of bed and poked his head in the bathroom door. He started hyperventilating and searched through the drawers for a pair of shorts, and he pulled the drawstring over his neck to keep them up. "Mom!" Jason screamed. "Mom! Where are you?" Bruce stepped out of the fort, and Jason jumped.

"I'm a friend of Catherine's -."

"You're Bruce Wayne," Jason interrupted. Jason backed away, his eyes surrounded by dark circles as he reached behind himself. "I don't wanna go to the hospital." Jason turned and opened the window, sitting on the window sill. Halfway in. Halfway out.

"Jason, why would I take you to the hospital?" Bruce asked as he stepped forward.

"Don't! You don't know what it's like! I knew I shouldn't have done it... But I'm so tired-. That's why she isn't here, right? It's my fault. I gotta go look for her-."

"Jason, slow down. What did you do?" Bruce asked.

"Don't come close to me!" Jason screamed. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Okay, I'll stay right here. I won't move," Bruce reassured him, "Is it okay for my friend to come out? She's harmless."

"Fine, but if she comes close, I'll jump," Jason replied.

"I won't, I promise. Please don't jump," Steph replied as she came out.

"Jason, we were talking... Can you tell me what you did?" Bruce asked.

"It was selfish. I could have it worse. A lot of kids do... Dad's never gonna forgive me," Jason wept.

"Jason, what-?"

"I tried to kill myself!" Jason screamed. "Are you happy? I ruined everything. My Mom's never getting better now, and Dad's gonna be mad that I-. God is never going to forgive me. My stomach hurts, and I'm cold, and I'm scared! I don't wanna be scared anymore!"

Bruce's heart raced. That wasn't in Jason's medical records. Jason hadn't brought it up. Not once. "Come inside. I'll make you a cup of tea. It'll be alright," Bruce reassured. Jason reached for Bruce, and Bruce pulled him inside to safety. Jason sobbed as Bruce held him in his arms on the ground.

"I'm sorry-."

"It's alright. Everything's gonna be okay," Bruce whispered as he rubbed Jason's back. Jason sobbed into Bruce's shirt. "Let it all out." Jason gasped and coughed and gagged until he was too tired to cry.

"I-I'm sorry," Jason stammered as he tried to collect himself. "Please don't make-. Don't make me go to the hospital."

"I won't... You look like you need some cocoa," Bruce offered. Jason nodded, and Steph headed downstairs. "Hey, how old are you?"

"Ten," Jason sniffed, "Hey, Mr. Wayne... Please don't tell my Dad that I cried."

"I won't tell... Not that there's anything wrong with crying," Bruce reassured him.

Jason stood up and wrung his hands. "Peroxide. I drank peroxide... And all it did was make me super sick," Jason confessed, "Mommy-. Mom asked me, and I wouldn't tell her... I know I'm not the only one in the world that's got it-."

"You're the only one that has to be you. If it's hard, it's okay to express that. I l-." Bruce stopped himself.

Jason hugged him. "I wish everything would slow down," Jason whispered.

"It will," Bruce whispered.

Jason rubbed his forearm. "Can I still have hot cocoa? Or did you offer because you were worried about me jumping out of your window?" Jason asked.

"You can still have cocoa... And Jason, God isn't mad at you. I'm-. You've never mentioned God before," Bruce mumbled.

"I started going into the church last year because it gets too cold outside to walk home when it rains, but I liked being there so much that I signed up for RCIC. I might get baptized next year, but I haven't told anyone yet... Don't know if anyone would show up, though," Jason replied.

Bruce smiled. Jason took Bruce's hand, still trembling from the ordeal, but he wouldn't show it on his face. "Are you hungry?" Bruce asked as he led him down the stairs. Jason squeezed Bruce's hand. "I'll make hot dogs."

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wildbornsiren · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 6: Panties & Lingerie || Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson/F!Reader

Panties & Lingerie Summary: Something pretty for Beau. 518 Female/AFAB reader Warning: Implied sexual situations. Notes: For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Please follow @wbslibrary since tag lists are gone. (I appreciate ya’ll so much but it was stressing me out, and I was worried I’d miss someone). Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.

The leftovers had been put away, the dishwasher loaded and started. You had tucked yourself against Beau on the couch getting caught up on a few television shows. You treasured these little intimacies, the way you fit so snugly against him, the way he'd press a kiss to the top of your head during some of the commercial breaks. The tension of the day visibly leaving his body as he relaxed into the overstuffed couch.

"You want to go to bed?" You lean in, kissing his cheek. His arm draped across your shoulders, one large hand gently groping your breast over your shirt.

"We could, or we could relive our misspent teenage years and fool around on the couch."

"Beau..."

He pulls you into his lap, nuzzling against your neck. "Please kitten? I need to have you tonight."

The way his mouth moves against your skin and the soft lingering touch of his hands on your sides, you can't help but roll your hips against his. He groans softly, meeting your movements with slow thrusts of his own.

"You go upstairs, and I'll let the puppies out." You walk your fingers up his chest, pausing to unbutton a couple of buttons, rubbing your cheek against his chest hair. "I'll join you as soon they're done." You stand up, stepping away from him and whistling for the dogs.

Once the dogs are back inside, the house locked up, you linger at the bottom of the stairs, hearing Beau move around your shared bedroom. Grinning to yourself, you lock yourself in the downstairs bathroom. You withdraw a bundle of cloth from the cabinet. Shedding your clothes, you carefully ease the silky hunter green panties up your legs. The lace is soft, the cloth warming to your skin. The unlined lace bra made your tits look amazing. Strappy, the sheer fabric hugged your curves. It takes a few minutes to adjust the garter belt and attach it to the thigh high stockings. You wink at your reflection, blowing yourself a kiss before turning the light out.

"Kitten? You coming?" Beau called from upstairs.

"I will be," you snicker to yourself as you climb the stairs.

Beau is sitting on the end of the bed, smiling when you lean in the doorway. The smile shifts, his gaze heavy as he looks you up and down. "This for me kitten?"

You nod, licking your lips. "Do you like it?"

"You look beautiful." His hands rub over his thighs, and he shifts, "come here baby. Please. Let me get a good look at you."

Pushing away from the door you approach the bed, doing a little turn just out of his reach. "I know it's your favorite color."

His hands land on your hips, pulling you between his legs. His touch is so gentle, lingering over your hips, fingertips tracing along the lace, the flat of his palms skimming up your stomach, thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts. Kisses land gently, your breath hitching, your fingers sliding into his hair tangling in the short strands.

"You are so, so good to me, kitten."

#wbskink #kinktober 2022 #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson/Reader #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson/you #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x you #Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x reader #reader insert #top gun maverick fanfiction #shelly writes

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cobrakatharsis · 1 year

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alright, so. ‘i dream of jeannie’ lawrusso au derived from cobra-sigh’s post which got sent to lottie zappedbyzabka by a delightful anon and lottie then said fantastic but what about the reverse and THEN sent it to me and promised me a diamond ring if i wrote about it. we run a complicated economy. anyway thank u cobra-sigh, anon, and lottie.

OKAY. so daniel moves to california with his ma for his senior year. doesn’t have a single friend in the valley, but just like in the movie manages to ‘new kid’ (and ‘daniel larusso’) his way into getting invited to the beach party. it’s…unremarkable. the stretch of beach is as nice as the weather and the people he meets are nice enough too - he meets a bunch of them, boys his age, and they talk and kick a soccer ball around. he meets a nice girl called ali and they kind of hit it off before she eventually leaves with her friends, but by nightfall he’s kind of bored of the company. they don’t have the best vibes and aren’t paying him all too much attention once his novelty wears off, so daniel ends up just kind of wandering along the shore on his own, enjoying the fresh experience of california.

he gets farther than he realises, and a long way down the beach he notices a glint of bright red lodged in the wet sand, being jostled by the lapping waves. it’s…a vase? no, more like a bottle. it’s ornate, adorned with gold and gems, and unlike a vase it’s sealed shut at the top with something like a cork. daniel glances around him, wondering if he’ll see some sort of evidence of where it came from, but there’s no one at all on this area of the beach. he can just barely see the glow of the fires marking his group in the distance, little pinpricks of golden light on the endless dark empty beach. so, giving into his curiosity, he picks up the bottle and tilts it, examining it, and finally pulls it open. absentmindedly traces his fingertips over the decoration as he does, the thought ‘it’s empty’ already forming in his head before he’s suddenly surrounded by smoke.

and then there’s a guy.

daniel does not at all process what just happened. he panics, assuming that this is the owner of the bottle or something, come sprinting over to ask him why the hell daniel’s touching his stuff - to which daniel is fully prepared to ask why the hell this guy’s just leaving his stuff in the surf - but there’s no aggression or anything on his…very pretty face, very close to daniel’s. in fact, he’s smiling at daniel, pale eyes all wide as he stares at him like he’s dazzled, but he doesn’t say anything. it’s then that daniel notices his clothing, or…lack thereof. the only solid piece of clothing he’s wearing is a tiny, tight pair of shorts, and the rest is floaty see-through fabric he’s draped in, embellished with elaborate embroidery and gold at the edges, doing nothing to impede daniel from briefly staring directly at his…ample chest, washed rosy behind the sheer red fabric.

he averts his gaze immediately, cheeks burning, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind. he crowds even closer, in fact, and takes daniel by the hands, finally bursting out with that big beautiful smile still on his face that daniel freed him! - “i’ll give you anything, master. i owe you. seriously, anything. everything!”

daniel thinks maybe he passed out on the beach or something, and now he’s having some sort of especially abstract dirty dream. but things feel decidedly real when, after a little more anxious conversing and learning that the stranger’s name is johnny - and subsequently wondering if this is a prank because that’s definitely a bad pun on ‘genie’ - johnny looks right into daniel’s eyes and lights up again like he’s seen something there, something he’s especially delighted to see. and then he’s pressing his lips to daniel’s, kissing him deeply. his skin is soft and warm, and he smells like really old bookstores do, and he’s so gorgeous. he says he’ll stay by daniel’s side forever, give him whatever he wants, and daniel tells him that he absolutely does not have to do that - seriously, johnny’s free - and also his ma will not be happy if he brings back a pretty, almost-naked boy from the beach to stay with him forever, but johnny just smiles at him and disappears neatly back into the bottle like he’s proving a point by doing so.

daniel looks despairingly around him again. the beach is still empty and quiet, almost eerily so now without johnny, and there’s not a single witness to what daniel’s about to do.

he sighs deeply and picks up the bottle and heads home.

#lawrusso #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #elijah writes #this is so silly i love it #daniel lies and tells his ma he bought the ‘vase’ and his ma tells him it’s godugly and staying where it’s sat on his desk #daniel agrees a little too eagerly #and invests in a lock on his bedroom door because he keeps the bottle open when he can so johnny can appear freely #and the last thing he needs is his ma coming in unannounced to find daniel sat on his bed with a scantily clad blond pretty boy #although the kids at school see plenty of johnny when he immediately demands on accompanying daniel #thankfully daniel manages to wrangle him into wearing some actual clothes

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masochistikkitty · 2 years

Text

I know it's morally wrong to want a stalker that's utterly and completely obsessed with me; but I just can't help the longing of feeling paranoid with every step I take. Always locking my window at night, making sure I take a different way home from work everyday. Only for all my attempts to shake off my stalker fail when a regular customer at the cafe I work at pulls me into his car. His hand on my mouth and a knife to my neck so I couldn't move. He slowly and diligently ties my wrists and legs together before holding a white cloth to my nose. My eyes start to flutter shut with black spots clouding my vision.

When I come to, all I can see are pretty lights and pink, of course it's all blurry and I can't make out what it is but I enjoy the sight anyway. My head lolls back and my eyes eventually adjust and I see fairy lights weaved carefully through wire bars and sheer pink fabric draped over the top. I tilt my head curiously and purse my eyebrows before trying to get up using my arms to prop me up, but they wont move. I look above my head and see handcuffs restraining my arms to the corners of..what looks like... A cage? Why am I in a cage? Why am I handcuffs? And just like that, vague memories of what happened last night, or an hour ago, how long have I been asleep? It's all coming back to me. My eyes start to blur with tears as I hopelessly pull at the restraints, cry's starting to softly fall from my lips.

"oh you're awake." A voice says as I snap my head towards it. Footsteps come close to where I am and I see him. He's smiling.

"Do you like it?" He says while looking around the interior of the cage.

"I made it just for you." I couldn't answer. Who would?

"Sorry about the handcuffs, I know it hurts, but it's just a precaution." A precaution for what?

He walks over to where my feet are and opens the cage. With it being open, I have a clear view of the rest of the room. It appears to be a living room, a nice one at that. There's even a fireplace. I see him pick up what looks like a poker, but it has a design at the end of it. He holds the end of it with the design over the flame. No. No. He's not going to do what I think he's going to do is he? I begin to squirm, my legs kicking out though there's not much I can do.

"You know, I've been watching you for a while." He says while examining the rod, it was a glowy red near the end.

"And I think you're absolutely perfect." He says admiringly while walking towards me.

"But you would be even more perfect if you were mine."

"This is going to hurt."

He grips my thigh and pulls me towards him while pulling off my pants at the same time. He then lifts up my shirt and I wriggle around in a pathetic attempt to get away. He grips my waist and presses the hot end to my skin right above my panties.

A scream lurches from my stomach up to my chest and out of my throat. Tears spring from my eyes and I kick my legs but he's too strong for me.

After what feels like an eternity he pulls it away from my skin and throws it behind him.

"Aww kitten, I'm sorry, but I had to!" He says condescendingly while my body twists and turns, my cries still sounding throughout the room. Tears stream down my face as his hands creep up my bare thighs, his finger tips playing with the hem. He brings his face over mine and kisses my forehead.

"You're mine now and that means that you don't have to worry about anything anymore because I'll take care of you."

At those words, I feel a small sense of relief. This is going to hurt, but it's so good for me. It's exactly what I need.

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illiana-mystery · 2 years

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I really loved your “Blind Date” story! I’ve re-read it a few times lol… Will we have more stories involving Sunny and Vincenzo? 🥺

Aww, thank you! I'm glad you really loved it! 😊💙

That being said, I have to apologize...

My brain is so weird when it comes to my writing. Like it's not even really writer's block, like sometimes it's just I have a brand new idea which makes me forget all about my other WiPs. 🙃

Now, I have been writing the next chapter of The Blind Date, it's just I also started writing like seven thousand other stories on top of that one, so it got pushed to the side a bit.

And I'm also wrestling where I want the plot to go. I know the basic premise of the story, but I'm struggling on how to set everything up.

I hope I can get passed that real soon because I would love to have the next chapter out before mid-September. (I'm having the same issue with Rose-Colored Glasses, and I apologize to those who have also been waiting for that story to continue).

But since I've been making y'all wait, here's a snippet from the next chapter:

The next morning, you woke up alone in your bed, draped in a sheer white robe. You were confused by your attire, but also panicked by his absence. You looked around to see if you could find Vincenzo, but there was no trace of him around.

Did he just leave you as soon as you fell asleep?

You were about to get upset before you heard Mittens loudly meowing. Quickly, you get up to see what was troubling her, before you heard footsteps shuffling from the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm right here, Mittens," you heard Vincenzo softly say. "I only stepped out for a little while. Would you like to help me cook for mommy?"

She purred.

"Hmm, what should I make her? Maybe some crepes? Blueberry or Strawberry? Maybe both."

That's exactly what you were craving. Weird.

You peered out of your bedroom door to find Vincenzo leaning over your stove, clothed only in a pair of crisp, Egyptian cotton lounge pants that had golden embroidery on the side of his visible pant leg.

Then you observed how the light in the kitchen beamed over his olive skin as he gathered all the ingredients needed to make your breakfast.

He gently yawned after everything was collected and looked down at Mittens before he placed her on his shoulder.

"It's a little drabby in here," he observed. "We should probably open the curtains and blinds, right?"

Mittens purred against his forehead before he opened all of the blinds and curtains in your kitchen and front room. And once they were opened, the sunlight seemed to beam even harder against his skin, causing a bit of a reflection that made him glow.

"That's better," he hummed before going back to the kitchen. "Needed a little more energy."

You were a little confused by what happened, but just shook it off and went back to bed. You figured he would bring breakfast to you, so you just got comfortable again under your warm sheets.

Not too long later, you heard his footsteps coming towards your door. You happily anticipated his return and quickly sat up before he came back in.

You smiled as you saw both the plate with your crepe in his hand and Mittens hanging off of his shoulder. His face became redder and he smiled wide at you as he placed the plate on your lap.

Looking down, you saw that he decorated the outside of the crepe with a sun that looked like your necklace made of honey. But that wasn't the only thing that you saw that reminded you of your necklace.

No, you also saw a faint tattoo above Vincenzo's left man breast that looked like your sun necklace. And it confused you since you didn't see it last night.

"Is something wrong?" he gently asked.

"No, I was just admiring your tattoo," you started before you reached out to caress his skin underneath the marking. "It looks like my necklace. Did you get my necklace custom made?"

"Yes, I did," he chirped. "I did say I paid a pretty penny for it."

"Yes, I remember," you answered back with a faint smile. "Did you hide it last night?"

"I'm afraid so," he moaned, smiling at your with his eyes. "I feel comfortable around you so now I'm willing to show it."

"It looks really nice on you," you complimented him.

"Thank you, my love," he hummed before he gently kissed your cheek. He had to bend down to do so, so Mittens jumped off his shoulder and into your bed, cuddling up next to your leg.

Hope you enjoyed that! Thank you so much for your support and kind words and patience with me. I promise the rest of this chapter and the subsequent chapters will be worth the wait. 😉

#i'm probably just gonna start posting wips more often #because i feel like i'm always falling into this trap #but i do appreciate yall #a lot #and i'm so glad you're patient with me #thanks for the ask #the italian/reader #the italian #drowning in the shallow end #fanfiction #fanfic #wip #work in progress #current wip #asks #alfred molina

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potassium-pilot · 2 years

Text

FFXIVWrite 2022, Day 20: Anon

I remember my trembling and quaking at the news delivered of my comrades at the banquet in Ul’dah, delivered unto fates unknown by traitorous hands and avaricious deeds. Powerless to help, marooned on an island forged by mine own inept skill in the social graces, the Waking Sands did act as naught more than my tomb, it seemed. Moenbryda, my closest friend, gave her life for our cause, and in return, I brought little more than my duplicitous recourse with the Ascian Elidibus.

Books had long been my company, yet little could there be to savor without thee.

My dearest Thancred.

I would lay in bed, my thoughts twixt mourning my dear Moenbryda, and mourning thee. Nay, I must resist, I would think, for thy status was yet unknown. So long as a glimmer of hope yet remained, I would chase it.

I would see thee anon.

—————

I remember when our dear friend, the “Crystal Exarch”, G’raha’s clever disguise, snatched thy soul from thy body and transported it to dimensions yet unknown. Though mine other comrades yet remained, there was yet a stinging sensation in my heart. Once again, I should lose thee to a fate I dare not reach, a world I never thought possible.

Then I succumbed to it as well.

I woke up, bare as the day I was born, the embarrassment and sheer disappointment writ plain on the Exarch’s face as he hurriedly draped mine and Y’shtola’s shame with some blankets.

“Please, accept my most humble apologies”, he offered, “I’m afraid you weren’t quite the person I was looking for.”

“So this was an accident?” Y’shtola inquired.

“Indeed. I had tried to bring your other friend, your “Warrior of Light” as you call her.”

“We are not the first thou hast brought here?” I asked.

“No. There was one other. You might know him. Thancred Waters?”

That name made my heart sing with the choirs of angels on high. “Yes”, I replied, “Verily, I do know that name.”

I would find thee anon.

—————

I remember the Empty, a barren wasteland choking on stagnant light aether. We had only just wrought water aether from the Lightwarden Eden, and we thought it prudent to rest. The rains were pouring and I retreated to safety in my tarp-protected tent.

As I laid in my tent, I heard the most unfortunate clatter outside. I poked my head from my temporary abode and witnessed the ruins of a tarp rendered futile.

“Damn it all”, thou grumbled as thou had attempted to resurrect it from its pointlessness. A few minutes passed before thou threw the stake that held thy tarp down upon the ground.

“Thancred?” I called.

“Yes, Urianger?”

“I have a surplus of space within my tent if thou should have need of it.”

Thou sighed. Thou toldest me, “Well, if we hadn’t just reintroduced rain to this part of the world, I would probably just lie down under the stars. Seeing as how I’m sopping wet now, it seems I have little choice.” Thou grabbed a bag from under the remains of your abode, ran towards my open tent and crawled inside. “Thank you, Urianger.”

“‘Tis my pleasure to aid thee. Art thou not cold?”

“Indeed I am. Thankfully, I brought my spare clothes.” Thou had begun the process of removing thy old wet clothes, and I felt a heat wash over my visage. Shirtless, thou had laid bare the remains of thy near death battle with Ranjit. I did remember when we had found thee unconscious on the ground where the battle took place. Thou did well. Thou frightened me down to my bones. When thou had opened thine eyes, relief washed over me in a greater force than even the most turbulent of ocean waves.

“Thancred?”

“Yes?”

“Dost thou still feel the pain of it?”

“Of?”

“Thy near perilous encounter with Ranjit.”

“Oh, that.” Thou sighed. “Every now and again, it comes back. I’m pretty sure it’s just my old age catching up to me.”

“Thou art hardly old, my friend.”

“How old are we?” Thou asked, “We have been here for five and three years, but we haven’t had our bodies.”

“Perhaps we shall measure this more accurately upon our returns to our mortal coil.”

Thou smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. I just feel older.”

“Thy scars shall disappear once we awaken in our bodies. As Dia put it, Krile careth for us even now.”

“Hm.”

“Is aught amiss, Thancred?”

“No, just…” Thou hesitated.

“Whatever thou may worry to say, my friend, pray set it aside. Thy words shall be kept in my strictest confidence.”

Thou gave a small laugh. “Well, I do know you’re good at keeping secrets.” Thou shook thy head. “It’s Ryne.”

“Oh?”

“I know perfectly she can take care of herself. She’ll be fine, and I know she’ll be fine.”

“Then what ails thee?”

“I…I don’t want to leave her.”

“Ah”, I said, “Thou shalt miss her dearly.”

“Is it wrong for me to think of her as the daughter I never had? That child I rescued from Vauthry’s prison? The way I pulled her about here and there, taught her how to work with knives, kept her at arms length for so long, dragged her into a world-saving endeavour, I would think that I’m a terrible father.”

“And though thou had issues before, doth thy initial inhibitions hold thee back now?”

“No. Far from it. Now that I’ve made myself closer to her, it feels like I’ve made a huge mistake, but it’s the happiest mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Whence doth this notion that closeness with someone should be construed as a mistake come?”

“From the fact that once Beq Lugg finds a solution to get us home, I’ll have to leave her, and likely never see her again.”

I shook my head at thee. “Thou this may be true, is it not the fine memories that thou makest with Ryne what is most important? What make what we endeavour to do here matter all the more?”

“I suppose.”

“And verily, thou may never see her again, but I would not grow disheartened so easily. Thou art not the only one who gained a dear companion from this world, and I do believe that so long as our comrades hold that love close to them, there shall be a way back here yet. One that doth not require immense sacrifice.”

Thou smiled at me. “Thank you, Urianger.”

I placed my hand on thy shoulders. “Think naught of it.”

Just as I began to remove my hand from thee, thou begged, “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“This going to sound strange to ask, but…er, never mind.”

“Thancred, please. Is there aught I can do for thee?”

I could feel thy heartbeat quicken from my position. “Could you…keep that hand there?”

“Oh.” Perhaps thou may have heard the nervous tone in my voice when I answered, “Of course.” I replaced my hand and heard thou say, “Thank you. It’s…been a while.”

“Since?”

“Since anyone’s touched me gently.”

I should not have been so bold, but I began to rub thy back. I felt the bumps of scars past and poking bones from my body under my skin. I should not have been so bold as to take thy hand too.

Thou shot thy gaze at my attempt. But where I had expected thee to ask me to stop, you merely took thy hand and placed it upon mine. Thou moved it ever upward, and grew closer to me.

“Is this…wrong?”

“No”, I answered with a low voice, “Far from it. Whatever we may lose from this world when we make our return to the Source, we shall still have this. We shall still have one another.”

Thou placed thy head in my chest. I held thee close as thou gripped my side.

“I really needed this. I’m sorry to impose.”

“Thou dost not impose when thou approachest me in this manner. I’m happy to hold thee.”

‘Twould not be long.

I would kiss thee anon.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #thancred waters #urianger augerelt #thancred/urianger #writing #fanfiction #well i did say i wanted to try my hand at this #but dear god this in long form?#oof #maybe

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