#but i have been increasingly distressed about ao3 lol

[supervillain-smut]

Brahms Heelshire x Reader Smut

Here you go, stinky wall man fans (including me lol). Under the cut, since this isn’t some people’s thing, and this is long. Reader is implied afab.

AO3 Link

Brahms had mysteriously been absent the entire day, leaving you alone to take care of his doll counterpart once again.

He would occasionally have reclusive days, although it was becoming rarer ever since he'd revealed himself to you, so it was odd he'd have another one so soon; his last one was only a week ago. You worried he was backtracking out of anxiety when you turned the corner and he was standing in the hallway.

"Oh! There you are, Brahms. I was worried about you today, is everything alright?" You tilted your head and took a step towards him, reminding yourself to keep your hands at your sides so you didn't startle him.

He stood there perfectly still, and you wondered if this was a prank; if it wasn't him at all until his gaze lowered to the floor. In distress or thought you couldn't tell, so you walked up to him, stopping a foot away from him.

He closed the gap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head, breathing deeply. He seemed to relax all at once, his stiff and unsure posture immediately shifted to a loose one, content to just stand there with you in his arms.

"Aw, hello Brahms. Did you miss me?" He nodded his head. "Is something bothering you, baby boy?" You began cooing at him, rubbing his back and pulling him impossibly closer to you, and his grip on you tightened in return as he shook his head.

"You just wanted a hug?" He shook his head. You were confused at his response. If he didn't want a hug, what did he want, then? You pieced it together when he dipped his head and let his hands slide lower so his face was in your neck and his hands hovering just above your ass.

"Brahms, what are you doing? Did you ask if you could do that?" He shook his head, acknowledging the fact he was breaking the rules about touching where he wasn't supposed to without asking.

"Brahms, let go of me, try again, and ask this time." You could hear his breathing become increasingly unsteady; he was having a mental battle with himself on whether or not he should listen to the rules you set down, not his, or if he should disobey and take what he wanted.

You waited a minute before you urged him again, more commanding this time. "Brahms, let go of me, back up, and ask if you can touch me like that." Still, he didn't budge, in fact, his grip tightened almost imperceivably if you weren't paying attention, his breathing growing more frustrated; you had to put him back in his place and soon before he made up his mind on misbehaving.

"Brahms, back up. Now." You said as seriously and commanding as you could without yelling at him, and your blood turned to ice at his response.

"No." He practically growled the word, its meaning clear; he'd made up his mind. You don't dare fight back, but rather ignore him, hoping he'd recognize that you were angry with him by letting your arms fall to your sides and leaning away from him as much as his grip would allow.

You did your best, really you did, to ignore him. Even as he lifted his mask up just enough to expose his mouth to place wet and warm kisses on your neck, even as he attempted to slide his knee between your thighs, even as he insistently pressed himself against you. You didn't budge on your decision to be angry, even when his voice cracked as he attempted to make you feel bad by using his little voice.

"Kiss? Pretty Y/N, kiss?" He tried to kiss your mouth, but you continued to turn your face away from him. He continued to ignore you ignoring him, impossible to dissuade when he got like this, but you had made a mistake.

You noticed all too late, when he realized he had full access to your neck and shoulder, and began placing open-mouthed kisses all along, nibbling and biting occasionally, leaving bruises you'd have to explain to the grocery boy, his name forgotten at the moment as unfortunately your body and mind were no longer focused on the same task, your knees feeling weak and a familiar warmth making it's way south.

The mask pressed against your face uncomfortably, but he persisted in getting his way, and when he had waited long enough and knew he was winning, he swiftly placed his thigh between your legs and rubbed it against your core, causing you to let out an accidental moan of surprise.

He took that as a sign he'd won as he cupped your ass and lifted you, forcing you to wrap your legs around him out of fear he'd drop you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

"Brahms!" You let out a panicked cry of his name, and received a whimper in return, Brahms's mask now back in its place as he ground himself against you, burying his face in your neck, moaning, gasping, and whimpering as you relaxed into the scenario.

This wasn't the first time you and Brahms have had anything sexual happen between you, but it was only the second time this sort of temper tantrum had occurred; he usually listened to your rules, but not today it would seem, so you made yourself comfortable and went with it, per usual.

"Alright, fine, Brahms. This is what you want?" He furiously nodded his head, pressing the mask into your shoulder even harder as he bucked harder against your clothed cunt.

"I can't tell you you're a good boy just yet, Brahms. You're being awfully selfish." As soon as the sentence left your lips, Brahms put you down, only for a moment as he practically tore your pants off of you and picked you back up, putting you right back where you were as you held onto him tightly for a moment as he freed his throbbing cock from its confines and pulling your panties to the side as he rubbed the head of his cock along your folds, brushing your clit.

You tipped your head back and had a wicked idea now that he was listening. "Wait, Brahms, not yet. Keep doing that, good boy, that feels so good. Just like that, baby boy." He buried his face in your neck again and whined. You were going to see how long you could hold him here, a little payback for not being polite and listening.

He moved to press in, but you put your hand on his hip and held him back, much to his chagrin. "Not yet, Brahms, I'm not ready yet, keep going." He listened to you and continued to rub the head of his cock along your folds, eventually pushing up to cover his member in your slick. He tried again, and again you pushed him back and told him you weren't ready.

He groaned and lightly stomped a foot, beginning to pull a proper temper tantrum; he was losing his patience, and your hold on the leash was slipping. When he ruts into you again and felt nothing but slick, his eyes met yours and you could see the pieces fall into place in his head as he growled and pushed himself in, meeting little resistance as you cried out at the blissful stretch.

Once he was settled completely in the warmth of your walls, he panted for a couple of moments before speaking in his normal voice. "You lied to me. That wasn't nice, or fair!" His volume raised a little near the end of his sentence, and you gave him a playful look, smirking at him.

That was enough for him to start thrusting harshly into you as you keened at the sudden motion and pleasure coursing through you.

Brahms moaned and whimpered into your shoulder as he started to thrust into you so hard you physically moved in time with his thrusts.

You came not long after that, toes curling, your eyes seeing stars, and crying out his name. "Oh god, Brahms! Good boy, oh, such a good boy! Yes! Brahms!"

He moaned loudly, his hips stuttering momentarily before he set his hands on your hips, slamming you down onto him, eventually making you come again, your nails biting into his shoulders.

You were dazed and confused when he stopped until you realized he'd remembered one rule and pulled out before coming all over both your torsos, watery jets of cum seeming endless before he fell to his knees with you landing in his lap as he panted heavily, almost gasping for air.

You sat there a little while, not sure you could move as you pet his hair and kissed his head and the forehead of his mask.

"Are you going to follow my rules next time, Brahms?" "Yes. I promise."

[moondragon618]

Hi! You just reblogged a comic of mine which was very cool! And I have actually been admiring your writing over on ao3 for a while now! You are very cool!

Anyway, there's an AU by @bludoby called Eburnean Tommy where basically all the ping-ponging from Limbo to back at the courtesy of Dream has turned Tommy into a lifeless husk, his hair is completely white (hence the name), he never talks, constantly has a single unchanging wide eyed look of fear on his face, shows no reaction to pain or *any* self-preservation and generally has about as much liveliness as a fucking bowling pin.

I've seen *a ton* of characters reaction to Tommy's new state (a good chunk of which I really like), but I've yet to see one of Dream, especially the ''obsessive'' take on Dream. Since, I imagine him to view Tommy's original personality as basically his only reason to live at this point and how horrifying these personality changes would be to him, I can see him at first being in denial thinking Tommy's just acting, but then afterwards essentially having a fucking mental breakdown. (Possibly killing Tommy and then himself)

What do you think would be your take?

Hello and thank you??? I'm glad to hear you like my writing so much <3 Your comic was very cool too btw lol :)

And firstly yesss I'm familiar with that AU and I love it lol <3

Secondly oh my god this concept to me is like the absolute worst possible case scenario for c!Dream- worse than the possibility of never gaining immortality and c!Tommy dying permanently, and if it were to happen after they're both immortal, worse even than Tommy somehow dying permanently and leaving him alone forever. Because Tommy is still there- he's just (in Dream's eyes, even though he'd be in heavy denial of it) irreparably broken beyond repair, an empty, hollow shell with basically nothing of him left.

You see, if it were just Tommy somehow dying permanently, then there would still be the possibility of the two of them reuniting in the afterlife- not ideal, sure, but it's still at least a chance that Dream won't be alone for the rest of eternity. And if it were to happen after they're immortal (very unlikely, it would literally take the power of XD or another God powerful enough to override the revival book completely and permanently), even then there would still be the hope that he could potentially get his Tommy back, even if it takes the rest of time :)

But this- this would be an undeniable point of no return. I could see it happening pretty easily as a result of Dream losing his temper and leaving Tommy in limbo a little too long- the isolation and sensory deprivation of Tommy's limbo would certainly do a number on him considering how sensitive he is to those things, especially after months and months or even years of it :) Your idea of what would happen is actually very close to mine lol- Dream would probably stay in denial for a very long time, at first telling himself that Tommy just needs a little time to recover and being extra soft and affectionate with him while deep down growing more and more distressed at Tommy's complete lack of reaction. Soon after, he'd start accusing Tommy of faking it, getting more and more desperate until he starts escalating into increasingly more and more horrific tortures just to try and get even a single reaction- only to get nothing.

Dream lives for Tommy's reactions to things, both positive and negative, so this would truly be torture for him. And the idea of his precious, beloved little Tommy being well and truly gone forever, with no chance of ever getting him back or even seeing him again by any means- that would be far worse than even the worst torture imaginable :)

And the fact that he can see his Tommy, right there and alive and breathing, makes it so, so much worse. Because it isn't really his Tommy. It's just an empty, soulless, hollowed out shell, a mockery of his precious and beloved little brother, his whole world, his everything :) :) :)

Dream would have countless mental breakdowns, probably on the regular. Tommy would see him cry and sob and beg and plead to him in pure desperation just like he often did to Dream, having no reaction to any of it. Perhaps being so heavily dissociated that he's not even aware of it. Meanwhile, Dream gets to feel what is quite possibly the closest thing he's ever felt to actual remorse :)

If they're not immortal, then Dream either remains in denial desperately trying to fix him until they both die, or he snaps first, killing Tommy and then himself.

If they are immortal, it's even worse- Dream could keep up his denial for hundreds or even thousands of years, if not longer, just going back and forth between desperately trying to fix Tommy and putting him through horrific tortures trying to get a reaction. Even if he snaps and kills Tommy with the intent to not bring him back, he can't kill himself because only Tommy can kill him.

Eventually, the loneliness would just make him crack and bring back Tommy again- which is almost worse, and so the cycle begins anew :) Maybe at some point he'd just go full Emperor Belos trying to find a way to recreate his beloved little brother, but to no avail- even the most perfect recreation is just not the same, because it's not his Tommy. It's not the Tommy who chased after him for his discs and fought wars against him and bonded with him in exile and prison and helped him find immortality- and so he always ends up going back to the original Tommy, even if the original Tommy is long gone. Even so, the empty husk that looks so much like him is the closest thing Dream has now.

And after all, they always end up finding their way back to each other, one way or another, don't they? :) :) :)

It would truly be a living hell of his own making :) His only option at that point would be to literally attain godhood somehow (which I like to think would be a lot more difficult for him without Tommy to keep him (mostly) stable lol) and basically force him back to "normal" through a combination of emotional manipulation (in the literally controlling Tommy's emotions sense lol) and altering his memories so that he doesn't remember what broke him and every horrific thing that came after, and even that doesn't mean he won't still slip back into that state again from time to time.

So yeah that's my take ig :) And thank you again btw this was such a cool idea to think about lol <3 And it gave me a chance to put c!Dream through The Horrors for once which was really fun lmao :)

[alifeasvivid]

Gratitude, Episode 13 of The Thief of Spades Season 2

Welp. >.>

Chapter rating: Explicit Tags: blow job, feels, Arthur still has a gunshot wound and he says bloody hell unironically Summary: Arthur demands to know more about Alfred. Alfred tells him a story and then inflicts some “gratitude” on him. Word count: ~4300 (almost double the length of a normal chapter you’re welcome >.> LOL)

Read here on AO3 Thief of Spades Masterpost

As the sun rises on the bare skin of his back and the disheveled mess that is his hair, Arthur groans face first into the pillow when he realizes he hasn’t properly slept at all. His nerves hadn’t let him do more than doze on and off. He takes a deep breath to try and bring some clarity to his mind.

He’s so in love with you…

The euphoria he had felt upon hearing Gilbert’s boyfriend say that has worn off and sunk into his stomach where it just gnaws at him. 

The sheer, staggering coincidence that Alfred would be in contact with Matthew, Arthur’s partner’s boyfriend, is indeed so staggering that a cynical, bitter part of Arthur wonders if it is, in fact, not a coincidence at all.

But Alfred and Matthew do look so alike and Alfred must be more interested in that than toying with Arthur to a degree which would be well beyond anything he has done thus far.

The gnawing turns into a flutter of anxious anticipation as Arthur sits up and checks his phone. He replies to Gilbert’s concerned texts to say he is fine, the bandages have held up well, and the painkillers have done their job. Arthur knows Alfred will appear very soon and he hasn’t yet settled on how he will react, what he’ll say.

He examines the bandages, only a small spot of pink is showing through. He’s sore, but it’s nowhere close to the worst pain he has ever felt.

As if on cue, the window slides open, though it should technically only open from the inside and there stands Alfred, looking sheepish. “Hi,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically meek.

“Good morning,” Arthur responds in a neutral tone, though his emotions are anything but. Alfred is lovely as always and Arthur’s heart wants to pull him into his arms and kiss the breath out of him, but his mind manages to overrule it long enough to remember that he is truly upset with Alfred. It needs to be addressed.

Alfred slides onto the bed, sitting close to Arthur without touching him, feeling shy. Arthur’s voice is even, but his stare is something else entirely. That look, the one that makes Alfred certain that Arthur can see right through him, cuts him even deeper than usual. Alfred has done something wrong, but he isn’t exactly sure what and it puts him on edge. “Um. How are you?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow. “Well. I will say I’ve been better,” he gestures to the bandages and suddenly Alfred’s obliviousness, however inadvertent, makes it hard to contain his annoyance.

“Oh shit, Arthur!” Alfred eyes widen, he reaches out his fingers as if to touch, but then withdraws. He examines the gauze where blood is showing through. “What happened?”

Arthur smiles wryly. “Apparently, you missed the bit where I said don’t shoot me.” In his head, it sounded like good natured teasing, but Alfred’s increasingly distressed expression tells him it didn’t come out that way.

“Fuck… fuck, Arthur, I—” Alfred can’t breathe as memories of someone else altogether slam into his brain like a car hitting a brick wall. He hiccups, though no tears fall. Nausea threatens to overtake him and he puts his hand on his stomach. “I’m so…” hiccup, “so sorry, I swear I didn’t—” He wants to cry and fling himself at Arthur and kiss him, but the stern look on Arthur’s face keeps him planted where he is.

Arthur breathes in the apology, exhales exasperation tinged with fondness. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. You weren’t even aiming, I told you not to.”

Alfred breathes in relief.

Arthur could let it end there. He really could. But he would only grow to resent Alfred and he doesn’t want that.“If I had thought you meant to do it, we would not be here right now. But you want to know something? I am rather upset about the things you have meant to do.”

The bottom drops out of Alfred’s stomach like being sucked into a vacuum. “O—oh?” he asks.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “All this time and I still don’t know…” what I mean to you “anything about you. You’ve confided in my mum. You seem to know everything about me. So much of my time is spent on you and yet I don’t know…” if you could ever return my love “almost anything about you.”

Alfred opens his mouth, but Arthur stops him from speaking.

“I know you’re a good person, Alfred. You saved those women. You brought the man who drugged me to justice, in a manner of speaking. But you’re so selfish, you really are. Do you even consider how your actions might affect me? Like when you single me out and drag me into an international investigation I want no part of and potentially derail my career? Like how you’ve clearly manipulated everything so that I would be focused so much on you, so that I wanted you? Like when you swanned in here after you’d just shagged someone else?” Arthur forces himself to calm down and he asks softly, “How was that supposed to make me feel?”

Alfred winces as his crimes are read aloud to him for the first time in his life as a thief. He turns his head to hide his face. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. He hasn’t been forced to confront the consequences his actions have on others for a very, very long time—he hasn’t let anyone close enough to take him to task since possibly his grandfather.

“Help me understand, Alfred. Please. I want to understand.” That isn’t the whole truth. Yes, Arthur wants to understand, he wants to know Alfred inside and out, but it’s taking all of his willpower not to shout at Alfred, not to beg him to stop and just stay. Just stay here and be safe and happy with Mum and I. “Why do you do this?”

It’s in that moment that Alfred realizes he has no solid answer to that question and maybe he never has. In an attempt to escape being crushed by this, he swoops forward and finally kisses Arthur, hands gently stroking his face, lips barely parted, restrained, but desperate. He had stopped caring about anyone’s forgiveness, but now he needs Arthur’s so badly it physically hurts, and he’s done nothing to earn it. Not yet.

Arthur almost relaxes into the kiss which is soft and earnest, but he’s not going to let Alfred off that easily. This must be resolved if they are to move at all, in any direction, together. He pushes Alfred away, but grips his bicep to keep him from running. “Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?” he demands, releasing that grip. “Because if so, then I must insist that you leave.”

Alfred feels strangely very secure under the weight of that ultimatum. He looks over at the gold pineapple, sitting on Arthur’s nightstand. Picking up the little trinket, he bites his wavering lip. “I graduated high school when I was only 16. I didn’t want to go to college.” He leaves out the part about being emancipated. “And I didn’t really have money for it anyway. I got a job working at a locksmith who specialized in security. I just had a knack for it, big surprise,” he laughs mirthlessly.

Arthur says nothing, just listens and watches as Alfred’s entire demeanor changes. He suddenly seems so much younger… and a bit lost, nothing at all like the cocky, confident thief Arthur first met. This is a glimpse of Alfred as he truly is and Arthur holds his breath, not wanting to lose this chance to see it. 

Alfred turns the pineapple between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the carefully set stones. “This guy comes into the shop one day. A jeweler who owned his own shop. He needed to upgrade the security system for his insurance or something. I was the one who got assigned to do the installations. When I went to his shop…” Alfred’s eyes close momentarily, remembering the noise, the whirl of movement yet the vibration of intense focus. He exhales. “It was the most awesome thing I’d ever seen.”

In that moment, watching Alfred relive an obviously integral memory, Arthur’s irritation melts away, but he stays silent.

“It was total chaos, really. Everyone’s bench was a mess, the torches were left on, sitting right beside the jewelers. Flex shafts were grinding, the hammers going ‘ting ting ting.’” Alfred makes a little hammering motion. “It looked like the aftermath of a tornado… with gemstones sparkling in it. I looked at all that mess and how they brought… art and beauty out of it…” Alfred trails off and gazes fondly down at the pineapple he had made just for Arthur. 

“Anyway, the shop owner, the master jeweler, saw how much I stared at the benches. I was there a few days in a row and when I’m almost done, he said one of the other jewelers was retiring soon and I seemed like I was interested and asked if I wanted to be his apprentice. A five year old standing at the entrance of Disneyland. That’s how I felt in that moment.

“It didn’t pay very much at all, but they did pay for me to go take metallurgy and art classes at the community college and they paid for me to start getting my gemologist certification. I learned everything anyone would teach me. For the first time, I really knew what I wanted to do with my life.”

Arthur listens attentively, idly finding it interesting that Alfred has no formal education or degree considering how well he moves around in the higher levels of society, but mostly being quite in awe of the conviction in Alfred’s voice that Arthur has only heard once before when he had asked Alfred about the women in Marcus Taylor’s house.

Alfred looks over at Arthur, trying not to be unnerved by his silence, trying to stay still while he opens old wounds to bleed in front of someone; it would have been difficult in front of anyone, it would have been impossible in front of Inspector Kirkland, but Alfred can bear it in front of Arthur.

“Then what happened?” Arthur asks gently. Alfred’s trepidation and pain are palpable.

Alfred admires his own work on the pineapple. “I was good. Really good. I learned faster than anyone. I even liked taking classes at the college. The master jeweler encouraged me and was proud of me, he bragged about me—” Alfred swallows around the lump in his throat, my own dad was never that proud of me, he almost says, “he bragged about me to clients, to fellow jewelers. He told me that with my talent and determination, I could become truly great.”

Arthur knows the set up for a tragic fall when he sees one and the anticipation of whatever tragedy Alfred is about to describe clenches in his chest.

“Then came my final test. He asked me to create a collection of six wedding sets and one centerpiece engagement ring. I did. It took almost a month. He said that if this buyer accepted the collection, I would be done as an apprentice and could be a real jeweler. On the day of the meeting with the buyer, I showed up and my mentor told me that she was already gone and she had not accepted any of my designs.” Alfred clenches his fist around the pineapple.

“But it wasn’t true. I saw them in that buyer’s store, all of them, not even a week later. I went back to him to ask what the fuck had happened and he told me that she had panned all of his work and loved mine and so he took credit for it!” Tears sit hot in Alfred’s eyes and he takes a deep breath. “The stupidest part is I made them as an apprentice, so they would have sold under his name anyway. He did it just to spite me.”

“What a fucking prick,” Arthur snaps, unable to stop himself. 

Alfred wipes his eyes and sniffles, looking at Arthur incredulously. He barks a short laugh, grateful for the relief from the tension. “Yeah, no shit, huh?” He presses the pineapple into Arthur’s palm. “I’m sure you can guess where this is going by now.”

“You stole them back.”

“Well. Sort of. They sold really fast and I wasn’t gonna steal a wedding set from a happy couple, you know? By the time I figured out how to break into the store… only the centerpiece engagement ring was left. I took it. I’ve had it all this time and then I met your mom and the more I got to know her, the more I wanted her to have it, so I modified it a little and gave it to her. Did you see it?”

Arthur nods. “Yes. She loves it. It’s really quite spectacular. Although I’m curious as to how you avoided getting caught.”

Alfred laughs again, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. I was just really careful and no one had any reason to suspect me outside of my mentor and I guess he never said anything, probably a guilty conscience. I told a friend about it, I had to, I was so… wired. A little while later, she brought a friend of hers to me and asked me to steal something back for her. And I did it. And it was fun.” He looks at Arthur as if asking for absolution.

“The rest, as they say, is history, I take it?” Arthur replies, mostly to indicate that Alfred can stop.

Alfred nods, feeling suspended in jello, feeling cut open. “I’m sorry, Arthur. You’re right about me and I’m sorry. And... and thank you for everything.” He rubs his hands over his eyes again. “I... I didn’t intend for things to turn out like this.”

Arthur hums in affirmation. “I see that. Thank you for sharing that story with me.” He takes Alfred’s hand and pulls him close, then kisses his forehead. “Your mentor was an absolute bastard and I wish that he hadn’t treated you so awfully... and yet, I suppose if he hadn’t, you and I would never have met.” It’s so strange to think that if not for this man whom Arthur can’t help but despise, he would have never known Alfred existed, would have never had the chance to fall in love with him. “And I do think that would have been a shame.”

Alfred curls up against Arthur, burying his face into Arthur’s neck. “Yeah, me too,” he whispers. Arthur has the same kindness and solidity as Abigail has and Alfred... Alfred realizes in that moment that he might love Arthur for it. An overwhelming need to demonstrate that feeling crashes over him and he presses his lips to Arthur’s skin, relishing the small gasp Arthur makes.

“Alfred,” Arthur sighs. That one small kiss feels different than any of the others that came before it. He gasps again when Alfred’s hand slides over his stomach, smoothing just below his navel and just above the waistband of his boxers. A flush of heat runs through him that concentrates his entire world to the places where Alfred is touching him.

Alfred decides, with a devious grin, that Arthur needs to be doted on. He kisses and licks and nips at Arthur’s neck and jawline while slipping his hand under the soft cotton and palming his cock.

Arthur inhales sharply at the contact. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Alfred catches his earlobe in his teeth. “Yeah, that’s the idea,” he purrs. “Sort of,” he adds cheekily. Before Arthur can ask what he means by that, Alfred places his hand once again on Arthur’s belly to keep him still, Alfred shifts himself until he able to look up at darkened emerald eyes from the level of Arthur’s lap. He frees Arthur’s cock from the constricting fabric and strokes it lightly, but quickly, feeling it twitch and swell in his hand.

Arthur tries not to arch his hips, but it proves difficult since he is also trying to focus on continuing to breathe. His hand instinctively reaches to pet Alfred’s hair, admiring the way mischievous blue eyes peer up at him with the smallest smirk. He’ll let Alfred have his fun for a moment before taking over.

Alfred correctly perceives this intent and definitely isn’t going to allow it. He wraps his lips around the head of Arthur’s rather delectable cock and sucks it hard, breath hitching when the hand that had been affectionately petting him fists tightly in his hair. He moans loudly and mercilessly teases the slit at the tip with his tongue.

“Fucking hell, Alfred,” Arthur groans. He tries to look down, his fingers still curled in Alfred’s hair, but tilts his head back instead, since he’ll surely come too quickly if he watches Alfred taking more and more of him into his sinfully amazing mouth. Any thought of taking control whooshes right out of his mind.

Alfred releases Arthur to catch his breath. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he says, pumping Arthur with his hand before devouring him almost entirely, fingers wrapped around the base, bouncing his head up and down, savoring how hard and heavy Arthur is in his mouth and the grunting, whining, moaning sounds Arthur makes. 

Arthur watches him now, transfixed by the way his own pre-cum and Alfred’s saliva coat the base of his cock and by Alfred’s swollen lips and hollowed cheeks. “Alfred, please, oh fuck, please,” he begs, not sure if he’s begging for relief or release. “Bloody… brilliant. Fuck.”

When they first met or even a few months ago maybe, Alfred might have felt smug in this position: the great, stoic Inspector Kirkland reduced to a sobbing mess by the Thief of Spades. At this moment, however, holding still with Arthur pressed against the back of his throat, Alfred is happy, pleased that he can make Arthur feel so good. He massages Arthur’s silken flesh with his tongue and hums fully enough so that Arthur can feel the vibration for sure. He has to make sure that Arthur’s orgasm hits him hard enough that he won’t be able to stop Alfred from doing what he wants to do next.

Arthur is lost to himself. How anything can feel this magnificent is beyond him and yet there it is: Alfred sucking his cock as if he could suck out Arthur’s soul from it, looking up at him with sultry blue eyes and cherry red lips. “God, you’re so gorgeous— Fuck, Alfred, oh fuck, I’m going to—” his hand clenches tighter in Alfred’s hair.

Alfred grins to himself, lips once again wrapped around the head, and holding steady as Arthur’s release fills his mouth. When it’s finished and Arthur flops breathless onto his pillows, Alfred straddles him, placing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He opens his mouth to reveal his tongue coated in Arthur’s cum before making a lewd show of swallowing.

Arthur’s only response is a garbled, “Nnnghhhhhh, fuck.”

Brushing Arthur’s hair away from his flushed face, Alfred teases Arthur’s overstimulated cock with his finger tips, leans down and kisses him sweetly, quickly, over and over, making Arthur chase him.

Arthur’s every breath shudders, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. “Alfred, please…” His entire body is limp and sated and he wants Alfred to stop touching him because it’s just too much, but he wants Alfred to touch him more. Forever.

Alfred lifts Arthur’s hand and presses his lips to his palm. He kisses each fingertip, each knuckle and then the inside of Arthur’s wrist, meeting his hazy green eyes as he does so. “Are you okay?” he asks with a cheeky grin while planting little kisses along Arthur’s forearm to the crook of his elbow, where his tongue tortures the sensitive skin.

It is then that Arthur realizes what Alfred has done—how he had meant to flip Alfred onto his back and make love to him, slow and deep. Yet he has had all of the energy sucked right out of him by Alfred’s skilled mouth with the obvious intention of inflicting far too much pleasure on him. “I’m fine,” he mumbles as Alfred kisses and nips up the rest of his arm to latch onto his collarbone.

Alfred downright smirks. “Just fine?” He trails his tongue up Arthur’s neck to flick the shell of his ear.

“Nng. You’re a proper bastard,” Arthur grouses, though it is devoid of any bite. “When I can move again, I’ll really let you have it. I’m a highly respected police inspector, you know.”

Alfred chuckles, “If you say so.” He smooths his hands outward across Arthur’s chest, admiring the random patches of freckles and other tiny imperfections that would condemn any diamond, but make Arthur real. They make him organic. Until very recently, Alfred has had little interest in the organic—messy, always raw, always unrefined. Unable to be refined, impervious to polishing. The only way to love anything organic is to appreciate it simply for what it is.

Arthur shivers as Alfred’s hands traverse his body. The look on Alfred’s face is rather inscrutable, but there’s something fervent, barely restrained, in his eyes. Arthur can only think of Matthew’s words in that moment. When Alfred had tied him up and painted on him, he’d felt like the thief’s appraising eye was assessing him as something beautiful. Now, Alfred’s eyes seem to look at someone important. There’s reverence in Alfred’s touch, not scrutiny and the longer Arthur watches him, the less inscrutable his face is and the more Arthur finds something more than just interest in his eyes. He hopes he isn’t seeing it simply because he wants to.

Alfred catches the pensive, far away look in Arthur’s eyes and kisses him on the lips, prying them open with his own and nibbling on them until Arthur starts kissing back and sighing contentedly into Alfred’s mouth. “You’re not allowed to leave while I do this.”

“Do what?” Arthur asks somewhat vacantly. He receives no answer.

Alfred smiles mysteriously. He’s already said so many things out loud and stating his intent, saying that he wants to show Arthur how grateful he is for everything Arthur has done would make it seem contrived, disingenuous. He takes Arthur’s hand, the one he’d neglected before and draws Arthur’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on them in much the same way he had sucked Arthur’s cock. He smirks when Arthur’s eyelids flutter and his head falls back with a deep groan.

“Bloody hell, Alfred. Must you?” he asks, not even remotely with the intention of getting Alfred to actually stop. It feels so good and Arthur’s body wants to respond, but he’s still trying to recover from the absurdly fantastic blow job Alfred already gave him.

Alfred releases Arthur’s fingers with a last kittenish lick to the tip of each one. He grins, having got his proverbial canary. Exploring all of the ways to unravel Arthur, to make him come undone gives Alfred an even greater thrill than unlocking any vault or planning any heist. He sinks down on Arthur’s lap to gain better access to the expanse of his chest.

“Why am I the only one who’s undressed?” Arthur complains as Alfred traces wonderful swirling patterns with his fingertips that he follows with his lips—lord, even just Alfred’s hands could ruin Arthur forever. “This is hardly fair.”

Alfred dismisses him cheekily. “Wait your turn, Inspector.” He does want Arthur to touch him so badly and judging by Arthur’s expressions and demeanor, Alfred’s ministrations have conveyed their intended meaning. Still, he wants to have just a little more fun with Arthur all helpless like this. He maps Arthur’s ribcage with his fingers, plants kiss after kiss over Arthur’s skin, and playfully tugs and rolls each nipple between his teeth.

Arthur’s cock twitches, but does nothing more than that, and he moans loudly, partially from frustration, but mostly from bliss.

The door to Arthur’s room opens and Abigail appears from behind it. “Arthur, is everything alright? I—” Her eyes go wide as saucers. It’s not the first time she has ever walked in on her son and some other boy in a compromising position, but this time it’s Alfred. A sly grin spreads over her whole face and she shuts the door before laughing cheerfully.

Alfred can’t move. All he can do is stare directly into Arthur’s eyes as panic crashes through him. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Alfred’s reaction is honestly rather adorable, even if his mum walking in had poured a bucket of cold water all over the simmering warmth Arthur had previously been enjoying. “It’s alright, Alfred. Calm down. She interrupted once before, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah, but this time she saw,” Alfred says. He falls onto the bed next to Arthur with his face pressed into the mattress. 

Arthur pets his hair. “I promise, it’s fine.”

Alfred shakes his head. He had hoped to let Abigail keep assuming his innocence even if she logically knew better. But he also wants Arthur so much. And he knows he can trust Arthur now. He springs up and kisses the bandages on Arthur’s arm and then his cheek. “My place next time,” he says in a rush before climbing out the window.

Arthur is so stunned and so hung up on Alfred’s apparent offer… promise… the idea of it, that he won’t remember he had forgotten to tell Alfred about Lucille Bonnet until much later…

… long after his mum has had a delighted cackle at his expense.

[defilerwyrm]

For the ask meme: burning bright, anything about the parts at the table with the Nein. You write their banter so well!

FIC SPOILERS BELOW!

Burning Bright on AO3

The entire dinner scene hit me like a bolt of lightning while I was working on this fic. It started with Beau’s outburst, and then Veth’s willful denial and subsequent fit, and I built the two scenes around that.

Diving into particulars….

“Uhm,” he said, intelligently, but quickly recovered and flashed his friends a smile. “It is most impressive. Certainly a step up from a tiny hut.”

A direct reference to the name of the spell. Originally it was Leomund’s tiny hut. I have no clue why in 5e Wizards decided to 86 the attribution names on so many spells like Otiluke’s resilient sphere and Tasha’s hideous laughter. Things like that always made me curious about the (what I assume were) PCs the spells were named after. I had thought maybe it was because the characters who diegetically invented them were specific to one setting, but in that case I don’t know why Bigby’s hand is still Bigby’s but Evard’s black tentacles are no longer Evard’s. I don’t like it. As an aside, Widowgast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower is, mechanically speaking, Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion. Anyway. Moving on!

It was delectable that Caleb wanted to impress him.

This boy hungry and not just for soup

Flustered, Essek tried to fend them off, but it was Caleb that did him in. It was always Caleb. The human took a large roll from his own plate, broke it in half, and offered one of these parts to Essek, who tried his best not to choke.

“You need to keep your strength up, ja?” Caleb implored him quietly.

The steady hand that accepted was a point of pride because it very much wanted to quake. The Kryn weren’t bread people, but...did he have any idea what this gesture would mean in Rosohna? Any inkling at all?

This is another one of those places where I delight in playing to cultural differences. What I’d had in mind for what that gesture—breaking food into two pieces and offering half to someone—WOULD mean in Rosohna was a bit nebulous, as I like to keep the reader guessing a bit and let their imagination fill in the blanks; but my rough idea was that it’s a courting gesture that signifies “I can and will provide for you, even if it means less for me.” An expression of selfless caregiving and an offer of partnership. Not wholly unlike a bird bringing food to a prospective mate.

And actually it’s a little bit funny coming from Caleb, who has fuck-all to his name but his name, when Essek is a rich bitch who answers directly to the Bright Queen.

Not that he was about to say it out loud, but he was a quick convert to this whole bread thing. To say that it won him over would be an understatement. That seemed to be a recurring theme here.

I imagine if I’d grown up never really eating bread and was introduced to it in adulthood I’d be like “Where have you BEEN all my life?!” But also: the bread is friendship, the bread is the Mighty Nein, the bread is communion in the spirit of sharing rather than politics and appearances and power plays—things he thought he was fine without until they were foisted upon him.

Somewhere in the course of the multiple conversations going on at one time, Jester got an Idea, as she was prone to doing. He became increasingly aware of her talking about kissing, of all things, and this culminated in her shouting above the din, cheeks flushed purple though he hadn’t seen her touch any wine: “I have an idea you guys! Why don’t we all go around and say how many people we’ve kissed?”

Jester is the most wonderfully convenient deus ex machina if you ever need to insert an awkward or embarrassing conversation among the Mighty Nein, because this is exactly the sort of shit she would do.

Jester leaped up and slammed her hands onto the table. “Caduceus you’ve never been kissed?! That’s so sad!”

The firbolg was unfazed. He merely shrugged and said, “It hasn’t come up and I haven’t gone looking. Not something I’ve ever thought about, really.”

Jester’s tail lashed back and forth behind her like an overstimulated cat. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Fjord went a bit wild-eyed at this. Caduceus smiled gently and said, “No thank you.”

Three things about this part:

1) Jester’s tail doesn’t get NEARLY enough mention in fic! If I’m playing (or writing) a character with a tail you can be damn sure you’re gonna know what it’s doing! Makes me wanna play a tabaxi tbqh.

2) Cad’s “No thank you” is the sum total of his sexuality, lol. Jester was raised in a pretty highly sexualized setting, didn’t really get out much before she fled Nicodranas, and can be pretty naïve, so she doesn’t really get the whole aroace thing; but it never crosses Cad’s mind that this would be “abnormal“ or ”sad” in any way—it causes him no distress, as it shouldn’t. This is yet another “Same planet, different worlds” moment.

3) Fjord is physically restraining himself from yelling “JESTER WHAT THE FUCK” lmao

Veth kept picking at it. “So you’re um. You know. Into the fellas?”

Beau snorted. “I could’a told you that months ago.”

“Yeah you could’a!” Veth pouted with a self-conscious curl to her shoulders.

I saw a comment on Tiktok that said Veth was being borderline homophobic, but that wasn’t my intent! It’s just that she inherited a certain blind spot for male queerness from her player, and as hard as she’d been trying to encourage Caleb to hook back up with his female ex, it never occurred to her that he had a male ex, too—and given that they’ve been so close for so long, she’s feeling pretty self-conscious about the fact that she never figured out that Caleb is bisexual in all that time, as well as kind of upset that no one—Caleb especially—told her. She’s having a moment of “Why didn’t I know this? Did you think it was going to change things between us? Did I make you feel unsafe?” And also a little bit of “Okay well, now I have to get him to hook up with TWO people AT ONCE because my boy deserves threesomes 😤”

Jester went goggle-eyed at him. “You’ve only been with one person?” she exclaimed. “But you’re like a hundred years old! And very handsome. I would have thought you’d get like, all the ladies.”

Ladies. Right.

Veth might not be the only one with a certain blind spot.

Beau gave her a funny look, snorting. “I dunno, he seems like the kinda guy who turns down those offers left and right.”

..…But Beau’s got his number, for more than one reason. She’s got super gaydar, for one, and has him pegged as the type who’s very choosy about his partners (also mind you, this was before demi!Essek was canonized by WoG, so I was still rolling with my hc that Essek got around when he felt like it).

The uproar was instantaneous. Everyone—almost everyone—started talking or shouting at once. Beau’s voice rang out among the din with, “HOLY SHIT ESSEK FUCKS.” Strangely pleased with himself, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and spent the next few minutes fending off increasingly prying, personal questions until the Nein grew bored with his lack of answers and someone changed the subject.

There it is, the line that spawned two entire scenes!

He was not a war mage, but he was experienced and wily, and he was damned good at what he did, and as long as there was breath left in his body, the Mighty Nein would not fall here.

Joke’s on me, motherfucker literally has the War Caster feat -_-

But like in my defense, that’s just what it’s called in the book. The feat just means that you have either the training or experience to cast well during a fight, which I see as not necessarily the same thing as a war mage, which was my way of saying an arcane caster who is a soldier.

Veth stared at her blankly as if willing herself not to understand. “Caleb? With who?”

She breathed steadily. “...Essek. Caleb and Essek.”

Beside her, Jester squealed and brought her fists to her face.

Veth was less enthused. “WHAT.”

Beau’s mental commentary here is dead on. Veth still doesn’t really trust Essek at this point and has been pretty vocal about that…despite being the one to declare him part of the Mighty Nein? Eh, she’s allowed to have complicated feelings on the guy, all things considered. But I find it kind of comical and very Veth (and very Sam) for her to be all full of zest for trying to get Caleb back together with the frigging Volstrucker who is actively working for his abuser and worst enemy but balk at him hooking up with Essek.

Jester “explained” in a delighted yell: “Caleb and Essek are gonna fuuuuuuck!”

I don’t know, is this too unsubtle to call foreshadowing? The line flowed naturally in the dialogue, but it’s also letting the reader know exactly what they’re in for next, lol.

“...He’s going to break that little elf twink, you know,” Veth said, sounding distant. Seemed she was having some difficulty processing. Not too surprising, considering how adamant she was about wanting their wizard to hook back up with his old flame, the fucking Volstrucker. “We’ve all seen his dick.”

This was 100% taken from Sam’s little throwaway line “It’s above-average” but it turned out to serve two purposes other than reminding the reader that all of these people have seen Caleb naked:

1) It’s yet another thing Veth thinks she understands about him but doesn’t. Caleb’s a top like Dalmatians are purple and if you disagree then I respect your right to be incorrect ;)

2) That said, it is, in fact, foreshadowing for the sequel, in which Essek experiences a great deal of frustration. (I haven’t touched the damn thing in weeks, feels like; I’ve been too busy with work, being exhausted from work, and being in a tizzy about my upcoming surgery.)

Fjord blurted out, “I’ll join you.”

Poor Fjord has had such an uncomfortable night!

Hoo boy that was a lot. Thanks for the ask, this was really fun!! And sorry it took so long; I work Saturday nights and things got really busy for a bit there.

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 5

The way I just impulsively wrote this because I’ve had sleepy Kuvira stuck in my head for days and I couldn’t afford to let this go! It’s sooo short so that’s why there’s no preview (in addition to how fast it happened lol) but I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I loved writing it! Can’t wait to start getting through your requests this week ❤️ Check out chapter 5 on AO3 as well!

Since crossing paths, you had cemented a perception of Kuvira as a woman who was steadfast, undaunted, and more than a bit intimidating. Of course, you understood there was so much more that made up this profoundly and wonderfully complicated human — even in the days where you’d fawn from afar, you knew there were depths to her that ran far beyond what she displayed to the world. 

Nevertheless, it would be foolish to say those characteristics weren’t Kuvira’s dominant traits and she would be inclined to agree. From an early age, she had learned to confront the world in this manner and she has come to enjoy this way of being. She finds immense satisfaction in knowing the slightest movement, word, or sound from her can profoundly alter her surroundings and the demeanor of those around her. 

Therefore, you found it fabulously endearing the day she began floundering about when and how you’d start sharing the same room.

It all began about a month into your newfound relationship. Neither of you felt ready to share it with the world — what you had discovered with each other felt far too precious to fall upon oblivious ears and you wanted to treasure it amongst yourselves for as long as you could. 

So you continued to spend time together as you had for so many weeks, sharing meals together or going on walks once everyone had retired to their quarters. With time, you carefully found ways to share more moments throughout the day: walking to and from meetings together, “debriefing” in hallways, or working in the same space. 

On this particular day, you had been reviewing the details of an incoming shipment contract while Kuvira sifted through the latest prototype proposals from Varrick. Despite having worked well on your own for so long, in those few weeks you spent closer to Kuvira you found it increasingly difficult to focus without her solid presence. 

You had been working in comfortable silence for about an hour when she spoke. “When are you moving into my quarters?” she asked plainly. You were about halfway through a paragraph when the inquiry threw you off entirely. You looked up at her with startled eyes. 

“I’m sorry?” you stammered. Whereas her face had been entirely indifferent moments before, your response prompted a distressed expression in an instant. It may not have been obvious to most, but you knew she felt deeply uncomfortable when her eyes tightened and her lips grew taut. 

“Forget it. It was an imprudent comment,” she responded uneasily. “No Kuvira, it’s okay,” you reassured her, keeping your voice soft. “You just caught me off guard is all.”

She appeared hesitant to continue but eventually spoke again. “It has been four and a half weeks since we began our romantic relationship,” she stated. “People are talking,” you added. Kuvira inhaled deeply and momentarily closed her eyes. 

“Precisely,” she replied. “I may be approaching this incorrectly but I believe the next appropriate step would be for us to share quarters, correct?” You stared at her wonderingly for a moment, steepling your hands beneath your chin and observing the overly proper way she carried herself. 

“Do you want to move in together because of that? People talking?” you asked. You knew your response was slightly cruel — Kuvira had clearly struggled to even broach the subject and now you were squeezing this out of her. 

But you needed absolute certainty. You needed to know that she wanted this for the right reasons and not because of the questioning glances of their peers. 

“No,” she said firmly. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less about their opinions. The only thing holding me back is...this is important to me. More than they could ever possibly comprehend. And I want it to be accepted as such. But I also can’t bear the thought of spending many more nights apart from you.”

That final sentence is what knocked the wind out of you and sprung you from your seat, striding over to Kuvira and standing just above her as she remained seated. You brought your hands to her face and offered her a watery smile, coaxing your thumb across her cheekbone. 

“That’s all I needed to know,” you murmured. You felt the weight of her head relax into your palms as she covered your hands with hers. “So will you consider it? Moving into my quarters?” she asked. 

“I don’t need to because I already know I will.”

---

Not long after that afternoon (the following morning to be precise), Kuvira confirmed your relationship to her officers. “I will not have rumors overpowering the efficacy of my army. You have your confirmation, now cease from engaging in such infantile habits and focus your attention to the matters at hand.” 

Only Bolin had eyed you from his place across the table, holding back what you could only assume was a congratulatory smile. You nodded minutely and returned your attention to Kuvira, glad to have moved past the moment that had left you anxious all night. Though you had to admit you found great pleasure in the near-comical way everyone in the room suddenly had an incredibly difficult time glancing in your direction. 

The transition into Kuvira’s room was relatively fast but that was to be expected. That slow build up to a swift culmination of action seemed to be characteristic of your relationship and you had no qualms about it. You liked that about your dynamic — it made sense. 

You had insisted on moving your things into her quarters yourself over the course of several nights. It wasn’t like you had very many belongings to begin with. Kuvira, being the discreetly attentive woman she was, would not have any of it and took it upon herself to assist you. 

The move took about two nights — between the two of you, you took full advantage of the night’s cover and successfully moved everything over without the wandering gazes of privates and sergeants. 

That first night carried an energy comparable to an electric charge. It felt like a pleasant buzz had overtaken the room and settled within each pore of your body, carrying the sensation to your veins until it felt as though you would burst from the feeling alone. 

You were folding your minimal collection of clothes and storing them into Kuvira’s — well, now your shared — bureau. Kuvira sat on the bed, watching you silently. As you tucked away the final shirt, you took a deep breath and turned to face her. It was clear neither of you really knew what to say next.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. You looked down to your feet for a few moments before answering shakily, “Honestly? I’m really, really nervous. But...I think in the best possible way.” 

Breaking her expressionless face, Kuvira stretched her legs apart slightly and extended her arms. Immediately understanding the motion, you took the three extra steps that closed the space between you so you were standing above her. 

With a sheepish grin, she wrapped her arms around your hips and rested her head on your belly. “Okay. Me too,” she whispered and in an instant you were confident you had turned into a gooey pool of unadulterated happiness. 

---

Since then, you have grown to cherish the night, most particularly that lovely and sleepy stretch  of time where you both settle into your respective routines and prepare for the rest of the evening. 

Today had been a notably explosive day (in more ways than one...you’re relieved to hear there were no major injuries in today’s engineering incident) and you were looking forward to getting back to your quarters all afternoon. 

You change out of your robe, tossing your damp towels in the hamper before stepping into your favorite set of cotton loungewear and returning to the bathroom. Kuvira has finished bathing and there’s a cozy film of steam hanging over you. She smiles faintly as she dries her hair and you lean over to press a soft kiss to her cheek. 

In moments, you easily fall into your practices. You turn the faucet on and wash your face while Kuvira stands at your side, pulling a brush through her hair and detangling the sodden locks. It’s a comforting tune: the familiar rush of running water and bristles combing through hair, the humorous swish of a rinsing mouth and bottle caps snapping open and closed.  

As always, she finishes before you and briefly touches her hand to your lower back before exiting. You wrap up your final steps, flick the lights off, and join Kuvira in bed. She’s lying beneath the covers with her hands beneath her head, thoughtfully gazing up at the ceiling and no doubt plotting her moves for the next day. 

You slide in and retrieve your book from the bedside table. It’s been a few nights since you’ve felt tranquil enough to read and you won’t pass up an opportunity to lose yourself in the refreshing verses of ancient Earth Kingdom poetry. You settle in close to Kuvira, pushing your fingers into her hair and delicately stroking through the tresses. 

A pleased hum vibrates in her throat so you continue the motion, using the other hand to keep your book up. It’s a challenge to turn the pages with your thumb alone but Kuvira is so comfortable and the thought of stopping sounds preposterous at this point. 

You aren’t quite sure how much time passes before she shifts beneath you, her eyes closed as her breath steadily slows down. You carefully pull your hand away from her head, bookmark your place, and switch off the lamp. When you slide onto the pillow, her eyelids barely flutter open and you can’t resist the dopey smile that curls along your mouth. 

You see this side of Kuvira every night and you have for months, yet the sight of those drowsy green eyes and locks of hair fanned across her pillow never ceases to make your heart clench in the most splendid way. It hadn’t taken long for you to decide this is one of your favorite sights in the entire world, only second to the way morning light filters through your curtains and casts an otherworldly glow to Kuvira’s slumbering face. Nothing on this side of the universe could possibly compare to that. 

As she watches you her eyelids blink slowly and she brings her fingertips to your face, sleepily dragging them across your cheekbones and your forehead. You breathe in deeply and notice the way your heart pounds harder against your chest, the way it only does this during these hushed pockets of time where nothing else exists except for Kuvira and the warm cradle of her limbs draped over yours. 

You press forward an inch until your knees touch hers and she looks at you expectantly. Ever the impatient one, she bridges the space between your faces and seals your mouths in a lazy kiss. It’s short and graceless but that makes it all the more marvelous to you. It’s your deep seated reverence for each other in its purest form and it conjures a stream of ecstasy to pulse through your body. 

It brings you back to that very first night, when Kuvira’s arms pulled you against her and you basked in the excitement of what this seemingly trivial change meant to you both. 

When she moves back, you are certain she is seconds away from falling asleep. You press a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose and pull the sheets higher over her shoulders. It takes a handful of moments before her face smooths out entirely and her breath falls into a heavy and consistent rhythm. It’s a marvel to see the stressors of the day literally melt off her face, replaced by the peaceful look only sleep can bring. Sometimes you wish you could offer her so many more hours of this undisturbed peace, away from the copious burdens she places upon herself...but instead you ensure she enjoys these few hours enveloped by the security you promise to always offer her. 

For now, you hope it’s enough. 

By the time you doze off yourself, your arm hangs across Kuvira’s waist — an ever present weight that reassures her you will be there in the morning and every morning after that.