#I think I’m going to embrace insanity and reblog things in order I see them in this week bc

[badartxd]

✨WIP/ Some Niya Things✨

Thank u so much for the tag, @siriskulksnerding !!

So at this point these are old as hell, but I’m currently in the limbo where I have either finished or not yet started my intended drawings, so I’ll take the opportunity to share some in progress lore :D

The Most Expression Ever (knows too much but brain still empty) and an actual intentional design of her heirloom brooch. The central gem is colourshifting while the one on the top is akin to a deep red ruby, and the golden framing is actually reminiscent of the sigil of Asmodeus (since her family’s historically in the cult and all). I’m not even remotely experienced with costume design but it felt all the better to settle on a look I actually like a lot ☺️:

This outfit’s actually temporary for a d&d game (a stolen elaborate robe that is way too big for Niya, the sleeves too long and singed from careless magic outbursts), but the look is otherwise the closest thing I currently have to a reference of Niya:

Some “older Niya” concepts I played with, with doubled horns (a crown of horns, if u will, tho the color and shape aren’t necessarily my favourite) and more scales. Did some of her signature expressions of Nicetomeetcha, The Way-Too-Toothy-Grin, Omae Wa Mou Shindeiru, and Oh Worm:

Hopefully this was some degree of fun to look at, and I’d like to tag @heniareth @wild-houseplant @bumblerhizal @icylook !! :D

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Little Sparrow - Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F! Reader

A/N: I sat down to write Sleepy Sex with Oberyn because @wasicskosgirl​ had me thinking some thots today and this is what came out. It’s not sleepy sex but I really hope you like it. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. There will be at least a part two to this, possibly more. 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/ Ellaria Sand/ F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + (Language, smut, vaginal sex, kissing, oral (F! receiving) mentions of blood, violence) It’s Game of Thrones....

Word Count: 3.8 K 

My Masterlist 

Part One 

It was a beautiful day, the sun high overhead, the ocean waves crashing against the Cliffside as you held your arms across your waist. The boats in the distance swayed in the gentle breeze, and behind you the excited chatter of the spectators fill the stands. The lions on the banners seem to come alive as they snap in the wind. Growling at you and causing the pit in your stomach to grow deeper. 

Oberyn was insatiable last night training in the room, twirling his spear in preparation for the fight of his life. You’d escaped with an escort to walk the shit smelling cesspool of Kings Landing to this very spot where you had seen him. The Mountain. Man after man being cut down as his sword sliced through them like bread. His deep baritone laugh sent a quiver through your heart. 

You jump as Oberyn wraps his arms around your waist, his chin dropping to your shoulder. Both of you watching the water. “Why do you look so worried my little Sparrow?” he coos pressing a kiss to your neck. “I am going to kill that man. I am going to get him to confess to raping and murdering my sister and her children. I will win, for Elia, for my family, for you.” 

He turns you in his arms and brings your hands to his neck like that night so long ago. His forehead coming to rest upon your own. You let out a shaky breath, “I refuse to lose you, Oberyn.” 

He pulls away slightly started, “You only call me Oberyn when you are cross or in insane pleasure my love, and since I’m not buried in your delicious cunt, I believe you are angry. Is that correct?” 

You look into the depth of his eyes before dropping them to the ground. “Keep your eyes on me. Never look away from me, do you understand?” You nod and he lifts your chin before kissing you passionately. His arms coming to engulf you completely. 

“You’re going to fight that?” Ellaria’s alarmed voice breaks the moment, the tension in your shoulders returning. He kisses you softly again before going over to the table and taking a sip of his wine. 

“I’m going to kill that,” his confidence is electric and you step closer to Ellaria. Her hand reaching for your own as you both watch him with bated breath as he comes to stand before you. “Are you worried?” he teases her and she scoffs before pulling him close. 

“Don’t leave us alone in this world,” she begs before kissing him. Their tongues twisting together and you feel your mouth water at the site. He pulls back as the crowd roars to life. 

“Never,” he looks from her to you and back. “I love you.” He spins the spear and turns on the charm, the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. You watch as he taunts the Mountain of a man before him, before the Viper strikes. 

The scene replays over and over in your head. The moment he stabbed his spear through the thick armor of his belly. The way your heart clenched in elation at after so long receiving his most treasured of wishes. Seeing the man who brutally raped his sister and murdered her children confess his sins. Then in a moment, the elation bled like the golden skin of your lover. He was overturned and laid beneath the giant, a breath away from being crushed to death. The gloves the size of two golden pumpkins on a harvest feast table began to crush the head of the man you loved. 

Ellaria screamed, grasping her head in horror, Tyrion standing there in shock. You don't think, running across the courtyard, unsheathing the knife from your thigh, and plunging it through the head of the giant. Blood spurting from his wound as the tip of the knife exits through his eye. 

Shocked, he fell to the ground, dead, Oberyn using what strength he had left to push him off. His face a mess of blood and sweat, left eye wide and dazed. Jaw most likely broken from the punch to his face. The right closed tight and crushed from the thumb of the monster you'd slain. The crowd erupts into outrage as your chest pants and anxiety sucks the air from your lungs. 

Ellaria ran over to you and embraces you as you collapse to the ground before your Prince. His broken body reaching out for you both. You feel his hand graze yours and look into the beautiful brown iris of the man you love. The roar of the crowd fading as you focus on him, feeling him pull you from the water as your lungs re-inflate. 

The maester comes and declares the Mountain dead before you are ripped from the arms of Ellaria and Oberyn by the King's guard. By order of the Hand, you are to be imprisoned by meddling in a match to the death. You let out a breathless scream as Oberyn tries to get up, and Ellaria reaches for your hand. The ghost of her fingers slipping through your own. The Dornish guards coming for her to pull her back. One paramour is lost they would not do if both were to be taken. You fix your eyes on Oberyn as the doors shut in your face, and you dragged away to the dark, desolate dungeons of the lower kingdom. 

Two days. Two days of shivering in the darkness. The constant drip coming from outside as a summer rain drags down upon the concrete walls of stone, driving you mad. This must be what insanity feels like. No reprieve in sight for the unending torment you shall endure at the hands of these Northerners. Footsteps in the distance sounds, and you lift your head from your knees. The golden yellow dress adorned with the Martell suns now dirty and covered in filth. Your beaded headpiece you borrowed from Ellaria is cradled in your hands, your fingers grazing over the beads, soothing to the touch. 

You remember the night of the wedding when you went to bed with her. The way she watched you through her dark lashes as her tongue buried itself in your cunt. You laid bare for her in nothing but the beaded headdress against the soft pillows and furs. Oberyn standing in the shadows watching, his mouth curving into a smile as he takes a sip of his wine. The memory fades, and you look upon the cell door to see the vision of your fantasy, Ellaria, draped in a dark cloak, almost blending in with the shadows. 

"Little sparrow, are you alright?" her voice coos among the harshness that surrounds you. You crawl to your knees and stand on shaky legs. "You look pale. Have they fed you?" You shake your head no and place your hands through the bars, reaching for her hands. She lets out a gasp at the chill of your skin and furiously rubs your hands between her own. 

"Is...is he alive?" your voice is hoarse from disuse, but she knows who you mean. 

Nodding, "Yes, very much alive and raising absolute hell. He has been advised by the master, you know the old fat one who you said made your skin crawl?" You tremble, thinking of how his beady eyes followed the curve of your breasts in your dress. "He told him to rest, but he will not until you are released and in his arms again. He wanted to come here himself, but that Lannister creature refused, thinking he would release you and run away into the night." 

"How are you here then?" you ask, holding tightly to her hand as the other runs across the skin of your cheek. 

"I am like a cat in the dead of night; no one would suspect me to come and see you. I brought you some things." She releases your cheek and brings around a satchel from under the cloak, removing a chunk of crusty bread, some hard cheese, and a small pouch of wine." You eagerly reach for the food taking a bite of the bread and uncapping the wine, taking a large gulp. 

Food had never tasted so good before, the cheese you placed in the fold of your dress for later with the other half of the bread. Who knows how long you would be in this hell before you found reprieve and were rejoined with your lovers.

 You may never see them again. You may never see your daughter again. The gravity of the situation sinks in, and you feel the sob swell in your chest before it breaks free. The tears falling freely down your cheeks as she shushes you, cupping your cheeks through the bars. 

"Sweet love, we will get you out of here. You do not need to fear; Oberyn and I will return home to Dorne with you very soon." You sniffle as she rubs your tears away, pulling you toward her and placing a delicate kiss on your lips. "I have something else for you," she whispers against your lips before kissing you again and pulling away to reach under the cloak. "This is from Oberyn." 

She holds it out to you, and you tremble hands shaking as you reach for it. Hand opening and closing in hesitance before you touch the envelope. The smooth parchment warm under the icy fingers clenched around your throat. "Does," you look down at the paper, "Does he hate me?" 

"What are you talking about? Did you not hear me tell you he is tearing Kings Landing apart to get you out of here?! Why would you think such a thing?" her hands grasp yours, and you look up at her through your tears. 

"I denied him an honorable death; I wounded his pride. He is the Red Viper of Dorne and his, whore, is the one who killed the Mountain. What if he is only trying to save me so he can kill me himself?" Speaking your fears from the last two days aloud made your heart splinter and crack. 

Her hands tighten, "My sweet sparrow, please," she begs, "read the letter. Let it ease your mind and heart." You hear the sound of footsteps down the corridor, and she tightens her grip, "I must flee, back to our Prince, but please do not despair. You will be back in our arms and bed soon." She pulls you closer and kisses you again, slipping her tongue past your lips as her fingers glide against your skull. She pulls away abruptly and disappears into the darkness of the night. 

You retreat to the shadows of your cell as a guard passes the door and sneers down at you, spitting into the cell, "Dornish slut." He walks off, and you let the tears fall like gems down your cheeks pulling the envelope close to your face. The smell of fresh citrus and bergamot drifting into your nostrils, and they flare as your transported back to your first night with him. 

*******

A light mist from the ocean drifting over your heated skin as you looked upon the night sky, stars twinkling like gems, each one unique and special upon the ebony backdrop. You hear the gentle footsteps behind you; he wants you to know he is coming. The Red Viper could easily sneak up on you before he strikes, but every click of his heel is intentional. Your eyes droop closed as you feel the warmth of his chest behind you, enveloping you like a cloak as his arms come to wrap around your shoulders and clasp around your chest. His chin coming to rest upon your shoulder as you drop your head back and lean it against his own. 

"I wasn't sure you would be here," his moist breath tickles your neck, and you shiver. 

"I wasn't sure either, but I can't deny that I want this. That I want you," you slowly open your eyes and turn in his embrace, his hands coming down to your hips. 

"What made you change your mind?" his thumbs rub gentle circles against your waist, and you look up into his russet eyes, deep and velvety. 

"I realized I was only living half a life. Going through the motions but never really existing, until you touched me. My Prince, your touch ignited the flame deep inside me, and I burn for you," he takes your hands in his and brings them to his shoulders and up to his neck. His fingers trailing down your arms and towards the gentle swell of your breast. Breath catching as his thick fingers grazes the edge of your heated skin. 

"Will you promise to be mine then?" his voice, accented and thick, send a tremble down your spine as he steps closer and places a kiss on each of your cheeks, his mustache tickling against the soft skin. Pulling away, he is but a breath away, his lips a ghost against your lips as his eyes bare down into your own. "I am a selfish man; I will want you all to myself." 

"What about Ellaria?" you feel his lips graze your own, and he smiles. 

"Do you want her to join us, my little sparrow?" He kisses you softly, and you emit a small gasp as he slides his tongue against the plumpness of your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting go with a light pop. 

"I want all of you," you whisper, "and that includes her. She is as much a part of you; the moon belongs to the night sky." His eyes glow in the moonlight, and he moves his hands down to the clasp of your wrapped dress, dark blue in color, such a contrast to the warm golds and yellows that surround you. 

"May I see you?" he murmurs, and you nod. His fingers move deftly to unclasp the small hook on the side of your dress, pulling it open. Your nipples hardening as the chill runs across them and his eyes widen at finding you bare beneath. "Exquisite," he lets out a breath and allows the dress to slip over your shoulders and down to the floor. He steps away and circles you, your skin vibrating as the viper prepares to strike. His hands leave a blazing path as the pads of his fingers rough run over your flesh. When he comes around full circle, his eyes have darkened obsidian, and he reaches for your hand. 

Taking steps backward and leading you back into the room. The bed in the center of the room is large enough for five people, and you are sure it has held many more than that before. "Lay on the bed," his voice is low and deep, and you do as your told, falling back amongst the plethora of pillows and rich furs. "Spread your legs," you drop your thighs to the bed, and he groans as your cunt is displayed before him, glistening in the moonlight. 

He takes his time and strips off his robes, letting them drop to the ground in a heap. Your heart-stopping and restarting in quick succession as you see his impressive member. Thick and long curved up against his belly, he strokes himself as his eyes devour you whole. Mouthwatering as he pumps himself at your body bare before him. "Where do you want to fuck me, my prince?" 

He growls before taking a step toward you, "everywhere." You clench, and a whimper escapes you as the bed dips, and he kneels between your legs, looking down at you. He starts at your neck and trails his hand down over each swell of your breast, his fingers twisting a nipple and eliciting a gasp as you feel the coil tighten in your belly. Lowering them to your stomach and down your thighs. Stopping at your knees before coming back to the place you want him most. 

His fingers gliding among the seams and then slowly dipping into the heat pooling at your core. Collecting your slick onto his finger and bringing it up to his mouth to taste. "Seven hells you taste better than the sweetest Dornish red," he moans, and you watch with bated breath as he licks his finger clean, his tongue sweeping out to collect your pleasure. "I want to taste you little sparrow, make you take off into the heavens on a cloud." 

You whine, "We have all the time in the world, my Prince, please, please put your cock inside me. I'm weeping for you," you've never begged in your life, but you don't seem to care as he lets out a small chuckle. 

"You are soaked for me," his finger running back and forth between your lips, making you drench him. "Should I give this little cunt my cock? Do you think she's ready?" 

You nod, biting your lip, and he leans forward, notching his cock at your entrance, his body hovering above you. "Don't close your eyes," he whispers, bringing a hand to your chin, "You will keep your eyes on me this whole time, do you understand?" 

"Yes, my Prince." He smiles as he slowly pushes inside of you, both of your moaning as he sinks deeper into your tight heat, and his eyes burn into yours. You bring your hands up to his arms and squeeze as he moves further in, inch by glorious inch until he's seated fully inside you. 

You'd had a couple men over the years. Quick fucks in the stables or the woods where you once lived in the North. Stable boys who finished before you'd even begun or been too drunk to keep it up. Not a single one had made you feel as full and complete as the man above you. So deep, you could feel every ridge of his cock press against the soaked confines of your pussy. "Does that feel good little one?" 

"Yes," you gasp as he pulls out slowly and then quickly shoves back in. The delicious snap of his hips against yours as your skin develops a thin sheen of sweat. He continues his slow, torturous pace until you are withering beneath him in agony. "Seven Hells, please move faster, harder; I want you to fuck me, Oberyn." 

He stops, eyes widening in surprise, "What did you call me?" Your hand goes to your mouth in shock, you'd never called him anything but Prince since your first meeting, and you worry that you've offended him before his voice drops an octave. "Say it again." 

Eyes never leaving him, you whisper, "Oberyn." 

"Louder," his hips start to move faster but still not enough. 

"Oberyn," you say it louder this time, nails digging into his broad shoulders. 

"Louder," he brings a hand down to rub at your clit between you as he moves faster. 

You moan, "Oberyn," it's louder this time, and you feel the heat coming to a crescendo as he shouts at you again. 

"Louder!" 

"OBERYN!" you scream his name as he pounds into you furiously, sure to leave bruises on your flushed skin as you cum, squeezing his cock and gushing around him. He works you through your orgasm, rubbing your clit in time with his thrust before he slows down and moans above you spilling inside. His cum hot and thick, painting your walls as you squeeze him tight, milking him for all he is worth. He collapses to his forearms, and you exhale shakily, trying to catch your breath. 

He slips out of you and collapses next to you on the bed, his hand on his waist. And his other arm coming to wrap around you and curl you closer to his chest. You take a deep breath inhaling the sweet scent of citrus and bergamot that clings to his skin. His fingers tracing patterns on your back. "Would you come take a bath with me, little sparrow?" He looks down at you, his eyes alight with mischief. 

"That seems foolish, my dear Prince," you grin deviously at him. 

"Why is that?" 

"Because I have a feeling we will just end up dirty again," he lets out a booming laugh, and you smile at seeing the joy split across his face. 

"That is very true, but please, indulge me. I want to lay with you in the hot water and wash your beautiful body with my soap so that everyone who gets within in a foot of you will know your mine." He bites the tip of your nose before smiling and getting up to draw you a bath. Watching his backside walk away, his golden skin gleaming in the moonlight. 

******* 

The tears drip onto the envelope, clenched tight in your palms. The edges cutting into your soft skin marred with the dirt from the floor. You squint in the dim light of the fire to see your nickname written in his elegant scrawl. 

Little Sparrow 

Your fingers trace the letters as you turn it in your hand and dip it below the wax seal, a golden sun of house Martell breaking it. Your hands tremble as you take out the letter unfolding it. Your chest feels heavy as though a thousand rocks lay precariously, waiting to crush. You heave as great sobs swell, and the tears flow down your cheeks, almost making it impossible to read in the dim flickering of the light but somehow you manage. 

Little Sparrow, 

I faced death. I could hear the screams of Ellaria, the light closing in as that monster lay above me, crushing my skull beneath his fingers. The sun peaked through, and I prayed to the seven that I would one day see you and Ellaria again. My children flashed before my eyes smiling and running through the gardens of our home. Until I heard the sound of a goddess charging in battle with a cry, and the great evil was slain. The sun returned to my vision, and above me stood you, my golden goddess. 

You saved my life. I have always loved you, from the moment I laid eyes upon you to the moment I believed they would shut forever. I will always love you. I will tear this shit hole of a city apart brick by brick and kill anyone who gets in my way before I let them take you away from me. 

They will rue the day they touched a hair on your perfect head. The Red Viper lays in wait, my little Sparrow, and soon, very soon, he will strike, and you will be back in my arms. We will be home with Ellaria, the girls, and our beautiful Serena; she will know what a fearsome warrior her mama is. 

I love you more than words can express. Soon, my love, I will show you all the ways I love you. Soon. 

Your Prince 

Taglist: @josepedropascal​ @mrschiltoncat​ @mrsparknuts​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​ @zannemes​ @xjaywritesx​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​ @justanotherblonde23​ @artsymaddie​ @anetteaneta​ @lunarthoughts​ @aellynera​ @lucifer-​ @houseofthirst​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @chicken-ona-stick​ 

[shewillreadyou]

Me before You: Chapter 2- For Real

As always. I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

A/N: This is a TRR AU. Liam is already married, but see’s Riley and wants his cake. If the readers are receptive this might turn into more than a mini series.

Disclaimers: Most characters are property of Pixelberry

Warnings: Language, adult content, mild sexual innuendo. 

Word Count: 2458

Catch up: Haven’t met you Yet

Prompts: @theworldofprompts​ 

“Name one thing you regret in life?”  

“Well, for starters, I married you.” will appear in BOLD.

Pairings: Drake & Riley

Song inspiration: For Real- Amel Larrieux

Be Kind: Hit the heart button, leave a comment or reblog. It makes a writer so so happy. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may salute your bride.”

Savannah and her groom shared a modest kiss. 

“It is my pleasure to present to you for the very first time the Duke and Duchess of Ramsford. Bertrand and Savannah Beaumont of Cordonia.”

“Cordonia?” Riley whispered to herself.

“So I’m not crazy. Drake said he is from Cordonia. The Liam look-alike could really be King Liam of Cordonia. The matron of honor could actually be Queen Carsyn. This is insane.” 

Her thoughts raced as she tried to make connections. 

“There will be a cocktail hour in the barn,” an older woman announced.

The barn was decorated in a rustic theme, Tim McGraw’s, “I like it, I love it” played in the background and there were servers with appetizers everywhere. Quickly, lines formed for the open bars. Mack held on to Riley’s arm as they waited.

“So let me get this straight? The guy you met in New York, was Drake? Drake Walker? Like Savannah’s brother Drake? No fucking way. The world is not that small.”

“Yeah, apparently it is, he is the man I saw at the airport, the guy from the bar, the guy I’ve been texting and now he’s here.”

“Sounds like fate.”

“I don’t know if I believe in fate. More like dumb luck.”

“Miss Riley?” a server interrupts their conversation. 

“For you and your guest.”

He offers a whiskey sour and an old fashion, the signature drink to she and Mack.

“Compliments of Mr. Walker. My name is Caleb, I have been personally assigned to you for the duration of the evening. You don’t need to wait in lines. I can bring you whatever you need to eat or drink.”

“Wow, well thank you Caleb. That’s very thoughtful.” 

She tries to tip Caleb and he refuses. 

“No thank you Ma’am. Mr. Walker has already compensated me handsomely. Please let me know if there is anything else I can get for you.”

Later

The wedding party joins the guests in the barn before the bride and groom have their first dance. Riley watched from her assigned seat wondering who would end up seated next to her. The seat went empty for the first part of the afternoon. 

“That was a beautiful ceremony. You know, I have seen pictures and heard tons of stories about Drake from Savannah, but he has really grown up. He is a hottie.”

“He’s ok.”

“Wow, just ok? Huh? I’m wounded.” he says in a raspy voice. 

“Drake!”

Mack and Riley blush furiously.

“Raye. It’s good to see you again.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she smirked.

“Sorry! Drake, this is Mackenzie, Mack this is Savannah’s brother Drake.”  

“Don’t listen to her. She was definitely pleasantly surprised,” Mack said as she extended her hand for Drake to kiss. 

Riley elbowed Mack and Drake laughed as he shook her hand. 

“Good thing I get the honor of keeping you company tonight. My seat was moved next to yours.”

He smiled and Riley’s heart melted just a little bit more. He leaned over to hug her and she immediately flashed back to their dance on the rooftop. 

After their first dance, all the guests were invited to the dance floor. “At Last” by Etta James started to play.

“May I have this dance? And please don’t tell me that your feet still hurt.”

She stood, unsure of what to do in the presence of royalty.

“Your Majesty, we have to stop meeting this way. Shouldn’t you be dancing with your Queen?”

Before he could answer, Drake slipped up behind Riley snaking his strong arm around her waist. Pulling her into his embrace.

“Beat it Li!”

“Miss me yet?” 

“Perfect timing. Small world. You didn’t say that your Mom and sister lived so close to me.”

“I didn’t think it was pertinent information at the time,” he said as he led her in a slow dance. Riley watched Queen Carsyn over Drakes shoulder, as she shot daggers at King Liam. 

“Is he always like that?”

“What?”

“Liam? Is he always so tactless?”

“I’m not at liberty to comment,” he chuckles.

“Question asked, question answered.”

“Enough about Liam. Have I mentioned how stunning you look?”

“No, but thanks for the compliment anyway.”

She smiled, getting lost in his eyes as they swayed to the music.  

After sitting and watching Drake and Riley dance and flirt for hours Mack was about ready to go.

“Ri, I’m about ready to head out.”

“Riley reluctantly said her goodbyes to Drake, not knowing when she’d see him again. 

After a short drive back to her place they arrived to see a red Jeep sitting idle in front of her door waiting. Riley looked at Mack and shrugged her shoulders. When she had said goodnight to her friend, she headed to the door. The window of the Jeep lowered, “Hey, could you tell me where to get something good to eat in this neighborhood?” 

“Drake! What-- how did you know where I lived?”

“Guestbook.”

“Well, that isn’t creepy at all.” 

“I’m hungry and thought you might be hungry too.” 

“So, where to?”

“I don’t know, I have only been here a few weeks.”

“I know a place.”

Drake gets out of the truck and walks around waving at Mack, who is still watching from her car. He opens the door for Riley and grabs her by the waist helping her into the truck.

“Really? Such a gentleman.”

He smiles as he heads back around. Mack lowers her window and says, “I took a picture of your license plates just in case she doesn’t make it back.”

“Noted.”

“Thank you. So where are we going?”

“Whataburger. I can’t get that in Cordonia.”

“What the what?”

“You’ll love it, promise and it’s on me. Seat belt.”

“Let me ask you a question?”

“Just one?”

“God no, I have a million questions.”

“Ok, I will try my best to answer them.”

She thinks of what she wants to ask first.

“What did you honestly think when you saw me today?”

“That I am not this lucky.”

A blush crept across her face as she awkwardly shifted in the seat.

“Why do you live in Cordonia if your Mom and Sister are here?”

“Work is there. Besides, I have never had a good reason to come back.”

“I see.”

 Her face betrayed her, she was feeling conflicted and defeated and it showed. They drove along the dark road quietly for a few minutes.

“So, uh, you must do important work in Cordonia for you to stay there instead of here with your family.”

“If you want to know what I do for a living Raye, just ask.”

“You told me not to and I respect your wishes.”

“Well, some would consider it important. My family won’t be here for long, Sav and my nephew are moving to Cordonia this week. I’m the lead for the King’s Guard.”

“You mean you protect Liam?”

“Yeah,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.

Just then they pulled into the parking lot. The line in the drive thru was long so they headed inside. He held the door open for her and when they stood in front of the counter he stood directly behind her as they both looked up at the menu. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms when he noticed her shiver. 

“Cold?”

“Yeah, a little. Also, overwhelmed with this menu. Order for me?”

A mischievous grin crept across his face as he placed his suit coat around her shoulders. 

After an hour of probing conversation, many laughs, and eating a deliciously greasy burger, heavenly fries with as Drake called it “fancy fucking ketchup,” they headed back to her place. 

“Drake, I’m not ready for tonight to end,” she confessed.

“I know the feeling.”

“Come upstairs with me?”

“Riley Elizabeth Raye! What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“The kind who steals people’s personal information out of wedding guest books.” 

“Checkmate.”

“Besides, I have had these shoes on since this morning. My feet! Anyway, we can watch a movie and chat for a little while.”

“I have been told I give a mean foot massage.”

“Are you offering?”

He licks his lips and bites his lips. Her center twitched.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Why are you looking at me like you want to climb in my lap?

Her cheeks flushed red.

“You wish.”

“Enough about that, let’s talk about our first real date.”

“Who said I wanted to date a guy with no real reason to come to Dallas?”

“Whoa, that was before.”

They headed up to her apartment. He stood so close to her in the elevator that she could feel his body heat. They had a staring contest that she lost. She definitely looked away first. It was like he was staring into her soul. The sexual tension was thick and she felt relieved when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. 

“Long distance dating is not exactly something I want to pursue.”

“Understandable. I’m here now. Let me take you out tomorrow.”

“What would that look like?”

“Dallas Jazz fest is tomorrow.”

“And you just happened to know that off the top of your head?”

“I might have done some research on my phone when I learned that a certain lady whom I’d like to impress was within my grasp.”

She chortled, “you like jazz?”

“No, but if I get to spend time with you it can’t be that bad.”

“You’d do that for me?”

They step inside her place and he makes a face. 

“What is it?”

“Your place smells exactly like I expected, fruity.”

She invites Drake to sit as she kicks her shoes off. She moves around the counter and opens the fridge grabbing a couple bottles of water, a bottle of Glenmorangie, and a couple glasses. 

“Raye, this is the good stuff. It’s really expensive. Sure you’re sharing?”

“Completely, pour me one too? Be right back,” she says as she headed into her bedroom to change and freshen up.

When she returned, Drake cleared his throat at the sight of her barely there clothing change. 

They settled on the soft couch as Drake passed her the tumbler of whiskey he poured for her. She eyed the drink as he stared at her. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Your umm, outfit? Comfy?”

“Yes. Very. Should I drink this? I didn’t see you pour it.”

“Good grief, switch with me.” Drake says before raising his glass.

“Cheers, to the best reason I ever had to come back to the States.”

She bit her lip trying to contain her smile.

“Well then, after a toast like that you get to pick the movie.”

She later regretted being so generous. Drake chose FACE OFF. They started off good, he pulled her aching feet into his lap and rubbed them until she was sure she would orgasm. She pulled away crossing her legs in a twisted attempt to save her panties. 

She loved the movie but knew she couldn’t get through any of the scenes when they ran their hands down the others face to wordlessly say, I love you. So as much as she tried she sat with tears running down her face for much of the movie. The first time she cried Drake pretended to ignore it. She wiped her face on her. The next time she cried he looked at her with a raised eyebrow and the final time he pulled her into his arms and wiped her tears.

“You definitely get to pick a movie that won’t make you cry next time.”

“Next time? You really want to go out with me, huh?”

“I thought that was clear by now.”

  “Drake, can I be honest?”

“I’d prefer it.”

“I have never dated a white guy before.”

He feigned shock. Then laughed. 

“We have that in common because I haven't either. Is that all?”

“No, I didn’t expect to like you this much.”

“Have you dated a black woman before?”

“No.”

“Are you ready for family and friends to turn their backs on you? For strangers to shoot us dirty looks in public? For all of the things that come along with dating me?”

“I guess I never really thought about it. But I’d like to think that it would be a small price to pay to be with you.”

 They chatted until they both fell asleep. The sunrise plucked him from his slumber. She had fallen asleep in his arms. He watched her for a few moments fighting the urge to kiss her. He untangled himself from her and used her restroom. When he returned, she was awake. 

“I thought you finally came to your senses and left.”

“I don’t scare easily. I’m headed back to the ranch. I’ll pick you up around 6pm.”

She stood and they shared a long embrace as she secretly sniffed him trying to memorize his smell before she let him out.

Back at the ranch

“You stayed out all night. Did you get some trim?”

“No.”

Figures. You wouldn’t know what to do with all that ass anyway.

“And you do?” Carsyn interjects.

“Carsyn, I didn’t realize you were back from your morning run.”

“I knew that you wanted to fuck her. I saw the way you were looking at her at the wedding.”

Drake stands, “This seems like a personal conversation. Call me later Li.”

Liam shakes his head and turns to his wife. 

“You are always making a big deal out of nothing. I have given you everything. You knew who I was before you married Me. You are the queen. Why are you so insecure?”

Tears filled her eyes. 

“Name one thing you regret in life?”  “Well, for starters, I married you.”

Liam stormed out of the room to find Drake in the hall on the phone with Riley. When Drake sees Liam he ends the call.

“Drake Walker. Your nose is open. I know you think you like her but, do you really want to start seeing a black woman? They can be a lot.”

“Don’t be an ass Li, any woman can be a lot. But it’s different with her. She is so chill. Like it’s easy with her.” 

“If it’s so easy, why didn’t you close?”

“I said that it’s easy to be with her. Not that she was easy you, prick.”

“Just be careful Drake. You know what they say… Once you go black…”

“Li! For fucks sake.”

“I’m just saying. I’m going out tonight so if you need a trial run Carsyn will be here alone.”

“Did you just give me permission to fuck your wife?”

“Sure, everyone knows I’m not.”

“Hard pass.”

@txemrn​​​ @pixie88​​​ @secretaryunpaid​​​@khoicesbyk​​​ @blackkingliamstan​​​ @mom2000aggie​​​ @shannonwrote​​​ @hopelessromanticmonie​​​ @fanjessfic​​​ @rideordiechronicles​​​ @lucy-268​​​ @dcbbw​​​ @darley1101​​​ @maurine07​​​​ @sfb123​​​ @bbrandy2002​​​ @kingliam2019​​​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​​​ @lem-20​​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​​​ @theworldofprompts​​ @no-one-u-know​​

TRR: @twinkleallnight​​​  @bebepac​​​ @mainstreetreader​​​ @romereadingshop​​​ @romewritingshop​​​ @lem-20​​​ @texaskitten30​​

[animefan-overran]

A Hot Mess (Nalu)

Here’s a little Nalu ONESHOT LEMON for y’all! Be sure to reblog, like, comment, and all that good stuff!

**************

"You know Lucy, sometimes all you do is make me a hot mess," Natsu slammed Lucy against the wall, and lowered his lips to her ear. "It's only fair to do the same to you,"

Lucy shuddered in nervous anticipation "Natsu, what the heck has gotten into you?!" Lucy quivered. To say the least, she was honestly confused about how she and Natsu ended up in this position. One moment they were attending a fancy dinner party in their guild's honor, and the next, she finds herself being dragged out to the backside of the building by a certain fiery redhead.

Natsu's eyes grew dark. "Lucy, you know exactly what I'm talking about," his voice lowered "Don't think that I don't see other guys trying to flirt with you in there," he said, flicking one of her loose bangs behind her ear. "I'm not mad at you, or anything. But I'll have you know it still drives me mad…" he barked "I just want to quickly remind you that we're together now. I don't want to lose you,"

Lucy looked at Natsu. His lustful eyes were shamelessly plundering her body, examining every curve and bump. It was as if he had just ordered a double cheeseburger, after having not eaten for three days.

Natsu brought his nose to the nape of Lucy's neck, and proceeded to take in her scent. "Hmmmm, vanilla with a hint of coconut," Natsu half growled in a possessive voice "That's my favorite perfume of yours." he asked, pushing himself up against Lucy just a little bit more.

Lucy's eyes widened in shock "It is?! Uh, glad you like it! It's actually my favorite too..." Lucy trailed off, not really knowing what to say next. This entire conversation was just getting weirder and weirder. She had never really seen this side of Natsu before.

"You're so soft." Natsu purred, as he took a loose strand of Lucy's hair and carefully caressed it between his fingers. "That's another thing I just love about you."

Lucy touched her hand to Natsu's face, looking deep into his lust flooded eyes. "Natsu, do we really have to do this right now? Why don't we go back to the party, and…" Lucy stopped mid sentence, as she felt Natsu's hand trail its way to her backside.

Gasping at her lover's sudden advance, Lucy bit her lip ever so slightly in an attempt to hold back a moan. Natsu grinned smugly "Now, Lucy…" his free hand made its way to her chin, and guided it so her eyes were met with his. "Do you really want me to stop?" Natsu whispered mischievously in her ear. "Because, we both know I could make you feel so good right now,"

"Nat-su," Lucy managed to stammer out. She was indeed close to her breaking point. "What about the party? What if people…"

"Find us?" Natsu finished her sentence. "Good, then they'll know I'm yours," he brushed his lips to hers, leaving only millimeters between them. Lucy's head spun to the edge of insanity. Any thoughts about going back to the party were slowly being replaced with other more sensual activities.

"C'mon Lucy, just give in and live a little. Didn't you ever want to get frisky behind our guild hall?" Natsu interrogated, slightly laughing.

Lucy giggled "Natsu, you're absolutely insane…" she secured her arms around his neck, bringing him in closer, if that was even possible. "But you know I can't resist your touch," she smirked, finally smashing her lips to his, closing the gap between them.

Knowing that he had obtained a victory, Natsu's hands planted themselves on Lucy's hips, and firmly gripped them, prompting Lucy to jump and wrap her legs around Natsu's waist. The heat between their bodies grew exponentially as Natsu took the liberty to massage Lucy's chest. Lucy threw back her head in ecstasy, trying her best to suppress another influx of pleasurable moans from escaping her lips. Natsu shook his head "Don't try to be quiet Lucy, that's only going to make me try harder," Natsu warned, attaching his lips to her neck, starting to suck gently.

Lucy grabbed a chunk of the red head's hair with each hand. With every second that passed, Lucy found herself being sucked further and further into the dragon slayer's spell. How could someone drive her to the brink of hysteria? At this point, it was safe to say she was practically puddy in his hands. With reckless abandon, her lips found her boyfriend's ear. Delicately nipping at it, she amassed the energy to speak audibly "Natsu, please…" Lucy groaned, struggling to form a sentence.

"Wow Lucy," he gawked, as his fingers tugged at the zipper of her mini skirt. "Didn't anyone teach you to use your words?" he chuckled "Tell me what you want," he teased. Of course, he knew exactly what she wanted, but there was something about watching her squirm that underlined his masculinity.

"Shut up, Natsu!" Lucy managed to breathe out "I need you to do something down there. I need you inside of me right now!" Lucy demanded.

"See, that's not so hard," he said, as he slid his hand under her panties, and slowly entered three fingers inside her core with ease. "Well someone's a wet little minx today," Natsu breathed out as he started slowly pumping. Lucy's eyes immediately rolled to the back of her skull, and her grip on Natsu's hair tightened with each pump.

"God, Lucy. You're so tight." Natsu groaned, releasing his fingers from her core, making Lucy pout a little in protest. That displeasure, however, was soon replaced with unparalleled bliss as Natsu, unbuckled his shorts and whipped out his rock hard member.

"I'm gonna have you screaming my name Lucy," Natsu challenged as he finally entered himself into her. With one thrust, Natsu was completely submerged by her walls. Wasting no time, he started pumping fast and hard. After all, that's exactly how Lucy liked it. Their lips met once again, fighting urgently for dominance over one another. Moving in perfect sync their bodies supplemented each other's movements, almost as if they were performing an ancient lovers dance.

With each thrust, Natsu's form grew sloppy, indicating he was reaching his climax. "Lucy," he panted between kisses "Where are you right now,"

Lucy shuddered trying to move to a comfortable position, in an attempt to prolong her release "I'm about to cave," she muttered. "Please… faster… RIGHT THERE" she yelped out, bucking her hips to help Natsu reach her sweet spot.

With that, Natsu's momentum found motivation once again, finishing them both off.

Lucy screamed, slightly banging her head against the wall. "NATSSUUU, FUCK, yes…"

"You're doing amazing, Luce. Just hang in there for a couple more seconds..." Natsu huffed, giving one last thrust. This was enough to send them both over their edges and then some. Shock waves of electricity jolted through their bodies as they climaxed. Silence hung like a curtain between them, with the exception of their lungs gasping for air.

After sometime, Lucy broke the silence between them "Natsu," she spoke with a soft and caring tone "You're never going to lose me," Lucy smiled, pulling him in for a quick peck on the cheek.

Natsu smiled pridefully at Lucy, as both of them remained suspended comfortably in each other's embrace.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

out of love by alessia cara + calum for that lovely angst

Thanks for your song and patience!

Please consider supporting me on ko-fi. 

I’m debating on whether or not to continue song blurbs. Your support really helps me out, reblog if you enjoy. 

____________________________

Routines

He first notices it in himself. 

It doesn’t set off the alarm suddenly. Ashton’s really the first one to see it. He asks about you, how you are settling into the new job, and when Calum answers with a placid good, Ashton gives him a look. Like how could good be the only word that Calum had when it came to you. But Ashton doesn’t push it, he nods and says that he’s glad you’re happy with your job and in a place more aligned with what you wanted. 

Calum can’t seem to recall when you started the new job. But it couldn’t have been for more than a day or two. He had just taken you out for dinner as a celebration. Calum excuses himself to the bathroom, racking his brain because surely he wasn’t going insane. But when he scrolls through the text messages from you, he sees the dinner was nearly two and a half weeks go. It’s just his memory, with the latest album things have started to blur just a little and he can’t seem to keep anything straight anymore. 

Calum fucks up the routine. 

Not that he meant it maliciously. There’s an order to the day that you’ve gotten accustomed to. You waking first and cook breakfast. Calum sluggishly pulls himself to at least have his morning coffee with you--you go to work. He catches up on emails, takes Duke out for his walk if he manages not to doze off again, goes to the studio. You get back--there’s always a note left in Calum’st mostly uppercase penmanship if Duke needs a walk. You relax, fix dinner. Calum comes homes, reheats his plate if it’s gone late, you two talk, laughing at the dining room table as you sip on tea. 

Calum doesn’t come down for his morning coffee once. You sit, bag at your feet with ten minutes before you have to leave for work. And you sit, and sit, and sit, wringling your thumbs and picking at your nails. The bedroom door never creaks open. 

In the car, your phone rings. Calum’s name and photo on the screen. “I know you haven’t left yet. Get out of the car so I can give you your morning kiss.” His voice is gruff, still thick with sleep. You bite your lip and laugh, heart-expanding at the fact that you didn’t have to leave Calum without your morning kiss. 

You leave the car running, and jump back out. Calum stands, sans shirt but in sweatpants, on the porch. Duke, who you took out earlier, wagging his tail at his feet. Calum’s clearly tired, eyes puffier than usual. The close crop can’t really be fussed about, but as the length slowly grows back you can see it’s flattened from his sleep. He flashes a quick smile and an open embrace. “Morning,” you laugh, kissing him quickly. 

“Morning. You look good by the way.” He gives you another kiss, to make up for him oversleeping. “Have a great day.”

You nod. “You too rockstar.” 

When your car pulls out of the driveway and down the block, Calum steps back into the house. He hums, still tired and collapses onto the couch. There’s not a lot of guilt, mostly just thoughts of sleep. 

Around one that day his phone buzzes. A picture from you of the latest addition in dogs you see on your lunch break. He replies with a couple heart eye emojis, grinning at the stern-looking German shepherd. Cutest bub around, he types. 

Don’t let them hear you say that. Looks like they wouldn’t take too kindly. Love you, babe. 

Love you too. He goes to send the text but his fingers take pause. When’s the last time he called you doll? He used to use it all the time. Calum erases his period and adds a coma before his fingers add more. Love you too, doll. 

Calum really knows something is happening when you take pause at the bedroom door. His duffel bag, unzipped, and half full. Your voice cracks as you speak. “What are you doing?” You don’t want the scene to send you into a panic but you have no clue why Calum would be packing a suitcase, without warning. He always gave you a week’s notice at the very least--sometimes shows and events kind of popped up. 

“The writing retreat?” He could’ve sworn he told you about the four day trip up the coast. Not going out of the state at all, just a few hours out of the way. It was in the works since last week. Why would he not bring it up to you? 

“The what? How long?”

“I--I told you. It’s only four days. Going up the coast just to write for a little bit. Some guys up there want in a couple tracks. I told you this, baby.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Yes, I did. I had to have told you.” But he can see the tears welling in your eyes and the way your lower lip has started to wobble. “Please, please God tell me I told you?”

You shake your head. Throat seizing up on you. God, you wanted to feel stupid for thinking he was leaving--nevermind the fact this was his house. But lately, over the last few months, things felt different, off, distant. It wasn’t the end, you told yourself. It couldn’t have been. Calum always made things up, he was imperfect like everyone else. But not telling you about having to go away, it’s the final straw. 

Calum steps over his bag, arms lifting to cradle you. You take a small step back, with a shake of your head. It hurts to swallow, the squeezing in your chest is not helping. “You don’t talk to me anymore.” The admission is choked as it leaves your lips. You haven’t let out a full sob, but you feel it beating at your lungs and ribs. 

“I’m sorry. I just forgot.”

The look Ashton gave Calum months ago comes flooding back. The heaviness to his eyes, the pull of his brow. Ashton wasn’t confused. Calum was the last to realize it. He was the last one to see the thing happening. If this had been a bad dream, Calum would’ve woken with a cold sweat. When his mouth gapes and his eyes pull together, you turn, clutching your sleeves into your fist to wipe your eyes. 

“Wait, please!”

He still loved you. He did. He still loved you. 

But he hadn’t call doll in ages. He didn’t hold your hand in bed anymore. He didn’t drink his morning coffee with you. He hummed when you talked about work. He hadn’t even meant to do this. It’s not even like Calum felt bored--maybe a little bogged down. But not bored. Things were so good.

You can’t even hide in the house before you turn the corner to the spare bedroom, Calum’s gently taking your elbow to slow you down. What was happening? What was he doing wrong? “Talk to me now. Please?”

That sob, finally makes itself known, scratching over your throat. You pull your joint of his grasp but don’t face him. You can feel the heat of him on your back as he stands, inches, maybe even centimeters behind you, but have no physical contact. “You haven’t had breakfast with me in two months.”

“I have--two months?”

You nod. “You haven’t called about being late home. I still fix you dinner though, knowing that you’re not going to show up until whatever wee hour in the morning. You used to buy me flowers just for no reason and even though I seemed to kill each one with just a look, you kept buying them.”

Calum racks his brain. He bought some. It couldn’t have been all that long ago. He bought some for Valentine’s Day and then more a week later. It was only July now. “Fuck,” he whispers at the realization. “Five months?”

You nod. “Five months.”

You might have naively wondered if people stopped loving each other or if it just they forgot how to love the other person. But here, now, looking at the beige walls of this bedroom you thought the former was definitely more likely. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing Calum can say. It’s the only words his mouth can work around and get out. He loved you. He really did. 

“Ashton asked me if everything was okay with us. And I had to tell him the truth. That I wasn’t sure.”

“It’s not you. I need you to know that it wasn’t you at all,” he urges, finally taking your hand and you let him. You even turn, standing toe to toe with him. “I loved you. Through and through I loved you.”

It’s not even a sad revelation. Somehow it feels mundane to hear it. You knew all along that something had happened. You just didn’t want to believe it. But it’s obvious that things had just run out of juice. Your lip wobbles again and you can feel it, hear the tremors as you speak. It’s probably a stupid thing to admit, but it feels right. You unwind your fingers and speak, “I love you.”

Wiping your eyes, you look to the floor. The earth hasn’t shattered. You thought it might. And it’s not a last-ditch effort to save a dying thing. It’s just a statement of truth, just the bone grinding honest truth. Your teeth ache just a little as you continue to speak. “Know that even when I saw the end of the tunnel, and I was staring it down every goddamn day, I actively loved you. I still love you. But I-I can’t keep doing this. Lying to myself.”

Calum nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I-I never meant to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It might be too late for that.”

His chest nearly caves. He takes a staggering step back and the tears that were threatening to spill and tell all his secrets fall down his cheek. The ink of his truth now tracking down his cheeks. He had hurt you in probably the worst way possible. Holding onto a routine and pretending to give out love. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“We all do stupid things for love,” you croak your laughter leaves in bursts and occasionally choked off by a sob. “We all do stupid things for love.” 

Like lying to yourself, or turning a blind eye to things. There’s just a moment, you lean into the wall right outside the guest bedroom and Calum leaning into the door of the hall closet. Neither one of you can look at each other. Your arms are wrapped around your stomach, the pain from your chest now spreading down your body. Calum just feels heavy, even numb because he can’t believe he had drug you through that. Waiting day in and day out for him to either snap out of it or maybe even into reality. Waiting for yourself to come to that realization too. 

He opens his mouth, staring up at his ceilings with more tears threatening to fall down his cheek. 

“Don’t say you're sorry again. Please don’t.”

“What can I say? What can I do to make this better?”

“Nothing.” 

-H

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 29

Dispossessed

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: just usual Bucky.

Summary: Things starts moving too fast for the reader.

Notes: Alright, since you all asked so nicely, you get two series today (part 3 of Happy Together was posted earlier). So here you guys go. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Some interesting plot so forgive the lack of smut but I hope you have fun with it. <3

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

The distant melody of your alarm rang in your head. Slowly the haze began to clear as you felt yourself ascending. A warmth on your shoulder, your name uttered next to your ear. “Y/N, wake up. Come on.” Your eyes shot open and you looked up in the dim, Bucky sat next to you on his large bed. He was still naked, as were you, and by the wrinkle of the sheet and duvet next to you, you could guess that he had slept next to you. You couldn’t even remember falling asleep and assumed that you had passed out during your nocturnal activities and been shuffled aside thereafter.

“What?” You croaked, reaching up to touch your forehead. You were sore all over. Every inch of you was screaming with the weight of the night before. “Grrmph.” You grumbled as Bucky helped you to a sitting position.

“You have to work,” Bucky said, his face clearing through your vision. “I went by your apartment and grabbed some clothes after you nodded off.” You shrugged his hand away from your shoulder, “You should get washed up.”

“I...should,” You agreed dumbly. You turned slowly, groaning as your legs thrummed. You bent forward and held your head. “Goddamnit.” You could still feel the layer of sweat and cum clinging to your skin. Bucky moved to sit next to you, his hand on the small of your back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked in a low voice, “Hmm, take your body and leave everything else?”

“Fuck you,” You sat straight, your head spinning, “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” He smirked, “Just a touch and your soaking wet.”

“Where’s your shower?” You stood, holding in another grunt. You crossed your arms over your bare chest.

“This way,” He rose and squeezed your ass as he passed, heading for the door.

You sighed as you watched his naked ass disappear through the doorway and followed him reluctantly. The faster you showered, the sooner you’d be gone. He opened the second door along the hallway and waved you inside. He watched you intently as you neared and entered ahead of you. He closed the door and pressed himself against you as he guided you towards the large shower, a sliding glass door already open and waiting. He was hard again and you shuddered.

He parted from you and stepped away, reaching into the shower to crank the faucet on. The water sprayed down, steam rising around the downpour and you yearned for its hot embrace. You almost forgot about Bucky for the promise of cleansing. You were disappointed however as he entered the shower, realizing you would not be left alone. You rolled your eyes and dropped your head a second before kicking yourself into action. He beckoned you in ahead of him, right under the waterfall, and you couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped you.

You found the soap upon the shelf, reaching for it even though it smelled of thick sandalwood. You squeezed some into your hand and Bucky reached over your shoulder to steal the bottle. You heard the bottle deflate and inflate, the lid flipped shut as he hovered it beside you, waiting for you to replace it. You set it back on the shelf and began to scrub yourself with just your hands and nails, content enough to do that. When you lathered your hair with some of his shampoo, he helped the process, his erection poking you in the back as his fingers played with your hair.

“If we weren’t running against the clock…” He purred, turning you so that your head was under the stream and he began to rinse the shampoo from your hair, guiding the bubbles down the strands. “You were very good last night but it will be a while before I can trust you.”

“I know,” You said grimly. “I think I’m done.” You gesture to your hair, “May I?” You gestured to the shower door.

He grinned, his hand tracing the line of your clavicle before he pulled away. “Go ahead,” He stepped back and slid open the door, “I’ll be out shortly. Your clothes are on the sofa in the bedroom.”

You grabbed a towel from the rack as the door slid closed behind you. You walked back to the bedroom as you dried yourself off, wrapping the towel around your head. You dressed, realizing he had refrained from grabbing panties for you. You couldn’t help but think it deliberate. You pulled on the knee-length pencil skirt and retrieved your bra from the floor. You buttoned the pale blue blouse while you searched for your tights. Great, there was run right up the length of the left leg. Well, the fall weather would not be kind to your bare legs.

Your rubbed dry your hair and brushed it out in front of the mirror hung on the wall. You looked decent considering, though your eyes were dark with fatigue. You heard footsteps and Bucky followed, a towel at his waist as he opened his dresser and searched for clothes. “Could you throw on a pot of coffee?” He asked over his shoulder, “Machine’s along the counter right beneath the microwave.”

“Uh, sure,” You hid your scowl. It was odd. You hated when he spoke to you like this. When he pretended that this was normal relationship. You turned and left the room, opting to focus on brewing caffeine as much for your own sake as his. You could be annoyed with him later.

After Bucky had dropped you off at work, you spent the day trying to keep yourself awake at your desk. Pepper was halfway down your throat about a booking at some venue or another and you were trying to find a caterer who did bacon-wrapped shrimp for Tony’s birthday. You suspected you’d not be invited nor partake in the delicious-sounding appetizer. Either way, it distracted you from memories of the night before.

When the day was over, you yawned and departed for you own car. You were almost elated to drive yourself and dared to be hopeful that your night would be quiet. You stopped by the liquor store, a bottle of wine paid for, and headed to your building. You dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes as you entered your apartment and dragged your feet over to the couch before flopping on it. You uncorked the wine bottle and drank straight from the neck as you flipped on the television. Every hour passed and your stomach fluttered as Bucky made no appearance and your phone remained entirely inert. You fell asleep when the bottle had barely a gulp left to it, deep into alcohol-laced splendour.

Wednesday. Middle of the week, halfway to the weekend though for you it Saturday was rarely a day of rest. After spending your night in a drunken stupour, you felt just as poorly rested as the night before. Your work didn’t help as your eyes drooped and you sucked back your third cup of coffee. The caffeine fueled your lingering paranoia. You wondered at Bucky and Steve’s absence since Monday night. It wasn’t peculiar, they weren’t there every day, but you still felt uneasy.

You drove home in silence. No radio, just the engine and your own thoughts bouncing around. You didn’t speed, patiently waiting at stop lights as you glanced around the busy New York streets. You were feeling wistful. As if mourning your past once and for all. You were so tired, so worn out, it was all sinking it. You didn’t know if you longed for those lonely, boring nights, but the life you lived now made it seem a distant dream.

As you pulled up to your building, you stopped short. A large moving truck sat centre and blocked most of the spots, empty or otherwise. You huffed and parked your car on the street, tiredly grabbing your purse and heading for the salvation of your apartment. The stairs seemed too steep to climb and you were nearly out of breath as you reached the top. Your door was wide open. The hairs on the back of your head stood up and you entered cautiously. You could hear hangers sliding along a metal bar as you entered, the noise of someone rummaging through your closet coming from the bedroom.

Your clothes were stacked on your bed and Bucky was tossing more on the pile. You stared at him and gaped, the rest of your room stripped of all but the furnishings. No…

“What the fuck?” You hissed.

“Finally,” Bucky set more blouses atop the mound, “Start putting these in boxes,” He ordered, merrily continuing his work.

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?” You crossed your arms, your purse sagging annoyingly down to your elbow.

“Moving,” He said as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation.

“Jesus,” You dropped your purse and grabbed a handful of hangers, moving to return them to the closet. Bucky stopped you, his hand on yours as he backed you away from the folding door.

“I was thinking about it,” He took the clothes from you, tossing them without looking on top of the rest. “It’s a hassle having to run over here to get you clothes. In fact, I’ve wasted a lot of time driving back and forth across this city. So I figured it would be easier if you just stayed at my place. Less expensive, too. No rent for you.”

“I’m not doing that,” You growled, “You’re fucking insane.”

He scoffed before carrying on. “And since you’ve shown me how I can’t trust you, it would be all the better to keep an eye on you.” He leaned down, lowering his voice as he spoke in your ear, “Keep you nice and close so you can’t go sneaking around.”

“I won’t go,” You snarled, trying to back away but he latched onto your arms and held you in place.

“Fine, but you won’t have much longer before you have nowhere to go if you do,” He smirked, his expression startling, “I already gave your notice. You’re out at month’s end and the landlord’s set to auction off all your furniture. Proceeds are yours, of course.”

“You’re fucking kidding?” You sputtered angrily, trapped in his clutches.

“When do I fucking joke?” He released you with a shove and turned back to the closet, pausing to bark over his shoulder, “Well, get to work. We still have a lot to go.”

+

tags:  @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95

[melaninmarvelgirl62]

Overworked

Erik Killmonger x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, A Hint of Smut

Word Count: 2k

A/N:  I haven't posted in a while because life has been kicking my ass. This is the first fic that I have actually had the energy to finish and I really hope you guys enjoy it. As always please like, comment, and reblog.

You were pulled from your sleep by a dip in the bed and a low sigh. You cracked your eyes open slowly, blinking a few times, before the world to faded into view. 12:47 AM, the clock on your bedside table read. Gently rubbing your eyes, you sit up, shifting your vision in search of the subject  of your disturbance. You find him, illuminated by the brilliant screen of the muted television you’d fallen asleep on, with a towel around his waist, and a few stray water droplets dripping down his back. He sat, slouched over, on the edge of the bed with his head hung low. Exhausted. He was exhausted... and you hated it. You hated how he’d overwork himself, but you knew how much he loved his work. You got how important his work was and you see how happy it makes him, you simply wished it didn’t take such a toll.  

You flipped back the covers, ignoring the shiver that ran through your body as the cold air hit your t-shirt clad body, and crawled over to him. You press your chest to his back and wrap your arms around his torso. Placing a soft kiss in the crook of his neck, before burying your face there and inhaling deeply, appreciating his fresh scent. Erik let out a soft sigh as his body instantly relaxed into your embrace. He lifted his head and rested it against yours. His hands joined yours where they rested on his stomach. Neither of you said anything, instead you savored the feeling of simply existing with one another. Thoroughly enjoying the luxury of comfortable silence while you breathed each other in. “Hi”, you say breaking the silence. He chuckles lightly, as he pulls his head back to gaze at you with soft eyes, a small smile decorating his face. “Hey, baby girl.” He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” You smile softly, ignoring the tiredness behind his eyes, and place your chin on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”, you dismiss with a small yawn. “How was your day?” You place a kiss on his shoulder before settling yourself more firmly behind him. Pulling your hands from his grasp you begin to gently massage his shoulders. His head fell back onto your chest, and he let out a deep groan, As he relaxed against you once more. “Long. How was yours?” “It was alright. Just another day of your big headed kids driving me insane.” Hushed laughter filled the room as the two of you laugh wholeheartedly, while you worked a particularly tight knot out of his right shoulder. You could only imagine the tension in his back. “Speaking of which, they really missed you at dinner.” “I missed them too.”, he sighed out when the tension in his shoulder was relieved. “Did mommy miss daddy?” His voice drops a few octaves and you let out a small laugh. “Mommy’s used to it.” The words fell out of your mouth, like vomit, before you could stop them. You hoped he would be too tired to notice the slight change in your tone, but you knew better. Even when Erik was exhausted he still managed to notice the littlest things. The air in the room shifted as his body stiffened under your hands. He sat up straight and turned to look at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Doing your best to avoid his eyes, you take a deep breath before bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. You shake your head softly, “It didn’t mean anything.” Erik brought his hand up to your chin and lifted your head in attempts to get you to look at him. Instead, you moved off of the bed, trying feebly to put some distance between you. You didn’t get very far before his arms were around you, pulling you back to him. He turned you to face him and settled you between his legs. Trapping you there with his hands on your hips, “Look at me.”, he commands, gently. You comply, your eyes peering down into his. “Talk to me, baby.” “You work too much.” Erik sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Y/N—“ “I know, okay?”, you cut him off. “The work you do is so important... and even more importantly, I know it means the world to you. It’s why I didn’t wanna say anything, but that was before you started getting home after midnight. Now, I’m just worried that you’re working yourself too hard.” Erik looks up at you, his tired eyes soft but attentive, as your words sink in. “I mean look at you, Erik. Baby, you’re exhausted.” You bring your hands up, allowing your thumbs to gently caress the bags under his eyes, before resting them on the sides of his face. “And I realize that I probably sound a bit selfish, because of all the good you do. But honestly, at this point, I’m really like ‘fuck that shit’.” A low chuckle erupts from from Erik and you smile a little. “I’m serious, E. Our children miss their father, who has not been home to kiss them goodnight in a little over a week now. Which makes it considerably more difficult to put them to bed at night. I miss my husband, who has not properly dicked me down in 16 days. Yes, I’m keeping count. And on top off all that... I’m terrified that you’re going to burn yourself out. I just think you need a break. That’s all.” A finish your monologue, feeling lighter than you have in a while. Erik looks up at you with an adoring smile on his face, before pulling you into his lap. “I love you. You know that, right?” You drape your arms around his neck and roll your eyes, granting him a soft ‘mhmm’ in response, wanting to see where he was going with this. He puts his hand to his chest, clutching his imaginary pearls. “That’s all I get. You not gon’ say it back.” “I’ll say it back as soon as you tell me you’re taking time off” He sighs.“I’ll take time off, I promise... Just not right now.” Erik watches guiltily as your face falls. “Maybe in a month or so when this new program is up and running.”, he adds, trying to soften the blow. You take a deep breath, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Ok.”, you say simply, voice wavering slightly with disappointment. There’s no reason to be disappointed this is exactly what you expected. You make a move to remove yourself from his lap but he tightens his arms around you. “Where you goin’?” “Bed.”, you answer, tiredly, expecting his arms to loosen around you. Instead, he buries his face in your neck and inhales deeply. “Whatever happened to ‘We don’t go to bed angry’.” You can’t help the small smile that plays on your lips as he weaponizes your words against you. His arms loosen a bit as you pull your arms free and wrap them around his neck. “I promise, I’m not angry.”, you say, and he lifts an eyebrow, giving you a look that said he didn’t believe you. You sigh. “I’m a little disappointed and extremely tired, but I’m not angry.” Erik presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. “I’ll make you a promise. When things settle at work, you, me, and the kids will go away for a while. Just the five of us. Deal?” “Where are we gonna go?” “Anywhere you want.” A vacation. Your mind instantly transports you someplace warm and sunny. Where your children can play until their hearts’ are content without doing any damage to your property. Not to mention that fact that you’d get to spend some quality time with your husband. Sounds like heaven “Alright, Stevens. You’ve got yourself a deal.”,you agree, before trying, once more to remove yourself from his lap. You whine out an exasperated ‘nigga let me go’, when his arms don’t budge. He met the annoyed look on your face with a goofy grin and a sharp smack to your ass. You rolled your eyes. Annoying ass nigga. “Tell me you love me and gimme a kiss.”, he ordered. You couldn’t resist the wide grin that spread across your face as you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips after a hushed ‘I love you’ fell from them. “See that wasn’t so hard.” He slaps your ass again before dropping his arms to his sides. You kiss your teeth and mush the side of his head, calling him stupid and making your way to the correct side of the bed. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter as you tuck yourself beneath the covers. It continues as he gets up from the bed and makes his way towards his closet, disappearing inside. You turn on your side and close your eyes, willing sleep to find its way back to you. There’s a slight dip in the bed and a heavy sigh signifying Erik’s return. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you towards him. With your back to his chest he places a kiss to the top of your head. “Baby?”, he calls out, softly. You let out a quiet ‘hmm’ letting him know he had your attention. “Has it really been 16 days?” You giggle at the disbelieving tone he’d  taken and turned on your back to look at him. “It’s after midnight, so technically it’s been 17 days.” You trail kisses up his neck starting at the base of his throat. He hums appreciatively as you place the final kiss on his lips before settling yourself back on your pillows. He looks down at you with a slight frown on his face. “I been neglecting’ you n’ shit.” It wasn’t a question but you responded with a lively ‘mhmm’ anyway. He kissed his teeth and smiled down at you. “My bad, ma.” You look down the where his arm was laid over your stomach and begin tracing lines between his scars. “It’s okay.” “No it’s not.” You bring your eyes up to meet his and smile softly. He leans down and brushes his soft lips against yours before capturing them in a gentle kiss. You sighed softly, your eyes fluttering closed, as your lips work in tandem with his. He slides his tongue into your mouth and you both moan unabashedly, relishing the feeling. Your heart beat heavily in your chest at the distinct ache you felt between your thighs, along with a familiar wetness. He spread your legs, trapping your right leg underneath him. Pushing your T-shirt up your body, he exposes your bare torso. He greedily swallows every whine that slips past your lips as he twists and tugs at your sensitive nipples.  Dragging his hands down your body, squeezing and caressing every curve he could, before settling at the apex of your thighs. You groan into each other as he slowly sinks two thick fingers into you. With his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, he begins to work you. His skilled fingers massaged your g-spot with a finesse that had you lost in your own pleasure before you even realized it. Your back arched from the bed, your fingers gripping the sheets as you drowned in ecstasy. You felt the coil in your belly tighten as you neared your peak... until soft cries begin emitting from the baby monitor. You detach your lips from Erik, who urges you to ignore it, claiming that he’d settle himself back to sleep. He smiles ruefully when the sounds cease.. only to return seconds later with  a vengeance. Kissing his teeth, he begrudgingly removes his fingers from you, and rolls over on his back. You get up from the bed and smooth your shirt over your body. You lean down and place a kiss on your husband’s forehead. Finding your robe, you secure it around you and make your way out of the room. “Welcome home, Daddy.”, you laugh.

A/N: There will probably be about 2 more parts to this if you guys like it. Just say so if you want them and thanks for reading!!!

[legault]

Perfect (Rarepair Week Day 3, Azama/Subaki, Curious)

Title: Perfect

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, vague kink-related content, intentional self-injury (but not in the way that self-harm typically implies), generally unhealthy relationship, non-explicit mentions of sex

Words: 4,665

Summary: Every time Azama catches so much as a glimpse of Subaki, his fingers itch with the desire to take him apart, piece by camellia-scented piece.

An incredibly late contribution for Day 3 of @ferarepair-week2k17-I’m very glad to see that y’all are going to keep reblogging for a week or so because I still am trying to finish out all 7 days but I’m several days behind...whoops.

AO3 Link

Whenever people ask Azama why he decided to become a monk and devote his life to healing others, he tells them it’s because people say the most fascinating things when they think they’re about to die. Most people think it’s a dark joke and laugh uncomfortably, not realizing til much later that he’s entirely serious.

When he first meets Subaki, Subaki doesn’t laugh, just looks at him quizzically, like Azama is an animal that he’s seen before but he just can’t remember the name of.

“This is where most people laugh.” Azama supplies helpfully.

“Why would I laugh?” Subaki says, voice polished smooth as rocks in a stream and flowing like honey. “I didn’t think it was funny.”

Azama’s grin grows even wider. “Oh, it’s going to be very fun to know you.”

“I’m assuming you’re trying to say that it’s nice to meet me,” Subaki’s voice is the epitome of polite disinterest and Azama can’t wait to change that. “And for politeness’ sake, I say likewise to you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be off.”

Subaki retreats without so much as a glance back at Azama, leaving the scent of camellia blossoms in his wake.

Azama’s mother had been a basara and his father had been a clockmaker; their marriage was peaceful but not particularly joyful and Azama figured out from a young age that they stayed together because it was easier than starting over.

From his mother, Azama had inherited his mild talent for magic and his mild talent for lances. She tried to teach him both and he took to neither, remaining just mediocre enough that she eventually gave up on trying to make him care. His becoming a monk had been as much teenage rebellion against her idea of what he should be able to do as it had been anything else.

Azama had also inherited his father’s insatiable curiosity and propensity for taking things apart to see what makes them tick, the only difference being that Azama found humans infinitely more fascinating than clocks.

Getting under people’s skin in order to get to the machinery underneath was his dearest hobby, nay, his calling, and he never met someone who’s mind he wanted to get into more than Subaki. Every time Azama catches so much as a glimpse of Subaki, his fingers itch with the desire to take him apart, piece by camellia-scented piece.

“You’ve really got the perfect situation figures out with this whole perfection deal.” Azama says conversationally, without preamble. “If anyone ever points out your imperfections, you can brush them off because they are imperfect by sheer virtue of not being you. It’s quite clever, really.”

Subaki looks up from grooming his pegasus, annoyed. “Do you have a point, Azama?”

“Just making conversation. Since you’re perfect, I figured you would be a great conversation partner.”

“I am.” Subaki says. “Perhaps you’re just not cultured enough to appreciate it.”

“Arrogant and rude?” Azama tries to feign shock, but he’s enjoying himself too much. “Doesn’t sound very perfect to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with confidence and a desire to be treated with respect.” Subaki says, brows furrowed.

“Ah ah, careful! If you leave your face like that, you’ll get wrinkles.” Azama warns gleefully.

Subaki’s face twitches as his desire to maintain his looks conflicts with his absolute annoyance with the entire situation and Azama can’t help laughing out loud.

“Well, I’m off to minister to the weary and cure the sick, but this has been lovely.” He says, giving Subaki a jaunty wave. “I’m still not convinced of the perfection of your conversational skills, so I hope we can chat again later.”

Azama asks almost every member of the Hoshidan court about Subaki. It’s a mixed bag in terms of results; Saizo looks at him as if he’s insane and also potentially suicidal, Oboro sneers and insults his hair, and Hana almost decks him, but he scrapes together some information from Hinata and Orochi.

Hinoka calls him in to ask him about it, looking weary as a mother with too many disobedient children. It is one of Azama’s favorite expressions, second only to her defiant rage.

“Why are you interrogating the whole court about Subaki?” She asks, face pinched in anticipation of the answer.

“I’m providing him with spiritual counseling.” Azama says. The more blatant the lie, the more likely it is to be believed. “The more I know about him, the better I can help him.”

Hinoka looks at him with a face that is part-reproach, part-disbelief, part-throwing her hands up and ridding herself of any responsibility for the situation. It is Azama’s fifth favorite Hinoka expression.

“Did anyone believe that load of pegasus shit?”

“Hinata.” Azama says, and Hinoka rolls her eyes because of course he did. “And Setsuna, of course. Sakura probably would have but I didn’t bother her out of respect for you, and Oboro might have believed me but she didn’t listen to me long enough to find out.”

“If you talked to all the retainers, you’re lucky you got out unscathed. I wouldn’t be responsible for your recovery if Hana put a hole in you.”

“Ah, but then you’d have to find a new retainer,” Azama says. “And I’m irreplaceable.”

“Unfortunately.” Hinoka mumbles, under her breath.

Azama finds out that Subaki had a younger sister who had thought that he could do no wrong, that he was perfect. They had been very close, but she had been killed along with his parents when their village was attacked by bandits. Subaki was the only one who survived long enough to be rescued by the Hoshidan sky knights. Without a home to go back to, he decided to join the sky knights and eventually worked his way up to being a royal retainer.

“You don’t have to worry about being perfect for your sister, you know.” Azama tells Subaki. He’s found that starting conversations with pleasantries does nothing but waste valuable time before Subaki storms off, annoyed.

His words have the desired effect. Subaki stiffens instantly, tension filling his frame.

“What are you talking about?” Subaki asks, voice low and dangerous.

“Your sister. I’m guessing your little perfection thing comes from her idolizing you when she was alive. You feel guilty that you couldn’t protect her and so you strive for perfection to live up to her expectations and to avoid the same thing happening to Lady Sakura, who you view as a proxy for your dead sister.” Azama says, breezily as if he were discussing the weather. “You shouldn’t worry about it though, since you’re sister’s dead and couldn’t care less about whether you’re perfect or not.”

“I prefer to think that my sister is still with me.” Subaki says, body still on high alert.

“You can prefer to think anything you want, but it won’t change the reality of the situation.” Azama says. “Dead is dead is dead. No point moping about it.”

“Aren’t you a monk?” Subaki asks, incredulous. “You’re supposed to believe in the afterlife and bringing peace into people’s lives, not taking it away.”

“Well, the church and I have a few fundamental disagreements, but that’s ok.” Azama says. “I took the job anyway because I look good in the robes.”

Subaki looks at him incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.” Azama replies cheerfully.

“I hate you.” Subaki says, voice much more emotional than his normal smooth baritone.

“I think I can live with that. It means that you’re thinking about me.” Azama says, and leaves Subaki glaring and clenching his fists.

Azama has always known how to wield a lance, having been taught by his mother at an early age. But he finds inflicting violence much more boring than watching others do it and then healing them so they can inflict more violence, so when he becomes a monk he embraces the nonviolent lifestyle and pretends to be completely inept with weapons.

“Which end is the stabby end?” He asks Hinoka, holding one of her javelins upside down and tilting it like he would a staff.

“Don’t play dumb.” Hinoka rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen you cleaning my weapons, I can tell you know how to fight.”

“Perhaps.” Azama admits, thrusting with the blunt end of the javelin. “But I’ve taken a solemn vow of nonviolence, so cleaning lances is all I will do.”

“So you’re saying you’d prefer to let people die protecting you rather than fight alongside them?”

“You could interpret it that way, I suppose.” Azama says. “Ideally, they won’t die because I’ll heal them.”

He extends the javelin like he would a heal staff, but the javelin is much longer and the sharp end nicks his leg.

“Whoops.” Azama looks completely unconcerned that he’s bleeding onto his robes. Hinoka has that dumbfounded look on again, the one that she wears whenever she’s asking herself why the hell she choose such worthless retainers.

It’s an expression Azama sees a lot.

“Fine, have it your way.” She says, giving up. “But if we ever get into a situation where things are so dire that we need every last man, I want you to pick up a lance right side up and fight by my side.”

“Sure.” Azama agrees. “But only if I get to pretend that I’ve suddenly learned how to use lances thanks to the magic of master seals. I don’t get many chances to show off my theatrical ability.”

“Whatever.” Hinoka says. “As long as you fight with us afterwards, I couldn’t care less how you reveal it.”

Subaki hasn’t been talking to him lately, and Azama is mildly put out, even though he most likely deserves it. Luckily, Azama doesn’t believe in absolute morality; he also doesn’t believe in fate, which means that he has no problem tracking Subaki down instead of leaving it up to chance.

“Let’s spar.” Azama says as he walks up behind Subaki, who is grooming his pegasus.

Subaki jumps in surprise, turns around to glare at Azama. “What, are you going to hit me with a bloom festal?”

“No, with lances.” Azama says.

Subaki stares at him incredulously, a look that Azama has grown quite familiar with. Luckily, he likes it. “You don’t use lances.” He says, talking slowly like Azama is a child, or a very, very stupid adult.

“Then it should be easy for you to win.”

Subaki hesitates, thinking it over. “Fine.” He eventually agrees. “But only because I need to blow off steam, and you can’t get mad if I hurt you.”

"Same to you.” Azama shoots back.

Subaki leaves his pegasus behind as they head to the training grounds, because even though he is willing to fight someone who doesn’t know how to use a lance, he’s not willing to do so on a pegasus, because that would just be unfair. They both select practice lances and square off against each other, Subaki holding his lance fiercely with perfect form, while Azama waves it around like a flag.

“Ready?” Azama calls out.

“If you are.” Subaki says, and charges.

Much to Subaki’s surprise, Azama blocks his thrust, although he looks like he barely moved. Taking advantage of Subaki’s confusion, he counterstrikes, pushes him backwards. Subaki does not stay stunned for long but the few minutes for which he is are incredibly satisfying.

They trade blows back and forth; it is a good fight, but once Subaki recovers from the shock that Azama does know his way around a lance after all, it becomes clear that Subaki is still the more skilled of the two. He pushes Azama back until his back touches the wall, disarms him with a quick twist of his lance, and presses the end of his lance to Azama’s throat.

“I win.” Subaki says, breathing a little hard.

“Well,” Azama says, pushing the lance away with his hand as casually as if he were swatting a fly. “I suppose you had to at least once.”

“I’m surprised you’re not secretly an archer.” Subaki grumbles as he puts away his lance. “It would be just like you to want to bring me down to your level.”

Azama smiles, showing all his teeth. “I don’t need arrows to do that.”

Every few days, Azama gets bored and bugs Subaki about his perfection, listing ridiculous things upon ridiculous things in an attempt to make Subaki admit that he’s not perfect. Azama has little hope of succeeding, but the game itself is quite fun.

“We know that you take meticulous care of your hair and body.” Azama says. “And we know that you are a first-class Hoshidan Sky Knight. But there’s still so much about you that we don’t know.”

"What’s your point?” Subaki says curtly, unsure where this is going but sure that he is not going to like it.

“I just think it’s interesting that you claim to be perfect, but don’t give us any proof other than that you think you are, and since you’re perfect you can’t be wrong.” Azama shrugs. “It’s a little thing called circular logic, but since you’re perfect, I’m guessing you already know that.”

“Ok, name one flaw of mine.” Subaki challenges.

“That’s not really a fair challenge, because I haven’t gotten the chance to verify your qualities firsthand.” Azama says, voice deceptively light. “I know that you’re a skilled fighter, because we’ve sparred. I know that you have impressive social skills because I’ve observed you talking with others. I know that you have a beautiful face and a very attractive body, because I have eyes. But I don’t know whether you know how to use that body, so it wouldn’t really be fair to call you perfect, now would it?”

“What are you saying?” Subaki grits out, voice strained. “That you won’t admit that I’m perfect unless I fuck you?”

“Well, I’d personally prefer that I be the one to fuck you.” Azama says, casually as if he were discussing the weather. “But in essence, yes.”

“You’re crazy.” Subaki says.

Azama flashes a smile at him. “So I’ve been told.”

“Why do you think,” Subaki says desperately. “That I care what you think about me at all?”

“Maybe you don’t.” Azama shrugs again. “It’s just an offer.”

Subaki stares at him, fists clenched, thinking so hard that Azama can picture his brain working, gears whirring like the insides of a beautiful, beautiful clock that’s been wound much too tight. He doesn’t seem to be sure who he’s more concerned about arguing with, Azama or himself.

“Fine.” Subaki finally says, looking at Azama defiantly.

“What what that?”

“Fine.” Subaki repeats. “I’ll do it. But only to prove you wrong.”

To his surprise, Azama bursts out laughing, loud peals of laughter ringing out through the camp. Subaki looks around frantically, hoping that Azama’s cackling has not drawn the attention of anyone nearby.

“What’s so funny?” Subaki hisses.

“You never stop surprising me.” Azama replies. “I didn’t think you’d actually be willing to let me fuck you just to prove a point.”

“Maybe that shows that you should stop underestimating me.”

“Maybe. Well, this has been fun, but you can stop with the false bravado, I’m not going to call your bluff today.” Azama says. “I wouldn’t fuck someone who’s only agreed because he feels like he was cornered.”

“So you were the one bluffing!” Subaki exclaims, stuck somewhere between frustration and mad, wild relief.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’d be happy to carry through on my end of the deal, but as a man of the cloth, I do have a moral code to uphold, and consent is a very important part of that.” Azama grins toothily. “If you ever decide you want to take me up on the offer of your own free will, you know where I live.”

“Your morals force you to respect consent when it comes to sex, but they don’t prevent you from trying to psychologically torture everyone you meet?”

“What can I say?” Azama says. “The gods move in mysterious ways, and I am but their humble servant.”  

Their battles grow fiercer and more frequent and Hinoka tells Azama that it is time for him to start pulling his weight and using an actual weapon like any other decent retainer, tossing a master seal at him and warning him not to make too big of a scene.

Azama takes full advantage of his fake class change, casting a faulty heal staff to create a burst of light as he pretends to activate the master seal. Before the light subsides, he slips the master seal into his robe and grabs a lance he’d stashed nearby.

“Oh my, I suddenly know how to use a lance!” Azama exclaims, making a few experimental thrusts. “How lovely!”

Subaki peers at him suspiciously from his position nearby. Azama may have chosen this location strategically, knowing that Subaki always cleans his lance hear at this time of day, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Why didn’t your clothes change when you used the master seal?” Subaki asks loudly.

Azama flashes Subaki a bright smile. “Maybe it’s because I’m already perfect, just the way I am.”

“Help me practice.” Azama tells Subaki, interrupting an incredibly boring conversation he and Hana were having about the merits of different types of metal used in forging weapons.

“You do realize that it’s considered good manners to greet someone before launching into a conversation?” Subaki says dryly, unamused. Hana glares at him.

“Manners are a construct created by humans attempting to bring order into a chaotic world by imposing arbitrary moral values onto it.” Azama replies. “But if it makes you feel better, good afternoon Subaki, I hope that you are faring well on this lovely wartime day. If it pleases you, I would greatly appreciate your help in practicing for the next battle.”

Hana looks like she is about to yell at him for deliberately ignoring her, but Subaki puts a hand on her shoulder and instead of yelling, she turns her glare onto Subaki, shrugs his hand off her shoulder, and flounces away.

Subaki looks at Hana’s retreating back, looks back at Azama, looks at Hana again. Azama figures there’s about a 50% chance that he can goad Subaki into doing what he wants, but that might get lower if Subaki’s chivalry thing kicks in.

“Fine.” Subaki says. “Let me go get my lance.”

“Only,” He adds quickly. “Because I’m angry at you and trying to stab you in the name of sparring sounds quite appealing right now.”

Azama follows Subaki to his tent and then to the clearing that the troops like to spar in, letting Subaki get out his lance and drop into fighting stance before saying. “Actually, I didn’t need your help with lances. I need your help to practice healing.”

Subaki looks like he wants to hurl his lance at Azama like a javelin. “What.” He says, intonation more like a threat than a question.

“Healing takes practice too, in case you didn’t realize.” Azama says. “A lot of non-healers think that the rod does all the work, but that’s not true. It takes concentration for the wielder to effectively channel his or her magic through the rod.”

“That doesn’t explain why you need me.”

“I can’t practice healing without wounds, and I can’t heal myself. It’s the rule, you know.” Azama says.

“What rule?” Subaki asks, suspicious.

“The rule of magic, of course.” Azama says. His moral code does not forbid lying, as long as the lies are so blatant that the listener is shocked into believing them.

“The rule of magic...” Subaki repeats incredulously, then shakes his head, deciding that it is not worth it. “So let me get this straight. You want me to injure myself so you can practice healing? Why on earth would I agree to this?”

“Because without practice, I cannot learn to heal more effectively. And my healing skills could make the difference between life and death on the battlefield. Your death, perhaps. Or even the death of Lady Sakura.” Azama says. “If you’d prefer, I can be the one to injure you.”

“No, I’ll do it myself.” Subaki replies quickly, then realizes what he has just said. “Wait, I never said I would do this at all!”

“I believe you just did. You can back out if you want, but I don’t know if that would be very perfect of you.”

Subaki is far too easy to back into a corner, and Azama loves it about him.

Subaki inspects his lance, as if trying to figure out the easiest way to cause an injury without it being too painful.

Azama hands him a knife. “Try this, it might be easier.”

Subaki takes it without meeting Azama’s eyes, holds it over his left forearm and after a moment’s hesitation, draws a shallow gash down his arm, wincing as the knife touches his skin.

Subaki stares at the thin red line as blood begins to well up, barely acknowledging Azama until he murmurs a few words and waves his bloom festal, making the wound close up before Subaki’s eyes, blood seeming to evaporate into thin air.

“This is wrong.” Subaki says, voice sounding far away. “This is not normal.”

“Sure it is.” Azama says. “All you have to do is redefine what you think is normal. Now, again.”

Subaki repeats the motion on the other arm this time, and Azama heals him so quickly that Subaki barely sees any red.

“That was too easy. Do another spot this time, and try to make it deeper.”

Subaki obeys as if entranced, rolling up one leg of his light cotton trousers to reveal the skin of his calf. He brings the knife to his skin again, and Azama can tell by the twitching in his face that he is pushing harder.

Azama heals him again, and Subaki moves onto the other leg without prompting, looking only at the wounds as they open and close without sparing a glance for Azama.

They continue the pattern of harming and healing several times, Subaki creating wounds and Azama making them disappear.

How symbolic. Azama thinks. Or maybe ironic.

With every glow of the bloom festal Subaki looks more and more distant, and Azama thinks that although his experiment has been quite fruitful, it may be time to bring Subaki back to earth.

“Only one more.” Azama says, and Subaki starts at the sound of his voice. “Let me do it this time.”

Wordlessly, Subaki hands him the knife.

Subaki’s shirt has a lower neckline than he usually wears, leaving his collarbone exposed. Azama chooses that spot to place the knife and Subaki shivers when he feels it touch his skin, then grows deathly still as Azama opens up a new wound, longer and deeper than the previous ones.

He puts down the knife and picks up the bloom festal, but pauses before casting the spell, gazing at Subaki as an artist might gaze at their work. Subaki does not shirk from his gaze this time, closes his eyes and runs his fingers along the wound as it closes.

Subaki does not open his eyes until the entire gash is healed.

“Will that leave a scar?” He asks, trying to get a good look at the skin that was just healed.

“No. For a wound that minor, an experienced healer like myself should have to problem healing without leaving a scar.”

“Good.” Subaki says, rubbing his fingers over his collarbone and looking disappointed.

“What do you think love is?” Azama asks Subaki, without preamble. It is a trite question with many stupid answers and few good ones, but Azama finds it interesting to hear which stupid answer people choose.

“Love is when you care for someone despite their flaws.” Subaki answers almost instantly.

It is a trite answer, but it is delicious anyways, and Azama savors it.

“But then, if you have no flaws, how will you ever know if anyone truly loves you?” Azama asks.

Subaki does not answer, and Azama reflects that Subaki’s flaws are what he likes the best.

The battles grow harsher and Azama’s hands become more accustomed to the feel of his lance than of his rod, although they certainly have need of both. Everyone is weary, and when Azama tries to goad Subaki into bickering with him, Subaki only glares.

“Be careful, you’ll get wrinkles!” Azama calls to him, enjoying the sight of Subaki’s furrowed brow.

But Subaki doesn't respond, just turns away in the direction of his tent, and Azama is much more bothered than he has any right to be.

During their next battle, Subaki is struck across the cheek with a shuriken coated with some kind of poison. The shuriken itself barely hurts him, but the poison makes his muscles seize up, and only the combination of Azura’s song and Azama’s staff restore him to a somewhat normal condition.

After the battle, Subaki glances into the reflection of Benny’s armor by accident and sees that the shuriken left a scar. He makes a strangled sound as his hand flies to his cheek, ignoring Benny’s concern.

Stunned, Subaki stables his pegasus, sheds half his armor, stares at himself in the small mirror he keeps in his tent, sheds the other half of his armor, breaks the mirror and does not clean up the pieces, and marches angrily to Azama’s tent.

Azama opens the tent flap before Subaki reaches it and for once, neither of them say anything as Subaki storms in, grabs Azama’s forearms, digging his nails in much too hard, and puts his mouth over Azama’s like a plea.

Even now, Subaki kisses gently and with refinement, the very epitome of a gentleman. It would be perfect for some youngest daughter of a noble family wanting to swept off her feet by a dashing night, but Azama is no blushing maiden. He does not like the way that Subaki kisses and so he does not let Subaki kiss him for long, choosing instead to move his mouth to Subaki’s neck and bite down, hard.

Subaki gasps breathlessly and his entire body shivers, and he lets Azama bite him again, lets Azama draw him down onto his tiny cot and undress him, lets Azama lay him bare and fuck him.

Azama peels off Subaki’s clothes meticulously and with mechanical precision, and Subaki feels his layers removed one by one until all that remains is the clockwork within, whirring madly as his heartbeat quickens every time Azama touches him.

Azama takes him apart with every touch, with deft fingers and chapped lips and sharp teeth unraveling more and more of the identity that Subaki has spent years weaving, and Subaki cannot help but cry out for more.

As he fucks Subaki, Azama caresses his face, surprisingly gentle, and whispers that he is so good, that he is perfect, and Subaki shudders under his touch because he knows that it is a lie.

“What about you? What do you think love is?” Subaki asks out of the blue one day, picking up a thread of conversation that has been hanging loose for weeks.

“If you even believe in love, that is.” He adds.

Azama considers it. “I believe in love, I’m just not sure it’s a concept that applies to me.”

Subaki’s face is contemplative, free of relief or disappointment.

“But if I did want to engage in the silly practice of defining abstract concepts.” Azama adds. “I think I’d say that love is when you never get bored.”

Subaki is naked when they next hear the horns that signal an ambush; he grabs his pants and Azama tosses him a shirt and they rush out of the tent, weapons in hand. Even disheveled and disoriented and pegasus-less, Subaki rushes to the front lines, recklessly brave and bravely reckless.

Azama hangs back and watches him charge into the fray, hair full of tangles, neck covered in bite marks, and mind full of Azama.

Perfect. He thinks.