There is just something about Hashirama being a possessive older brother when it comes to Tobirama that just gets me.
Both in a comedic sense and not.
From childhood and war it had always just been them against the world- Hashirama doing everything he could to make sure Tobirama stayed alive and well no matter the cost.
Now that they are in times of peace in the newly built village Hashirama is not exactly thrilled when Tobirama and Madara begin to not only tolerate each other but Gods forbid they start becoming something resembling friends.
His first heartbreak is when Tobirama gets genuine affections for Madara and Hashirama spends a night wailing and sobbing into Mito’s lap and then being vindictive towards Madara from that moment on.
The day Tobirama moves out of the home he shared with them, Mito just pats Hashirama's back and smokes her pipe as Hashirama drinks himself half to death as he laments on Tobirama’s horrendous taste in men and begging to anything, god or sage, that could hear him that Tobirama come to his senses soon.
So when I first saw the prompts for Lucanis Week, I was like "hell yeah, I'm totally going to write little ficlets for every single day!" And then that... very much did not happen.
BUT I have been working on a new wip - the horny Spite PoV fic that I elaborated on a little bit here. And since the first day prompt for Lucanis Week is "Spite", I figured an extract from this Spite PoV fic fits the bill well enough! Enjoy!
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Spite doesn’t know why it’s different this time.
After all, Rook has smiled at Lucanis before. Hundreds of times. Maybe more. And every time the same reaction. A slow banking of warmth behind the sternum. A loosening of that tight ball Lucanis seems insistent on carrying in his chest.
And yet—now.
The heat comes quicker this time, hotter. Spreading from his chest to flush his neck, his cheeks. Pooling lower and lower. Settling full and heavy between his legs. His skin feels tight, prickling as if burnt – too brittle, too thin. Just on the edge of splitting.
Perhaps this is supposed to happen. Sometimes common experiences do have unusual results – the peach sour when he’d expected sweetness.
But there’s something about Lucanis’s response that makes Spite think this isn’t supposed to happen. The sudden rush of discomfort, a strange surge of… shame, perhaps? Slippery and sharp. Spite can feel Lucanis curling up inside himself, as if recoiling from his unexpected reaction.
Why? Spite asks from his perch at the front of Lucanis’s skull, stretching out to take up space, to reach out and pick at the strange hurdle of emotions now stirring.
‘Why’ what? Lucanis responds somewhat testily.
Why so hot?
It is just exertion from battle, he dismisses with a slight shake of his head.
Except Spite knows battle. Knows what it feels like when Lucanis is in battle.
From the moment of their joining, Spite has understood that Lucanis is a thing forged from violence. His memories ripe with it. The cane, the fist, the dagger. Their agreement forged by the need to wreak bloody vengeance on those that tortured him, fuelled by the countless brutal imaginings Lucanis retreated to while in his cell.
One of the first things Spite had learned about this world – before the sound of water hitting against the edge of the canal as a gondola passes, before the taste of a perfectly ripe tomato as it explodes on the tongue – was how it feels when Lucanis is in battle.
This is different.
The heat is more syrupy. Spreading and pooling, unctuous and thick. And it is a… pleasant sort of heat. Not the quick bite when Lucanis’s skin accidentally brushes against metal on the stove. Nor the rough friction in Lucanis’s joints after a long burst of exertion. This is sweetness and sensation and wanting.
You lie, he accuses, slipping from his perch to glide down the nerves. Alighting in the chest cavity to prod at the suddenly rabbit-fast heartbeat, to spread across the inside of Lucanis’s ribcage to bask in the tingling excitement there. Then, moving lower, the flutter of nerves in the stomach. The frantic energy of anticipation. And, lower still, this knot of fullness in the groin. Roiling with tiny frissons of pleasure when Spite pushes against it.
Don’t! Lucanis warns, though it’s too late – a soft moan slipping from his lips.
Rook’s head cocks at the sound, turning over her shoulder to look at him with soft-eyed concern. “Is something wrong?”
And Lucanis is immediately flooded with mortification – this sudden surge of cold shame that is becoming far too familiar to Spite by now. A maddening reaction when Spite has only ever tried to help. Survive. Escape. Live.
“I-it’s nothing,” Lucanis stammers, “just a twinge in my ankle from the fight. I… landed on it too heavily.”
She takes a step towards him, one hand lifting as if to touch. “Do you need healing?”
And—yes!
The heartbeat leaps. Remembering so keenly how his body has welcomed her magic before. Skin shivering in anticipation of her. Eager to feel the press of her fingertips against his waiting flesh. Except—
“No!” A palm raises to stop her. “It’s just a twinge; it’ll pass. Save your magic for the next Antaam ambush.”
His words seem to satisfy her, though Spite doesn’t understand how she misses the obvious lie. Misses the way his pulse races at the juncture of his jaw. The way his skin radiates with waves of heat. Instead she only nods, turns back. Falls into step beside Bellara as they continue through the Crossroads.
Why?! Spite cries, unable to contain his frustration as she walks away. She was going to touch. You wanted her to touch.
No, Lucanis snaps back.
You lie.
No!
And it’s only then that Spite realises that Lucanis does not mean to lie. Only—he doesn’t understand either. The tight clench in his chest when Rook enters the room. The sudden hush of breath when she looks at him. The searing of skin, the aching throb. It is as much a revelation to Lucanis as it is to Spite. And in his confusion, the ease of denial.
This heat. Not from battle, Spite explains, and it’s nice, for once, to be the one who understands better than Lucanis. It’s because of Rook. You burn for Rook.
The sudden swell of emotions is too much for Spite to identify all at once. Fear. Exhilaration. Dread. Yearning. And then, finally, shame again – always back to shame. This heavy shroud. Stifling and blinding. So close to the forefront of his mind that Spite is not surprised Lucanis keeps missing what’s important.
You burn. For Rook.
Yes, Lucanis finally admits. And Spite doesn’t understand why it hurts so much.
Warnings: Best friend’s brother— is that a warning? This is just a short lil thing for Valentine’s Day
A/N: The poem and response in this came from Thomas Richardson’s “Gentleman’s Valentine Writer” which wasn’t actually published until 1828 but I needed ideas, okay? Also, I wrote this when Bridgerton was still the lead in the poll lol
Living beside the Bridgerton household had many advantages. Being close in age to Daphne gave you the perfect excuse to spend time with her. However, spending time with Daphne meant also spending time with the rest of her family, which allowed you to form a close bond with them all. One Bridgerton in particular being Benedict.
Benedict was a few years older than you, but within a perfectly reasonable range that made it acceptable for you to fancy him. How could you not? He was sweet and sensitive, but he had a playful side that brought joy any time you were fortunate enough to witness it. Although, you never dared to dream that Benedict might return your affections. You were the best friend of his younger sister, surely he would not think of you in that way.
Initially, you had been excited to be presented before the queen and sent out into society. But while Daphne had been deemed the season's incomparable, you had fallen into her shadow. You were happy to see your friend receive many visitors and gifts, but some days it would hurt to see a line of men outside her door while you waited in an empty sitting room.
Waking on Valentine's Day brought nothing but sorrow. It was only one month into the social season and you already felt that you were destined to become an old spinster. With no prospective husbands in sight, you would likely have to face a second season. You did not expect that you would receive any callers that day, yet you waited in your sitting room in a fine dress, as you did every other day. Your mother sat in a chair at the far end of the room, leisurely reading until something would happen.
Early into the day, your butler entered the room with a calling card in hand, "A Mister Bridgerton is here to call upon Miss Y/L/N."
"Send him in," You replied, feeling your chest constrict. It was possible that one of Daphne's brothers had come to pass along a message for her, but a gentleman visiting while you were accepting callers still brought you a shred of hope.
Moments later, you saw Benedict step through the doorway, holding something behind his back. He smiled, "I see I have gotten here before the rest."
You returned his smile, nervous, yet calmed by his presence. "I think you will find that the gentlemen are coming to your door today, not mine."
"Then they are fools and I am lucky to have you all to myself."
"What can I do for you, Benedict? I find it hard to believe you would be here as a suitor." You spoke the words in jest, but felt your throat tighten as you said them all the same.
Benedict's smile fell into confusion, "What is so hard to believe about that?"
Taken aback by the genuine confusion in his tone, you clarified, "I only mean to say that I would not have expected it."
"If that is the case, I hope that you find this to be a good surprise," For just a moment, you heard a bit of nerves in his voice as he tried to present a confident image. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay long. But I wanted to bring you these and to officially declare my affection."
Finally, Benedict moved the hand behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of morning glory and myrtle. You smiled wide at the sight, "Thank you, Benedict. They're lovely."
Shortly after, Benedict had to take his leave, although he promised to come back the following day. Once he had left, you reached for a book on the language of flowers. You found that morning glories are used to represent affection, meanwhile myrtle is used to represent love and marriage. Learning that brought a blush to your cheeks, finding the meaning to be a little bold, but not unpleasant.
It was then that you noticed a small folded piece of parchment beside the flowers. When you unfolded the paper, you could see the painted design done in watercolors. A man and a woman stood beneath a tree, which was situated between a lovely cottage and a church. The image was small, but you could tell that the couple was you and Benedict. On the other side of the parchment was a simple note.
I boast not eloquence, dear Miss,
Nor do I write exceedingly fine;
Therefore, I bluntly ask you this--
Pray, will you be my Valentine?
As you looked down at the note, you felt your heart swell. You held it close to your chest, feeling as if you could burst from happiness at any moment. Your mother then looked up from her book. "What is that, dear?"
"It is nothing!" You responded quickly. Luckily, your mother did not push the issue further.
That night, you folded the note once more and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand beside your bed. As you attempted to fall asleep, all you could think of was that you could not wait to see Benedict again.
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*gay male cowboy and gay ftm trans gardener are working on the same farm. They frequent the empty stables to fuck. 9months later the gardener is bent over in an empty pen with his massive twin belly hanging low as he crowns his first baby. While the cowboy supports him.*
Oooo that's hot! More of these kinds of asks, pls! Ok, here I go
"We can't let anyone hear us." whimpered Sebastian soon after a contraction hit him.
"Don't worry about that for now." Chris said rubbing the sweaty back of his lover "Just try to breathe."
They tried to hide the pregnancy, but it became impossible on the last few months. Sebastian started getting bigger overalls and shirts but his belly would not stop growing. Soon he had to stop working on the garden and Chris took over his duties until the delivery.
"Chris, I'm scared." he said with tears in his eyes.
Chris knew they should have called someone to help but Sebastian said it was fine, he didn't want to bother anyone else on the farm.
"You're doing great, sweetie!"
"It hurts so much!"
"I know, but it will be over soon, I promise!"
Sebastian also insisted in giving birth at their love nest, precisely at the same pen they fucked for the first time. Chris' cock was bulging in his tight jeans and Sebastian's clit jolted when he saw his lover sweaty from work taking off his shirt.
Things were different now but they were closer and more intimate than ever. Chris had never seen anyone as beautiful as Sebastian having their child.
The labor was going on for the last 4 hours. Chris never left Sebastian's side and showered him with kisses, rubs and words of encouragement.
"Oh, fuck! I think it's coming out! AAAAARGH!!!" Sebastian said squatting lower and opening up his legs.
Chris squatted behind Sebastian and placed his hand over the gardner's bulging pussy. He felt the baby's hair and tears of joy ran over his cheeks.
"Push, honey! You're doing amazing!"
Sebastian was holding the pen door so tight that his fingers turned white. He didn't care anymore if anyone else would hear them. He emptied his lungs with a primal scream while he pushed.
Several minutes passed. Sebastian pushed, screamed and cried as the head reached the widest point. He thought the gravity was going to help him but he was exhausted. Chris hugged him from behind and occasionally would feel the crowning vagina to update Sebastian on the process.
"Just a few more pushes, come on!"
Sebastian pushed and the head was out.
"Keep going! We're almost done!" Chris cupped the baby and with a few more pushes the rest of the body came down.
Chris placed the crying baby boy on Sebastian's arms and hugged them both.
"You did it!"
"Thank God it's over." Sebastian laughed and lay down on a pile of hay. "I don't wanna do this again anytime soon..."
Chris kissed him passionately.
"You don't have to do this ever again, I promise."
"I don't know..." Sebastian caressed the baby's hair. "He might get lonely. Can you believe something so small made my belly grow so big?"
"Yeah, it's unbelievable."
Their moment of peace was soon over when Sebastian felt another contraction.
"What is this?" Sebastian said holding his massive belly.
"You're delivering the placenta, everything is fine." Chris assured stroking his lover's hair.
Sebastian started pushing again.
"Hmph! Is it supposed to be this painful?"
"I don't know, love."
Chris went down to the birth canal and watched as the vagina contracted with the whole belly. He then noticed Sebastian's pussy bulging again as he pushed hard and screamed in pain.
"Sebastian..."
"Ugh! Is everything fine?"
Chris heart skipped a beat when he noticed another slit of hair peeking out of the vagina.
My toxic trait is considering the possibility that Tobirama and Madara would ever have an amicable breakup.
Because Tobirama is a petty fucking bitch and wont stop until hes bled Madara dry of everything he could ever have to his name and more.
Which suits Madara fine because this just means he keeps all of Tobirama’s attention to himself until the bitter end of their days because he knows Tobirama would never allow anyone else but himself to have Madara’s corpse.
Laughed my self silly over my hc about Tobirama having an insanely low tolerance to poisons and it offends him so of course he throws himself into finding a way to make sure it never becomes a problem again so he purposely doses himself and nearly gives Hashirama an aneurism each time because
"What the hell are you doing spit that out!!"
And Tobirama simply glares with the very much poisonous mushroom in his mouth before Hashirama lunges
Hashirama is shrieking as he tackles Tobirama and tries to pry Tobirama’s mouth open to snatch the mushroom away and Tobirama curls his legs, knees to his chest and plants his feet on Hashirama's chest and he *kicks* and Hashirama goes flying and Tobirama takes that moment to swallow the mushroom whole.
And that's the moment where the cain instinct activates.
Hashirama comes running back and punches Tobirama in the stomach in an attempt to get him to throw it up but Tobirama stubbornly keeps his naughty poisonous snack and retaliates with a round house kick of his own.
The room soon becomes a battle ground- the table is crushed under Tobiramas body as he's thrown into it, the chair smashed as he hefts it up and smashes it onto Hashiramas head, the walls are littered with holes from punches and kicks and the occasional body being thrown into it.
The window is shattered when Tobirama tries to make a break for it by escaping through it before Hashirama hauls him back into the room by grabbing onto the back of his shirt
The only reason the fighting ends is because the mushroom eventually takes affect and it makes Tobirama double over to vomit and Hashirama sighs and gently rubs his back.
"I told you to spit it out."
"I would have been fine."
"You can't be eating poison on your own! At least have someone with you!"
"I did!"
"A CLONE DOESN'T COUNT!"
"Brother, shut up and restart my heart, I'm going into cardiac arrest."
Madatobi AU ive been working on where after Hashirama's death, Tobirama mets an unfortunate fate by a beast that eats memories instead of flesh. A punishment for aimlessly wandering a forest that is so far from home in search of his brother's body after his own battle with the silver and gold brothers.
The beast, intrigued by Tobirama’s stubbornness, his tenacity to continue wandering aimlessly and calling his brother's name despite being mortally wounded, decides to eat Tobirama’s memories.
The beast called it a favor- a mercy.
Years later, Madara finds him in a village so far from the land of fire, working for an old seamstress whom had found him on the bank of a river and sewed up his wounds, and rips him from everything he's ever known since waking up and not even knowing his own name.
Madara tells him they were once Wed, and they were happy.
