#I still feel a little weird thinking about it!! the primal instinct to curl into a ball is strong

[whentherewerebicycles]

well I had that test done today and I found it extremely painful & unpleasant but everything was clear on the scans so hey! there is as far as we can tell no structural reason I can’t have a baby! at this stage we have ruled out everything except “bad eggs,” a thing for which there is no test, so yknow. once more unto the breach or rather thrice-ish more unto the breach and we shall see what happens.

[adh-james-version]

Canines Pt. 2

First Part

trans!barty

"Bite me."

"Wh-what-" "I said bite me. I wanna feel your teeth." Barty said breathlessly pushing his lips against Evan again. Evan sat up against the headboard pulling Barty's with him as they kissed. Barty looked like he was feral, he was grinding in Evan's lap and licking all over his teeth.

"Woah, baby, woah." Evan said pulling Barty back so they both could breathe. Barty kept his hands near Evan's mouth, transfixed by his new look. "You said you wanna feel me, yeah?" Barty nodded furiously and went in to kiss Evan roughly. Evan let Barty's kiss him before he pushed him back a little before twisting them around so Barty was under him. "Words pretty boy." "Yes, yes, please I wanna feel the teeth babe."

Barty's mind was so clouded with lust that he couldn't think of anything besides wanting to feel Evans teeth on him. I was extremely wet and he felt like a bitch in heat. These sharp teeth brought out some primal instinct that that Barty couldn't understand, it made him want to js have Evan leave teeth marks all over his entire body, and he mean his entire body.

"Okay then, love" Evan smirked before pulling a hair tie off of Barty's wrist to tie his Blonde dreadlocs out of his dark chocolate face. He slid Barty's shirt over his head and kissed down from his chest to his stomach, simultaneously pulling his boyfriend farther down the bed. HE reached the base of his stomach, where he pulled his shorts down with his teeth. He pulled Barty's boxers off and pressed two fingers into his soaking folds slowly rubbing.

He looked up into Barty's eyes, "you still want my mouth?" "Mmmmm- fucks yes, pleasee." Barty said the slow circling driving him crazy.

Evan finally lowered his head towards Barty's heat and took a long lick, moaning at how good his baby tasted. "Ohhh my godddd- Evan you-re whole- mouthhh-" He had to stop as Evan dove in like this was going to be his last meal. Barty made a weird noise when he felt Evans newly sharpened teeth graze his insides. "You like them?" Evan said coming up to hover over Barty as he stuck 2 fingers into his boyfriend, and started pumping them. Bartys hands attempted to go to his clit as he tried to gain some extra stimulation but Evan caught his wrist and pinned them against the bed with one hand.

Evan added a third finger. "I asked you a question slut. Do. You. Like. Them?" Each word punctuated with a hard thrust and curl of his fingers. 'Fuckkk, y-es, ohhhhh. I mmm love them." Evan smiled biting his top lip, show casing his teeth, the bottom half of his face still wet from eating Barty out. "Ev, I'm so close." "C'mon baby, let go." Evan felt Barty tightening around his fingers, a sign her was about to cum. Evan moved down to his neck and bit, not hard enough to break skin, but just hard enough to know he was going to leave a bruise. As soon as Barty felt the bite his vision exploded into white as his orgasm washed over him.

Falling of off a cliff, that how he felt, falling off a cliff into a sea of pleasure with beaches made of Evan. He never came so hard off of Evans fingers in his life, these teeth are doing something to him. As Barty came down he felt something thick and hard probing at his hole and the knowledge that his wrists were free again. He whimpered. "You can take it baby?" His boyfriend asked in a degrading but sincere voice. "Mhm, want you to feel good." "You sure?" "Yes. Use me, Evan." That did it.

Evan flipped Barty over like he weighed nothing, he loved being manhandled and his man knew that. Evan pressed roughly into Barty, thrusting hard and slow as Barty whimpered and moaned into the air. Evan couldn't settle on a rhythm, hard a fast, slow and sensual, slow and hard, just  rocking his hims slightly while essentially having Barty cock warm him. It was driving Barty Crazy. 

Barty could barley even make a sound from how overstimulated and high on sex he was. He barley registered as Evan trusted one last rough time,  and came deep inside of him, all he could feel was himself cumming again. He was still in a different dimension when Evan slipped out and cleaned the both of the up. "You with me B?" Only response he got was a hum from Barty and him snuggling into his side.

[natelia-aldelliz]

More werewolf au because I can :

Graves wasn't supposed to know about the werewolves, but Shepherd knew so maybe that's how he got the intel. As he's betraying them, he asks, almost begs, Soap to come with him, to join him against Alejandro and Ghost.

Alejandro because of the 'drug affiliation' thingy and his blatant dislike of Mexicans and Ghost because he's a monster. A beast, not even human. And he wants to protect Soap, believes him to be in danger, doesn't listen to Soap trying to de-escalate the situation, trying to ask him not to do that.

(Because he believes he knows what other people need more than them)

And Soap still has that very primal fear inside of him everytime he's around his the pack, that prey instinct that his predators are there, waiting for him to lower his guard. That's true, he does, he's even too scared to admit he's also not fully human.

But never, ever, has he considered betraying them, going against them in anyway. He wouldn't be a good cat if his fear of bigger predators wasn't overtaken by his very cocky very wrong feeling that he could take them all in a fight if he had to.

His cat-self was scared of their lycanthropic-selves, but he himself had never been scared of them as people. Well. Scared that they'd reject him, that they'd never consider him a member of the pack, yes. But scared that they'd hurt him? Not really.

Graves doesn't appreciate rejection, getting told no. He opens fire, Soap gets a bullet in his shoulder, Ghost begs him to get up and run.

He roams the streets with his head swimming from the blood loss, fighting against his instincts to just turn into a cat, curl up in a hole somewhere and lick his wounds, purring to himself to try and comfort the betrayed-hurt-helpless feeling in his gut.

But he can't, because he's not like the were-people, he's not a werecat, he doesn't heal faster. And his human biology makes surviving a bullet wound easier than the cat biology for some reason. (He tried, it just made him go in shock faster.) The hands keeping the blood from flowing freely definitely help for one. And what if Ghost contacts him and he can't respond and his LT thinks he's dead and leaves him here?

The Shadows are everywhere. The good thing is that his eyes see better in low light than theirs, than even the night vision helmets. His hearing is also better, though not as good as his cat-self's. That means he always knows where they are around him and he can avoid them.

When he's finally reunited with Ghost, the man keeps throwing him weird looks, but doesn't say anything. Soap can't really focus, he needs all his remaining blood doing actually important things and analysing your superior-officer-that-you've-been-lowkey-flirting-with's looks isn't one of these.

They reach Alejandro's safehouse, are reunited with Rudy, then Ghost sees him wobbling in place and drags him in the little medbay to see to his wounds. He gets stitches, incredibly thankful for Ghost's steady hands. As he finishes up though, his hands stay a bit longer on his shoulder, one of them climbs up to his ear and tugs it slightly, his eyes still staring.

Soap knows what he's doing, has seen Price lightly tug Gaz' and Ghost's (through the mask) ears, knows that it's a stand in for nipping them when they're in human form, as a way to say hello, or assert dominance or comfort them. Reserved for pack members.

Has... has he been accepted in the pack? His heart is beating faster, which isn't good with all the blood he's lost and the fact that the adrenaline is running out fast. His head is spinning. He looks up at Ghost with dilated eyes, trying to focus everything on him to try and understand before he passes out.

Ghost is looking straight at him, as usual, his head slowly tilting, his eyebrows furrowing in incomprehension. His peripherals are darkening more and more, darkness seeping in, and his eyes suddenly feel very hot while the rest of his body is getting cold and tingly.

Ghost's hand makes its way to the back of his neck, helping him hold his head up as his vision gets more and more blurry.

"What even are you?" Soap thinks he hears whispered as he finally loses consciousness.

[plush-rabbit]

A Blurry Photo

Picture Perfect | Aftermath of Picture Perfect Headcanons | Smile For Me

Warnings: Manipulation, Slight non-con

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: I’m gonna do a part 4 with the pregnancy so keep an eyes on that ;P

He watches you, edging closer to the bubble you’ve created around yourself. The way you make sure that not a single thing of yours touches someone or something and that not a single thing that isn’t familiar touches you. He can walk close to you- enough to see the red lines around your neck and he salivates, spit pooling in his mouth. As perceptive as you are, you don’t seem to notice him. There’s something deeper inside of him now. It isn’t lust that he feels for you. It’s deeper than that, something more, something that makes his chest ache, that makes him want to do something idiotic and he does. It’s daylight, the sun is out and you’re safe. Eyes and hands will stop from any crime being committed upon such a sinful, innocent person. It’s easy for him- everything is when it comes to you- all he has to do is reach into your pocket and slip out your phone, he’s sure someone has caught him in the act, but no one says a thing. Slender fingers tap against your shoulder and you jump and you look at him with wide, tearful eyes and there’s a shock that shoots straight to his crotch, awakening his flaccid member.

“I’m sorry to startle you, miss, but it seems like you dropped your phone.” He holds the phone, hands large and imposing, covering all of the device, knowing you’ll have to touch him to retrieve it.

You look down at it and then back to him and his smile never wavers. “I- Thank you-”

“Danny.” You were never going to ask his name, he knows that. You’re too scared to do anything like that. “You can call me Danny.” He smiles sweetly at you and he has to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop the growing smile when you fingertips touch against his fingers.

You clear your throat, a forced smile making its way onto your lips and while he knows that it makes sense, he can’t help but feel anger at the expression given to him. “Thank you, Danny.” You pull on the phone, holding it tightly in your hands. “I uh- I hadn’t noticed it fell so thank you.” Your foot turns, ready to turn your body and he pushes forward, so desperate to continue talking to you.

“You uh-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat, walking beside you- “You seem a bit stressed, everything okay?” You glance at him through the corner of your eye and he can only give you a practiced nervous smile. “I really don’t mean to pry-”

“Then don’t,” you cut him off, hurrying your steps. “I’m fine. Thank you for picking up my phone but I have to get going.”

The corners of his lips pull downwards. Fury hammers at him, his hands curling and brows furrowing. “Listen, I’m just trying to say that you seem a bit stressed. Are you sure you’re okay? I work for the news and I know there have been a number of break ins-” that word causes you to flinch- “and I don’t want to leave you scared during this difficult time.” He makes sure to stumble in his footsteps when you turn a corner, jogging slightly to catch up to you, hands pushed into his pockets. “You’re shaking, you know?”

You falter in your steps and he has to refrain himself from smiling. “You’re being sweet and I- I appreciate it but really, I’m fine.”

“How about we go get some tea?” You turn to look at him and he considers it progress. “I think coffee might do you something bad, so tea sounds nice, right? Have you had bubble tea before?” Your eyes light up and his smile turns softer. “I’ll pay. Listen, I’m not trying to do anything weird, I just wanna make you’re okay before you go back home. I know a scared face when I see one.” You just need a little push and he can provide that. He stands in front of you and the tip of your sneaker nips at his, and holds his hand out to you, unblemished and giving. “Would you like to go get bubble tea with me?” Your hand twitch, fingers curling to place themselves against his only to pull away and he’s sure that if he hadn’t ruined you, you would have touched him. You nod your head, your answer a soft whisper and tears welling in your eyes and he does not comment, only smiles and holds your hand. “Great. I know the perfect place.” You’re already so broken, all he has to do is show you a bit of kindness and he can fix you.

-

You are curled up against Danny under a thick blanket, hands interlaced as you both watch the news, the tone somber as the woman recounts the latest murder. Your thumb rubs against his knuckles, the room quiet. It takes all his might to avoid looking down and seeing your reaction. He can remember the murder quite well. He’s just surprised it took them so long to find the body. It wasn’t as if he had hidden it but he must have mistaken the kindness for people to check up on others. He mistakes the kindness that you have for others. It was something that happened, a pull on his heartstrings with the time he has spent with you.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Your thumb stops its melodic rhythm. “All the murders. I man, it’s just one guy and they can’t even seem to find him.” You laugh and it’s bitter, empty and makes a shiver run down his spine. “You- You go there, right? To take photos and stuff?”

“Yeah,” he responds, reaching over to grab the remote, holding his hand over the pause button, waiting for the right moment to hit it. “I get a few things, nothing ever tramuzitng, by the time I arrive the body is gone and there are markers all over.” A still image of Ghostface appears, he’s frozen in time, a hand raised with fingers curled in a mock greeting with the knife raised. He can feel your body stiffen, the small breath of air that is sucked into your body and the way your nails dig into his skin. “I’m safe, you know. I’m not leaving you anytime soon. Plus-” he turns his hands over, grabbing yours roughly- “the murderer never returns to the scene of the crime.”

“I just-” your voice shakes and he wonders if you’re going to tell him the details of your encounters with him- “I worry.” He frowns. It seems like you won’t.

It’s his fault, of course. He’s ruined your trust in people, invaded every aspect of himself into you, has felt your body as you cried and he was so sure that the last time he was here- which at this point was months ago- that he had gotten you pregnant and yet here you are with a regular period and consuming what you want without worry. But he can’t give up hope- you let him have a key to your place, you spend the nights with him or vice versa, you kiss him against the lips, breath shaky and hands gripping onto his shirt like it's a lifeline while it is a peck, he has to rush somewhere hidden to fist his cock in his hand and think of the way you’d be so giving and so fearful to him. It’s like you’re teasing him on purpose.

“Look at me?” He asks, already grabbing your body and turning you over. You look at him, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips, eyes wide legs straddling him, your clothed cunt pressed against his crotch and if he closes his eyes he can imagine the smell of it. His hands cup your face, encasing you and forcing you to look at him as the image of Ghostface is frozen on screen. “I’m going to be okay. No silly murderer who hides his face is going to get me. After all,” he smiles, leaning close to you, “I’m just a photographer. It’s not like I know anything.” He presses his lips against you, your words muffled against his tongue.

His hands slip down your face and onto the curve of your neck. He can feel your body stiffen, the soft murmur of his name on your lips, the way you latch onto his shirt and tug on it, scratching your nails against the soft cotton. His hands lower, hands slipping down over the curve of your chest, your legs instinctively trying to squeeze together, only to rest against your stomach. A hand curves to your back, sliding under your shirt where his fingertips tap lightly against your bare back. His other hand slips under the front side of your shirt, trailing above, fingers ghosting over the soft curve of your stomach until he reaches the band of your bra, his hand cupping a breast and your hands on him go flat, a feeble attempt to push him away as his hand pulls down your cup, exposing your breast, a hardened nipple poking against the palm of his hand. Danny wonders how close he can get until you really try to get him off of you- until you’re crying and hitting against his body, until all the small progress that you’ve made with him can be broken once again.

He tries to restrain himself, to hold back any of his primal urges to claw at your skin, to mark you until you’re sobbing against him. The most he allows himself to do is pinch at your nipple which makes you whimper against him, your hands now clawing at his chest and he can pretend for a second that you want this as well, trick himself that you’re gentle shoves that grind yourself against him are on purpose. He’s gasping against your mouth, pushing himself close to you, spit dribbling past the corners of both mouths. His fingers are pinched against your nipple, pulling taut on it and twisting it until your body goes rigid and he can hear a cry of pain muffled by the wretched kiss he’s placed onto you.

It isn't until you bite against his lip that he lets go. He curses, bringing a hand up to cusp the wounded piece of flesh that burns. Other than the small curse that leaves his lips, he’s calm, cupping his clothed mouth allowing for the blood to pool and fill his mouth with poison. You, on the other hand, are a mess. You’re entangled in the blankets, kicking them off, crying and sniveling, trying to fix where he’s touched only to start sobbing when you mimic where he had just touched you.

“You know, if you wanted to bite, you have to be a bit gentler than that,” he tries to joke, letting his tongue graze over the wound, blood spilling onto the flat of his tongue, filling his mouth with copper.

His fingertips touch against his lip, a thin, shining blood on his finger pad, staining him in his natural color. His eyes glisten, fingers still as he stares in fascination. His mind is fuzzy, static stuffed inside as the room is filled with a high-pitched noise, eyes never wanting to look away from the blood on his fingers- from his own blood. He never took you for the type to fight back. He meets your eyes- cruel, wicked eyes that meet fearful ones, ones that are rimmed red and look upon him with the same look that you gave him many nights before when he’s invaded your home. His fingers curl, the palm of his hand dotted with the same blood that had been spilled by you.

“I- I told you to stop,” you hiss, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket until they’re spilling from your hand, bringing the bundled bunch to your chest, where it rises and dips with such exaggeration. “I didn’t want to.” He tilts his head, his nails digging into his palm. You keep your gaze on him, never faltering, never looking anywhere else. “I’m-” more tears well in your eyes, voice cracking and a shiver runs through his body- “I’m sorry, Danny.”

With a sudden switch, he’s snapped back into reality. His smile is warm, gentle even, as he opens his arms and welcomes you inside, staining your bicep with his blood as your sob into his chest. He smiles, his fingers dancing along your spine in a spindly dance. You clutch onto him and he shushes you gently, letting you apologize and cry as he watches, so desperate for you to know edge closer to him and feel him poke against you, so perverted to have you never find out how your tears excite him more.

He moves slightly, a soft press of his chest against your body, and you collapse further into him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pressing against him, no doubt feeling him and you remain silent save for your sobbing. You refuse to say a single word about your disastrous meetings with Ghostface, even as he stares right at you through the television screen. You don’t speak ill of the monster who holds you in his arms. You hold the monster tight, finding comfort until your sobs have turned into hiccups and whimpers, until you’re kissing against his bitten lip, your lips shining with a thinned blood that appears almost pink on your lips.

“I didn’t mean to push you so much,” he says, his hand flat on your back. “I just thought we had been dating for so long and well-” he sighs, pressing his lips against the crown of your head- “I didn’t mean to push you. There’s no excuse for that.” He moves, squirming under you and you rise, looking at him with

“I just- I don’t have the best record with relationships.” He can feel your hesitation, the way your body tenses and the clawing against his shirt. “I don’t want to get into it,” you finalize, doing your best to not look at the screen where the image remains still, never moving and always taunting you. You pull yourself away from him, standing with your back faced towards the killer and he watches, eyes darting to the door where you begin your descent, his hand barely missing yours when he reaches to hold it. “I’m going to go home.” You turn to look at him, your mouth pulled into a straight line. “I’ll uh-” you stop midway, cutting yourself off as you lower yourself to the ground, adjusting your shoes and tightening the laces. Your hand wraps around the door knob, the humid air outside making you freeze, his eyes never leaving your retreating figure. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You look at him, a tense smile stretched on your face, as you give him a short wave goodbye. The door closes behind you and he collapses onto the couch, hand unzipping his pants and wrapping around his throbbing member, hissing at the contact.

[jean-kayak]

This is a weird idea I’ve had but can I request a smut drabble of Hawks crushing on a black!fem!reader who’s a twitch streamer/gamer (that’s a fan of his) and they start meeting up a lot until they start dating? He’s not bothered by the thirst comments she gets despite how open she is about being taken but Hawks is possessive (thanks to bird instincts) and he fucks her after her stream talking about how those horny bastards would never be with her cuz she’s his.

A/N: Anon, I love this idea! It’s not weird at all! Here it is, and I’m sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it!

Pairing: Hawks (Keigo Takami) x black!fem!gamer!reader

Word Count: 1,356

Warnings: possessive Hawks, (smut 18+!!), unprotected sex, fingering, ass slapping (once)

Hawks doesn't really know how he managed to find your channel, let alone learn about Twitch, but once he found you, he couldn't find a good reason to not watch your streams.

He had the app downloaded on his phone so he would get notifications every time you went live. He decided to come up with some random username, opting to not use his real name, though he doubts you'd believe it was the real Hawks.

He was completely hooked, and he didn't even know it until he realized that he would be racing home to make sure he was on time to tune into your streams. He thought at first that maybe he just enjoyed the gaming content that you put out, but he slowly started to realized that he was quickly developing a crush on you.

He noticed that he would be engrossed in your stories about how your day went or stories from your past. He found himself smiling fondly at how happy you would get whenever you won a round of whatever game you were playing. Or how cute he thought you looked when you didn't put much effort into your appearance, especially when you were doing hour-long streams, a bonnet on your head, and a ratty old t-shirt covering your torso.

He really starts tuning in when he finds out that you're a huge fan of his after someone had asked you who you're favorite hero was. He couldn't help when his confidence rose when you excitedly talked about him.

It gave him enough confidence to try and actually contact you, hoping to eventually meet you in person. He messaged you on social media while you were on stream, and you just happen to glance at your phone, and he couldn't erase the smile on his face when he saw your reaction.

You both hit it off instantly, exchanging numbers which led to the both of you finally meeting each other in person, and you definitely look way better in person.

His crush only continued to grow bigger, and he'd never thought he'd actually have the chance to date you, but here you both are going three months strong.

Of course, your relationship was kept secret, for his sake, and mostly for yours mostly, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't get jealous by the thirst comments you constantly receive.

He knows you're beautiful, that's what drew him in besides your personality, but he can't help the feeling stirring at the pit of his stomach when he sees the comments on your social media. Especially on stream.

One day, he tuned in to one of your streams while he was at work, and that day, the comments seemed to be more forward than they usually were. You've mentioned that you were taken, but that only spurred some of them on, and Hawks couldn't ignore the anger rising inside of him.

You weren't wearing anything spectacular, just a simple tank top, but that appeared to be enough for all of the horny people in the chat. He wasn't even paying attention to your stream anymore, he was focused on the comments flooding in.

Some saying how hot you were, others saying that they could treat you way better than your boyfriend could, and for the rest of his shift, Hawks was a little bit tougher than necessary, needing to take out his frustration somehow before he could see you.

You've just finished your stream, massaging your ears once you take your headphones off before you hop into bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone.

You jump out of your skin as you drop your phone when you hear something landing on your balcony. You physically relax as you sigh, putting a hand on your chest as you scoff lightly. "Keigo, oh my God, you scared the life out of me."

You don't even get a chance to move, Keigo already on top of you, his lips covering yours, his body encompassing yours. You easily accept his tongue, your mouth opening easily as you moan into the kiss.

You pull away, realizing that he's shirtless, the only clothes remaining are his pants. You look up at him to ask him what's gotten into him, but when your eyes meet his, the words seem to disappear.

His eyes are filled with lust and primal hunger, and you can't help the shiver that goes down your spine as you feel wetness pool at your core. "You're mine, right, kid?" he asks, not waiting for an answer as he attacks your neck, his hands trailing down to your shorts, ripping them off in a second.

His fingers are stimulating your bundle of nerves as soon as he gets them off, and the last thing you're thinking about it is answering. He bites down on your neck softly as he repeats himself. "Yes! Yes, I'm all yours," you sigh as he puts marks all over your neck that you know you're going to have a hard time covering up.

He's already able to slide in two fingers easily, your back arching off the bed as he curls his fingers, hitting your spot instantly. He works in a third as he thumbs at your clit, your hands gripping his shoulders as he smirks at how easy you become undone under him.

He can't help the sense of pride he feels as he watches you cum on his fingers, his name coming out of your mouth breathless as you gush all over his fingers.

You barely have enough time to come down from your high when you're flipped over on your stomach as he guides onto your knees, arching your back before getting rid of the rest of his clothes.

You try to turn your head, but you're stopped short when you feel him pushing into you, the stretch making your mouth drop open as you moan loudly. He's already pounding into you, your body still sensitive from your first orgasm as you cry out into the room, the noises you're making almost drowning out the sound of the bed frame creaking.

"Who's making you feel this good?" he growls, his grip on your hips tight, and you can already feel the bruises starting to form. You can hardly get out the words, the last thing on your mind is attempting to form a coherent sentence.

A smack vibrates through the room, the pain blooming on your ass making you whine. "Who's making you feel this good?!" he repeats as he picks up his pace, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grip the sheets underneath you.

"Fuck. You are, Kei," you manage, and you can hear his wings puff up, opening your eyes to see the shadow spread across the headboard.

He reaches around you to rub at your clit harshly, and you jolt, feeling that knot getting tighter. "Shit, who owns this tight cunt? Fuck," he swears, and you don't answer fast enough, and you let out a small scream when he pinches your clit. "Answer me," he demands.

"You do Kei. It's all yours," you sigh, and he doesn't even try to fight the satisfied smile that finds its way onto his face.

"Say my name, baby bird. Scream it." The only thing coming out of your mouth is chants of his name as you drool onto the pillow, and he fucks you faster as he thinks about all of those comments that he read, and how none of them could make you like this.

"Kei!" you shout, the knot snapping as you cum hard, your body going taut then limp, the only thing holding you up now is the rough fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he grits as he fucks you through your high, chasing his. He cums with a low growl before folding over you. You wince at the overstimulation when he pulls out, and you flop over on your side, your breathing ragged from exertion.

"You read the comments again, didn't you?" you ask with an airy chuckle as he looks at the bedsheets.

"...No."

[johnkrrasinski]

shameless; 

full masterlist

Pairings: biker!bucky x female!reader

Word count: 1,423

Warning: SMUT. sexy times, cuss words, oral sex (female receiving), fingering. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: on a rainy monday night where bucky took you to the club, what could happen when there’s only the two of you and a few glasses of whiskey in between? 

a/n: so i was thinking of writing another biker!bucky because it’s my favorite trope and i know that i have written another biker!bucky fic previously, so i was considering of turning it into a series of events kinda fic? just a compilation of domestic and adventurous one shots between biker!bucky and reader that take place in the same universe but different times... let me know in the comment if you’d be interested! as usual, likes & feedbacks are always appreciated. enjoy!

Your lips were swollen as Bucky had one hand on your hip and the other one with a fistful of your hair. You leaned back with your hands propping you up on the carom billiards table as Bucky shoved his tongue inside your mouth. He kissed you ferociously as if his life depended on it. Through every clashing teeth, tongues entangling, and tender nibbles, he conveyed his blazing infatuation for you and he was addicted to the spell that you had on him.

Bucky took you at the club that he owned, where The Howling Commandos biker gang liked to hang out every weekend. It was practically their nest and no one walked through that entrance undetected. Their vigilant eyes were always scanning every person who stepped foot on their territory.

It was a quiet Monday night where the club was customarily closed due to its employees and bartenders working extra harder on the weekends so Bucky thought they deserved a break. Not that many people visit the club on Mondays, anyway.

Bucky liked to take you on spontaneous dates and tonight, he took you to his favourite spot, where he found the most comfort other than in your arms as he once claimed, and that was his club. He initially planned to take you here for a quick drink and then he was planning to take you to a drive-in theatre, where his parents used to take him back when he was a kid.

But his plans were ruined the moment he heard the sounds of droplets of drizzle upon the roof that soon turned into a rainfall. You sat by the bar with Bucky by your side as you talked about whatever random topic that came into your mind. The club was partly dimmed and the thudding of the downpour was the only noise you could hear. You were clad in nothing more than a black shirt that exhibited your cleavage and a pair of ripped denim shorts and it was very challenging for Bucky to keep his hands off you.

After a few shots of whiskey, Bucky didn’t hold back when his primal instinct urged him to take you right there in the unoccupied club. So he slammed his lips to yours after you giggled incessantly like a child just like you would when you got a little tipsy and then he lifted you to the billiard table without detaching his mouth from yours.

That’s how you ended up here; with Bucky’s hands roaming all over your body as he groped your breast by reaching through under the hem of your shirt and he didn’t even bother trying to unclasp that bra off of your chest and just pushed aside the cup through the underband. You panted as Bucky dragged his tongue down your neck and nipped on your sensitive spot, marking you as his.

He loved watching you walk around with a cordial bruise especially on the areas where he knew you couldn’t cover. What can you say? Bucky was quite a possessive man. He’d fight anyone who even dared to think about you.

He fondled your hardened nipple as the cold air made it even more sensitive. His lips returned to yours after he was satisfied with purple mark and he pushed you on the surface, making you lie on it. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down along with your thong. You knew how spontaneous Bucky could be and you anticipated that something like this would happen so you’d always slip in a surprise that would provoke him even more.

This time, it’s your favourite mauve pink lace thong. Bucky was tempted to tear it off your hips but he knew just how much you loved your pretty underwears so he stopped doing that, not wanting to make you mad.

“But doll, I promise, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s not the point, Bucky! The point is, they don’t sell the exact same item anymore.”

Bucky put them on the floor and started trailing up your leg with kisses as you both maintained eye contact. He was going slow because he knew it was agonizing to you and that sexy motherfucker lived to tease you. He nibbled on the inside of your thigh before he lifted your thighs on the table and spread them wide to give him more access. He pushed his head to your core and he licked a stripe on your bud. He feasted on your wetness as he moaned at the taste. It reverberated through your skin, causing your head to spin.

“Oh God, Bucky…” You bit your lip.

Without any warning, he inserted two fingers into your cunt and you arched your back, a loud moan escaped through your lips. He kept driving them in and out of you, scissoring you open for him. He curled his fingers to nudge on your G-spot, steering you to the edge as you released all over his fingers. He cleaned them off by licking them and you watched the erotic scene playing out above you.

Bucky kissed you once more with fervour and you could taste yourself on him. It was so sexy and you couldn’t wait any longer for him to give you more so you wrapped your legs around his waist and bucked your hips against his crotch. The friction was tantalizing.

He chuckled as he retreated an inch from your face, “patience, babygirl.”

Bastard. He loved riling you up and he loved seeing you in a dishevelled state. When you couldn’t hold back any longer and there was nothing else in your mind than his beautiful cock, it fueled his ego.

“Please, Bucky, I need you so bad… please.”

“You want me? You want me to fuck you like a whore that bad?”

“Yes, please!” you whined.

“Then beg. Beg like a good girl and tell me you’re mine.”

“Please, Bucky? I’m yours. All yours, just take me, please. I can’t- I need… I need to feel you.” You pleaded in between pants.

“That’s my girl.” He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled it down with his briefs as his hard cock wobbled with every motion that he made. He took off his leather jacket and placed it on the table next to you and then he lifted your legs up onto his shoulders and slammed his hard cock into you as you thrashed in pleasure and squealed, your warmth engulfing him. He didn’t waste any time in drawing himself out only to pummel himself back in full force. He impaled you as he shoved his fingers into your mouth, muting your shrieks.

You could feel his balls slapping against your buttcheeks that were dangling on the edge of the table as he rammed his cock into you relentlessly. You could feel him in your stomach as you felt your climax approaching. He accelerated his pace and you clenched around him. A few more hard, rapid thrusts and the coil in your abdomen erupted, making a mess all over Bucky’s cock.

Bucky was still chasing his release as he watched the expression on your face when you came undone, it was pornographically divine. His cock throbbed and he reached his own peak. He groaned as he released deep inside you, mumbling a few profanities under his breath.

You trembled beneath him, trying to regain control over your breathing. The familiar ache between your legs filled you with bliss. Bucky withdrew himself out and he watched his cum dribbling out of you. “So fucking perfect.” He muttered.

“Can’t believe we just did that…” Bucky helped you up as you sat half-naked on the baize.

“Have sex?” he scoffed.

“Defiled the pool table. The boys like to play here, it feels... weird.” 

“Well, I own this place, doll. I can defile as many equipments as I please. Plus, nobody has to know what we just did, don’t they?”

You could only nod, still a little hazy from the offence you just committed.

“Now, let’s get out of here so we can have a quickie in the drive-in, yeah?”

You shook your head at your shamelessly perverted boyfriend. He was never one to keep it in his pants longer than fifteen minutes. You had lost count on how many public places he had fucked you at. He’d always tell you, “not my fault that you walk around looking that hot, is it? Can’t blame a guy for not getting enough of you, doll”

Lucky for him, you could never get enough of him either though.

[itsallmightbitch]

Stitches (Part Three)

Lol, did my last post say 12,000 words? I meant 15,000. Shit son, apparently All Might smut is way too much fun to write.

Pairing: Villain!All Might x Reader

Rating: Um... what’s higher than Explicit? Super Explicit?

Warnings: Oh fuck, like... all the smut. All of it. Described in ALL of the detail. 

Word Count: 15,740. Jesus.

Summary: After finding out that All Might protected you from the sick affections of a dangerous villain, there’s nothing left to do but to give in to all those pesky feelings.

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His back was to you when you entered, his wide shoulders taking up a hell of a lot of room in your usually spacious kitchen. He didn’t turn to look at you, though you knew he’d heard your footsteps. You bit your lip and stared at him for a moment before striding forwards and, much like a person who put their hand in a tiger’s cage, you laid your own in the centre of his back.

 To your surprise, he didn’t turn around and bite it off. No- instead, his body reacted to your touch, muscles tightening and his breath leaving him in a shaky exhale.

 “Hey, look I’m sorry. I should have left it-”

 “He was gonna goddamn rape you, kitten,” All Might bit out abruptly and your hand froze against him, like all the air had been sucked out of the room and not in a good way. He still wasn’t looking at you and you didn’t know why. Why he was so dismissive of the feelings that he clearly had.

 For- for you.

 You swallowed.

 “How you even got involved with that filthy cunt, I’ll never know,” he growled, shaking his head and you heard a creaking groan as he squeezed down on your counter tops- white knuckled. You didn’t dare attempt to save them for fear it might be you next.

 Suddenly, there was a light breeze and he was on you- his hand fisted in the front of your top and you were being lifted into the air.

 “Hey!” You squeaked pathetically as your feet left the ground, one hand wrapping over the top of his wrist.

You weren’t airborne for long though, as he twirled around and set you ass first on the counter he’d been seconds from destroying. Then he was standing between your thighs, arms enclosing you and his palms flat against the wall behind your head.

 The thick, corded muscles in his biceps tightened under his skin, bulging.

 Hot damn, that horny little voice in your head purred.

 Your body sang out at the contact, thighs coming up tight around his hips without even being told to.

 He wasn’t finished talking, even though the electricity crackling in the air was becoming impossible to ignore. Your gaze dipped to his lips and the corner of them quirked, attempting not to react to the way you let him do as he pleased and even seemed to like it.

 “Shigaraki called me. Told me that word was getting around that Scissorhands had his eye on another girl. Couldn’t stop talking about this pretty little thing that he was gonna have his way with. Absolutely enamoured with her…” he said and his voice turned harsh. “And everyone knows when he gets that way, some helpless man or woman is gonna end up dead.”

 You flinched when he spat out the word in disgust and his eyes softened just the slightest at the fear that flitted over your face. You didn’t need him to spell it out for you.  

 Suddenly, All Might’s fingers came out of nowhere, trailing along your cheek and then down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

 He touched you like he was touching glass and you leaned into it, desperate for more than he was currently giving.

 He didn’t give affection like that freely. You took what you could, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. His thumb trailed a line over your cheekbone and he took a moment to study you before he continued.

 Your body was on fire.

 A girl could get used to being looked at like that.

 “I asked him why the hell I should give a damn about anything that fuckin’ creep was up to. None of my business right?” he snorted, the irony not lost on him seeing as it had turned into his business incredibly quickly. “I’m not the cops, sweetheart, understand?” he ducked his head to look you in the eye and you nodded firmly. “And, I’m no goddamn hero either.”

 Oh, you begged to differ- despite the fact that you would never, ever voice that out loud.

 His hand trailed back up to your face and he tugged you closer, all feral intensity and heat. Your head swam and your arms came up to lock around his neck. His face was inches from yours and you longed to pull him in to your lips but he wasn’t finished talking and there would be no moving him until he was done.

 “But then,” he laughed darkly, almost incredulously. “Shigaraki said your fuckin’ name.”

 Ice crept down your spine at the timbre of his voice and that primal instinct to run in the face of danger was screaming out at you in the back of your mind. But you stayed put, trapped in the iron cage of his arms with your legs folded around his hips. The rational part of you knew, just… knew, that he wasn’t going to lose his temper.

 The tension in the room was leading somewhere far different.

 “Your name,” he said and to your surprise, a shudder ran along his spine. You could do nothing but stare at him in awe.

 “I didn’t want you to bother you with it-” you choked out but got no further when he slammed his lips to yours, bruising and hard. You gasped into the kiss and his tongue invaded your mouth with force, like he’d been desperate to get back to you since you’d stopped kissing him earlier.

 He kissed you for a long time, taking in every little gasp and moan like a man starved. Like he was making sure that you were really here.

 You could barely move under the weight of him pressing against you but instead of feeling claustrophobic, it was almost comforting. He was hot and hard between your legs and you felt an overwhelming eagerness to get this ride moving.

 All Might tore his mouth away suddenly, breathing hard and you whined, trying to follow his lips.

 But instead of ravishing you then and there like you’d hoped that he would, he leaned in to your face- eyes hard like diamond and his words a low, animalistic snarl that sent a wave of both fear and arousal pulsing between your legs.

 “I ripped his fucking head off for even thinking about you like that,” he said, eyes boring hard into yours.

 Your heart hammered in your chest, attempting to break free of your ribcage.

 With an air of finality to the statement, his hands on your waist hoisted your pliant body into his arms and you clung to him, your face buried against his neck. You didn’t need to be able to see to know he was carrying you to your bedroom.

 You laid hot, open mouthed kisses along his throat and rolled your body against his.

 The fingers against your back pressed harder and you were just a little proud at how much he seemed to enjoy your touch. The most powerful man in Japan- hell, in the world- sighed under your fingertips like he desired nothing more but to skip the walk to the bedroom and just fuck you right there on the carpet in the hallway.

 But he stumbled inside eventually, kicking your door shut behind him so you wouldn’t be watched by small, curious eyes.

 You were tossed inelegantly into the centre of your bed, breathless and already missing the heat of him.

 “All Might…” you said, voice thick in your throat as he stood at the edge of the bed. His chest was heaving, eyes wild as they traced a line along your body. You suddenly felt a little intimidated by the sheer size of him. “Um, you do remember your promise right?”

 The question came out a lot softer than you meant it to. Almost shyly. His eyes snapped to yours, lip curling.

 He didn’t answer, so you elaborated.

 “Ya know, not to break your doctor?”

 You finished with a squeak when one knee pressed experimentally onto the mattress and it creaked in protest, dipping under the weight of all that muscle. It didn’t deter him though. He added the other and you both paused for a second.

 “Or her mattress,” you grinned cheekily, lopsided smile causing his eyebrow to raise. You didn’t know if he liked you teasing him or if he was just relieved that he wasn’t going to have to fuck you on the floor, but the tension in his frame abated a little and the smirk he returned was almost a smile of his own.

 Yours widened and you crooked your finger at him.

 Swiftly, he grabbed your hips and away you went again- pulled between his legs with no effort and honestly, you should be annoyed over how he was just moving you around like his own personal doll- but the look he was giving you from above was enough for you to keep your opinions to yourself.

 “Oh kitten, don’t you worry. Daddy doesn’t forget his promises,” he cooed, his massive hand splaying over your stomach. Your brain basically shorted out and you forgot basic math and your fifth birthday party.

 It took you a moment to choke out a response.

 “Oh come on, you big pervert! You know it weirds me out when you say shit like that,” you protested weakly, unable to really concentrate on telling lies when his hand slid up to cup your breast over your shirt. You choked out a moan instead, all soft and pathetic and he laughed at you.

 Of course he knew you were bullshitting him. He’d felt the way your stomach muscles had quivered and tightened when he’d called himself ‘daddy’.

 Fuck, when had that even become a kink!?

 “You gonna keep telling yourself that?” he asked, and his forefinger and thumb pinched your straining nipple and tugged. It was just hard enough to straddle the line of pleasure and pain but it still made your inner muscles clench down on nothing in desperation.

 You had a feeling that pain and pleasure went hand in hand with him. Maybe not on purpose, but anyone that big was just prone to it.

 “Hmm, did I ever mention that you have great tits?” he asked airily, like he wasn’t currently cupping a handful of one and interrupting your thoughts. His other hand was stroking a line down your side, almost soothingly but to you it was anything but.

 His touch was lighting a fire in your belly and you really wanted him to quit being all handsy with you and get on with it.

 “All the bloody time,” you said pointedly, your fingers finding purchase on his wrist but not to push his hand away. Instead you urged him to palm your breast harder and he pushed them together and up, breathing a low happy sound in the back of his throat.

 He stared at you like he was about to worship you and hell, what did you even do with that information aside from lay back and write the words ‘ENTER’ and ‘HERE’ on your thighs?

 Where did you put that permanent marker, anyway?

 Coherent thought went bye bye again when he moved his hands away to push your flimsy t-shirt up. You gladly obliged. You sort of owed him seeing as you’d been ogling him for most of the night at this point. It was only fair.

 He let out an appreciative sigh at the sight of your breasts spilling out of your bra and it only took him a second to undo it- thank you, inventor of the front clasp, you thought happily. His groan was almost a growl as he indulged himself, sliding both hands along your ribcage until he was cupping handfuls of your tits and sweeping his thumbs over your taut nipples.

 “Well, Daddy has a new favourite thing,” he said, then leered at your surprised expression. “What?”

 “You always told me you were an ass man,” you pointed out, as though he wasn’t fondling your breasts and looking at them like he was about to write a fucking sonnet.

 “Times change, baby girl,” he laughed lewdly, tongue running over his canines. “Oh yeah,” he eyed them as though sizing them up. “I’m definitely gonna fuck them.” He pushed them together again and the sensation was sending sparks bouncing across your skin.

 “Oh, it’s just what every woman wants to hear,” you countered, your damsel in distress voice coming out as you dramatically whipped a hand to your forehead and pretended to swoon. He grinned, showing off his perfect teeth. Dipping over you, he kissed you like the goddamn world was about to end.

 All deep and languid, letting you wrap yourself around him and press your bare breasts against his chest. He nudged you and moved until his hips rested between your thighs instead of vice versa, pushing forward and grinding the length of his cock against you.

 Oh now that was a feeling you were familiar with. How you’d missed it.

 You were breathless when you broke away, arms tight around his neck and when he went to pull back, you refused to let him go. You didn’t want him to stop kissing you like he was about to go to war and not come back. Like a starving man.

 “Fuck sake, you even turn me on when you’re being a sarcastic little bitch,” he growled breathlessly, then laved a hot line across your jaw and settled on your pulse point. “S’ a shame you want me to go all soft and slow on you, kitten,” he said, distaste evident in his voice. “I’d love the chance to fuck that attitude of yours right out of you.”

 Who said he wouldn’t get the chance eventually, you thought, amused by the way his big talk earlier had come back to bite him in the ass.

 Ooh, biting…

 Biting could be involved.

 You flashed him a smug grin of your own, nipping along his jaw and knowing full well that he could pull away and take you however he damn well pleased. But the important thing was… he didn’t. He stayed encased in your arms, indulging your more romantic side- despite complaining about it the entire time. It was time to bring out the big guns.

 “Hmm, I thought Daddy didn’t break his promises?” you sighed, all breathy and aroused and despite the slight weirdness you felt saying that, it was well worth it for the look on his face. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack, staring at you as though you’d just asked him to shake hands with Endeavor. You really loved it when you managed to catch him off guard.

 It took a moment for what you said to sink in but when it did…

 “Fuck me,” he groaned and buried his face in your shoulder, biting and licking patterns that had you arching up from the bed as heat flooded through you. He planted an open mouthed kiss over a nipple, then sucked hard and your head pressed back into the covers hard, almost choking on your own breath.

 There was no doubt about it, the man had an amazing mouth and you could hardly wait to have him stare up at you from between your legs.

 If anything, it would shut him up for a few minutes.

 Nipping and sucking until you were a sensitive mess, he moved across to your neglected breast, leaving the other pink and wet from his mouth. He seemed like he was in no rush to get to main event, content to take his time on your chest. He dragged the flat of his tongue across your peak before his teeth scraped against it, tugging, teasing and drawing your hips up against him when you cried out.

 You’d always assumed that he would be a ‘taker’ not a ‘giver’. How wrong you were, you scolded yourself.

 Eventually, he became impatient too and bunched the top of your pajama pants down, signalling you to raise your hips.

 Some small, insecure part of you tensed up as he dragged the pants down your legs and off, taking your panties with them.

 You expected him to dive right back in but when had he ever done anything expected of him?

 The answer was never.

 Instead of absolutely ravishing you, he stood slightly hunched over at the foot of your bed, just drinking in the sight of you naked before him. Feeling far too exposed under his hungry gaze, you squeezed your thighs together and shot him a somewhat uncomfortable look that he chose to ignore.

 “My eyes are up here, you know,” you said, swallowing against the tide of insecurity as his heated gaze danced a slow path over your naked body. It was like he wanted to memorise every inch of you, and the intensity silenced any other sarcastic comments you were about to make.

 “M’not looking at your eyes, doll,” he snorted and then his hands reached for your closed knees. “You not gonna let me enjoy this? Huh?”

 Fingers digging into them, he pried your legs apart and you couldn’t really do much to stop him, just relenting and feeling dizzy from all the blood rushing to your head. It was a good thing you were already on your back.

 “Goddamn, kitten,” he murmured, eyes fixed between your legs. He let out a low, pleased noise as he stared at the slick arousal that had been coating the inside of your thighs ever since you’d climbed into his lap earlier.

 “This all for me?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer. The asshole just wanted you to say it. He trailed his hand along the inside of your thigh, coating his thumb in your wetness and getting dangerously close to your aching pussy. You wanted to buck forward, have him touch you for the briefest of moments but you managed to get a hold of yourself before you did.

 “Yeah,” you breathed shakily as he brought his thumb to his lips and sucked on it, eyes closing briefly as though he was enraptured by the taste. “Just for you.”

 You saw his cock twitch violently against the fabric of his pants and when he was done licking his thumb clean, he went back for more. His finger trailed over your pussy ever so softly and you shivered, your hips bucking in want of more but he didn’t repeat the motion, bringing his finger to your lips instead of his.

 He observed you, amusement dancing over his face when your eyes snapped up to meet his.

 The whole thing was so intense that you barely hesitated, meeting his silent challenge and clearly surprising him- if the way his eyebrows rose suddenly was any indication. His expression quickly changed to one of satisfaction as you pulled his finger into your mouth and wrapped your tongue around it.

 The taste of your own arousal wasn’t exactly familiar but it wasn’t repulsive either and so you sucked his finger clean and just to show him that you were no pushover, you bit him playfully.

 He beamed at you, pleased by your boldness.

 “Such a good girl,” he cooed, tugging you up for another gut twisting kiss. You melted, the praise going to your head. “Gettin’ so wet for me. I knew you would.”

 “Who says I’ve been thinking about you?” you teased against his lips and then let out a laugh when he shot you an incredulous, irritated look. Hopefully you hadn’t offended him too much, you thought wickedly. As if anyone else could even hold a candle to him.

“You’re not going to huff with me are you?” you asked, nuzzling a kiss against the corner of his mouth, nose brushing his. “Because I’m pretty sure that would be a crime.”

 “What part of Number One Villain do you not understand?” he grunted. For a moment, when he didn’t move to kiss you again, you worried that you actually had annoyed him. But then-

 “Then again, I suppose I’m not that fuckin’ mean.”

 Without warning, he shoved his knee between your legs and pushed them apart again and you keened when he slid one long, thick finger inside of you. The surprise of the sudden intrusion made you jump but his other hand held you steadfastly to the mattress. He laughed at your expression, clearly enjoying taking you by surprise like that.

 The fucking asshole.

 “Now, who were you thinking about again?” he asked, voice dangerously low and your traitorous muscles fluttered and shook around his finger, your body way ahead of your brain. If this was the sweet stretch you felt with just one finger, what the hell would his cock be like?

 You tightened your grip around his neck, breathing heavily again.

 “You didn’t think to warn a girl?” you scowled at him, attempting to be annoyed even though your body was far more receptive to him. You felt your inner muscles clench again, pleased to finally have him inside.

 You assumed that he would give you a second to adjust.

 He clearly assumed differently.

 He pulled his finger out and then pushed back inside, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs along with any other complaint that you’d had to say. To your annoyance, instead of calling him a prick, you whined instead- because apparently the pleasure centre of your brain was now running the show.

 Oh well. You could chew him out later for… oh, whatever it had been that had annoyed you.

 You could feel the arousal dripping out of you, making a mess of his hand. He didn’t seem to care though, just crooking his finger instead to accentuate the little wet noises he was drawing from your body. The slip and slide of him was addictive and you pressed your hips down, needing more.

 “You gonna answer me, kitten? Or should I just stop?” he asked, slowing the thrusting motion of his hand suddenly. You managed to make a noise of protest, well aware that he wouldn’t continue until he was satisfied. This is what you got for being a smart ass.

 “You, for fuck sake! I’ve been thinking about you,” you managed to choke out and it seemed to appease him- thank God. He hummed and continued what he’d been doing, a little more self assured now than before. His eyes watched your face, drinking in the expressions you were making.

 “Christ, look at you. Soaking and needy and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he murmured and if it was awe in his voice that you heard, you didn’t point it out for fear that he would stop again.

 Thankfully, he seemed to have no intention of it.

 Your nails dug into his back sharply when he added another finger without warning.

 “Fuck!” you rasped, your throat hoarse already from the sounds he was causing you to make. Two fingers was definitely towing the line of pain but the sweet flood of endorphins every time he slid back inside you was worth it. He scissored his fingers, widening you until it suddenly became too unbearable to handle and you reached down, pushing at his forearm to make him stop. It was all well and good preparing you but he kind of needed to slow down or there’d be nothing left to prepare.

 “Ah! Stop, stop,” you managed to choke out.

 To your relief, he paused- still inside you up to the second knuckle of his hand. You relaxed back into the bed, chest heaving and your pussy throbbing in both relief and protest.

 He raised an eyebrow at you in question, fingers still buried but unmoving.

 “Sorry,” you said, sucking in a breath. “It’s just, um- been a while.”

 Definitely not a lie. Between his erratic visits and all the work you’d been bombarded with over the past few months, you’d barely had time to get yourself off let alone find someone else to do it. Besides, there was always that pesky voice in the back of your head that whispered that no-one would ever live up to him.

 You were about to find out if that voice was right, or full of shit.

 “Trying to get you ready, kitten,” he rumbled, sweeping his thumb across your clit. You shivered, thighs tightening. “Otherwise I’ll end up hurting you for real and that might ruin our plans for later.” He sounded almost soft in that moment, concerned about your well being and your stomach swooped low in response to the concern he was displaying.

 What more could you ask for in a man, anyway? Well, murderous, villainous tendencies aside.

 It took you a moment to nod, your body more than ready to continue now with the circles he was pressing against your clit. Tight, fast little movements with the pad of his thumb that made you shiver. The knot in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter despite the mild discomfort and you knew that you would come if he continued like that.

 “I can take it. I can. Please keep going,” you mewled and your voice even sounded pathetic to you but you didn’t care.

 “Please keep going, what?” he said, his fingers starting to pump again, agonisingly slowly.

 You knew what he wanted to hear and all your reservations from earlier swiftly vanished.

 “Daddy,” you whined out, knowing full well you didn’t have the energy to deny him. You just wanted to come and you needed him to get you there. “Don’t stop, Daddy,” you begged again and his deep, feral groan of pleasure was like music to your ears.

 “You’ll be the fucking death of me, kitten,” he said, rocking his hand into you and with every thrust, he widened his fingers just a little more. He was trying his best to prepare you for the absolute monster between his legs. It would almost have been sweet of him if you weren’t currently such a mess of slick arousal and sweat because of him.

 You came with his name on your lips, muscles clamping around his fingers tightly as your body shook. It was like you’d touched a live wire, everything going taut for a few seconds before you slumped back into the sheets- breathing heavily and twitching with a wave of aftershocks.

 Oh damn, you managed to think.

 Looking up at him and seeing the look of sheer arousal on his face, you expected him to simply just gather you up and fuck the remaining energy right out of your body. You certainly didn’t have the willpower to resist as things stood.

 Jesus, it was hard enough remembering your own name.

 Instead, he pulled out of your embrace and slid his fingers out of you as well- leaving you feeling empty and sore. You made a noise that could have been a protest or that could have been relief but you doubted you could answer if asked.

 Without warning, he was gone from where he’d been hovering over you and for a moment, your orgasm fogged brain couldn’t quite comprehend the speed that he’d vanished at.

 Where the fuck had he gone?

 “Um, All Might?” you asked blearily, lifting your head to search for him- before all ability to form words left you and you gasped sharply, hips leaving the bed in a wave of overwhelming sensation. Well, at least now you knew where he was.

 A moment later he was holding your hips in his hands to stop you from bucking again and repeating the motion that had almost sent you through the roof.

 His thick, hot tongue dipped inside you before he flattened it and dragged it though your come and up, over your sensitive clit. Your eyes crossed in a very unsexy way and you were suddenly glad that he was focusing all of his attention on your throbbing pussy because this was not your best game face.

 Not that you could help it.

 You’d always wondered if he’d be good in bed. Despite those frustrated nights where you argued with him, hated him- or pretended to anyway, it had forever been in the back of your mind.

 The answer was apparently- really, fucking good.

 Your hands, which up until now had been fisted tight in the sheets below, reached out so you could bury your fingers deep in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. He didn’t seem to mind- the only indication that he’d even noticed was the tightening of his fingers on your soft hips.

 You were going to have fingerprints there tomorrow. Reminders of him taking what he wanted from your body.

 Reminders of his mouth, covering your clit like he was a man starved and the groan he let out vibrated through you hard enough to made you shake. He lapped at the new wetness that seeped out of you, seemingly endless, and used it- mixing with his saliva to make you slippery and soaking.

 It was a sensation that you would have squirmed at had you been in the right frame of mind.

 But right now, that coupled with the slide of his tongue and the way his nose would bump against your clit only served to turn you into a whining, sobbing mess. You hiccuped his name, breath catching when his teeth lightly grazed you. His tongue parted you again and pressed inside and the fingers you had in his hair curled again.

 How the hell could he even get that deep?

 Fuck, who cares- it felt phenomenal.

 He was gripping your ass now, feasting on you like a man starved with both finesse and a sort of frenzied eagerness- like he’d thought of having you like this before a thousand times. He didn’t seem to care about the obscene noises that your body was making and so you stopped caring about them as well. They only seemed to entice him more, like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you were loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

 Pointing his tongue he pressed it sharply upwards, catching your clit and applying the briefest of pressure- but it was enough to send a pulsing wave of pleasure through you.

 You jerked hard in his hands, fingers gripping his hair hard enough to hurt even him and you felt him grin against the inside of your thigh before he pressed a kiss there.

 More kisses followed and you swiftly realised that he was teasing you, waiting for you to ask him to continue.

 “Do that again,” you pleaded breathlessly and when you glanced down after a few moments of him not complying, you saw his usual smirk directed right back at you. That self-assured, prideful expression that you’d love to wipe off of his face. He raised himself up an inch or two on his forearms, finally letting your hips go.

 Your body sank into the sheets, exhausted but still craving the pleasure that he was currently withholding.

 “Now, I thought we’d talked about this,” he said smoothly, as though he wasn’t concerned if he continued or not. Like it didn’t even bother him. His nonchalance infuriated you to your very core. Here you were, stripped bare and exposed and he was toying with you for his own personal amusement. If only he wasn’t so damn good at it, you might have protested. “That’s not how you get me to do something, is it?”

 “Oh come on,” you groaned, pressing your head back in irritation. He was really going to make you do this again? How could he be so obsessed with hearing you talk when all he ever did was try to shut you up?

 “Too chicken. I knew it,” he taunted, nipping his teeth against your thigh. One palm smoothed up over your hip, then flattened over your stomach.

 You bit back the pleasant sigh that had threatened to slip out at the touch, stewing in a silent fury instead.

 Chicken!? You!?

 You would fucking show him who was chicken. Without warning, you sat up swiftly- almost headbutting him. You must have caught him off guard because he didn’t even try to push you back down with his hand- even though he would have had no trouble. Without even contemplating if it would piss him off or not, you gripped his chin, much like he had been doing to you all night.

 His eyes went comically wide as you brought your face close to his.

 “Do that again, Daddy. Please,” you said, in a voice you didn’t think you’d ever actually used before. Or known you could use. If he wanted you to talk dirty to him then you were going to bite the goddamn bullet and make the idiot happy.

 You didn’t actually expect it to send him into a frenzy- but hey, more orgasms for you.

 You hit the bed with a thump and suddenly, his thumbs were spreading you apart and his mouth was on you again. This was different than before though. Less languid. No more taking his time to tease the orgasm out of you. No. All Might was on a fucking mission.

 He growled against you and then rolled his tongue across your clit like you’d asked.

 Your eyes threatened to roll back.

 Maybe they did. You didn’t fucking know. You were busy focusing on the absolute animal between your thighs and trying not to pass out.

 Clearly you didn’t have a clue what you’d been asking him for. Mindlessly, you draped your legs over his shoulders- your heels digging into his back as you attempted to pull him closer. One hand fisted in the sheets as your back arched up and away from the bed, mouth slack as all reasoning and ability to form words left you.

 Someone was making noises worthy of a damn good porno and- oh. That was you.

 “All Might, please. Please, oh fuck,” you babbled mindlessly, screwing your eyes shut in some feeble attempt to keep it together. Like you could even try. You moaned, high pitched and pathetic, swivelling your hips under the constant attack of his tongue- desperate for him to bring you over the edge.

 Then, he rumbled something and you almost didn’t even hear him, considering your ears were ringing with your own gasps and you were on the very verge of coming. You almost ignored it, dismissed it… but…

 You only just registered what he’d said before he went back to flicking your clit from side to side quickly. Fuck, even your bullet didn’t move that- fast! You bucked, spasming softly and looking down at him over your breasts. You expected him to be focused on the task but his eyes watched you instead of what he was doing.

 You wondered if he was waiting for you to do as he’d just said or whether he was just watching the bounce of your tits.

 Probably both.

 But you weren’t going to pass up the chance he’d just given you. He could be called All Might, Daddy, whatever the fuck else later. Right now-

 “Toshi!” you cried, hips canting upwards from the bed as his tongue filled you again. At the sound of an age old nickname- one he hadn’t let anyone call him in years, he yanked you down hard with his massive arm slung across you to keep you still and went to fucking town.

 Blearily, you wondered just how many tongues he actually had.

 Six? Seven? Fuck-

 Said tongue curled inside you and you felt the pressure building out of nowhere, the same pressure that you could usually sense long before it happened. You didn’t even get a chance to warn him before you were coming again, for the second time in twenty minutes.

 You felt warm liquid spill from you without warning as your orgasm wrecked you and heard him grunt in what sounded like surprise. But then his mouth was back on you and he was helping you ride the wave right until the end.

 Past the end.

 The overwhelming sensation was suddenly far too much, your clit throbbing and pleading for a reprieve. You finally gasped and found the strength to push his head away, clamping your thighs together in some vain attempt to slow the pulsing. Your breathing stuttered, eyes shut tight as you attempted to come down from your high.

 Okay. Good had been a total understatement.

 When you finally managed to open your eyes again, All Might was staring you down with a dark, hungry expression on his face.

 His, um, very wet face.

 Every molecule in your body squirmed with embarrassment and you felt your face heat up before you could do anything to stop it. You probably should have warned him but, in your defence, you’d never actually done that with someone else.

 You were as surprised as him.

 “Yeah, um… sorry about that,” you muttered, gesturing to him without looking him in the eye. “I… don’t do that very often. And you know, never with someone…else,” you trailed off, clearing your throat.

 He made a noise in response and you glanced up to find him grinning, shark like and looking pleased with himself. Your embarrassment lessened a lot because he clearly hadn’t minded.

 “What are you sorry about? M’I the first guy to make you squirt doll?” he asked teasingly, his voice a delectable rumble that seemed to find it’s way right between your legs again. You clenched around nothing, abdomen quivering without your say so. How could you possibly be ready to go again!?

 His grin widened, like he was going to devour you but you answered him before he could.

 “I guess you get a gold star,” you said and relaxed backwards.

 Before you could stop yourself, you were giggling into your hands, hiding your face from him. Of course he hadn’t minded. Christ, if he wasn’t the most wanted criminal in the entire universe you would gladly drag him home to meet your folks.

 Not only was he pretty much a walking, talking sex God, but he’d coaxed two orgasms out of you with barely any effort. Coupled with the fact that he’d let you call him Toshi… Well, you might have to stop talking for a while in case you fucking proposed.

 You covered your face with your hands, still laughing as you felt him press a kiss to the inside of your knee.

 “Well shit. She’s broken,” he snorted. “I was hoping you’d hold out a little longer.”

 Scrubbing your face, you lifted your head to look at him. He was resting his chin on your stomach now, grinning at you in that teasing way he did sometimes. The one that made your heart feel funny in your chest. His hair was a mess and you reached out to smooth down the kinks you’d made.

 “Hey, once I get feeling back in my legs-” you warned, nudging his head to the side with your hand.

 “Who says I’m gonna let up for that long?”

 Now there was a promise you wanted him to keep. But for now…

 “There’s a towel in the en-suite, Romeo,” you managed to say, pointing him in the direction of your little adjoining bathroom. He glanced towards it, taking your hint.

 Suddenly, he was gone and the lack of his weight caused the bed to rise. You bounced a little, worried mildly if these springs would actually hold up under any real action. He reappeared from your en-suite, scrubbing the proffered towel over his face.

 You finally took a moment to really look over him, drinking in every little move he made. The way the muscles in his arms tightened and relaxed as he moved, slicking his hair back from his face to try and control the mess you’d been making of it.

 The steady rise and fall of his chest, no-where near as erratic and pumped up as yours was yet but hard enough to let you know that he was just as aroused. His shoulders, all broad and powerful and bloody Hell was it even hotter in here suddenly or was that just you?

 That little happy trail of blond hair that led under his tenting pants was what called to you the most though. You wanted to trace your tongue down it.

 He noticed you watching him from the corner of his eye and waggled his thick eyebrows at you when you managed to pull your eyes away.

 “What, now you’ve got me where you want me, you think you can just ogle me?” he asked, throwing the towel at your head. You laughed, catching it out of the air but it quickly fell from your fingers when he started undoing the knot that currently held his pants up. “Tit for tat, sweetheart?” he asked, knowing full well what your answer was.

 The smooth material found no purchase on him once the knot was undone and they slid down, only catching very briefly on the head of his cock.

 Then there was nothing in the way. No pants. No towel. Just him, in all of his thick, veiny glory.

 Holy mother of God.

 You almost drooled out loud. Was that thing even fucking legal?

 You’d felt him earlier sure and even seen the outline of him enough to have a rough guess as to what he looked like but neither of those things had adequately prepared you for this.

 He postured and preened under your slack jawed appreciation, before striding forward towards the bed. The monster bobbed as he walked as if to fucking say hello- like he was the third person in the room and you felt yourself get all swollen and gooey at the mere thought of licking him from base to tip.

 Yep. That thought had most definitely climbed to number one on your to do list.

 You managed to swing yourself up onto your knees as he approached, holding your hand out to stop him climbing onto the bed like he intended. He quirked an eyebrow at you, cocking his head to one side and surveying your expression for any signs that you might be about to pull the plug and leave him with a serious case of blue balls.

 Like you would.

 “You’re not getting on this bed until I’ve sucked your cock,” you said as confidently as you could. It seemed to work, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a leer. He splayed his hands as if to say, ‘come and get me if you dare’ and how were you supposed to back down from a challenged like that?

 You had no idea where the overwhelming desire to suddenly have your mouth on him had come from, but it was right there, driving you to grip the base of him and tug him forward gently. He chuckled, following your lead with no complaints.

 Damn, where did you even start?

 A prominent vein ran long the length of him, so you dipped your head and traced the point of your tongue along it- much like he’d done to your clit when he was making you see stars earlier. You could feel the burn of his eyes on the top of your head but you were undeterred from your mission, following the line of the vein back down to the base again.

 Despite how stoic and above all this mindless pleasure he tried to remain though, he couldn’t hide it when he twitched involuntarily under your fingers. Pleased that he wasn’t as untouchable as he thought he was, you hid a grin by flattening your tongue along the underside of him coating him in saliva from your hand to just under the head.

 Fingers trailing upwards, you gripped him somewhere in the middle and tugged his foreskin back- giving you a perfectly mouthwatering view of the shiny, dark pink head of his cock.

 A thick bead of precum escaped from the slit and oozed downwards. You didn’t even have to think before you were catching it on your tongue. More followed and for a few moments, you continued the lazy lapping motion to taste as much as you could.

 Under your free hand that rested on his thigh, you felt his muscles tighten every time you made those little breathy sounds of enjoyment.

 “You enjoying that, kitten?” he asked all pleased with himself. You let your gaze flick up, meeting his eyes just as your pressed a searing, open mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock. His jaw clenched, cockiness falling away as he grunted out an obscenity.

 “Mmm hmm,” you confirmed, just as pleased with yourself for getting a reaction out of him. He wasn’t the only one who could play games.

 “Yeah you are,” he said, sounding almost proud. Of what, you didn’t know but you would take it anyway. You swirled your tongue across the head again and heard his breath catch. “My good fuckin’ girl,” he continued and you felt a sweet, tight burn begin in the tops of your thighs. Despite your protests, his filthy mouth really turned you on. “Rub it over your lips, sweetheart- get them nice and shiny for me.”

 You did as he asked, sliding the hot, dark tip over your lips and coating them in the never ending precum flowing from him.

 “Just like that, fuck,” his head fell back, tendons tensing in his neck.

 The whole time you had been trailing your tongue over him, you had been working up the courage to actually get your mouth around him too. All Might was, if you did say so yourself, a very well proportioned man.

 Not just intimidatingly long, but also thick around as well and you could almost feel the tendons in your jaw protesting already.

 But, mama didn’t raise no quitter.

 Finally working up the nerve and relaxing your mouth as much as you could, you parted your lips over the head of his cock and pressed forward. He exhaled a long, low sound of appreciation that honestly, made the effort worth it. You inhaled deeply through your nostrils, soldiering on until you couldn’t physically take any more of him without choking.

 Although… he would probably enjoy that.

 But you weren’t about to start deep-throating him right away. You had to save a little bit of mystery for the next time after all.

 Glancing up, you saw his abdomen twitch with pleasure and you would have grinned had your mouth not been full. You hadn’t done this in quite a while and never with someone who could literally break your jaw if he decided to jerk his hips. Granted, you wouldn’t mind seeing him get all whiny and lose a little of that constant control he seemed to maintain.

 Thankfully, despite the tension in his shoulders All Might was the very picture of restraint, like he knew that any quick movements would probably leave you with no teeth.

 Might put a dampener on the night if he had to take you to A&E.

 Still, all those old tricks you knew of came rushing back. You weren’t above pulling a few of your moves out, especially seeing as he’d almost blown your head off earlier with his own mouth. You refused to slack off.

 So you hollowed your cheeks as hard as you physically could with so much of him filling your mouth and then drew back up slowly, moaning in satisfaction as you did. Just like sucking on an ice pop. You rolled your wrist at the same time- determined to draw a reaction out of him.

 You weren’t disappointed.

 He drew in a sharp hiss of air between clenched teeth and his massive hand curled into the hair on the back of your head. Wanting more, you repeated the motion again and felt his fingers tighten then relax, tighten, relax. With every bob of your head, every smooth lap of your tongue on him, he let a little more of his tight control go.

 “Ah! Fuck,” he grunted, head falling back and you finally released him with an obscenely wet pop.

 Giving your mouth a break for a moment, you used the combination of saliva and precum- now flowing freely- to lubricate your hand and slowly, teasingly, began to jerk him off. It was almost fascinating, the pull and drag of his foreskin and the way he pulsed under your fingertips.

 He rubbed his palm through your hair, tugging gently and winding his fingers through it- like he was playing with it, encouraging you.

 You licked a long stroke from base to tip, nuzzling at him, practically making love to his cock with your mouth.

 So far, your free hand had been switching between fondling his balls and stroking along his thigh. Smirking slyly while he was otherwise engaged, you tested the waters a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt, after all. Making sure you were distracting him suitably by sucking the head of him into your hot mouth again, you let your fingers play further between his legs.

 Across his perineum, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time.

 His lips quirked in a savage smirk when he realised just what you were trying to do.

 “Where do you think that hand is going, doll?” he chuckled deeply, but he didn’t seem too perturbed by your sudden brave exploration. You shrugged and hummed something nonsensical- although you did have a mouthful of him at the time. Speaking was sort of out of the question.

 You tried to look as innocent as possible but there was no way he was falling for that.

 “Gotta buy a man dinner before you play with his ass,” he waggled his eyebrows and you had to pull away, leaving a string of drool connecting your lips and his cock. But you were laughing all the same at the thought of All Might getting uptight about something at last.

 “I technically bought dinner last week,” you told him, your voice husky and your face aching- but desperately wanting more. You slid your fingers forward further but didn’t get where you were going because he suddenly swept down and lifted you into his arms. You let out a childish giggle, and pouted at him when he brought you up to eye level. “You’re no fun.”

 “Look at you, finally gettin’ all kinky on me,” he muttered, eyes tracing your features and then settling on your swollen, shiny lips. It was apparent that he couldn’t resist from the way he lunged forward, one hand on the back of your neck to stop you escaping.

 Not that you would want to. He didn’t seem to mind that your lips were still sticky with his cum because he plundered your mouth almost wantonly, letting you wrap your legs around his hips while he did.

 He drew your bottom lip between his teeth, biting it softly, tugging on it and then releasing it.

 Your face was impossibly close to his and the urge was just too much when he released you. Without really thinking about it, you ducked your head and nuzzled your nose against his. A smile broke your lips and you gently cupped the back of his head. He was unmoving under your fingers but you didn’t really need him to move, too caught up in the softness of the moment.

 Body humming from two orgasms and the taste of him still on your tongue was making you bold- affectionate even.

 When a big, muscular arm wrapped around your waist you knew that he was, albeit tentatively, accepting you getting all sweet on him. For a now anyway.

 You took what you could get.

 Spearing your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, you trailed soft, lazy kisses over his throat, his jaw, his lips. Wherever you could reach, supported by the steel band of muscle against your back and your thighs caught on his hips.

 Eventually though, the unprecedented affection seemed to become too much for him and he pulled away.

 But his smirk wasn’t as sharp as it usually was, nor were his eyes as hard. He said nothing about your little detour and instead, pulled you back to his mouth- rough and passionate again. You found it hard to mind because the aching desire was even more desperate to be quenched.

 Two thick fingers trailed through your pussy and you quivered in delight, sighing.

 “Hmm, think you’re up for the challenge now kitten?” he murmured, before sucking his fingers into his mouth and turning your brain into putty.

 “You think you can handle me?” you grinned salaciously, even if the false bravado behind your words was just that. So false. This was going to be a rough ride and you were starting to wonder if you were actually as prepared as you’d thought.

 He didn’t throw you down on the bed and ravage you though, like you thought he would.

 Instead, he set you down and sat on the bed- which creaked in protest- and moved himself back until he was sitting with his back to your headboard. You watched him go, mouth watering and body yearning to follow. How did a guy as big as him move so gracefully anyway?

 He was like a big cat. All, thick powerful muscle but with practised, self assured movement.

 When he was comfortable, he gestured to his lap invitingly and who were you to refuse an invitation like that?

 He reclined, looking the very picture of nonchalance, lazing with one arm slung above his head and the other palming across his cock- which rested thick and hard against his toned stomach. A fresh wave of arousal and heat crashed over you and like a moth to flame, you went to him.

 You crawled on all fours along his body until you were face to face with him, finally finding yourself in the same position you’d been in at the start of all of this, only with far fewer clothes. Well, for you at least.

 How could one man look so sinful and yet so beautiful at the same time?

 Your fingers traced the line of his cheekbone, examining his features in a way you never had before.

 This villain, scourge of the earth who struck fear into the hearts of the most powerful heroes- how, you wondered, how could he be so gentle with you? He could break you apart, physically, mentally. Do whatever he wanted with you. But he didn’t.

 For all the badness in him, something light threatened to shine through despite his desperate efforts to keep it away.  

 You didn’t get any more time to ponder the mystery of him though. His big hands came to grip your waist and then he was helping you rise up. You allowed him to guide you, anticipation mixing with apprehension.

 The blunt head of his cock prodded you, then slipped between the lips of your pussy. He made a happy sound, like he enjoyed the heat and the wetness he found there and you couldn’t help but stare at him intensely.

 He noticed you, matching your look with a fiery gaze.

 “Don’t tense up,” he said warningly, giving you a pointed look as though you were going to disobey him. You understood that he was telling you something that would possibly lessen the pain but all you could do was nod dumbly, throat too tight with nerves to answer.

 He seemed appeased though.

 He let go of your waist, one hand going to your hip and the other slipping between you both to grip the thick base of his cock.

 You kind of wished you could see him do it. Maybe later, you would ask him to give you your own personal show. Your mouth watered suddenly at the thought.

 The head of his cock slid between your lips, once, then twice, as he coated himself in the arousal that was steadily dripping out of you. You attempted to relax as much as you possibly could, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough. It was hard to relax when something that fucking big was threatening to rip you in half.

 Then he was pressing in and his other hand was pulling you down onto him with an agonising slowness.

 Jesus fuck, you thought blindly.

 You inhaled sharply as his head stretched you far more than you thought it would. Your mouth fell open in a silent, pained gasp. Sucking in another breath, you forced yourself to not tense up- aware that it would only make things worse.

 Tears burned sharply in the corners of your eyes.

 Clearly that damned tongue of his had wiped all sense from your idiot brain, seeing as you’d quite willingly gotten this far.

 You panted softly, digging your fingernails into his shoulders in an attempt to calm yourself and bypass the overwhelming stretch. He exhaled through his nose, eyes concentrated on where he was sliding slowly inside you at long last. He didn’t notice when you drew blood from him with your nails. Either that or he didn’t care.

 He showed no signs of letting up or stopping, despite the clear struggle you were going through.

 You were a little grateful that he was powering through. If he stopped now then you might chicken out from attempting it again and to be honest, you didn’t want to stop. Past this pain was the sweet bliss of having him inside you- a bliss that you’d often fantasised about.

 “Ah!” you hiccuped, high pitched and pained as the head of his cock finally slipped inside you with the feeling of a ‘pop’. Despite your attempts not to do it, you accidentally tensed up like he’d told you not to. “Ow, motherfucker!” The words were said through gritted teeth, a tear escaping down your cheek when you squeezed your eyes shut and his gaze snapped to your face, feeling the hard protest of your muscles.

 “I told you not to fucking tense up,” he said, exasperated and shaking his head at your disobedience. You shot a watery eyed a glare at him.

 “Listen, jack ass,” you snapped. “How about we put something the size of a goddamn baseball bat into your vagina? See how well you take it!” you swallowed, still breathing hard but lucid enough to be sarcastic. Good, at least you hadn’t lost all of your brain function. He huffed a sharp laugh, not bothered by your bitchiness.

 “You wanna stop then?” he asked, surprising you.

 “No,” you muttered, petulantly. “… Just- just gimme a second.”

 He grunted out his agreement and when you finally looked at his face you saw red staining his cheeks and his chest rising and falling quickly. Looks like you weren’t the only one affected in all of this. It gave you a tiny thrill that being inside you, even a little bit, was drawing a reaction out of him.

 “At least you’re enjoying yourself,” you managed.

 “Guess I’m impressed, is all,” he smirked, tonguing the inside of his cheek and letting his gaze roam over you. He tweaked your nipples, gliding his hands over your breasts and then down to your trembling thighs. “Didn’t think you’d be able to take it the first time around.”

 Frowning at him and his lack of faith in you, you jabbed him in the chest with one finger.

 “I’m no pushover,” you informed him and as if to prove your point, you chanced a quick, experimental squeeze of your muscles around his cock. He let out a sharp, choked moan of surprise, eyebrow quirking at your sudden boldness. You did it again and found that, although the sting ebbed and flowed, it wasn’t as bad as it was when you’d started.

 “You good now, sweet cheeks?” he grinned, clearly ready to get on with the main event.

 “Giddy up, cowboy,” you said, challenge in your voice and confidence flooding through you. You would keep up with him if it fucking killed you- a determination to make him proud pulsing through you and while you would normally ignore such a base instinct, the urge to fuck him until you both couldn’t walk was louder than anything else now.

 He snorted and then wasted no time in tugging you down further, keeping his eyes locked on the sight of his cock slowly being swallowed by your cunt.

 Inch by inch, he disappeared inside of you and with every new milestone reached, your body shook and protested and trembled. Thank God you’d already come twice. Without foreplay this would have been absolutely impossible.

 By the time you were halfway there, your breathing had steadied and you had loosened your death grip on him bit by bit.

 It no longer hurt like a bitch. There was an edge to the stretch, yeah, but now that it was consistent your body was becoming used to it.

 Never before had you felt this mindnumbingly, satisfyingly full. Your collection of dildos, the ones you’d thought were pretty big when you’d bought them, were almost pathetic in comparison to him. They definitely hadn’t prepared you for this.

 As you sank down, feeling more confident that the pain wasn’t about to overwhelm you, you slid your hands down to his chest and felt your mouth go slack when you finally stopped the descent. A groan caught in your chest, stuttered and choked.

 You rolled your head back, relaxing now that the hard part was over.

 “Well, look at you,” All Might purred out and you convulsed around him at the sound of his voice. He grinned at you, obviously enjoying the sight of your red cheeks and the heaving of your chest, which was making your tits bounce ever so slightly. “You’re taking Daddy’s cock so well.”

 Your stomach clenched when he said that. His calloused hand trailed across your belly then down and he thumbed a circle over your clit when he dipped it between your legs. He slid two fingers either side of where his cock was joined with you.

 You shivered as a pleasurable throb broke through the sustained discomfort at long last. That was fucking nice and you wanted more.

 To his credit, he gave you a few long moments to adjust to the intrusion- not prompting you to move and seeming content to just study you, impaled on his cock as you were. You took the few seconds of reprieve to lean against his chest. Another few moments and you were brave enough to attempt a few experimental, shallow bounces on him that made him hiss out a swear word.

 “Fucking hell,” he said. “You’re tight as a fuckin’ virgin, darling. Feels like you’re strangling my cock.”

 With your new found confidence, you shot him a cheeky smile.

 “You wanna stop?” you parroted his question and to your delight, he laughed and pulled you forward against him. The movement pulled you higher off of him but thankfully, it didn’t jostle you too much and slowly, but surely, you sank back down with a satisfied sigh.

 “This thing should come with a warning label,” you informed him breathlessly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. His eyes followed the movement, his thumb coming up to draw a line across your lip.

 “S’that right?” he said and then waggled his eyebrows at you. You choked out a pathetically girly giggle and it seemed to bolster him. He really did enjoy having an audience. “License to thrill?”

 You groaned, and not from pleasure.

 “God, you’re so fucking cheesy sometimes, it’s embarrassing,” you said, pushing his head to one side. “License to thri- I mean, honestly,” you balked.

 He didn’t seem particularly perturbed by your petty insults, especially when you followed them up by leaning in to plant a hot kiss on his lips. He returned it, fingers winding around the back of your neck.

 You loved it when he was goofy. It happened so rarely and it turned you on like nothing else.

 His kisses were far too good, you decided as his tongue ran across yours and teased your mouth until you were a panting mess of horny. Rising up slowly, you found that you couldn’t quite tear your lips away from his, letting him nibble your bottom lip and then suck on it. Your thighs trembled as you sank back down and you shuddered from the heat of pleasure that coiled inside you and snaked along your limbs.

 He moaned into your mouth and the sound spurred you on.

 Moments later, you rolled your hips and just sort of- went for it.

 Pride welled up in your chest as you did. Not only had you sucked it up and probably broken the world record for actually taking his cock but it was you, you, that was currently putting that look on his face. That heated, contented look as his gaze caressed you from your tits to where he was sinking in and out of you.

 So far, he was keeping to his promise of slow and hard.

 You pulled in a breathy noise, pitched higher than normal as you squeezed experimentally around him. To your delight, he answered you with a guttural groan- and then to your surprise, his hands came up from your hips where he’d been setting the easy pace.

 One splayed across your back and the other… cupped your cheek?

 Oh, nice, you thought warmly.

 Then, quite unexpectedly, he tugged your face close and your forehead met his.

 Oh fuck. It should be a crime to look at someone that fucking intensely. Butterflies exploded inside you and something unnamed and previously quiet, reared it’s head and roared.

 Your eyes went wide but anything you had to say about it was swiftly cut off by the sudden jerk of his hips, sending him forcefully back inside you. You jumped under his hand, crying out in both surprise and pleasure. You hadn’t exactly expected that to feel good but the stretch of your pussy was turning sweeter as you became used to his girth.

 His breathing had turned heavy without you noticing but when you finally did, you managed a grin at him, swivelling your hips sensually and rising up a little further with each bounce.

 It was erotic, the slap of your thighs against his and the feeling of tightness winding in your stomach. He sighed out your name in pleasure and it was like music to your ears.

 “Does Daddy like that?” you asked, all breathy and cocky.

 His lip curled in a leer that both aroused and worried you, mainly because it meant that he was up to something-

 He thrust upwards again and anything else you might have had to add, caught in your throat.

 “Oh holy shit,” you managed after a moment- because unlike before when he’d seemed content to let you set the pace, his thrusts continued, harder and faster than you’d thought you could take. That’s what you got for being full of yourself apparently. Oh the tragedy, you mused headily as your body became pliant and loose under his sudden show of dominance.

The hand that had been on your cheek dropped away to your breast, cupping it and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged lazily, just enough to make you whine for more.

 “You have no idea how much I like it, sweetheart,” he growled out, his mouth finding your neck suddenly. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long, you know that? Ever since you chewed me out for breaking in and called me an asshole,” he snickered, red hot kisses searing your throat between every word. “My little firecracker, s’what you are.”

 You felt the nip of his teeth, then felt him grin wickedly against your neck. You knew what he was thinking before he did. Alarmed, you managed to say-

 “Toshinori, don’t you dare-”

 But it was too late and he effectively shut you up with another hard thrust just as you were slipping back down onto him. He met you halfway and your brain fucking rattled in your head from the force of it, pleasure shooting like electricity through your veins. You managed a garbled noise that wasn’t even close to words- let alone a protest.

 While he distracted you with mindless pleasure- not that you were complaining- he sucked a bruising hickey into your skin where everyone could see it. His way of marking his territory, you supposed.

 You should probably be mad about it, but some little primal part of you drowned deliriously in the knowledge that he clearly wanted everyone to know who you belonged to.

 You could complain later, your decided, finding a delicious rhythm now and not wanting to let it go for the sake of scolding him.

 Satisfied that he’d marked you appropriately, All Might lazed back against the headboard and seemed content to just watch you bounce steadily on his cock. His eyes followed every movement, every twitch, every roll of your hips. He rumbled out an encouraging word or two whenever you managed to take a little more of him and seemed fascinated by the slick wetness you left over his shaft.

 His fingers came up to play with the hickey he’d left on your neck intermittently, as though he was making sure it was still there.

 You could feel arousal dripping out of you, making your descent easier each time and pulling wet sounds from you with every thrust.

 You rested your hand on his stomach, giving you extra leverage to continue as your legs began to shake with the effort. How he could keep so much composure was beyond you, although, you could see the cracks beginning to form in his perfectly crafted expression.

 The darkening of his gaze, the way his lips parted and is tongue snuck out to wet them. The corded muscle of his neck twitching, the flare of his nostrils and the clench of his jaw every few seconds told you that you weren’t alone in the heady, sweet pleasure.

 Tugging his hand up from where he’d been idly toying with your breasts, you slid one of his fingers between your lips and met his eyes. They seemed to blacken dangerously but when had you ever heeded a warning from him? You laved your tongue over the pad of his finger, moaning and reaching up to cup your breasts in lieu of his hands doing it.

 You tugged on your nipples, riding him with exaggerated rolls of your hips like you were going for the fucking Porn Star of the Year award- all while moaning obscenely around his finger.

 Suddenly, your world tilted and you felt dreadfully empty as he pulled out of you completely.

 “Toshi!” you protested with a shriek.

 You were flying backwards and your back hit the mattress with a sudden muffled thump- knocking the air out of you. Then, much like he had been earlier in your kitchen, All Might was fucking on you in seconds- almost smothering you with his muscular form. His eyes were wild and he snarled into your neck, nipping and biting.

 One hand gripped your thigh to tug it up over his hip, roughly.

 All you could really do was comply under his sudden assault, hooking both legs where he wordlessly instructed you to, locking your ankles over his lower back. The head of his cock nudged your clit and you suddenly found yourself stuffed full again when he thrust back inside you without warning. Thankfully, riding him for so long had adequately prepared you for the sudden intrusion.

 Your back arched, a half halting scream filling the room, surprise mixed with pleasure.

 But- but- oh holy shit, you weren’t complaining seconds later when he rocked his hips and slid deeper, almost to the hilt. This new position was making it easier for him to hit different angles and fuck, you hoped and prayed you weren’t going cross eyed because you had very little control of your body’s reactions right now.

 All you could do was lie there and accept that he was very much in charge.

 You dragged your fingernails down his muscular back, feeling the tension in his shoulders as he ploughed you into your bed without mercy- thrusting with hard, measured strokes that kept you pushing steadily towards another orgasm.

 “Goddamn, fucking tease,” he growled, teeth bared in a dangerous snarl that looked almost animalistic.

 The knot in your stomach unwound at lightening speed, surprising both of you.

 You bucked and whined and generally made it known that your orgasm had hit you like a truck. If the downstairs neighbours hadn’t heard anything so far, they’d have heard that. He clearly wasn’t unaffected by it, his fingers grasping onto your headboard.

 Distantly, you heard a groaning crack but you ignored it, drowning in too much pleasure to care what it was.

 He pulled out of you fully after a moment and you felt another flood of come follow him, your muscles taut and your hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. He swore, sounding wrecked by the fact that he’d made you squirt a second time in one night.

 You were equally as impressed but lacked the actual diction to say anything about it.

 Feeling horribly empty all of a sudden, you whined needily.

 “Come back,” you begged pathetically, reaching for him. He lunged forward, the base of his come soaked cock in his fist to steady it and then pushed back inside of you again in one long stroke. Your eyes rolled back and your weak sob of pleasure was cut off by his mouth covering yours.

 The intensity of the pulsating pleasure between your legs was almost too much to handle, but the thought of it stopping- of him not being inside you any more- was somehow even more unbearable.

 He kissed you wantonly, his tongue imitating the push and pull of his cock and when you pulled back to breathe, you heard the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard before.

 All Might- no- Toshinori whined for you and followed, seeking your mouth again.

 You obliged, victorious. Your muscles fluttered around the shaft of his cock and a vein was dragging across your g-spot with every thrust.

 His hand covered your ass, squeezing one cheek with a brutal grip that was sure to leave a mark. He seemed to be unravelling quickly now, his thrusts losing their regular rhythm. You managed to roll your hips upwards, meeting him halfway.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses across your neck and chest and the wet heat of his mouth was blissful. “Where?” he asked suddenly and you looked at him stupidly, brain turned to mush and pretty much unable to comprehend anything other than the rapid pulsing of his hips against your thighs.

 Oh you would have so many bruises tomorrow.

 “Huh?” you asked, you voice hoarse and choked as he brushed a thumb over your clit out of nowhere.

 “Gonna come, sweetheart,” he managed an amused smile, nipping at your jaw with sharp canines. “Where d’ya want it?”

 Honestly, it was out of your mouth before you could even think about it. You were on the pill- you knew that much in your foggy ass brain and you also knew that you didn’t want him to stop. Not now. You were rapidly approaching orgasm number four and you knew that if he came inside you, it would push you over the edge so hard you might just shatter.

 Gripping his hips, you tugged him deeper and he cocked his head at you, hair falling over his eyes from where you’d been gripping it before.

 The surprise on his face was stark and you managed a triumphant smile.

 “Inside,” you said, all weak and exhausted but determined all the same. During the exchange, his hips hadn’t stopped or slowed, keeping up the powerful pace. But as soon as you said that, they stuttered and his rhythm slipped completely.

 “Christ,” he groaned and you saw the arm supporting his weight flex, muscles bulging and you had to admit it was a glorious sight to behold. His other hand found your hip and tugged you up to meet his quick, desperate thrusts. “You’re fuckin’ amazing kitten,” he groaned and you knew that this was most honest thing you might ever hear from him.

 Your body responded to his praise, shaking and trembling with the force of his thrusts.

 “You too- God, you too,” you muttered, mindless words of affection spilling out of you. You cried out, body jackknifing when he shifted and the angle changed suddenly. Oh God, that was good. So good. You drew your tongue up and across his throat before kissing him hotly. “I’m so glad- so glad you came back to me Toshi.”

 “You- ugh,” he grunted, his voice hitting a higher pitch that warned you he was close. You tensed in anticipation, desperate to see him unravel on top of you. “You gettin’ all sweet on me baby?” he laughed but there was something else under that bravado that made your heart skip a beat.

 He actually wanted to know.

 “Always- fuck- always been sweet on you,” you said. “Just you!” You cried out, hands sliding along his sweat soaked back, wanting him closer. “Toshi!”

 His body tensed suddenly and then he was coming, exploding inside you and coating you with hot, sticky warmth. You moaned, the feeling of him tensing in your arms and his hot, laboured groan of your name, more than enough to push you over the edge again.

 You pulsed in waves around his cock, breath hitching and nails raking across his shoulders, your final orgasm knocking all of the energy out of you at last.

 He panted, hips bucking as he filled you- still very much in the throes of his own orgasm. He bit down on your shoulder, muffling his swearing and growling as you twitched. Just how much- holy shit!

 Your eyes widened as he pulled out of you swiftly, leaving a messy trail of mixed come dribbling out of your abused pussy. He gripped the base of his cock and just- kept- going.

 Warm, thick come splashed in lines across your stomach and your muscles spasmed again at the sight of his cock, twitching and spurting and generally making a mess of you.

 Eventually, it tapered off and he let go, slamming his hand into the bed beside your head and fisting the sheets in his fingers. His breathing was heavy, almost feral as he attempted to come down from the high of his orgasm. You could still feel the combined come flooding out onto the ruined bedspread below.

 You wanted to press your thighs together but his hips were still between them and his cock rested against your stomach, thick and hot and slick.

 It took you both a moment to get your breath back and you saw him glance down at you when you shifted at long last, wriggling out from under him. You didn’t make it far, when his big hand circled your wrist and tugged you back underneath the sweltering heat of his body.

 “Where d’ya think you’re going, kitten?” he asked lowly, eyes flashing.

 You tutted, patting his cheek fondly to reassure him that you weren’t exactly running away.

 It wasn’t as though you could. These legs were out of commission, clearly.

 “Unless your brain short circuited or something, I’m covered in come thanks to you. I’m going to get cleaned up,” you informed him, flashing him a grin. To your surprise, he rumbled out a deep, low laugh and ducked his face to yours. He kissed you, long and slow and toe-curling, enough to practically melt you into the mattress again.

 You flopped back, now content to just stay here forever.

 “Stay,” he ordered and slipped away from you, leaving you in a messy heap on the bed.

 Oh, these sheets would have to go. Absolutely ruined, you thought mildly as the water in the bathroom began to run. Maybe Toshinori would carry you to the shower, seeing as your legs felt like jelly.

 You didn’t need to ask him though. He returned with a washcloth, wrung out with warm water and before you could say a word, he pressed it against your pussy. It was the most intimate thing you’d ever done- with any man, let alone the most prolific and feared villain in the world. Yet, here he was, cleaning you up after absolutely mind blowing sex.

 He glanced up at you, noting your awed, slack mouthed staring.

 He rolled his eyes.

 “I might be a jack ass, sweetheart, but I still have manners,” he informed you gruffly, rubbing softly between your legs to clean you up. You lay there and let him work, the cloth cooling rapidly and feeling wonderful on your heated, sweaty skin.

 He ran it over your abused thighs and then your stomach, wiping away the result of his orgasm with a stoic expression, and ignoring the giant fucking heart eyes you were sending in his direction. They could all say what they wanted about him. This villain. This man.

 They didn’t know him like you knew him.

 When he seemed satisfied that you were both clean, he helped you sit up and then crouched at the end of your bed- looking a little awkward for the first time ever. The tension was suddenly palpable between you, neither one of you knowing quite what to say to follow such a class act.

 He reached out, hooking a finger under your chin and lifting your face to his.

 “You want me to leave, kitten?” he asked huskily and your heart dropped hard like a stone.

 “What!? No!,” you said, before swallowing back your panic and steadying your voice. “I- I’d like it more if you stayed, I guess.”

 You slid your fingers over his wrist, then up to weave your fingers between his, examining the stark size difference between your hands. He watched your face all the while, eyes dark and unreadable.

 After a moment of silence, he said, “Alright then.”

 At long last, your eyes fell on his chest and your lips quirked, a smile spreading over your face. Reaching out and being careful not to touch them, you ghosted your fingertips over the red gash that had been the beginning of everything.

 To you, anyway.

 What he felt on the matter was still unclear, but his fingers laced with yours was promising.

 “Hey, they held up,” you said proudly, satisfied in the knowledge that despite the fact that you’d just ridden one of your patients, you were still pretty damn handy with a needle. And hey, doctor-patient relations were at an all time fucking high, let’s face it.

 “S’more than I can say for your headboard kitten,” he answered and, frowning at the strange answer, you turned your head. Your face dropped it’s lackadaisical, high expression.

 “Oh for fuck sake All Might!”

 That had been the creaking noise you’d heard earlier. You’d completely forgotten about it- busy being fucked into oblivion.

 He cackled wickedly and you didn’t get to properly survey the mangled, crushed frame of your headboard- because he was tackling you to the bed and laughing evilly into your neck. You’d thought that for once, a whole day would go by without him breaking something but… well, you couldn’t really blame him all that much right?

 It had been partially your fault.

 You snorted a laugh at last and he pressed your joined hands into the sheets above your head. Suddenly, you realised that he wasn’t laughing any more, staring at you instead with a deep intensity- the same kind he’d unleashed on you when he’d pulled your forehead to his.

 Much like then, butterflies came to life in your stomach, rendering you somewhat uncomfortable under the searching of his eyes. As expected, you defaulted to dumb humour in a lame attempt to hide your feelings.

 “What, do I have come on my face or something?”

 His lips quirked.

 “Not yet.”

 You tutted, making a noise halfway between amusement and annoyance.

 “No but for real, why are you looking at me like that? Not that I’m complaining or anything… A girl could get used to being looked at like that you know-” your babbling was abruptly cut off when his lips found yours in a soft, almost lazy kiss. The fire was still simmering inside you and you melted into it, your free arm coming up to wind around his neck.

 When he pulled back, he squeezed your hand- knowingly or not and you sighed in contentment.

 “What the fuck have you done to me, doll?” he asked, cocking his head at you. You didn’t have an answer for him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to-” he bit off the last sentence, looking irritated, almost angry at himself for saying too much. When those shadowed, piercing blue eyes met your again, you found that for once, you didn’t know what to fucking say either.

 There was so, so much that you wanted to.

 Me too? Thank you? I’m terrified every time I look at your stupid face because it makes me feel actual feelings?

 “Get attached?” you said instead, settling on the least crazy of all your other options and he looked away, up towards your hands- fingers still laced together much like your bodies had been. Still were, really.

 A muscle in his jaw ticked hard and you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek to remind him that with you, judgement was a hard thing to come by.

 You kind of got it, anyway, being in the same boat and all. You weren’t exactly supposed to get attached to the most wanted man in the world. You weren’t supposed to be able to look past all of the bad parts, the violence and the anger and the crushing self loathing. You were never meant to have seen the man underneath, let alone feel anything for him.

 Having sex with him was like removing that last, invisible barrier that kept all these complicated, messy emotions in check. There was nothing to hide from each other now.

 You were falling for him. Hard. It both terrified and excited you in ways that you’d never felt before.

 He was having a whole fucking emotional rollercoaster of his own, it seemed.

 “Something like that, yeah,” he hedged, thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him and his eyebrow raised.

 “So, it’s exactly like that. Don’t be pedantic.”

 “Don’t be pedanti- are you fucking serious?” he spluttered, looking pissed off at your nonchalance. There was nothing like riling him up to get all of those emotions loose, after all. “I’m trying to be… Ah! I don’t fuckin’ know. What’s the word for stupid, emotional and weak?”

 “Heartfelt?”

 “Yeah. That’s the one,” he grunted, but he was half smiling when he said it. His face fell to your neck and whether it was to hide his expression or just to kiss your throat, you didn’t know.

 Apparently he was as useless as you were when it came to emotions.

 With your free hand, you traced patterns across the broad expanse of his shoulders. You didn’t want to push him- barely knew what to say yourself. He shifted his weight to the side after a moment, so that he wouldn’t crush you, settling heavily into the mattress beside you on his stomach.

 Wordlessly, he lifted his arm and you moved underneath it, curling against his side.

 “I kind of like it… you being attached,” you said honestly after a long, contemplative moment. Your fingers toyed with the hair on the back of his head and you didn’t expect him to answer you really. His hand brushed across your stomach.

 Laying there, relaxing in the afterglow, it was easy for sleep to tug at you despite the all encompassing ache you could feel.

 So, you almost jumped when he finally did speak.

 “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and grumpy and irritated as he always was. “I kinda like it too.”

 You smiled, twisting your head to press a kiss to his temple. He said nothing else and neither did you, simply letting the stroke of his fingers lull you away to blissful slumber.

 There was so much to say, so many things to work through and cope with and stress over- but, not right now. Right now, he was here in your arms and he wasn’t All Might. He wasn’t the monster the world condemned and feared- painted as a mindless beast to the masses.

 He was just Toshinori.

 And he was yours.

[twokinkybeans]

Daddy Ain’t So Tough [Starker]

Summary: Sometimes, the word Daddy doesn't necessarily mean you're the one in charge. Or: In which Peter and Tony explore their new little fantasies. Warnings/tags: Nff, smut, incest play/kink, daddy kink, daddy!Tony, bottom!Tony, sub!Tony, top!Peter, dom!Peter, restraints / light bondage, begging & teasing. Notes: HI DEARS! This idea has been in my head for quite a while now and I am so excited that I finally wrote it! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS CAREFULLY. There's some kinks in there not everyone might enjoy. If you do like it, please do continue :) :) <3 And thank y'all for your neverending support! -Kim

Read here on AO3!!

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“Daddy,” Peter giggles as he straddles Tony’s hips. He trails his fingers down the man’s gorgeous chest. It’s everything Peter could’ve ever dreamed about- even if he hadn’t done it consciously so. The arc reactor is fascinating to him, as are the scars scattered around it. Obviously, the hard lines of the man’s abs are very welcome too. God, he looks so handsome and strong.

“Peter, fuck-” Tony mutters under his breath. Peter simply smirks and he lowers his full weight onto the man’s crotch, causing Tony’s lips to part in a silent gasp. Yeah. Handsome, strong, and entirely Peter’s

It’s only very recently that they made this, eh, discovery. It’s a weird power shift. Contradictory, even. Yet, the shared pleasure shortcircuits their minds more than they’ve ever experienced before. Nothing’s ever been missing, but this? This is a whole new layer Peter aches to delve into.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good, Daddy. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be ruined by me?” “Yes, baby boy,” Tony lets out a breathy moan. “I’m so ready for you.” The older man tugs on his restraints in a desperate attempt to lay his hands on the striking, youthful body on top of him. With his 22 years old, Peter is absolutely breathtaking. Strong, ripped muscles to hold him down as no one else ever had. His legs tremble at the mere thought. “Petey- please.”

“Mmmmmh- that’s more like it.” Peter puts his hands down right next to Tony’s head and leans in to kiss the man’s warm lips. Peter moans when Tony is eager enough to immediately take a chance and suck Peter’s lower lip into his mouth. His cock twitches against Tony’s stomach and a hot surge of arousal courses right through him. Fuck. Fuck. Tony - ever-in-control-I’ll-handle-this-myself-Tony - is the neediest sub Peter ever imagined possible. “Nu-uh, Daddy, don’t get ahead of yourself now-” Peter murmurs and pulls back, smirking at Tony’s subconscious attempt to sneak in one more chaste kiss. Peter sits up straight, his hands finding their way to Tony’s hard chest again. His fingertips brush past the man’s soft nipples, earning him a loud groan. “So hot,” Peter whispers gently. He scoots down a little, now sitting on the man’s thighs, and he leans in again. “Bet you’ve been thinking about my dick in your ass all day, uh?” He sucks Tony’s right nipple into his mouth. No longer soft, nor gentle, but sucking harshly. Tony’s hips buck up wildly.  “God-fucking-” “Now, now,” Peter laughs, letting go of the nipple and hovering over the left one. Still awfully untouched. “Didn’t think you’d be this filthy when you raised me.”

There. He did it. He crossed the line again.

Peter looks up and swallows, checking quickly if Tony’s still up for- well… This. Tony’s cheeks flush a bright red and he bites down his bottom lip. He stares right back at Peter- also checking up on the younger boy. They’re still treading new grounds, new fantasies, something neither of them dares to admit out loud just yet. “Well? Did you think you’d be laying here, legs spread wide, for me? What would people think uh?” “Peter-” “Well?” “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck.” Tony babbles, his fingers trembling as he clenches them together. Tony is aware that he has to cue Peter to go on. That he wants in fact pretend to be Peter’s actual Daddy. It’s so hard to say it, though. It’s so awfully wrong and yet his dick aches with want. Peter looks down at him, eyes dark and expectant- waiting for a sign.

“If I raised you so well,” he breathes shakingly, “-then why aren’t your fucking your old man just yet?” Peter scoffs, cocking an eyebrow at him. His eyes are twinkling though, teasing and cunning and Tony whimpers quietly.  “You need it that bad, eh?” “Yes. Baby yes.” 

After that everything turns hazy for Peter. He growls low in his throat and crawls even further down, kneeling in between Tony’s legs and spreading them apart until the tip of his cock brushes against Tony’s already slick and prepped hole.  “All those times you punished me,” Peter rushes out, not knowing where the words come from but they feel so right. “Now you ain’t so tough.” “Just take me, kid.”

Peter doesn’t waste a damn second and he pushes inside without remorse, replacing the heat his fingers had been at a few minutes before. Tony’s eyes screw shut and Peter relishes in the feeling of this handsome, powerful man becoming such a proud bottom underneath his touch. He digs his fingers into Tony’s thighs, lifting his boyfriend’s legs up until they’re wrapped around his waist. God, Tony’s so warm and soft and tight and Peter bites back a pathetic whimper as he inches forward even more- the new position allowing him to slide in deeper.  “Call me that again,” Peter groans demandingly. “Wanna hear you lose it for me.” He draws back slightly, now gripping at Tony’s round ass and pushes in again with such force that Tony shifts upwards in the sheets. Peter’s still holding back, not using all his Spider powers, but some. Enough to make Tony’s eyes roll back. “Please, please kiddo, fuck your Daddy.” This time, Peter can’t help the high-pitched noise escaping his throat. He thrusts forward harsh- again and again and again. His movements accompanied by the loud and suspicious creaking of his small single bed and Tony’s choked off moans as pleasure washes over his lover’s face. Peter’s cock almost hurts with how badly he wants to release himself. Fill up the man’s ass with his cum. He wants to claim him, take charge.

Every single drag back and forth has him see stars. Peter’s breath hitches in his throat and he ignores the light burn at his knees where it creates friction with the sheets. It only makes him more feral. More possessive. More… In charge. Nothing else matters right now. All that matters is the sweet melody of Peter’s name falling from Tony’s lips over and over again. The burning pit deep in his stomach grows higher and bigger- warning Peter he’s going tip over that very edge soon. “Daddy, f- ah! Look at you, legs spread wide for your own blood. Fucking filthy, and you even like it- don’t you?” Peter chokes out. “Does it feel good knowing that you no longer own me?” “K-kid-” “Not anymore, not anymore. Tony.” 

Peter reaches down and curls his fingers around the thick, hot shaft of Tony’s cock. He squeezes, wants to drag his hand down and- “Aaah! P-Peter! Fuck don’t stop don’t stop dont-” Tony’s words turn into an incomprehensible string of syllables as white-hot come rains down onto his own chest. Peter watches in awe how the man’s face contorts with pleasure and a hint of blissful shame. His tight hole clenches around Peter’s still aching cock- and every fiber of his being wants to enjoy the same overwhelming euphoria. He quickly scans Tony’s face once, not sensing a hint of discomfort as he speeds up his thrusts. Not in the slightest. “Peter yes please fuck me through it. Show your Daddy how it’s done.”

Peter whines and drops his head forward. Curls stick to his forward where a sheen of sweat had gathered. He’s gonna burst. He can’t hold it back. Not even if he wanted to. His primal instincts have taken full charge of his body and he pounds into the slick heat beneath him until finally, his mind blanks out when filthily sweet sensations shake him to his core. He spills inside of Tony, feels how his cum mixes with the now warm lube. How Tony clenches around him to not lose a single fucking drop.  Peter lets out a shaky laugh, in complete wonderment of how good this can feel. How much better this is than his own hand ever had been. And when finally, after what seems to be infinity, his eyes flutter open; he’s met with the deep, loving brown eyes of the man he’s been able to call his lover for the past three and a half years. 

“Peter,” Tony whispers, body limp and soft and spent. Arching into Peter’s warmth. Peter cracks a smile and carefully lets go of Tony’s legs, leaning down to cover the man’s body with his own. Their legs tangle together while Peter’s cock softens inside of the man. He doesn’t care it’ll make a mess. Peter hums quietly and grabs his blanket to pull it on top of them.  “Tony,” Peter whispers back. Tony smiles, suddenly shy. A feature that will always leave Peter amazed. “Was that too much?” Peter asks. Not out of insecurity, but because he wants to gauge how his boyfriend has experienced it. Tony chuckles, turning his gaze sideways. “No.” He pauses and shakes his head. “That was… Perfect.” “Yes,” Peter agrees. His hands gently massaging their way up Tony’s arms to undo the restraints. “I really, really, liked it too.” “The whole kid thing hit home, uh?” “Fuck yes,” Peter grins. “It’s so… You. But also a good different. It makes it feel natural even when it’s play.” “Agreed.”

Tony groans when he finally lowers his arms now that he is no longer tied to the headboard. His arms wrap around Peter’s shoulders, gently caressing him. Peter smiles, his cock now slipping out of Tony fully, and he nuzzles his face against the man’s neck to nib at the skin there. “You sore?” “If I say yes, will you treat me with a back rub and hot chocolate later?” “Of course,” Peter teases along. Tony beams and nods. “Yes. Very, very sore.” “Turn around then.” “Yes, kid.”

[whumpywhumper]

Friends

I needed to release some comfort into the world. This skips some of the Hospital Arc, but the pieces will be connected. 

Masterpost

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi  @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Thank you guys so much for your support, putting up with my questions at weird hours, and being excited about my characters: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire

TW: Intubated whumpee

V***V

Markus isn’t quite sure when he wakes up the first time. Isn’t actually sure if he’s even really conscious. He’s aware, but the world is muted. It feels like early color TV, the hues not quite right and turning into an oversaturated mess the more he tries to force it. So he doesn’t, he stops struggling, just lets everything come back in stages.    

His hearing comes back online first.

He hears the steady whoosh, gurgle, and hiss of medical equipment. The occasional urgent toned beep of a IV drip. The soft rustling and hushed voices of people doing their best to be quiet while shoving all of their worry and care into a box.

It’s all muffled and distorted through the cocktail of heady drugs in his system. The sounds swirl, clinging too long to his eardrums before slipping away to nothing. It’s disorienting, confusing, and he welcomes each wave of quiet that surges up to take away the noise.  

There’s a growing anxiety that’s sitting heavily in his chest, but it’s not quite reaching him. Leaving him to teeter on the edge, giving him a hard place to fall with any gentle nudge.

Time flows syrupy slow, and it feels like he fades down back toward unconsciousness and up again before anything else becomes relevant. But, eventually, he becomes aware of his body too. He’s numb in the way that means that he’s on the heavy duty kind of drugs, administered correctly so that his pain is far away. Like the anxiety, the fear, the pain is just waiting on him to acknowledge it so that it can take over.

So.

He does his best to ignore it. To float in this absence of pain.

It’s better.

He doesn’t want to think about better than what, he just knows that it’s better.

So he focuses on anything other than the pain. He’s sunk into the softness of the mattress beneath him. The slightly harder cushion of pillows under his side and shoulder. The rhythmic compression and release around his lower legs, the not-painful pressure almost comforting, so much like a kind touch that he hasn’t had in what feels like years.

He almost feels cradled—safe—as something clicks on and warm air curls around his limbs and envelops him. He floats there, up and down, darkness closing over his head in staggering intervals as his body fights its way through the sedation.

It’s quiet, peaceful, for a while, real, deep sleep engulfing him and blotting out the awareness that his body has painstakingly been building up.

He wakes up again, not knowing how long has passed, not really remembering being awake at all. The world is still soft and liquid, slipping through his fingers faster the harder he tries to hold on to it, so he lets it go. Soaks in the myriad of conflicting and confusing sensations.

Time is skewed, but Markus is just starting to struggle with the thinning line between the numbness of his body and the morass of pain when the quiet clack of a curtain moving disturbs the quiet, the heavier tread of boots on hospital tile joining with the hiss-thunk of one of the machines. The sounds swirl around him, swimming up and burbling through thick water.

There’s a lingering silence as Markus feels the weight of this new person’s gaze on his lax limbs. An instinctive fear of the unknown bubbles up in his chest, and suddenly, he feels exposed. Vulnerable. At the mercy of a stranger when he doesn’t remember what mercy is anymore.

Viscerally, his body recalls harsh hands that pushed and pulled at his defenseless body. Hurt him, took advantage of his weakness, callously disregarded him as anything other than an inconvenience.  

The silence lasts until there’s a heavy sigh, and the clatter of metal and plastic on tile. The blankets shift, and there’s pressure around his hand, the artificial, sticky feeling of latex that manipulates his limp fingers.  

He gets nothing from that pressure other than the sensation of another person touching him without his permission. Desperately, Markus wants the simple comfort of someone holding his hand, that yearning striking a cord deep down, buried under the lingering fear and terror, reminding him of safety and home. But this touch is nothing but latex and a firmly artificial barrier between him and whatever supernatural sense he could gather of this person, leaving him with nothing other than the primal desire to curl into and away from the touch at the same time.

But.

It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s still far from being able to move, even if he wanted to. Divorced from his flesh, only able to suffer and exist inside of it.

His soul cries out for safety, for someone, anyone, to hear him and take him home.

Something tickles the side of his face, and the person next to him shifts, another latex soft touch brushing over his cheek bone, feeling wet and cold.  His hair is gently stroked, and the touch settles over the top of his head. The pressure around his hand tightens briefly, “Markus? Can you hear me, sugar?”

The voice registers, but it’s muffled, the words whisked away just as he’s comprehending them. The sound and the touch though anchor him out of the soupy mire his consciousness has become, but he can’t really respond, doesn’t want to respond. The person doesn’t push, just hums, shushing him nonsensically.

“Alright, sugar, alright,” the low voice rumbles, the words coming tentative and slow, “I know you’re still sleepin’, but David told me that you were tolerating the lowered sedation this time. That maybe a little more of what we’re sayin’ will start stickin’ with ya.” Soft, soothing patterns are drawn into the cold skin at the back of his hand. “Catrina told me not to, uh. . . not to overwhelm you, not to talk about any heavy stuff, just to try and get you to respond, ya know?” A thick, huffed laugh. “She’s kinda terrifying, doesn’t put up with any a’ us trying to bully her for information. So, I’m. . . I’m just gonna hold your hand, and you squeeze when you’re ready, okay?”  

The man clears his throat roughly, and the pressure around his hand leaves for the rasp of what sounds like days old stubble, and Markus feels an unexpected, surprising burst of warm affection.  An absent thought tiptoed its way across his muzzy consciousness, there and gone moments later: Clint never did like to cry.

The voice—god, it’s familiar, so fucking familiar—quiets for a while, and Markus is so exhausted. He drifts, pulled down by growing fatigue and thickening tendrils of pain. Maybe he slips down into actual sleep again, but the next time he’s aware there’s another voice filling the room.

“—seems kind of distressed.”

“Yeah, I hit the call button just before you came in, Catrina should be here in a second.”

“Good, good, he probably just needs them to check his drip, maybe increase it a little. It’s not easy to titrate these meds.”

He’s too confused, overwhelmed to realize how tense he’s become, to feel the way that his brows have gathered together, the way the muscles in his arms and torso have tightened, or the way that his lungs have started to fight against the tube in his throat.

His chest and throat are sending him urgent messages that there’s something wrong, the intrusion of something hard and unyielding that isn’t supposed to be there making him move automatically. Clumsily, he reaches for whatever is making him hurt, uncoordinated limbs heavy and unwieldy.

“Woah, hey, heyheyhey—” he’s intercepted, and Markus flinches from the gentle restraints as they pull his hands away , “—don’t do that, sugar.”

“Markus, can you hear me, buddy?” The pressure around his hand tightens, cold latex rubbing over his knuckles. “Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?”

Reflexively, he tries to pull away from the restraints, ignoring the request as his heart gives a discordant thump at the whistle of anxiety thrumming through his chest. He stiffens at the brief flash of real pain through his system, muscles protesting as he begs silently for release. Please, please no. He can’t stand the thought of being held down again, being helpless. But even that small of a movement seems to push concrete through his veins, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fatigue weighing him down or the way the others slowly, gently push his hands back to bed that has him settling.

“Shhh, okay, okay,” his shoulder is engulfed by a soft touch, the deeper voice continuing to soothe him, “you’re okay. Markus, can you open your eyes? It’s Evan and Clint, we’d really like to see you, yeah?”

Clint? Evan? It can’t be. . . He wants to see his friends so badly it hurts, even worse than the building ache in his body, but his eyelids must weigh a hundred pounds. He feels the build up of tears behind his eyelids, the heavy droplets slipping free without permission. Please, please be here. . .

“Fuck, Markus,” one of the voices whispers, cracking over his name, a sniffle accompanying it, “Clint, where’s Catrina? I think he’s hurting pretty bad.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can find her, maybe Olivia’s available. I’ll be right back.” There’s the rush of displaced air, sudden coolness of his skin, but Markus’s weak attention is drawn back by the other’s calming voice.

“Okay, buddy, we’re gonna get you taken care of, alright? It’s Evan, Markus, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.”

Markus wanted to sob. He wanted it to actually be his friend so, so much, he remembered how he’d prayed for his friends but they’d never come. His face creased as a wave of pain rolled through him, teeth clamping down around whatever was in his throat. He heard a muted curse, “Fuck this.”

There was the snap of latex, warmth cupping his cheek, and then the overwhelming sense of Evan had Markus drawing from some reserve of energy that he didn’t even know he had. He turned into the palm against his face, fighting his eyelids until they lifted, light and shapes crossing his vision in a blur, and he heard a wet gasp. “Oh my god, hey,” a calloused thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek, smearing the tears across his skin, “hey, buddy, I’m here, you’re safe, okay?”

He blinked sluggishly, taking too long to reopen his eyes, but he finally found a modicum of focus as he took in the image of one of his best friends. He was still blurred, but the salt and pepper of Evan’s hair was visible over the blue of the mask covering the lower half of his face. He didn’t need to make out the details to know his friend now anyway, the skin contact lighting up parts of his magic not used in months. It was enough to push the pain back momentarily, dulling to a hum rather than a roar.

Evan’s other hand closed back around Markus’s, squeezing gently. “Can you understand me, Markus? Squeeze my hand if you can understand me.”

Slowly, his fingers closed around Evan’s, and he heard his friend give a shuddering gasp as Markus blinked slowly again. There was a rush of movement behind Evan, and the other man turned slightly. “He’s conscious and responsive.”

A startled exclamation, and another broad shouldered figure appeared in front of him, leaning over him. Markus drug his glassy stare over, not quite focusing as even these little movements drained whatever energy he’d gathered. “Hey, hey, sugar,” his free hand was scooped up between two latex covered paws, “God, it’s good to see you awake.”

“Take your gloves off,” Evan ordered, “skin contact seems to help. His vitals dropped back down, too.”

The figure did as he was bid, and Markus shuddered, eyelids dropping as relief and the safety of Clint flooded through him.  “Fuck,” Clint whispered, voice broken. As well as he could, Markus drifted his thumb across Clint’s hand, and heard a startled exhale that turned into a shaky, surprised laugh. The relieved joy of his friends was bright, buoying him in reality as it curled up in his chest.

Even with the safety of both of his friends surrounding him, the pain came back with a crescendoing wave. He tensed again, eyebrows pulling together as he shifted minutely. God, my chest hurts, it hurts. A few more tears slipped free, and he tugged weakly at Evan’s hand.

“You hurting, buddy?” He squeezed Evan’s hand, and he heard the entire room shift as Evan gave some sort of signal.

“And that’s where I come in,” a friendly, warm voice interjected, coming closer as Clint released his hand. The impersonal feeling of latex took his friend’s place, and Markus was terrified again. Clint, please don’t let him, please. There was a starburst of panic, and Evan hissed in surprise. The beast master’s hand snapped from Markus’s face in time with a sound of alarm from the faceless entity as the latex was pulled away.

“Sorry, doc,” Evan chuckled lowly, “if you’d felt what I just did, you woulda done the same. Gloves, you’ll understand in a second, trust me.”

There was another snap of latex, and a new, slightly cool hand slid into his own. The sense of deep caring and logic accompanied the doctor’s surprised inhale. “HooKay, that’s new.”

Markus relaxed slowly as he felt the other man’s alarm turn into curiosity and concern, but nothing malicious, as Evan explained. “His magic’s coming back. He’s always been extremely empathic, normally has great control of what you sense from him, but in this circumstance. . .” he trailed off with a sigh, bringing his hand back to brush through Markus’s hair.

“Alright then, no more gloves if we can help it,”  the other man’s friendly voice turned back to Markus, taking the news in stride. “Markus, can you open your eyes for me?” His tone was authoritative, but gentle, and Markus did his best to obey as a thumb dragged across his skin.

He only saw a bright sliver of light before his heavy lids became too much. Instead, Markus managed to tighten his hand minutely. That was easier for some reason, he didn’t have to try and make sense of the room, could focus on the safety net Evan provided. His friend hadn’t let go of his hand, the warmth of Evan’s skin warming Markus’s even with his poor circulation.

“Okay, Markus, I understand. Can you squeeze my hand again if you’re in pain?”

His fingers twitched, but Markus’s brain was becoming fuzzy on stress hormones, mired in the negative sensations. His lungs felt sticky, like his heart was turning over in his chest. “Okay, yeah, that heart rate is getting elevated again,” the voice was distant in a way that told him he wasn’t being addressed, “Catrina, let's give him one time dose of 50 mcg fentanyl, intravenous, and he can have an as needed dose of 25mcg every hour, if that’s not enough call me. Monitor for how he continues to tolerate the vent.” The voice came back to address him, “Markus, hang on just a second, okay?”

Evan’s hand swept down to drag the back of his knuckles across the side of his face, the touch exactly what he’d been begging for for months. “Go back to sleep, buddy, we’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“You’re not alone anymore, brother.” Clint’s voice trickled in as a wash of cold flowed over his chest, black swallowing up his lingering consciousness. “I promise.”

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 4:

“I think I have a plan. But…”

Cardan sits forward. “But?”

“I don’t know if it’ll get you out.”

Previous

Read chapter 4 on AO3, or read below:

“You know what?” I ask abruptly, some time later.

Cardan picks up his head. “What?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

His brow furrows, and then he looks vaguely panicked for the first time. “Um, right. Well, it’s not a big space, but I can turn around—”

I sigh. “No. Why don’t you go knock on the door and ask them to take me outside?”

Cardan blinks at me. “Oh,” he says. “You don’t want to try that yourself?”

“You’re the alpha.” I shrug. “They’re more likely to listen to you than to me.”

“Huh. Yeah. Good point.” He looks at me a little longer, head cocked, and then a grin breaks across his face like a sunrise. I feel my cheeks warm and hate that some cruel trick of fate assures that even though I know he is one of the world’s worst human beings, a small, primal part of me will always find him attractive. “How’s it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Bossing me around. Seems to come pretty naturally to you.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t need anyone else reminding me that I’m the world’s worst excuse for an omega. Being valedictorian sealed that. Valerian sealed that. My smart mouth sealed it, too. “Shut up, Greenbriar.”

His grin widens. “That the best you got?”

I glare. “Stop talking if you want the part of you that apparently makes you so ‘superior’ to me to remain intact.”

“A little vague, but we’ll workshop it.” Cardan pushes himself to his feet. With his long legs, it only takes him two strides to cross the room to the door. He glances at me. “If they shoot me, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll cry big, fat tears at your funeral.”

“You’d better write a kick-ass eulogy. You’re a good speaker, right? I don’t really remember graduation.”

Probably drunk, I think. Or high. “Can you just knock?”

Cardan raises his hand and deals the door three hard raps, so loud I nearly jump. He waits a beat, then says, “Oh, no answer. Well, I guess I’ll—”

“What is it?”

This time it’s a woman’s voice that comes through the door. Cardan and I glance at each other. “Bathroom,” he calls. I notice the way he instinctively pitches his voice a little lower, trying to sound more adult, more alpha. “Both of us. And I’m thirsty.”

There’s another pause, then the woman says, “Step back, then. Against the far wall.”

Raising both his hands, Cardan retreats until his back hits the wall. I stand, too, awaiting whatever might happen when the door opens.

But when it does, I am momentarily taken aback. A small woman stands there, holding a different pistol, one better suited to her hand than the man’s. Like the scarred man, she too has a distinct appearance: her brown skin is dappled white from vitiligo, and her hair, too, is a shocking white cloud of curls around her face. She’s pretty, I realize. Totally out of place holding a gun in a hostage situation.

She is holding a gun, though—smaller than her companion’s, so they aren’t trading off—and keeps it fixed on Cardan even when she looks at me. “You first,” she says. “Through the door. Come on.”

I do need to pee, but this is what I really want: a chance to get a glimpse of the space outside of our small room. I nod and take cautious steps, edging myself around her and out of the door, careful not to make any moves that would seem threatening and spook her into firing that gun. But she keeps it trained on Cardan until I am out, which is when she finally turns away from him.

She keeps the barrel of her pistol aimed at me as she secures both locks, and I look around. It is a larger open area and in the middle is a round plastic table with four chairs. In one of the chairs sits the scarred man, playing Solitaire. He looks up. “What’s this?”

“Bathroom break,” says the woman, taking my arm. It’s comical—she’s tiny, barely comes up past my shoulder—but she’s the one with the weapon. I let her lead me through the main space, which is mostly bare. Aside from the table and chairs, I see a mini-fridge plugged into one wall, and stairs that lead out of the basement.

I hope my escort is going to take me upstairs so I can get a sense of the situation, but I am not that lucky. Instead she steers me past the tables to a short hallway on the other side of the main space. There are two doors, and she motions me toward the first one.

“In there,” she says.

I don’t thank her, because what point is there in thanking my abductor? I just open the door and go inside. The bathroom is just a bathroom, but it has toilet paper and a functioning toilet and a sink and paper towels, which is all I need at the moment. There is also a shower stall in the corner with a frosted glass door, which makes me think that this is the basement of a house after all. The room we are being kept in might have once been a very small guest bedroom, or a storage room.

Someone has left bar soap in a little tray in the sink. It looks old and grody, its color faded to an unattractive pale green, but I soap my hands up anyway after I finish my business, and then I splash water on my face. I always keep a spare elastic around my wrist and use it to pull my hair, now an unruly tangle of loose curls, back from my face. I am glad I thought to wear a sweatshirt over my black tank top—I’ll probably need that to stay warm when night falls. I stare at my face in the mirror until my vision splits, and then shake my head. I cannot crack now. I can’t. I will get through this. I have been through worse. A terrible car wreck, a rocky transition to a new home, years of bullying that culminated in something worse. I can survive this, too.

So I go back outside, where the woman takes me by the arm and leads me back to my prison. I don’t protest. I am quiet, and hopefully look dazed and a little scared. No one can know I’m already planning to escape, that I still have my wits about me.

My escort undoes the locks, then pushes me back into the room, and, with the gun trained on Cardan, she says, “All right. You next.”

Cardan, who had taken up his position in the corner again, scrambles to his feet. His eyes flick over me, head to toe, like he’s judging me for looking disheveled when he himself isn’t much better off. I listen for the click of the locks, and am only a little disappointed when I hear them.

Blessedly alone, I sit on the edge of the mattress, inventorying what I know. The main obstacle will be whatever lies upstairs, but I don’t think there is any way to convince our captors to take me out for fresh air. Maybe I can claim a condition? Asthma? I doubt they would buy it.

It only takes a couple of minutes for the door to open and Cardan to come back in, the small woman at his back. He holds a bottle of water fresh from the mini-fridge, condensation already gathering on its surface. I am glad to see the water, hoping I can steal a swig and banish the greasy feeling of cold McMuffin from my mouth once and for all.

“In,” the woman urges Cardan, and he takes another step inside the room so he’s well clear of the door. I think it’s weird that he doesn’t protest, or talk back to her like he did to me, but he had been stalling then, and now there’s actual danger.

I am starting to realize that when he doesn’t hold power in a situation, Cardan Greenbriar is kind of a coward.

This should make me feel smug, but I would rather have a brash alpha to use as a shield while we make our escape. It’ll be fine. Alpha or not, hopefully I have enough brashness for the both of us.

The woman looks from me to Cardan, then back to me. Her eyes look almost kind. “I am sorry about this,” she says. “We were only meant to take him.”

“Um,” I say. “Oh.”

“It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“That’s… good.” I look at Cardan, who seems as baffled as I am. “You could always just let me go?”

The woman sighs. “The boss says it’s not an option anymore. But don’t worry. If you keep cooperating, you won’t be in any danger. Either of you,” she adds, looking at Cardan.

“Good to know,” Cardan says. “Although I’m not sure why I should trust the promise of a person who kidnapped and drugged us.”

Her lip twitches. “Fair enough,” she says, and then she closes the door and locks it.

We both exhale our relief. Cardan sits back down in his corner, takes a large swig of water, then screws on the cap and rolls the bottle across the floor to me. “Good thinking,” he says. “One, because it would suck to have to pee on the floor, but two because now we have a sense of where we are.”

“Yeah,” I said, only half-paying attention. I unscrew the bottle cap and take a sip of cool, clean water. Then I lower my voice. “I think I have a plan. But…”

Cardan sits forward. “But?”

“I don’t know if it’ll get you out.”

He frowns, but somehow doesn’t sound surprised when he just says, “Oh.”

“Haven’t you noticed? They’re only scared of you. They only train the gun on you. They don’t think of me…” I shrug one shoulder. “Well, at all, but definitely not as a threat. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As far as they know, I chose the wrong boy to kiss on a beach.”

“Yeah.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. So I’m the big, bad alpha… and the decoy, while you slip under the radar. And then I get to follow you, maybe. If we’re lucky.”

I am surprised to find that I feel a little bad for him. A few hours ago, I would have been fine leaving him to rot, but then we spoke more words to each other than we have maybe in our entire lives, and now I’m not so sure. I say, “You probably get to follow me, it’s just not a guarantee. But I still think it’s worth trying.”

“Anything is,” he says, surprising me. “You know why?”

“Why?”

“They’re not wearing masks.”

I stare at him for a moment, then dread pools at the bottom of my stomach, a cold egg someone’s cracked open in my chest. “Either they’re consummate professionals who’ve managed to wipe themselves from every database, or…”

“Or we’re not supposed to be around to tell anyone what we’ve seen.” Cardan’s mouth presses into a thin line, grimmer and more serious than I’ve ever seen him.

“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore my heartbeat as it speeds up. “Okay, let’s—okay. So we make our plan and carry it out. That’s what we do.”

“We carry out our plan,” he says, a gloomy echo, “or die trying.”

Silence falls over the room like a blanket of snow, but I take a flamethrower to it by asking, “Really?”

“What?”

“Being dramatic doesn’t help. We have to focus on getting out of here. So.” I wave my hand. “Stop that. No one’s going to kill you, except maybe me if you keep getting on my nerves.”

He looks at me, his eyes darker now, in the unlit basement, than they were even last night on the beach. “Who’s going to stop them from killing us? You? A little omega girl who doesn’t know when to quit?”

“I’m not little,” I snap. God, why is he like this? “And yeah, it’s a good thing I don’t know when to quit, because apparently that’s all that stands between you and suicidal sulking. So stop being so Shakespearean tragedy and help me.”

“I could never do theater,” Cardan muses aloud, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Wasn’t alpha enough for me, apparently.”

I frown at him. “Plenty of alphas do theater. Our school had a great theater program.” I would know—I volunteered as a stagehand enough times as a freshman and sophomore. It was something else to put on a college application, and I liked moving in the dark, not being seen but making everything run smoothly. But eventually I had to stop, too. Madoc never said outright that it was a waste of time, but…

“My brother didn’t like it,” Cardan says, like he’s finishing my thought. He picks at some loose plaster on the wall.

I end up just looking at him for a minute, mostly because I am shocked to hear him sound wistful. I didn’t know he was capable of it. “I think you would have been good,” I say, surprised to find I mean it. I mean, he has the looks, and he’s certainly proven to have a flair for the dramatic.

He turns his head to look back at me, and just like that we had zigzagged back from enemies, or rivals, or whatever we were, to allies. “I always thought so, too.”

---

“So,” Cardan says. “I stand in the door.”

“You do,” I affirm. “You make sure that whoever opens the door, all they see is you.”

“And you’ll be beside the door, out of sight,” he recites. “So you can grab them, disarm them, and pull them in.” He blinks at me. I’ve begun to notice the gold edging his near-black irises, the whole spectacle framed by dark eyelashes. I feel like if I look long enough, I might be able to pick out other colors in them. Eyes like black opals.

“Jude,” he says, like it’s the second time he’s said my name. “Earth to Duarte, hello. Can you actually do that?”

I blink too, shake out of it. “In theory.” I’ve only had to use what I’ve learned on martial arts mats or in boxing studios a few times outside of my lessons, and never on anyone actually armed. But I’m relatively small, so I’ve been taught specifically how to go against people stronger, taller, faster. And I’ve only ever frozen once.

“What if it’s two of them at the door?”

“It won’t be. It’s been one at the door, one at the table all day. You noticed too, right?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “So, the tricky part. You lock person one in the room, I go for whoever’s at the table.” He sneers. “‘Go for.’ Like, what, a linebacker?”

“Again, you’re an alpha.” I did not in my life ever think I would be giving Cardan a pep talk, much less this pep talk. “Use those reflexes.”

“My reflexes are rusty.”

“You’d better oil them fast.”

He exhales audibly. “Okay. So I grapple with—whoever’s at the table, under the hope that they’re surprised enough when their buddy gets grabbed that they’ll be slow getting out the gun. And if they do?”

“You’re too valuable to kill until they have your money.”

“They could wound me.”

I roll my eyes. “I could wound you. Suck it up.”

Cardan chuckles softly and touches his side like he’s already imagining bruises blossoming there. “Ouch.”

“You’ll only be without me for a few seconds,” I reassure him. “You draw focus, keep them on the ground, and then I’ll show up, hopefully armed. Then we’re good.”

“And if we’re not good, you just leave me. You just run.” He gives me a weirdly intense look. “Right? I’m the one they want, anyway.”

“It won’t come to that,” I say.

“But if it does.”

“Cardan.”

“I have concerns.”

I bite the inside of my cheek before I can tell him he’s an idiot if he doesn’t have concerns. “What are they?”

“The third man. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, and you haven’t seen him at all. We know what the other two are like, but you have no read on him and I don’t really trust mine.”

That is a good concern, although I’m loath to give Cardan any credit. It had crossed my mind too, along with the possibility that Cardan might have been too drowsy while he was coming out of his drugged haze and made a mistake. But even if he was in a stupor, it isn’t likely that he mistook a scarred man of medium height or a short woman for a tall man with no scars at all.

“Maybe he’s the ringleader,” I suggest. “He might have left once we were settled in.”

“Might have,” Cardan agrees, but he sounds unconvinced.

We pass the rest of the day like that, in our precarious truce. When one of us has an idea, we speak up, trade it back and forth for a while. And then silence again. It would be incredibly boring, and almost is without my phone, except that Cardan is right: this might be literally life or death.

Our captors let us out a few more times to use the bathroom. In the evening, they bring us cold, dry pre-packaged deli sandwiches from a supermarket and an extra pillow and blanket for Cardan, because I am on the mattress and there was only supposed to be one of us. Cardan just accepts the bedding and food, quiet for once. I know he’s wondering the same thing I am: whether they still mean to kill us, or whether we’re worth more alive.

When the light has totally vanished from our tiny window and we have both exhausted our store of potential plans, Cardan unties his shoes, props his pillow in the corner, and starts making himself as comfortable as possible on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask, before my brain catches up to my mouth.

“I think this is called ‘sleeping,’” he replies. “I thought everybody did it, but I guess with all those AP classes and mock trial and…”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a big enough mattress,” I say. “Just don’t touch me.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I scoot to the side of the mattress, the one closer to the wall, and turn onto my side, away from the spot I’m vacating for him. “Before I change my mind.”

Cardan seems to realize I actually do mean it, so about half a second later I feel him crawl onto the mattress and flop down. And just as he’s groaning, “God, that is better,” even though the mattress is old and stained and doesn’t smell great, I realize I’ve made a gigantic mistake, because my body is a live wire and not even for the reason he’d think.

I glance over my shoulder at him, and although it’s hard to make out details in the dark, I can see that he is also on his side with his back to me, his midnight curls a stark contrast against the pillow. Breathe, I tell myself. For about five years, Cardan could not have been clearer that he does not want me in any conceivable way, and we’re not in the danger zone yet. There is no “safe” in our situation, but I am at least protected from that.

“I can feel you staring,” he says to the empty air.

Startled, I almost bite down on my own tongue. I turn back around and curl my knees to my chest. I don’t want to ask. Asking would be the worst thing in the world. Asking would be admitting to fear, and naming fear gives it power.

But I am spared when Cardan says, unprompted, “I’m not going to try anything, Jesus.” The Don’t you know that? hangs unspoken in the air between us, because I should know it, seeing as he’s been telling me I stink for years. That while his kind ostensibly was made to dominate mine, my chemicals do not agree with his, and so he would never stoop to that level.

I get it. And sure, it stings to be unwanted, but not so much now, because I can sleep through the night with Cardan at my back and really, truly not worry about being prey. “Right,” I say. “Good. Because you’re the last person in the world I’d want that from, anyway.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear.”

Never mind that he made it clear first. I burrow into my pillow as best I can. “Well, enjoy your uninterrupted sleep.”

I expect a smart remark from him, but there’s nothing but a sigh. Then, because I am listening carefully, I hear his breathing grow long and even, and I realize he actually has fallen asleep. He isn’t too nervous, too tense to be kept awake. I am both of those things, but also exhausted, so I guess I can understand that eventually, exhaustion has its way.

It’s weird that twenty-four hours ago he was one of the people I hated most in the world, someone who stood in for the system that had scorned me my whole life. He still might be, outside these walls. But for now he’s just a boy, sleeping at my back.

I close my eyes, and sleep too.

Next

[youngjusticeslut]

Water (Chapter 2)

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power   Characters: Catra, Adora, Glimmer, Bow, Mermista, Melog Ships: Catradora Rating: G+ Word Count: 2,500 Links: AO3, FF.net Summary: Catra faces off against Mermista in the Fright Zone, putting the spotlight on old fears and new memories.

Even if Mermista wasn’t chipped, her anger would have been more than justified.

After all, Catra played a rather big part in destroying her kingdom— possibly forever. So really, what are a few water blasts in comparison to that?

Still, it’s unpleasant. Despite however just it is, every droplet makes her fur stand straight, her nerves going into total overdrive with stiff panic. She wants nothing more than to run. Water always makes her want to run.  

Catra takes refuge behind a stack of crates, doing her best to catch her breath and get out of Mermista’s view. Melog is right behind her, and presses their tail to her thigh, making them disappear from view. She’s gotta admit, even though their connection is, admittedly, weird, Melog is incredibly useful. She rests a hand on their head in a gesture of thanks, her heart fluttering when Melog curls their head upward into her palm.

She doesn’t have long. Mermista will find her in a matter of seconds, and the barrage of water will begin again. Catra doesn’t need much time to recover, but a few seconds would be nice so she can think of a plan to get out of this predicament.

Should she try speaking to her? She shoots that down a second after she’s thought it. Speaking with Scorpia had gotten Catra nothing but a rather painful wake up call. No, she needs a better plan. Given that Mermista’s powers are rather inconvenient, she needs something quick, something fast that’ll get her out of here.

Catra peeks behind the crates and tries to find an escape route. Invisibility wouldn’t fool Mermista for long, but if she can just—

A blast of water hits the crate, exploding it to pieces. The force of the explosion combined with the water sends both Catra and Melog reeling, sputtering for breath. Mermista smirks, holding her hands up.

“Didn’t take you for much of a hider.”

Yeah, well, clearly she doesn’t know her that well.

Catra ignores Mermista and manages to push herself to her feet. She has about ten different words she’d like to say to her, some inappropriate, but she bites her tongue. Taunting her won’t help. It’ll only waste any energy she has, and right now she needs it to get away. Lucky for her, she barely has to consider the thought for more than a second. Before she can blink, Melog is by her side, and without having to say anything she climbs atop of them and directs them towards the door.

To her credit, the water really sent her into a frazzled, desperate state. Otherwise, she really shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy.

Mermista blocks the door with a wave powerful enough that it knocks Catra off Melog and sends them both flying in different directions. Catra’s soaked to the bone. Her ears are ringing from the force of the impact. She can just barely make out Melog’s mewling.

The water burns her lungs. It’s bringing back memories that she wants to stay forgotten.

It’s so tempting to stay there on the floor, to let the dark thoughts consume her and lose herself in the memories of the past. Catra hates the feeling of being soaked. Her fur, damp to the touch, plastered against her skin. Her tail, too heavy to move properly. The last time she’d felt like this—

Melog is by her side again. Catra’s vision is still blurry, plagued with black spots, but she can tell. She feels their equally damp skin, pressed against hers protectively. She presses a hand to Melog’s skin, letting them help her clear her head. Slowly, the dark memories ebb away from the forefront of her mind. She stops sputtering for air. The pain becomes a little more bearable.

Once everything is clear, Catra opens her eyes to see a pair of feet standing before her. Waiting. She glances upwards, hating this little predicament. She’s in the perfect spot, vulnerable to another attack, and Mermista knows it. To her credit, the controlled girl just grins.

Then, the grin falls. Her body shudders, and suddenly her eyes tinge a very familiar shade of green.

“We meet again, Little Sister.”

Melog growls, immediately shifting into their more primal form. Catra clenches onto them, trying to keep her jaw from clenching. He’s here. Horde Prime knows she’s here. And if he knows that she’s here… Her heart starts racing. The pain in her ribs suddenly makes itself known two-fold, and every breath she takes feels far more labored.

Adora.

She can't let him get to Adora.

Catra starts to move, but Mermista is quick to stop her. She steps on her chest, holding her firmly with her boot. It takes everything inside Catra not to scream from the pain. Thankfully, repressing is one of the few things she’s good at.

“How you have fallen,” Mermista sighs in a voice that doesn’t belong to her. The voice is shThe same voice that’s seared in Catra’s brain, unwilling to be forgotten.

“Let go of her,” Catra finds herself saying. The absurdity of her words doesn’t escape her notice. If the tables were turned, she’s sure that Mermista would have thrown her to the side. Catra wouldn’t even blame her. She’d probably respect her for it.

But no, now she’s here, defending a princess she doesn’t even like, for the sake of— what, being a better person? Man, sometimes being a good guy is seriously inconvenient.

Mermista cocks her head to the side, Prime’s expression never leaving her. “I will not keep her long,” she states, her voice clouded with Prime’s oozing tone. “This fight is of no significance to me. Your fighting is futile.” The princess raises her hands, and two waves of water appear, spiraling menacingly beside her.  Catra scoots back on reflex, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

As much as she hates to admit it, he has a point. Catra can hold her ground with most of the princesses, but Mermista? Her powers give her a significantly upper hand.

Okay, so she needs a new plan. Escape is going to be nearly impossible to achieve on her own, not unless she feels like getting drowned by a tsunami. She definitely wants to avoid giving Mermista any more leverage than she already has. Melog won’t be much help here, the water seems to affect them almost as much as it does her.

Catra holds back a sigh; she’s going to have to call for help. If Mermista and Scorpia are here, there might be more controlled Etherians here than she initially thought. That means that the rest of the rebellion will have their hands full.

Great. She’s going to have to ask Sparkles for help.

“I don’t know,” Catra says, her eyes quickly darting to the side. The nearest control room is just a short dash away. If she can distract Prime long enough to loosen his guard, she might be able to lock herself inside and call for help. It’s not her greatest plan, but right now she isn’t left with much of a better option. “I’d say my chances of winning this fight are pretty high. Especially when you chose to occupy the weakest princess.”

Mermista’s eyes flash for the faintest glimmer of a moment. Catra smirks. Maybe she doesn’t need to distract Prime.

“Like seriously, water powers? How lame.” A blast of water shoots by her ear, and Catra acts quick, dodging the blast.. “Seriously, I’m not even trying. If you wanted a real shot of winning, you should have taken over Scorpia. Now those are some powers.”

The green hue of Mermista’s eyes fades, and the girl groans before shooting Catra a nasty scowl. “You are so annoying!”

Bingo.

Catra takes her chance and climbs atop of Melog, and both of them race for the control room. She only has a few seconds, so she needs to be fast. Not even a moment later, she hears a rush of water and knows that Prime has taken control of Mermista again.  

They reach the control room, and Catra acts on pure instinct, slamming the door closed behind them and smashing keys on the control pad to lock it shut. The lock clicks just as Mermista arrives, and Catra can hardly think as she grabs the communication tablet and pounds in Glimmer’s coordinates.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Catra hisses as the line tries to connect. Silence. Of course, Sparkles remains ever unreliable. She begins entering the coordinates again, and then it dawns on her that it’s far too quiet. Mermista should have been pounding the door by now.

Before she can really mull over the thought, water begins streaming in from the cracks in the wall. Catra shrieks, immediately clambering on top of the equipment, her heart beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. Melog follows after her, trying to stay dry but clearly panicking.

“Foolish Little Sister. You think you are so very clever, but you continue to place your trust in your rash decisions,” Mermista simpers in Horde Prime’s voice. Catra trembles as the water starts to fill the room, covering the floor. She tries thinking of an escape route, some way out of here, but there isn’t one.

A smooth chuckle comes from the other side of the door, loud enough to be heard over the rushing of water. “You could have flourished under me. But no matter. You will be eradicated soon enough.”

Catra can barely hear anything at this point. Everything seems as if it’s happening in slow motion. The water fills the room, and no matter how much higher she climbs, it will be futile. Even if she calls Glimmer, there’s no way she’ll get here in time. Still, she has to try.

She finishes punching in the coordinates, clenching the tablet for dear life as her hands tremble from fear. Moments later, Bow and Glimmer’s faces appear on the screen.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

“Get us out of here, now!” Catra yells, her stomach wrenching as Melog starts mewling for help beside her. Hang on. They just need to hang on. Hopefully Glimmer and Bow will be able to get them out of this.

“What’s going on?”

A beam falls under the pressure. By the way the water is rising, they only have a minute or two before the whole room will be filled. “This whole thing was a trap.” Catra should have realized it sooner. She’s good at strategizing, she excels at getting inside the enemy’s head. Why hasn't she seen this coming? The water splashes her feet and she shrieks. “Why did I get the water princess?”

The water rises higher, covering her feet, then her ankles, leaving her nowhere to go, nowhere else to climb. She tries anyway and stumbles, dropping the tablet in the process. Shit. Now her coordinates are gone. It’ll take a minute for Glimmer to find her.

A massive wave of water looms overhead through the window, and Catra swallows. She may not have a minute.   Melog continues to cry, and Catra reaches out for them, wrapping her arms around their neck in an attempt of comfort. “It’s okay,” she tries, though her voice trembles. “Glimmer will come.”

Another beam falls. The control panels fizzle out. One goes off by Melog, zapping them with a quick shock. The alien cat slips into the water, dragging Catra down with them.

The moment her body hits the water, Catra gasps for air. She remembers the pool. The pain. How her life had been sucked out from under her and placed firmly in Prime’s control. Everything she’d fought so hard to keep from thinking about comes to the forefront, and she splashes around the water, trying to get out.

There’s a crackle. Catra looks up just in time to see water crashing down from the ceiling, the impact of which forces her underwater. She tries to swim, but her body feels sluggish. It’s like she’s moving through tar.

As she chokes beneath the surface for air, the memories return, clear as day. Her body tingles with the shock from the green pool. She feels the back of her neck burn, and the cold steel of scissors sliding through her hair. Catra grasps at the short strands, shivering in pain, convulsing for air. The more she strains for air, the more water she swallows, burying her deeper and deeper still into the blackness.

Though cruel, perhaps drowning with her memories is the most righteous form of justice she’ll receive. Catra really thought she’d have more time. There’s so much she left unsaid. So much she wanted to see, and do, with—

Something grabs her arm. Melog, probably. They don't deserve to go like this. She hopes that alien cats don’t need to breathe to survive. If Glimmer ever gets here, maybe she’ll be able to save them.

A familiar wave of nausea rolls over her, and a moment later she’s out of the control room and on a dry pavement. Almost immediately, Catra starts coughing out water and struggles to breathe. Every inch of her is shaking, and the only thing on her mind is breathing. Someone keeps calling her name, but she can barely register it. The water is gone. Unfortunately, her memories aren’t. No matter how hard she tries to pull herself out of the depth, she finds herself stuck in the blackness.

“Catra.” Glimmer’s voice. A squeeze on her shoulder.

Instinctively, Catra jerks back with a hiss. Glimmer backs off. She frowns, her face creasing apologetically. “I’m sorry. It took me a while to find you. My connection to you isn’t as strong as…” she trails off, biting her lip.

“Where’s Melog?” Catra rasps,trying to will her vision to return to normal. She’s still shaking. If she wasn’t clenching her teeth, they’d be chattering.

“They’re fine. They need some time to recover.” Glimmer hesitantly takes a step forward. “You okay?”

She isn’t. As much as she wants to brush it off, Catra knows that Glimmer has already seen too much. It’s been made clear that her problems, and her fears, aren’t going anywhere. She pushes some wet hair away from her face and shakes her head. “No,” she admits, slowly peeling herself off the floor and sitting upright. “But I will be.”

To her credit, Glimmer only smiles. It’s in that sappy, mushy kind of way that makes Catra want to punch her, but she can live with it. “Okay.”

Later, when Perfuma offers her help, Catra makes a mental note to take her up on it. One day, when she feels brave enough to finally confront her issues, it’ll probably come in useful.

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 8)

A/N: thank you for all the love on part 7!! it really popped off. I was expecting maybe 2 people to read this so thank you for all the kind messages :)

word count: 3.5k

tw: cursing, angst, all around sad vibes

masterlist!

The clock read 7:13. Derek had responded almost immediately, telling him he’d be there at 8 sharp. Spencer paced around the room in a circle around the box. He had time, just one more letter wouldn’t hurt? 

‘No pace yourself,’ He thought, but somehow kept migrating towards the box. Like it was the sun and he was caught in its gravitational pull, or more accurately, it was a black hole, sucking him in and swallowing him whole. 

He sat in front of it, trying to find some will power to just stop and breathe for a moment. Every word was like a jab in the gut, but he couldn’t stay away. He was twisting the knife you had shoved in his heart. Maybe he’s a glutton for punishment. 

He grabbed the box and letter 7. Lucky #7 belonged to the Caltech hoodie he had folded neatly in the bottom of the box when he knocked it over. He smiled, remembering the million times he had seen you wear it. He couldn’t remember the last time he put it on; it always looked better on you anyways. He unfolded it and pulled it over his body. The smell of you enveloped him. You smelled like vanilla and musk and almonds and sunshine and happiness. It smelled warm. It smelled like home. 

“Why do you put on a thousand sprays of perfume?” He recalled asking you, coming up behind you while you were getting ready for date night. 

He wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You giggled under him, spinning around in his arms so you faced him and shook the bottle in his face. 

“I like to smell good. It’s an underrated sense.”

He smiled, still holding your body close to his, “I know, isn’t it? Olfaction is the most primal of the six senses. It is closely linked to survival and can bring out instinctive and subconscious behavior.”

You spun out of his arms and back to your dresser, still listening to him intently. You always listened, no matter how many times he went on the same rant, you always listened and even chimed in sometimes. You nodded along to what he was saying as you clasped the locket around your neck and fixed up your makeup. 

“Fragrances have the ability to evoke both positive and negative psychological states of mind and reactions in milliseconds. Scents bypass the thalamus and go straight to the brain's smell center, the olfactory bulb, which is directly connected to the amygdala and hippocampus.”

“So that’s why smells trigger intense memories?” You said, adjusting Spencer’s constantly crooked tie and running your hands across his chest. 

“Exactly.” 

He missed how it felt to have your hands on his chest, feeling his pounding heart through his dress shirt. He missed how you would wiggle his tie to fix it and when it was especially bad you’d even undo it and retie it for him.

“Well, then I hope every time you smell me you remember something good,” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Spencer made a face and wiped at his cheek, “Lip gloss?”

You giggled and overzealously applied another coat, pursing your lips into a kiss. 

“It looks amazing but it’s so... sticky.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss me,” you said, shrugging and turning away.

“Oh, I most definitely have to kiss you.”

You were right, smelling you did trigger some hidden memory in his mind. He hadn’t thought about that day in years. 

The things he’d do to complain about a sticky, glittery, lip gloss kiss again. 

He buried his face in the sleeves, wishing it was the crook of your neck and began to read: 

“This one is short, sweet, and to the point. I feel like I’m getting redundant, and my hand is cramping. I just keep saying how sad and lost I am. It’s getting boring. So let's get into the CalTech hoodie. 

It’s the first item you moved into my place. It’d been about a year and a half of us being together and you were spending most nights with me. Your apartment is great, and cozy, and so undeniably you, but mine is bigger. Mine was made for two people; it even has a guest room. 

One day I cleared out the bottom drawer of my dresser. You always brought your go-bag and I thought it was finally time for you to graduate to a drawer. That night I opened the drawer and said, “Ta-da!” while giving you jazz hands. 

Your mouth curled up into a smile, “What’s this?”

“This is your drawer.”

“My drawer?” Your eyebrows went up in shock. I thought maybe I was being too much, maybe it was too soon, so I backpedaled. 

“Well, I mean, I thought since you’ve been coming with the bag all this time, I’d give you somewhere to keep some pajamas and stuff so you wouldn’t have to b-bring the bag? I don’t know I’m sorry—“

You scooped me up in a kiss, dropping your bag on the ground. You lifted me off the ground and I wrapped my legs around your torso. It was like a movie. 

“I love it,” you said, peppering me with more kisses. 

“And,”

Kiss

“I,”

Kiss

“Love,”

Kiss

“You.”

You put me down and I was smiling so hard my face hurt. The love of my life was semi moving in with me. That officially made it serious in my book. You unpacked the bag and this sweatshirt is the first thing you put in the drawer. 

Over time, one drawer turned into two drawers, and into an entire dresser. And eventually a rack in my closet (your three-piece suits must hang) and two toothbrushes. There were two sets of shampoo and conditioner, two mugs were always in the sink waiting to be washed, and two used sides of my bed. You brought little bits of yourself with you every time, leaving books or papers. It started out with you staying over after every date night, then every weekend, and eventually we drove to and from work together because we were both going to the same place. Home. 

When we invited our friends over it wasn’t “Let’s go to Y/N’s” it was “Let’s go to Y/N and Spencer’s.” I loved that. It was our place, Spence. And we lived together so well. I cooked (or tried to) and you’d do the dishes. I’d do laundry and you liked to fold it. You took out the garbage and I fed the fish. Then at the end of a long night I’d snuggle up on the couch next to you and we’d watch Dr. Who or something else like that and you’d rub my feet or back. I’d always fall asleep on the couch on top of you and you’d always carry me up to bed. 

Everyone thought it was a little odd that you lived with me but still had your apartment. I always thought it was a little weird too, but you said you used it like an office and for storage. 

“You have one bookcase Y/N, where am I supposed to put my stuff?” Is what you’d say and I’d laugh and joke that you lived in a library. I’m glad you kept it though, you ended up needing it at the end. Even when we were together it was your getaway. You would go there to recharge a lot. It’s your safe place. That’s why I’m glad you’re reading all this there. 

Me? 

I’m writing this at the kitchen table where we would share coffee every morning and you’d read the newspaper from an obscure small town. The kitchen table where I’d time how fast it took you to do the crossword and you’d pass me the comics because you know how much I love Garfield. I have the blanket you got me for Christmas one year over my shoulders. It’s the red one that we laid under many nights on the couch.  It smells like you. Everything in this place smells like you. I used to love that. In the beginning, it reminded me of you when you were gone. I’d miss you and grab this blanket or a shirt or anything that was yours and shove my face into it. You always smell like old books and fall, like cinnamon and firewood. I used to love it. Now as I’m sitting here wrapped in this blanket that smells like you I’m nauseous. I can’t live in a place that is so you without YOU, Spencer. It’s cruel really, how you permeated through every part of my life. It’s gut wrenching, but my fault. If I hadn’t allowed you to be all consuming this would be easier, maybe I wouldn’t hurt so much. I lost everything the day I lost you. I used to be angry. I’m sorry for all the nights I yelled at you. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t even realize how much you were hurting too. I promise you, I’m not mad anymore. I’m just sad and tired, so emotionally exhausted.  

Some nights even after you left I’d wear this to sleep. I’d snuggle up in it and pretend it was your arms taking me away to a dreamland much better than here. The smell of you triggers all the memories. Because the amygdala and olfactory bulb are close together or something, right? 

Well I’m sick of the memories. They come like waves; one moment I’m fine. Right now I’m thinking of you and me baking and icing cupcakes for Mia’s birthday and getting flour all over ourselves and laughing. Then I’ll remember me and you and the yelling and then I cry, no not cry, I wail. And then I start all over again. 

That’s another reason why I have to leave. I can’t inhabit a two bedroom when it’s just me anymore. So there you go, here’s the hoodie. It’s tattered and pilled and shrunk and has a bleach stain from how much I washed it but it’s yours. It’s about time you have it back.”

Maybe he had permeated through your life, but was that such a bad thing? He planned on spending the rest of his with you; making your two lives and two souls into one just made sense. He put the paper down and just let himself be consumed by the smell and many memories of you, crashing over him like waves. He allowed himself to drown, finding an odd comfort in the feeling.

At 7:52 Spencer was sitting on the couch waiting for Derek. He thought maybe they should do this in a coffee shop or somewhere public, but he knew he’d be crying in minutes and didn’t need an audience. He just needed his friend. 

When the knock on the door came he didn’t hesitate. He just opened it up and let Derek in. 

“I’m sorry about before. I-I just,” Spencer sputtered out his attempt at an apology, lifting his arms and letting them fall in defeat. The hoodie had shrunk; the sleeves barely reached his wrists. 

“It’s okay kid, I know,” Derek grabbed his shoulder in the same big brother way he always did, and they both sat on the couch. 

“Coffee?” Spencer offered. Derek nodded and within minutes he had his own steaming cup. They sat in awkward silence, neither one of them knowing what to say or where to start.  

Derek spoke first. 

“When you left work yesterday, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. What’s going on, Reid? I know that wasn’t just from Y/N leaving.”

Spencer gulped. He had seen a ghost, the ghost of you. Not the you he had seen just yesterday morning, he saw the you that he remembered sharing a home with, sharing a bed with, sharing the clothes on his back with. Had it only been twenty hours since he saw you last? He felt like he hadn’t seen you in years. He couldn’t even remember anything about you yesterday clearly. Was your hair up or down? Did you wear pants or a skirt? Did you laugh? It felt like you weren’t even there, and that was the last time he would see you. He felt sick. 

“I think the easier question is what isn’t going on.”

“Reid, I know you’re hurting man, talk to me.”

Spencer looked at Derek with his head tilted sideways, “Did you know about the box?”

“The box? What box?”

Spencer got up and made his way to the chess table, grabbing the now much lighter box and dropping it on the coffee table. The two mugs rattled, a little coffee spilled out. 

“This box.”

Derek leaned to look in it, flicking through the open letters Spencer put on top, “What is this?”

“A box of stuff Y/N wanted me to have and a bunch of letters detailing exactly how we got here.”

Derek laughed lightly, “She always did have a flare for the dramatic. What’s in it?”

Spencer sighed, he didn’t want to tell him the details, “I’m only about halfway through it all.”

“Do you want to go through it together?”

Spencer scratched the back of his head, “No, I think she wants me to do this alone.”

Derek understood, “Well talk to me about it so far. What’s going on up there?”  He poked Reid’s head playfully, trying to lighten up the dark room. 

“It’s been pretty happy so far. It’s full of good memories, first date, anniversary, when she met my mom. But I know what comes next. I just don’t want to keep going.”

He stared into the wrinkled papers, “There’s so many things she never said to me and I never said to her. The more I read the more it feels like I didn’t even know her.”

“You know that isn’t true. You knew her better than anyone. The two were like two halves of a whole person.”

Spencer nodded, his throat going dry despite all the coffee he was pouring down it. He thought you were two halves of one soul; but the more he learned about the last three years, the farther from the truth that seemed. 

“Reid, look at me,” Derek forced Spencer to make eye contact, “I know the last few months were bad. I spent them with her. Tell me your side.”

Spencer laid back into the couch, wishing it would just swallow him whole. 

Derek sighed, “Kid, I know I should’ve been more there for you then, but I’m here now. Talk to me.”

“Alright,” Spencer conceded, “It was 127 days ago. That’s when everything happened.”

Derek could feel Spencer stiffen beside him, “That’s when Y/N went on leave but I stayed at work.” He gulped, a dreadful feeling and sour taste already in his mouth, “I felt bad about leaving her alone, I really did, but I just couldn’t be there. I couldn’t walk around that place and know what should’ve been. I couldn’t be there for her the way she needed me to be. She needed to talk and cry, like all the time. I just needed space and some alone time to figure out my head. I took it whenever I could. The very little time we did spend together was spent fighting. I don’t think we had a normal conversation until a few weeks ago. Then after the month was up she said she wasn’t ready to come back yet. She took more days, and Hotch let her. Hell, he encouraged her to. He wouldn’t even let her near the building until a month and a half ago. I kept telling her it wasn’t healthy; she couldn’t just sit there all day and wallow. She didn’t listen to me, she just let the grief swallow her whole. And then we went on that stupid trip, God I wish I hadn’t gone.”

“The one to the beach?”

Spencer groaned, “Yeah, it was awful. It was supposed to be a week but by day three we were at each other’s throats so much that I flew home. I started avoiding her even more, spending every night in my apartment. Eventually, her four week leave ended up being closer to eight, and in week five we broke up. Technically, she broke up with me, but I know I wasn’t in it. She just didn’t get that I need to be alone sometimes, that’s just how I process stuff.”

Derek nodded, “You put up walls.”

“That’s an understatement,” Spencer chuckled, “But then I realized how badly I messed up. I forced her away, and I hated myself for it. So, I started going to her place, begging her to talk to me. I wanted to fix it. But just when I took my walls down, she put hers up. I lost her.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being Spencer’s sniffles. He felt lighter, like the weight of that damn box was no longer on his shoulders. Then he felt himself go numb again and he couldn’t quite tell if that was better or worse than the heartache. 

“I checked on her every day, you know?” Derek broke the delicate silence. 

Spencer turned to look at him and made eye contact. Derek looked tired too. 

“I never thanked you for that.”

Derek shook his head, “There’s no need to, you would’ve done it for me. Sometimes it was a text, other days I’d bring her something to eat and force her out of bed. She didn’t talk much, but you know what she did talk about?”

Spencer just shrugged. 

“She’d ask about you. Every damn day.”

Spencer didn’t know whether to be elated or distraught, “Everyday?”

Derek nodded, “Everyday.”

“What else did she do?” Spencer said with a watery smile. 

Derek laughed, “She was always in bed; I was shocked she even gathered herself up enough to go on that trip. When I’d go see her I’d bring takeout and she wouldn’t eat it. I practically force fed her for a month.”

“She was looking skinnier.”

“Yeah, I think something like twenty pounds? I thought it was from—“

Spencer cut him off, not wanting him to say it. Saying it out loud made it real, and he didn’t want it to be real. 

“What else did she do?”

 “She made me watch a lot of New Girl.”

Spencer stifled a laugh, “Yeah, she loves Nick.”

“What’s that one line she’d always say? Something about reading?”

“‘I'm not convinced I know how to read. I've just memorized a lot of words,’” Spencer said and he and Derek fell into genuine laughter. For a moment it felt like everything would be okay.  

But the silence came again, and although it was much more comfortable this time, the heartache returned. They sat there, Spencer’s head and heart hurting and Derek trying his hardest to just be there. He wanted to be what Spencer needed, like he had been what you needed.

Spencer knew you were in bed constantly, barely eating, maybe waking up to shower. He knew all of that but still couldn’t bear to be near you. He felt like the worst person alive. 

“So what now?” Derek asked. 

Spencer shrugged, “I honestly don’t know. Where do I go from here?”

Derek sighed, leaning back into the couch, “There’s only two options, kid. You get over it here or you get your ass on a plane and go get the girl, movie style.”

Spencer chuckled, “I want to, but she explicitly asked me not to.”

Derek opened his mouth but Spencer knew what he was going to say, so he cut him off, “And she said I couldn’t send you after her either.” 

“What? Why not?” Derek looked at him confused. 

“‘Don’t chase me and don’t send Derek to chase me. We both deserve to move on.’ It was in the rules.”

Derek took a long sip of coffee, “You know neither of you are going to move on, don’t you?”

Spencer reached up to rub his temples, willing away the dull ache forming behind his eyes. He did know. He knew this feeling in his chest would never go away, just fade with time. He knew that if he was in a room full of all the people he loved he’d immediately look for you. You. Not JJ. Not his own Mother. You. 

“Yeah,” he croaked, “And I don’t want to.”

Derek pulled him into a hug and Spencer buried his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. When they separated they both just stared at the box. 

“You gotta finish them, kid. It’ll hurt like hell but maybe it’ll give you some closure.”

Spencer nodded and reached in to grab #8, “Want to see what’s in this one?”

Derek shook his head, “Nah, this is between you and the lady.” 

Derek made his way towards the door as Spencer toyed with the envelope, “And if you change your mind, I can get us on the next flight out there and you can go get the girl, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer smiled, “I just might take you up on that, but not until I’m done here.” 

Derek smiled and gave him one last pat on the back, leaving Spencer with the box.

part 9!

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[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Ten (Zuko x Reader)

Part Nine

Word Count: 2,750

Author’s Note: We’ve had enough sad. Like, in general. So I wrote some happy for this week’s update. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to save the rest of it for next week since it ended pretty nicely where it is.

I feel like now is a good time to mention that I haven’t read the comics (I didn’t even know there were comics until like two months ago) so if you’ve been wondering why this story diverges so much from them, that’s why. I see the canon and I think it’s great, but it’s just so much more fun to write my own interpretations of what happened to everybody after the war. Sorry not sorry. 

I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. I felt pretty okay yesterday, and I’m starting to not immediately hate everything I produce and am remembering how to talk myself up again after forgetting that anxiety and depression don’t rule my thoughts when it comes to my creativity. Things are still gonna be weird for a while, but we’ll be fine eventually. That’s how the human condition is - we always swing back at some point. 

~ Muerta

“What do you know about Fire Nation prisons?” 

You expect Rina to falter at the question. She doesn't even flinch, continuing to dress you as if you asked her what she’d had for breakfast. 

“What do you want to know?” she wonders in return. 

You gaze off, allowing your mind to roam as you consider her question. 

Since your return to the Fire Nation, Zuko’s attentive attitude hasn't changed, and your fondness for him has grown in ways you never expected it would. During council meetings, it’s become a habit to hold his hand under the table where your advisors can't see (though Yong has caught you once or twice, smirking as if you were two school children passing love notes during class). You spend more time together in the evenings before bed, and some nights you invite Zuko to sleep beside you, missing his presence since returning to separate rooms - he’s always gone before sunrise to discourage any scandal (despite the fact that you're married), never leaving without a kiss to your forehead and a murmur of, “See you soon.” It’s also become routine to meet him by the turtle duck pond when you each have a moment to spare, the little creatures getting so used to your presence that many of them freely approach you, pecking at your palms in the chance you have a treat for them. 

“My mother and I used to do this,” Zuko confides during one of your breaks; it's the first cool afternoon since the beginning of summer, a few leaves from the overhanging maple tree floating on the pond’s placid surface. “I remember throwing a rock at one of the ducklings when I was a kid. Its mother bit me.” 

You giggle, opening your hand so a young male can nibble at the apple peel you hold out to him; you attempt to scratch his head while he eats, and he squawks at you. 

“Good for her,” you jeer. “Serves you right for being a dick.” 

Zuko chuckles, the curl of his lips framing a hazy sadness in his eyes. 

“Azula did stuff like that all the time,” he sighs. “I always felt… bad. Our mother knew what she was when she was really young. I was the one who got all her kindness. Sometimes… I think it's my fault Azula ended up the way she did.” 

“It isn't,” you assure him. You tuck your hand into his. “Your parents played favorites. It wasn't fair.”

Zuko hums absently, his gaze drawn out across the courtyard. After a moment, he’s pulled back to you, a playful grin tugging at his mouth.

“You remind me of a turtle duck,” he states. “You look harmless. You're cute. But you could really fuck someone up if they provoked you.” 

You laugh, slipping your hand from his to teasingly shove his shoulder; the turtle ducks around you scatter as he mirrors your reaction, doing little to defend himself against your loving attack. 

“Did you just call me ‘cute’?” you tease, reaching to pinch at his cheek - he grimaces, taking your hand away from his face by recapturing it in his. “Are you going soft on me, Hothead?” 

He chuckles, mirthfully flicking an apple peel into your hair. You notice the blush that colors his neck, unable to deny your own.

“Oh, Turtleduck,” he says with mock pity. “Is Sokka so bad at flirting that you never learned to pick up on it?” 

He's used his new pet name for you almost every day since he coined it; every time he does, your heart soars out of your throat and into the clouds. 

Through your bedroom window, you can see Zuko on the porch behind your chambers, leaned casually against the railing as he chats with Aang. 

Aang says something that makes the older man laugh; your innards seem to melt as the lines around the corners of Zuko’s eyes and lips wrinkle like folds in a bedsheet. Something in the scene riles you - you’ll slit a hundred men’s throats to protect that smile and the feeling it gives you. 

“This is about Azula,” Rina observes. 

One thing you've learned in your short time with her is that you can't keep secrets from her - chances are she already knows all of them. 

“I just want to know what her living situation is like,” you tell her, “how powerful she could actually be from inside a prison cell.” 

“You have a merciful husband,” Rina sighs, somewhat dreamily . “Azula doesn't live in a prison; he put her in a compound in the Si Wong desert. She's heavily guarded and follows strict schedules and rules, but he didn't want her to live the rest of her life in a cage.” 

“What about Ozai?” you ask. 

“He’s in a prison. I said your husband was merciful, not that he doesn't hold a grudge.” 

You smirk, momentarily eased from the worry that strains your mind. 

“Do either of them have access to the outside world?” you press. 

Rina shakes her head. 

“Azula has very little; the last she heard of anything outside the compound was your marriage announcement. Ozai has absolutely none. All the guards that keep both of them are from the unoccupied Earth Kingdom, so they have no allegiance to them, and only a select few guards are allowed to speak to Azula.” 

“So… there's no way they could be the masterminds of any of this?” 

Rina lifts her gaze from the sash she cinches at your waist, her dark, round eyes meeting yours; her expression is blank, but she speaks in a determined hush. 

“I can't say for certain. But Azula’s intelligence is violent and cunning; she sees things from a different perspective that isn't entirely human. She has insights that more empathetic people would never consider.” 

You nod slowly, understanding. 

“I'll talk to Aang.”

Katara arrives from the Southern Tribe a few hours before the banquet you're hosting in Aang’s honor is scheduled to begin. You accompany her husband and yours to the imperial docks, a massive grin breaking across your cheeks the moment you spot her on the ship’s deck; she sends you a large, sweeping wave, catching you in her arms as soon as she's close enough to do so. 

“I'm so glad you're okay,” she cries into your ear. “How do you feel?” 

You nod, holding her by the waist as she pulls away. Her grip doesn't loosen, her arms still coiled around yours in an affectionate embrace. 

“I'm good,” you assure her. “I'm tough.” 

She smiles, pulling you in to kiss your cheek before turning to Zuko, greeting him with a warm hug. When she reaches Aang, her gestures are much slower, more tender. He takes her chin between two fingers and kisses her gently, his other hand positioned low on her waist as it presses her tightly against him; the action is so out of character for the two - typically so lively and averse to such kinds of public affection - that you and Zuko share an instinctive, curious glance. 

“Did we forget their anniversary or something?” you whisper, fear jolting through you when a look of panic crosses his features. 

“... I don't think so,” he says after a pause. “Maybe… he just missed her?” 

The confusion on his face is endearing - he's more emotionally intelligent than most people, but he's the last person who knows it. 

“Could be,” you agree. “This is the longest they've been apart in years.” 

The two of you watch as Aang assists Katara into Appa’s saddle, another strange behavior considering how used to flying Katara is. Neither of them seem to notice your staring, Aang leaning in for another lingering kiss before taking his place at the reins.

You return to the palace and are met with commotion, servants and high-level diplomats scrambling this way and that in a flustered frenzy. Everyone immediately alerts, prepared for yet another catastrophe. 

“What's going on?” Zuko demands as Rina approaches you; she doesn't hide her sneer at his brash tone, and you smirk as he apologetically shrinks back. 

“You have visitors, come to give their congratulations for your marriage,” Rina explains. 

“Who?” Zuko wonders. 

“Sun Warriors. They're waiting for you in the throne room.” 

Zuko and Aang exchange a look of shock. As you're ushered through the halls of the administrative wing and into the throne room, you take Aang by the arm, pulling him close so you can whisper to him. 

“Who are the Sun Warriors?” you ask. 

“They were the first fire benders,” Aang tells you. “They were supposedly wiped out, but Zuko and I met them when we visited their island at the beginning of my fire bending training. Their existence is supposed to be a secret.” 

“Then why would they come here?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

The throne room is silent - empty save for your entourage and guests - but a constant, electric buzz seems to hang in the air. Zuko falls into step beside you, taking your arm in his as you approach the group of visitors gathered before the throne; their clothing suggests Fire Nation, but from a different world, ancient to the point of almost primal. Each person present is decorated in baroque jewelry, glimmering gold and laced with vibrantly colored beads placed in intricate, deliberate patterns. Their faces are painted in stark lines of red and white, some across their noses and cheeks and under their eyes, others over their chins and foreheads; the makeup is so similar to Water Tribe markings that your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself from leaning in as you attempt to get a better look while also remaining dignified. The warriors are also much more robust than their mainland counterparts, with stocky builds and robust features - they remind you of your own people, leaving you in awe. 

“Chief Sunan,” Zuko addresses the leader of the group, bowing low as he speaks; you follow suit, leveling your gaze with the floor. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” 

The chief smiles faintly, warmly at the two of you, bowing in return. 

“We are not so cut off from the outside world that we have not heard of your marriage,” he says. “News has traveled to us of the strength of your union, and the tenacity of your bride. As Firelord, you have protected us, and made strides to restore the ancient ways of the element - we have come to give you our thanks, and offer our blessings to the both of you.” 

Chief Sunan steps aside then, making way for a man and woman carrying a basket between them; they lower it at your feet, bowing as they step back to rejoin their people. 

“A gift,” the chief proclaims. His muted grin morphs into something more knowing, almost mirthful as he watches Zuko approach the offering. 

You rest a supportive hand on Zuko’s back as he leans forward, lifting the lid of the basket to reveal its contents; he raises a bundle of blankets from the vessel, his eyes growing wide as he peels the fabric back. 

Inside the package is a dragon, just small enough to be cradled in his arms. Its scales are a gorgeous crimson, glinting and shifting between hues of gold and turquoise in the light cast from Zuko’s bended fire that surrounds his empty throne. The little beast peers up at its new parent with amber eyes that mirror your husband’s. Zuko lets out an astonished breath, raising his gaze to meet Chief Sunan’s. 

“I can’t accept this,” he states, so quietly that only you and the chief can make out the words. 

“You must,” Chief Sunan counters, his smile never faltering. “The masters insisted.” 

Under your palm, you feel Zuko’s body tense. He nods, cautiously settling the tiny dragon into your arms; you hold the bundle tightly, reaching in to stroke gently at the baby’s nose. It purs appreciatively, and your heart swells. 

Zuko bows, lowering himself to the floor in the ultimate display of respect. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I vow to protect him with my life.” 

When he once again stands, he looks to Rina. 

“Accommodate them however they need,” he commands. “Send a group of our Kyoshi Warriors to the island to guard it from outsiders.” 

Rina nods, scurrying off immediately to delegate the tasks. Chief Sunan then approaches you, resting a hand on your shoulder; you meet his eyes with slight fear, but find only kindness looking back at you. 

“We are grateful our bloodlines will merge once again,” he tells you. “The origin of our people is a history that has been lost to time, long before the war was even a speck on the horizon. You see, the Sun Warriors are descendents of migrant peoples from the earliest ancestors of the Southern Water Tribe as well as the Fire Nation - what our mothers and fathers knew of water bending shaped our understanding of fire. Your union brings our people together once again, as they should be.” 

Zuko wraps an arm around your waist, proudly pulling you against his side. You draw in a shaky breath, leaning into him as you nod, tears pooling along the lines of your lower eyelids. 

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” you say. “I’ll do everything to make sure we regain our lost history. I promise.” 

Chief Sunan smiles temperately and nods, his fingers contracting around your shoulder in an appreciative grasp. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “We are proud to call you our queen.” 

You invite the Warriors to stay for the night, Aang eagerly informing them of the banquet you have planned; by the time your reception of the unexpected visitors is finished, there's little more than an hour before it begins. 

Zuko brings your new ward back to your quarters, keeping him tucked protectively under his arms until you shut the sitting room door securely behind you. He then unravels the blankets the little creature is wrapped in, allowing him to explore his new home. 

“I thought dragons were extinct,” you marvel, watching as the fabled reptile twists and turns his body around every piece of furniture he encounters, inspecting everything he sees with humanlike interest. You smile, endeared by his wonder. 

“There are two still living,” Zuko explains. He kneels down beside the dragon, offering him a bit of a rice cracker from the box you keep in a side table for your nightly tea. “Three, now, I guess. The other two are the fire bending masters Aang and I had to seek approval from after I joined their team. Honestly, I thought they were both males.” 

“You must have made a good impression for them to trust you with their kid,” you remark, stifling a bit of laughter at his confession. “Maybe this’ll get Yong to stop bugging us about getting me knocked up.” 

Zuko chuckles, glancing up at you with an impish grin; the suggestive expression makes you blush, and you try to not admit to yourself that the excitement it sparks isn't unwelcome. 

The baby dragon lets out a mewling growl as he wraps himself around Zuko’s shoulders. He blows a minuscule jet of flame into the Firelord’s face, which Zuko mimics. You feel like squealing. 

“What should we call him?” you ask, lowering yourself onto the floor beside your husband. You hold a finger out to the dragon, which he curiously takes into one of his clawed hands. 

“Druk,” Zuko answers. “He looks like a Druk, doesn’t he?” 

You nod, your cheeks pinkened by the smile that’s plastered itself across your face; Zuko’s eyes meet yours with the same joyed expression. He maneuvers himself closer to you, resting his hand atop yours in your lap. As his fingers curl around your palm, you become achingly aware of just how near to you he is, and in a way that’s no longer friendly - the tension is heavier now, strained under the weight of a giddy, fluttering mania that leaves you dizzy. You don’t have to wonder if he feels the same. 

“Guess we’re parents now,” Zuko jokes, his voice barely above a breath. 

You giggle, taking the chance of leaning in to brush your lips to his. Your skin hardly touches; you’re too nervous to dive in and taste him, and for a moment after you pull away, you fear you may have imagined the glancing kiss. The fire that flares across Zuko’s cheeks tells you you didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, speaking in a murmur. “Guess we are.” 

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[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 5

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 5)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY:

Lord Janus is a man with a past--and a drake with a treasure to protect.

Meanwhile, Logan fades in and out of consciousness while the king and his compatriots sort some things out--including the mysterious cadet's true identity.

Something is happening in Logan's mind, magic that he can't understand at his fingertips...and the palace dungeon master is hell bent on stopping it at all costs.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: more blatant violence against children, but nothing graphic. Also, I rewrote this bastard SIX TIMES and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s a long, meaty chapter.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“...are you an angel?”

Janus turned sharply at the sound of the tiny, awestruck little voice. He finally pinned it to a dungeon cell across from the shadowy corner where he'd just sold his father's favorite pocket watch in exchange for information on Corporal Mori—a guard that had a nasty habit of roughing up some of the younger prisoners of the palace dungeons.

Janus was a liar, a cheat, and a thief—but he had no stomach for bastards like that. And anyway, he was well aware the corporal was responsible for wrenching Logan Berry's shoulder out of the socket. Janus liked Logan—he was far too straight laced to be anything but forthright and fair in his dealings.

It was the main reason Janus let him get away with the lies he did tell. If Logan believed you were dealing with him in the same fashion, he'd sell out his own mother. Janus respected that, and he looked after the few people he respected.

Hence digging up blackmail on the corporal—until the boy in the cell piped up with something so ridiculous it actually made Janus laugh.

“Angels don't have scales, kid.” he sneered, pocketing the letters he'd been given before he ambled closer to the cell. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, with a mop of dark curls and lapis blue eyes that were currently so wide with fascination they looked fit to pop out of his head.

“Have you ever seen one?” the boy asked.

Janus hesitated, then found himself laughing again. “You got me there.”

The boy beamed—absolutely beamed, smile full of all kinds of sickening things like sunshine and rainbows. Ridiculous...yet it tugged at something in Janus's chest.

“Then you don't know.” the boy continued. “You've gotta have the prettiest face I've ever seen.”

Stepping right up to the door of his cell, Janus bared his teeth, his too sharp top and bottom canines on full display.

“There's nothing pretty about me. You'd do well to remember that.” he warned, all cold venom and as much menace as he could muster to shake the weird, squirmy feeling behind his breastbone that was only growing stronger the longer this kid looked at him like...like that.

“Is that why you're tryin' to prove Corproral Mori is havin' an affair with the captain of the guard's wife?”

Janus froze, suddenly vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he might have to kill a child.

“You heard that?” he asked as lightly as he could manage.

The boy lowered his gaze, finally showing signs of fear—shoulders hunching, breath quickening. Good.

Then he wrapped one hand around his opposite wrist, wringing lightly at it and retreating a little further into himself.

“Yeah.” he admitted softly. “I...I hate it, I hate that I'm like this, but...I hope you do prove it.”

Janus didn't need much more to connect the dots, knowing what he did about the corporal.

“Did he hurt you?”

The boy looked up sharply, eyes too wide—only this time, not with awe. He remained silent, but Janus didn't need more than that look to know, or to see red with a swell of rage that took him by surprise.

“What's your name, kid?” he asked quietly.

“Patton.” the boy replied, looking even more scared as he lowered his head again. “I...don't have a Name.”

Another child necromancer. Of course he was afraid of admitting that—Janus knew what he was expecting. Fear, hatred, revulsion.

The fact that this kid didn't get that Janus understood that...

“Show me your wrist.” he instructed. “The one he broke.”

Patton looked up again, eyes still wide—this time with confusion, did this kid have any other setting besides doe-eyed cherub?--but did as he was told.

Making a fist, Janus took a breath and called on what little magic he had. When he felt the heat bleeding into his fingers, saw the ripple of heat in the air and the coal red shimmer of energy, he extended his fist and opened his fingers. The energy fled his grip and laid over Patton's arm, glowing bright before going swiftly dark again.

“It shouldn't bother you again.” he explained when Patton withdrew his arm back into his cell and ran his fingers over it in fascination.

Looking back up at Janus, his smile was softer this time, his expression so intense and...adoring that he couldn't breathe under the weight of it.

“I'm Janus.” he said, by way of responding to that...expression before he turned around and fled the scene like a coward.

********

Two Weeks Later

“...Hart.”

“That...works surprisingly well. You'll get your books. I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

Janus stepped back into the shadows as Logan turned and promptly settled back down on his pallet to sleep. Much as he respected him, sometimes he simply could not stand the elitist little shit. He was still waiting for some parting jab over his shoulder for Janus's obvious display of weakness...but the longer he waited, the less he worried.

He stayed long enough to watch Logan drift off again, remaining in the shadows beyond his line of sight. He stayed, forced himself to stay, so that he didn't make an ass of himself or tip his hand to anyone that might be watching—if living in the palace had taught him nothing else, it had taught him to assume that he was never alone.

Once Logan started to snore, Janus finally let himself take off, flying through the dungeon halls that were his home—literally, as he hit the home stretch, taking advantage of his dragon heritage to propel himself forward with just a little more force and speed, letting him eat up stretches of corridor in half the time of a full blooded human.

He stopped just short of the cell he was looking for—the same one he'd visited nearly every single day since he'd met the angelic little necromancer that had managed to ignite every single protective instinct Janus had ever denied having. He hated it, hated to admit that he identified with any part of his dragon heritage, but Patton was, without question, a bright and golden thing amidst all the darkness that lived below the royal palace.

Janus had found him. Now, he belonged to Janus—and no dragon worth their weight could resist the overwhelming primal urge to jealously protect and hoard their treasure.

“Patton!”

The cot, a recent addition Janus had seen to obtaining for him, jolted with the force of a lump bolting upright, revealing a sleepy, tousled Patton blinking into the dim light of the hall.

“Janny? That you?” He hissed into the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Janus finally revealed himself, stepping right up to the cell bars. “No, it's the Animator.”

“I told you not to joke about that!” Patton admonished, flinging himself out of bed and stomping up to the bars with a scowl. “I'm twelve, I can't hear that stuff!”

“You've never quite explained that.”

Patton blinked, then scrubbed his hands over his face to banish the sleep before raking them back through his curls.

“'Cause...I can't.” he admitted. “It's...it's hard to explain? The Cleansing took my Name, but there's all kinds of little crumbs that sometimes roll through my head.”

Janus made a face at the mention of the Cleansing—the ritual used to strip a necromancer of their Name. It was horrific, painful, and it always made Janus a little bit sick.

He'd seen one take place in his life. It was one time too many.

“And that's one of those...what you said?” Janus asked.

Patton nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced, tousling and forcing him to run his fingers through them again to sweep them from his eyes. “It's...there's something important about being twelve among the Necromata—and something bad about bad-talking the Animator. I think they might be connected, but I could be wrong.”

Janus felt his chest squeeze painfully as Patton spoke, free as a bird—like this information couldn't be used against him, like he had no idea.

“You shouldn't talk to me about that stuff.” he reminded him. “My father's the captain of the guard.”

Patton just rolled his eyes with a grin. “You won't tell him, I know that—that's why I tell you stuff! It helps you, and I know you won't use it to hurt me.”

“No, you don't.”

“Uh huh! You're way nicer than you think you are, Mister Dragon.”

“I'm a drake.”

“You're pretty.”

Patton did this every time. Every single time, and Janus...he was not capable of blushing. He did not blush, he would not blush.

“I know it's late, but I have something for you.” he blurted instead of responding, or blushing, watching as Patton's eyes widened, his smile growing impossibly brighter.

“No foolin'? What is it?”

Janus took a deep breath, warring with himself. He'd believed the stories for a long time—the evil of necromancers, that they had no souls, no morals, power hungry and constantly thirsting for fresh blood...

Then he met one. Then he was disfigured...then he met Logan, and now he had this fucking urchin that had latched onto him with perfect faith and trust, and he was so fucked up over it that he was willing to empower him. At least, if he was right and this worked.

Patton just waited. Janus lost his hesitation.

“Heart.”

The boy blinked, brow furrowing curiously.

“Heart?”

Janus nodded. “Patton Heart. They took your Name...I thought you might feel better with a new one. Something to be called, at least.”

The little pout his mouth formed had Janus's heart sinking. It was a stupid idea, he didn't like it, and it damn sure wouldn't work--

Patton's breath hitched, and Janus's attention narrowed to the boy.

His dark blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears...but he was grinning. So bright, so painfully bright that Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to rip the cell door off its hinges, grab the little bastard, and hide him somewhere deeper and darker where no one else could touch him or even look at him. His treasure, his gold...

Suddenly, Patton stuck his hand out through the bars.

“Pleased to meetcha, Mister Dragon...I'm Patton Heart.”

Cursing under his breath in annoyance—not with a smile, he was not smiling—Janus reached out to shake his hand.

“Likewise—Patton?”

Patton was staring at their hands, features ashen. He was clutching Janus's hand hard enough to bruise—and he was absolutely trembling.

“Patton?...Patton, what happened? What's the matter?”

Was it his wrist? It should have been fine—if Mori came after him again...

“Janus, I...I can feel your hand.”

******** 1033, A.A.

Janus was not okay—and for the first time in his life, it was a good thing.

The north wing of the palace was reserved for ambassadors and other dignitaries—a good choice to keep prisoners, as it was well guarded and the guest suites arranged with a lack of accessible windows or too many entrances to reduce the access for assassins and spies. It was also lavish, with a spacious garden area that had high walls and sprawling lawns.

Watching Patton as Janus led him into the suite he'd selected among those available for the two prisoners to share, something restless and angry that had lingered in his gut for the last eight years finally began to relax, at least a little. Here, in the north wing, cut off from other prisoners, from cruel guards and the dungeon master, now Colonel Mori...

His treasure was finally shuttered away, locked up and safe. The dragon that took up entirely too much space in his skin was settling, knowing that his hoard was safe.

Leaning against the doorway, Janus glanced over his shoulder and dismissed the guard that had been dispatched there, content to watch over Patton himself for a short while before he would have to return to the king's side.

Patton shuffled deeper and deeper into the suite's main living area, as if frightened his steps would be too loud or possibly shatter something. His eyes were wide as ever, taking everything in—occasionally blinking hard and fast when the bright light he was no longer used to made them sting or water.

The part of Janus that had secretly grown to look at Patton like the little brother he never had was very satisfied...but the part of him that had been growing stronger over the last couple of years, the one that was haunted by those deep blue eyes and the greedy way he stole the tiniest touches from Janus through the bars of his cell...

The one that had woken up the first time he allowed Patton to touch his face, his scales...that part of him was keenly aware of the fact that they were alone, and that Patton had no fucking clue that Janus had been all but crippled by his pure heart and beautiful eyes.

“Janny?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Janus regarded Patton coolly. “What?”

Patton was in the middle of the room, facing him with a strange look that Janus couldn't parse. He was either distraught or...not...distraught. Whatever it was, the emotion was intense, making his eyes water and his lips quiver, and Janus was caught between bloodlust and the tender, aching thing that tortured him these days with every single second he spent in Patton's presence.

“You remember your promise?”

Janus had to think for a second, but he finally remembered the one promise he'd made to Patton that could apply to this situation.

“...one thing, Janny. Anything in the world you could have, what would it be?”

“Swear to me you won't tell a soul.”

“Pinky promise!”

“...pure blood. Dragon, not human. For the wings.”

“Oooooh, that's a good one!”

“What...nevermind.”

“What about me? That what you were gonna ask?”

“Fine, yes! Happy?”

“Yes—'cause I'd want to get out of this cell so I could give you a big ol' hug.”

“...Seven Hells, Pat...”

“Would you give it to me?”

“No.”

“Second chance?”

“...yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I remember, Pat.”

Patton just stared at him, wrapping his arms around himself—tight enough that he was shaking.

With a sigh, Janus crossed over to him and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, opened his arms.

Patton all but flew into them, pressing his face against the scales running down Janus's throat. Janus held him lightly, carefully—they'd never been able to do much through the bars of Patton's cell, but Patton had an easier time of acclimating to touch with Janus thanks to the fact that he ran cooler than a human or a dragon. Drakes tended to run cold, courtesy of their magic.

“Thanks, Janny.” Patton sighed after a few minutes, relaxing in small measures the longer Janus held him.

Janus made a noncommittal sound, even if he was rubbing Patton's back gently, feeling like he was stealing something by holding him like this. It was perfectly innocent...but it was Patton. Pure, good, secretly conniving Patton, and he was letting Janus hold him like he was something equally good and pure and safe.

It was just more proof that Janus was a terrible person, because he didn't give a shit.

“Happy?” he asked after a moment.

Patton smiled, and Janus had to supress the urge to shiver when he felt Patton's lips curling up against his neck.

“Yes.” he whispered, just before he burst into quiet tears, falling apart for the first time in eight years while he let Janus hold his broken pieces together in comfortable silence.

********

“...sten here, you little brat, you may be waiting for the crown, but I've known you since—”

“I repeat: I know where the guillotine is. We can even slap him after! He won't feel it, but he'll flinch!”

“Remus, please!”

“What? He's basically calling the king a snot nosed child! Am I wrong?”

...voices. Voices, buzzing at the edges of Logan's self awareness, but only just...

“He is a snot-nosed child, and a conduit to boot! You can't trust the gifted—not the useless conduits, not the lying mages or the spineless Sensitives—and you damn sure can't trust a godsdamned necromancer! Now, can we please stop talking about this thing like he's remotely human, finish the damn Cleansing properly this time, and get my prisoner back into his cell?”

“Or, here's an idea—you could...say...shut the fuck up and listen to the king?”

Itchy. Everything itched. Why was he so godsdamned itchy?...

...threads. Everywhere, all over, there were dangling threads. The colors were innumerable, all glowing with varying levels of light. It was a mess...it was a massacre.

Something had been torn away, and all that was left were these threads, some long and frayed, others short and thick. All of them were brushing every part of him—soft, barely there, and absolutely maddening.

“...compulsion to simply stop living. Imagine—imagine the way you feel as you breathe. You don't think about it, it just happens. Now reverse that. To stop, to let go, to fall...that became the natural instinct. My father succumbed to the same insidious magic, I know it.”

“With all due respect, Majesty, it was clearly the necromancer. He's got power he's been hiding, and at the end of the day? That's what they do, they kill.”

“Eh, sounds like bullshit. No necromancer's ever killed anyone before.”

“You're lying. There's thousands of cases, tens of thousands over a thousand years—I've studied it! Graduated the Academy top of my class.”

“So did I—first in my class, actually, and Prince Remus is right.”

“Shut your mouth, Cadet.”

“When the Seven Hells freeze over. Read the military's historical records: they show every combat death, but none of them involved magic. Want proof? It's in the the Tomes, you'll see. Any sorcerer can show you.”

“No offense, toy soldier—I mean, you're cute as the Seven Hells, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who can speak any of the Ethereal tongues needed to read the magicians' histories.”

“I can't speak them, not really—but I can read them.”

“How?”

“...I'm a Sensitive.”

“Well, Colonel Mori—I guess you just made yourself a new best friend. Besides me, of course...”

“...Remus, get your spitty finger out of the colonel's ear!”

“Eat my thick and juicy co...”

Warm. Logan was warm, a warmth he knew and understood—and being weighed down by something, a steady and evenly distributed weight that was foreign, but not so alien he wasn't familiar with the feel of pressure, from neck to foot.

...threads, more threads, reaching out from the source of heat and heft, tickling at the surface of his consciousness—all so itchy. He had to scratch, couldn't scratch...couldn't escape, couldn't...

Wait. The colors...that one thread, rippling with gray and white, silver and lightning...there was a matching one inside his head...

“...the plan, then?”

“The plan is, we get the necromancer healthy, and have him recall the king to life...Master Picani?”

“Emile, please.”

“--Emile, then—you were in the crowd today, with the rest of the palace mages—what do the people know?”

“The king was seen collapsing. I can tell you that I haven't heard any announcements being made...but the chit chat I picked up on as I was on my way here? Well, word has likely already been leaked from somewhere.”

“Damn it! Then the coronation will have to be arranged...and then voided once my father has been resurrected.”

“You know there is no guarantee it can be done, Majesty.”

“I do...but I have faith...”

...these threads weren't long enough. He knew where they connected to, but there just wasn't enough slack to reach the tattered edges inside his head.

He reached out, leaned out, tried to follow them back to the source—something inside, tucked neatly into the warmth and the weight pressing, cradling, pulling him back into his prison of broken threads and torn scraps...

These threads were attached to something—something whole, not the entire tapestry but a piece of the picture.

“This man is a murderer! He's a demon, a killer--”

“...King Roman? A word?...”

“Of course, Mast—er, Emile. Master Somnum?”

“It's Remy, gurl.”

“Remy—keep an eye on Colonel Mori. Help the cadet subdue him if he does anything stupid.”

“Only if I can get out of prison mage detail. Being the boss is cool? But I hate this asshole.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“On it, Boss.”

...it was him. There was no question: it was him.

He reached into the source of heat and pulled the fragment out.

“--spineless, useless Sensitives!”

“You wanna see how spineless I am? Take another step, Colonel. I fucking dare you.”

“Oooh, catfight!”

“More like a two hit fight: I'll hit him, he hits the floor.”

“Disrespecting a superior officer? I'll have you court-martialed! Or put into the dungeons...you're too damn close to the Necromata, anyway.”

“We can't use magic, idiot stick, we can only sense or enhance it.”

“So maybe you helped the necromancer kill the king, eh?”

“Oh-kay, Colonel Morose. Back off.”

...this was going to be incredibly difficult. Reconnecting these shorter threads, weaving the ones together in a way that made sense...it was next to impossible....

“...your name, Cadet?”

“Virgil Storm, Majesty.”

“Master Somnum?”

“...he's lying.”

Just a few quick knots on this edge to hold it in place—but it wouldn't stick without...

...there. A shuttle, knotted to the corner of the scrap, carrying a heavy length of glimmering silk.

“...Seven Hells is happening?”

“Oh, well—hello there.”

“Emile? What's happening?”

“It appears that the prisoner is...chanelling.”

“I thought channeling was used to heal?”

“It is—among other things, so don't fucking touch him.”

“Cadet, shut the--”

“Colonel Mori, quiet. Virgil—what's going on? Why can't I touch him?”

“...'cause you're a conduit. You have a ton of magic and no ability to use it, so it's all pent up and shit. Touch him, and you could interfere with what's happening. Your magic, I mean...it can leak out and wreck everything.”

“Is there a spell on this blanket you brought for him?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing I'm willing to share with an outsider. It's sacred knowledge.”

“Oh, for the love of...”

...the work was fast, he could finish this edge swiftly—the shuttle was liquid lightning, his fingers moving of their own accord...

“..for not even an hour, and there's a jailbreak in progress?!?...”

“I...Lord Janus...how did you even--”

“I joined the assassin's corps when I was eighteen, and I killed the captain when I was nineteen to take his place. I make it a point to know everythng that happens in this castle.”

“Relax, Lord Janus—I have this in hand. Virgil.”

“What?”

“I swear, on the Spider's Thread, that you can trust me.”

“...Majesty?...”

“...Janus, Remy, get Colonel Mori out of the room.”

...it was done. It was...perfect.

It was...

“--get that thing away from him if I--”

“Colonel, stop!”

...oh, shit...

Sudden lightness. Cold, cold, cold.

The shuttle slipped through his fingers.

Pain, searing pain from head to toe.

If he lost it, he couldn't finish, he had to finish or it would slip away.

Sound, fury, crushing weight--

Fingers in his hair. Gentle pressure on his scalp.

A hand in his.

Hold on. Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

“Loganberry?...”

The shuttle landed in the palm of his hand. He grabbed on tight--

--and opened his eyes.

[secret-engima]

rereading the whole Nox verse tag, just got to N!Axis meeting the canon Glaives a year pre-Movie. and i had the thought of post-marriage, post-kids Nox (and his Axis, who very much remembers that dimensional trip when they were younger, /Nox/) /also/ meeting - maybe different, maybe /not/ and ooo imagine /that/ - canon Glaives pre-Movie. possibly in the field, but just imagine it in the /Citadel/. if they saw these two bf, they were teenagers, now less than a yr later they're grown and /scarier/

Anonymous said: something i wanted to add to that ask about Nox and Axis visitng the same canon verse they did as teengers, but couldn't because of the damned character limit. At some point during the whole thing, the would-be traitor Glaives see/hear/are told something that makes them actually, really /realize/ why the Lucis Caelums are called Martyr Kings. also Nox casually spills the beans on his traveling to many, many other worlds/dimensions, mentioning the Fall of Insomnia, betrayal, and directly to Nyx,-

Anonymous said: - that in every future he's ever been to and seen, he's not been a traitor in one of them, and generally, he was a little /too/ Heroic in most of them. the way Nox says it leaves not doubt about what he means by that. no one familiar with Nyx is remotely surprised, but even after Nox and Axis leave, they're a bit more conscious of Nyx's recklessness and heroic tendencies. also: "Calm down, Axis, maybe I died when I was a kid here, yeah, but Uncle might not even have a sister, here. Leave it be.”

Me: ohhhhh interesting thought! I like it in the Citadel, maybe a few months after their first appearance (not a full year tho otherwise Game Events would be happening) and some of the glaives are on Citadel Duty (aka Titus’s ultimate punishment via the most boring job in existence) when there’s this- glitch in the world and then the Crownsguard are YELLING because apparently the Crystal chamber just did something weird. All hands are on deck and the glaives are called in with the Guard to watch the sealed off will-not-open-from-the-outside Crystal Chamber doors and the KING is there with his Shield and the Marshal and Captain and then-.

The door swings open from the inside and the argument can be heard as two figures emerge from the room, one growling at the other in a voice that sounds ... eerily familiar to Nyx and the Glaives.

“-to the Matrons for an exorcism so help me.”

“Hey, I’m not possessed OR cursed, blame the Crystal. It likes to mess with me.”

“It’s a non-sentient hunk of rock and magic, it can’t ‘mess with you’.”

“Wanna ...” the two figures stop and study the bristling mass of Guards, Glaives, Royal Retinue, and King, “bet?” the shorter one sighs and Nyx is having a few flashbacks already to That Time because that is DEFINITELY an older, crabbier Axis Arra and the man next to him looks freakishly like a long-haired Prince Noctis.

Who has a marriage braid and an ULRIC BRAID in his hair.

What the Six.

The Definitely a Lucis Caelum raises his hand, small sparks of flow dancing off it in some weird kind of royal greeting, “Hi dad.” he says with a lazy smile that almost hides the tension in his shoulders and the way his free hand is loose and curled around an imaginary hilt of a blade, like he’s about to whip something out of armiger.

The King gapes for a solid ten seconds before breathing, “Noctis?”

There’s a slight twitch, a flinch from the look-a-like and a low growl from the Arra before the Lucis Caelum (and Nyx knows who this kid is, he REMEMBERS that morning, that scrawny boy, and he knows the other glaives do too) smiles sheepishly, “Not quite. I’m Nox. His older brother actually. Though I’m going to guess Noctis is an only child in this dimension.”

So yeah dimensional shenanigans and Prince Nox being infuriately blasé about the entire thing and hanging out with the very befuddled glaives (Nox stares at Nyx for a c!solid thirty seconds while he stares right back until Nyx asks HOW Nox is an Ulric and Nox cheerfully goes “I married you, how else? We have four kids.” And Nyx spends like- the next three days in a perpetual Blue Screen until Axis takes pity on his Internal Scream by explaining that Nyx is a fem in their world. No. No there was no magic involved in the creation of the kiddos where is your mind even GOING Ulric (Nyx: I don’t know! Magic is weird! And alternate dimensions are a thing how was I supposed to know what other fanfic tropes AREN’T anymore?!?!). Nox quietly dies of laughter in there corner.

They keep a wary eye on the C!Arra-Furia-Lazarus trio in case of trouble because it’s been years for N!Axis but only months for them and it’s like- during one of those wary but cordial hangouts that Nox makes his Comment about Lucis Caelums after a long bout of brooding out the window.

“Dad’s dying a lot faster in this universe.”

All the glaives freeze. Even Captain Drautos lowers the report he was reading and pokes his head out of his office to stare.

“What?” Someone in the glaives says.

Nox doesn’t look at them, he’s glaring out the window and with a jolt they realize he’s glaring at the Wall, “Dad. The King. The Wall is killing him faster here. It was killing him in my world too but ... Uncle and I took care of it. I guess ... it’s different here.”

There’s a long pause before Luche’s brain finishes its dial up noises and he scoffs, “The Wall can’t kill the king. It’s his magic.”

“It’s Bahamut’s magic,” Nox corrects coldly without looking at them, “Magic he forced into human skin and veins that isn’t meant to keep it.” As if he can sense their continued disbelief he drawls, “How long can you hold a Shield spell before you get sick? Before you’re exhausted because the magic has gone past your reserves and started taking you as fuel? The Wall is just a giant, city-sized shield.” Tredd makes a noise that might be question or might be a strangled scoff and Nox finally turns to look at them.

There is something utterly inhuman in his gaze. His eyes are still blue, his face is still human, but there’s something in his eyes that speaks to their primal instincts and tells them to run, to hide.

To dread.

“Go to your local library sometime and look up the births and deaths of Kings of Lucis,” he orders in a deceptively light tone that almost makes it seem like a suggestion instead, “compare the lifespans of rulers from before the Wall was raised and after. Then compare the average lifespan of a healthy Lucian citizen at the time of that ruler’s reign.” There’s a beat of silence, terrible and weighty, then Nox’s lips curl into a tiny smile.

It’s a terrifying thing.

“The Kings of Lucis never die of old age. Sometimes it’s sickness, sometimes it’s war. Sometimes it’s assassination. Sometimes they just- die. For no reason science can explain because scientists never take magic into account. Sometimes,” the smile gets colder, the eyes older, “it’s betrayal. Those who are trusted when they shouldn’t, those who should stand loyal when they are not.”

He looks over them all and every one of them feels a chill up their spine. N!Axis leans closer to Nox as if in an attempt to comfort, to snap him out of this eerie mood, but it doesn’t work. “This has happened to me before you know. Going to parallel times. Do you know how my father dies the most often?”

There’s a breath, and when Nox speaks, there’s a hint of other voices beneath his, an echo of times past and souls lost and endless, ageless rage, “By the hands of the glaives he blessed.”

And none of the Galahdians dare to breathe. Those who have been listening to Captain Drautos’s subtle poison more and more these past few months, whose loyalty is not as solid as they pretend and to whom Niflheim’s lies are starting to sound sweet feel stricken, terrified. Like there’s a shadow of a blade at their necks even though there is nothing.

Nox inhales and when he exhales his breath is like frost. The room feels very, very cold, “They sell themselves to the enemy, they wait until his back is turned, and then they kill him. And when those glaives who are still loyal,” here his red-tinged eyes fall on Nyx and there is weight to the gaze, calm promise that of all in the room, Nyx has never been among those Nox has seen become betrayers, “resist and refuse to join in. The traitors slaughter them too. No regard for Clan ties, no regard for oaths or loyalty or any Color beyond Pink and Red and NIflheim’s White.”

Blue eyes are fully red now as he hisses, “And I hate it. I hate that I remember it, I hate that no one ever understands that magic has a cost. That they can study and feel magic strain over and over again for years and yet somehow they never believe that their king is just as human. That it hurts us just as much. Because Lucis Caelums are ‘blessed’,” Nox laughs and the sound is eerie, dripping in memories of things no one living is supposed to see, “as if an Astral’s Blessing is something to be coveted. As if being born with burning, inhuman magic, like a constant spell of fire in your veins and just beneath your skin that never turns off day or night, makes it easier.” Nox laughs again, something dangerous and sharp in the sound-.

N!Axis fearlessly lays a hand on the back of his prince’s neck, “That’s enough, Nox,” Axis murmurs, “come back now.” And Nox blinks, once, twice, thrice.

And suddenly he is normal. The room is normal, the creeping impression of death and old fury is gone, leaving the glaives breathless from relief. Nox rubs his face with a hand and murmurs an exhausted sounding apology, excuses himself for the day to go lie down in the guest suite Regis gave him.

Nyx watches the prince and his Arra walk away and notices that Nox’s hands are shaking, that his steps are not as sure as they were just this morning.

He thinks of too old words and too ancient eyes, of the knowing bitterness when Nox spoke of magic burning just under the skin with no relief and thinks very suddenly that he is glad he is just an Ulric. Just a Kingsglaive. A glance at Luche, Tredd, and C!Axis reveal them to be just as pale, if not more so than the others.

That night, those glaives who had been listening to their Captain’s less loyal talk had a lot of research to do.

And a lot of silence to ponder in horror as they find that every word Nox said about the old rulers was true.

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

VII | Gods

The following prompt is a collaboration between @otolin-xiv and @severine-savage for our double WoL AU. 

Killing gods is hard.

The burn doesn’t fade. It’s much like a phantom, a quiet unsettling thing that sticks to the skin and slowly rides. Even if Otolin can’t see it, he swears it’s there, the little pin-pricks on the backs of his hands, on his callused and scarred palms. 

It’ll be a reminder. He’s sure he’ll carry more over the next few weeks- no, this will take months? Maybe years. Nothing new. He holds up a hand quietly, head tilting and brows furrowing in thought. 

He struck a Primal with his bare hands. He wasn’t sure it would actually work, but it had. That, and the dozens of arrows by way of the Elezen with the bow. Down goes the hand, thoughts drifting to her.

How was she doing?

-

It had been like staring into the sun. The heat was so intense she thought she wouldn’t survive it. She couldn’t get the story she used to hear growing up out of her head. Something about how to cook a frog. She’d watched that man walk into the dirt-packed arena and start to throw fists with that thing. And as tempting as it had been to keep her head down, to act like she was dead, to wish that she was dead, instead she’d struggled free of her bonds, propelled forward with a warmth and a brightness different than the fire around her. 

She couldn’t hear herself think over that thing but she didn’t need to think. She knocked an arrow, drew it back, and fired. Again, and again, and again. And though she couldn’t hear her own voice over the roar of the creature and of the fire, she still sang. She sang as loud as she could, fingers rapping out a rhythm on the string of her bow and the shaft of her arrows. No one was more surprised to survive than she was. Surprised enough to laugh a little.

-

He realizes they hadn’t said much to each other before that battle.

Or even during.

It’s what makes Otolin stop on his slow, steady walk and reconsider. Thinking. No words had been exchanged, just simple and quick looks to signify the other’s presence. That they weren’t alone. That he wasn’t. It’s an odd thing. For most of his life, he’s been on his own (or that’s what he thinks). 

Now there were others, people who had come into his life who... some were aggravating. Others a little grandiose. But they were well-meaning and kind enough, better than most of the types he had dealt with before. Severine though? She was… 

He had no clue really what she was like, but there’s an inkling… something that tells his gut, his mind, his instinct, that he knows things about Severine he shouldn’t. That’s what makes him stop in the hallway and then turn around. 

For most of his life, he had been on his own… if only because Otolin just preferred it that way.

-

She didn’t trust people. Not easily, not at all. 

So why did she trust this guy after one intense fight and nothing more than an exchange of names?

Lifting her chin she stares at the back of his head, willing that thing in her brain to do what it does. Give her insight. Give her some idea. Give her an edge like she’s always had. When he stops and turns around she draws up short just to keep from walking into his back. He looks down at her and she looks up. 

“‘Ey ah… thanks. For the rescue back there.” That’s what that was, right? A rescue. She couldn’t have done it by herself. Wouldn’t have managed it, right

She lifts a hand and briefly, lightly, pats the outside of his arm. Just a hint of contact is what she needs to get that glimpse into his mind to figure out how she should play this out.

-

A hand on his arm, brief but slightly… alarming. 

Otolin had preferred things that way, but now that wasn’t possible. Isn’t. He’s in the thick of things now, moreso than he had been before. Such things happen when you kill a god, a primal. Contracts are often sealed in the fires of conflict, invisible or not. 

Back to the present. He looks to the hand on his arm, and then up to Severine. “You… it just… just felt like the right thing to do,” he murmurs quietly. “You were as… you helped too with that… bow. Your bow.”

It’s a little awkward, the conversation, the way he conducts himself but it’s more out of unfamiliarity than anything. In the wake of Ifrit’s defeat, Severine had seen him giving orders (in a way) to the white-haired man, the rather roguish looking one. Or perhaps it was the other way around?

Nonetheless, they were familiar with each other. 

Just like Otolin feels with Severine, but he can’t place it. Can’t seem to… frame it. His head ducks and he smiles, looking back up to her; it’s a tired look. “You’re… what about your friend? I’m… I’m sorry.”

-

She waits for the piercing headache. The vision. The glimpse of whatever that thing that makes her different and gives her an advantage when she’s hustling.

There’s nothing at all. 

Her hand draws back and dangles at her side, fingers curling and relaxing a few times.

“Puk? Yeah. Thanks. He… I didn’t know him long. Ain’t no one should go out that way though.” They’d told her what had to happen to those that were… what was the word. Tempered. She purses her lips and nods once, pushing a hand into her short-cropped blue hair. The ends of the strands were fried and frizzled. Burnt from the heat of Ifrit. 

She bites at her lip and glances around, gesturing with a hook of her chin to point towards a little alcove, walking over towards it. Her gaze slips past him, following another figure and then move to his face. “Can you tell me the truth about something though? Whatever it is y’all do here… is it worth getting involved? I mean… should I?” She was sharp enough to see where this was going. Knew that someone would ask her to stick around since she was lucky or unlucky enough not to end up like poor Puk and those other prisoners.

-

He stares, listening. Waiting. Not having to talk much is easy. Better. 

Also, he seems to be waiting for something. His features scrunch in thought for a moment, but it doesn’t come. The headache that gets better each and every time. The sight. No, it was the Echo. That’s what Minfilia had told him. 

Otolin lets his arms cross his chest, nodding once. “I… I agree,” he says. “Regarding your friend. Regardless of the length of time, I… friends or acquaintances don’t come easy and often, so… I don’t have anything better to say there. I’m sorry. Words aren’t my strong suit.”

He pauses, listening to that question, trying to understand it. His head tilts, a frown having formed already, and he sighs. 

“It’s an odd thing, isn’t it? Weird, almost,” he begins to explain, looking over his shoulder for a moment and then back. “These people from all different paths, these places, coming together to… to fight these things, the primals. To defend others. To be… to be a ‘hero’. One of them said that, called me that, and I just… that’s not me.”

It had been… Yda. 

The one with the mask, and the blonde hair, who told him that. 

The tall Highlander pauses for a beat, and then continues. “But even then, there’s something… something that makes me feel like I should be involved. I should help. These primals, the… the Ascians? They’re a threat to people living their lives, no matter where they’re from, no matter… no matter what they’re doing.”

Another pause.

“That’s why I’m doing it. Why would… why would you want to do it?” 

-

Her nose wrinkles a little when he says the word ‘hero’. She leans back against the wall, arms still loosely crossed, staring past his shoulder occasionally. Like she’s looking for an escape. Some way out of all of this. 

“Y’know, I know a lot of stories. Kind of my thing. Hero stories are always popular. Folks like to hear them. Y’know what the problem with a lot of them is though?” Severine leans forward, looking up at him with her eyebrows lifted. “The hero dies. Usually badly. The songs make it all pretty later on but…” She clucks her tongue quietly and flicks her gaze up to him. 

He’s talking about things she has no concept of. Primals. Ascians? Means nothing to her. And she gets the feeling she doesn’t really want to know. 

“Honestly? I don’t. I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t mind people thinking that I am, but I ain’ a front lines kind of gal. You though… you wanna help people. Yeah? You think your friends are just going to be okay with it if I don’t join up your little party?” She smiles some then, sighing and leaning back, stretching her neck uncomfortably. 

“You say words aren’t your strong suit? They’re mine. Maybe we can work something out.”

-

Otolin just looks, notes the little change in Severine’s demeanor at the particular word. ‘Hero’. He rolls a shoulder, watching carefully; another look is given over his shoulder, as though expecting something to… something to…

The phantom pain, the pin-pricks of fiery pain return to his hand, but he’s so focused on the conversation that it doesn’t matter. He tunes it out, and just watches, listening. That frown forms, but he nods. “I think my friends are… going to try and get you to join, to ask you until you can’t say ‘no’. No threats though. Not their style, well… maybe… no. Not even her.”

His head tilts at the last little bit though, eyes widening, as though she’s… she’s found him out, but it’s also on him. He spoke. He said too much. Why is he talking to her? Why is telling this Severine this? Why is he-

Where is this trust coming from?

“They aren’t, no.” He stops for a beat, and then goes on for a few moments more. “If they’re yours, I… then let’s work something out, yes?”

-

Her eyes narrow and she examines him for a long moment. Willing herself to be able to read more. Is he trying to cheat her? Is he going to turn on her? Every bone in her body is screaming to just run. Get the hell out of Thanalan, put it behind her, change her identity again. 

But she doesn’t need a voice in her head telling her how to read people. She’s always been a good judge of character. She’s always known just what people are thinking, what they’re trying to hide. 

The question is, does she think she’ll be able to get what she wants out of these people before they take everything from her? 

Lifting her hand she offers it to him, smiling wryly. “Looking forward to working with you. Otolin, wasn’t it?”

Becoming a god is easy.