#feeble-mindedly

[wri0thesley]

hi sweet Nat, can i ask for size kink with Alhaitham pretty please? ♡

Anonymous asked: Hello! Hope you are having a wonderful day for the ask game how about alhaitham + size kink

great minds think alike....

Alhaitham's height is obvious to anybody who meets him; less obvious, though, is the breadth of him. One often writes it off as perhaps him wearing clothes that flatter him too much, being as it is difficult to look at him for too long without receiving a sardonic gaze back. After all, is he not the man who calls himself a 'feeble scholar' with only the barest uplift of the corner of his mouth?

You, though, are intimately acquainted with everything that Alhaitham has to offer.

With the big hands, stained with ink. With the muscles that ripple beneath his clothing. With the way he towers over you in both stature and in presence. With the size of him, everywhere that it might matter--

Oh, and you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried. He looks at you and he sees straight through you no matter how hard you work to look unruffled by how much of his hand covers your head when he absent-mindedly pats it on his way past. And at times like this--

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He murmurs to you, where you're trapped beneath him, his shoulders casting a shadow over you on the bed. His muscular thighs have pressed your own softer, sweeter ones apart. One of his hands is big enough to encircle both of your wrists, and he uses that to his advantage, veins flexing in his forearms as he keeps those wrists pinioned above your head to ensure you feel utterly at his mercy.

You are warm; flushed, beads of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck, glistening in the valley between your chests. It is not only the warm Sumeru air (though that would be your excuse if he called you out) - but being trapped beneath him like this, being pinned and captured like a little rabbit who has found themselves run afoul of a bigger animal ready to devour them.

"H-hard to believe what?" You whisper out, your heart beating fast against your chest. He lets out a single laugh, as controlled as he always is even though you can see that his cheeks are flushed and you can feel the hot hardness of his cock where it rests against your inner thigh, mixing your slick and his precome.

"That something so tiny could really fit this in them," he says, as if it should be obvious; and to prove his point, he uses his free hand to lift the heavy shaft of his cock, to give it a slow, teasing pump. Even his own hands, so big that they make your breath catch, are not quite big enough to wrap around the full length of it.

Flushed and ruddy, leaking silvery bubbles of precome, a vein on the thickness of his shaft pulsing in time with his even breathing, you can barely stand that he's not putting it inside you. Helplessly, you arch your back, and he laughs again.

"Look," he murmurs, dropping his cock, voice husky. His hand delves now to between your own thighs; two long fingers used to push apart the sticky plump lips of your labia. You keen at the cool air hitting the swollen pearl of your clit, standing to attention, and Alhaitham swoops down to press a single kiss to the bud before he straightens up again. "You're even smaller here."

"A-Alhaitham," you whisper, your body shivering under the fleeting touch of the kiss. His lips are wet and shiny even from that brief shimmering moment of contact, and you think if he doesn't do something about the way your hole is clenching and pulsing around nothing you might just explode. "Please--"

"Oh," he says, with a small smile on his lips. "But I might break you in half."

Lazily, he lets his cock slap lightly against your sex, lets it get soaked in your wetness, lets you helplessly buck against it in the vain hope that you can get him to fuck you or at the very least get a modicum of friction going.

You don't get far. He's too strong, too big - you're helpless beneath the Scribe, at the mercy of whatever whims he decides to enact. You try to change tack.

"You're wasting time!" You tell him breathlessly, trying to appeal to his pragmatism. "You could be fucking me right now instead--"

He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat, regarding you through unfailingly calm emerald green eyes.

"I certainly wouldn't be enjoying myself if you weren't properly ready for me," he says, in the end, and his gaze flickers from your own needy face to the needier sight of your cunt, fluttering and pulsing and leaking all over his bedsheets.

"Hmm. No. I think I'll take my time," he decides, shifting, and you're once again struck by his size, by how much of you he can shelter beneath the oasis of his body. He leans down, his lips against the shell of your ear, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin. "After all. I'm a very patient man."

[ilykaveh]

"open your mouth for me, baby." | with choso kamo .

❀ — content: fem reader, multiple rounds, finger sucking, praise, subspace, overstim, creampie.

due to his nature as a half-curse, choso could last a lot longer in bed than you could. three orgasms in and you were already rendered stupid; so pliant around his cock as if you were nothing more than a cockdrunk mess tangled in the sheets as the man continued to fuck you even still.

"just one more, sweetheart," he cooed, leaning over to cup your cheek. "you look so pretty for me,"

tears began to well up in your eyes as you made feeble attempts to talk, but only silly little babbles fell from your mouth. choso ran a thumb over your drool-soaked lips, smiling to himself as you made an attempt to suck the digit.

"you don't need to think, princess. i've got you. open your mouth for me, baby,"

doing exactly as he said, you let the hazy feeling consume you. choso continued his gentle thrusts into your messy cunt as soft moans filled the room. your overstimulated pussy fluttered around him; every movement was so full of love and adoration. you succumbed to your instincts and sucked on choso's thumb, mentally thanking him when he added another couple of ringed fingers into your mouth.

fuck. he loved how dumb you looked. like a poor little bunny who didn't know any better. so vulnerable, so fucking cute, and all his.

subconsciously, choso's pace sped up. he held onto your hip with a tender grip, keeping you in place. you sobbed lightly when his pelvic bone accidentally brushed against your clit, and again each time the tip of his cock grazed your abused cervix. he hushed your cries every time, feeling a little bit selfish for carrying on fucking you to this point. when you began babbling about cumming, his fingers still in your mouth, choso was dragged away from his thoughts and back to reality.

"do you want me to fill you up, darling?" he asked, only anticipating a nod in response, of which he got. "that's it, my sweet pea, are you going to cum for me again, yeah?"

choso adorable smile made you feel so warm inside. you again did your best to nod an affirmative, though the dizziness had a grip on you. he muttered broken praises and a few pet names, none of which you could fully comprehend considering the fact that his cock was hitting all of the right spots and sending you tumbling towards yet another high.

"cho-" you cried, though you were interrupted by a sob.

"shh, just let go, princess. i've got you, i'm here,"

your smaller hands wrapped around his arm, nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin. it felt like choso had lit a match inside of you and you were now on fire. there was a heavy pressure in your lower region, and he sweet-talked you through it. before you knew it, your warm cunt had him in a near death grip as your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks.

choso took his fingers out of yourself, instead cupping your face as you shook. he had a habit of holding you close when he came, wanting nothing more than to cherish you.

the sensation of your spasming cunt drove him over the edge, with choso groaning your name and octave deeper than his usual voice as he spilled his hot cum against your womb. he absent-mindedly thrust a few more times, though considerably sloppier than those prior.

within the blink of an eye, the man collapsed on the sheets next to you and let you curl into his hold. the feeling of his skin against your own helped you slowly anchor yourself back to the land of the sane.

"mpfh," you mumbled, face mushed against choso's chest.

"what's that, sweetheart? is everything okay?" he could feel your lips contort into a smile, and it filled him with a sense of pride that you were comfortable enough to let your guard down entirely when with him.

"'m good," though full sentences were a struggle, it calmed your boyfriend to know that you were gaining full control back of your state of mind. "comfy,"

he smiled himself. "i'll clean you up in a second, baby. we can stay like this for a moment longer, how does that sound?"

[feiandart]

At ten o'clock, the foot that still rests on the ground begins to move, taking the rest of the leg with it in a continuous up-and-down, rapid swing, following a disjointed rhythm in a feeble attempt to vent agitation. But it is not enough. All he can do is continue to list reason after reason for the Lord's absence, and although he knows that the latter does not have a mobile phone, he still hopes to hear his own vibrating in his trouser pocket, bringing any news. But it does not happen, and the silence lingers on. With his left hand, dangling from the sofa, he absent-mindedly touches the handle of the wicker basket; though he feels it under his fingers, the reality of that object gives him no comfort. At half past ten, his eyelids are so heavy that he does not feel like opening them again. He is tired of looking at the vaulted ceiling of the entrance hall, of counting the seconds ticked by the pendulum clock that, inexorably, continues to keep him cruelly company. Don, don, don, left and right, he can see it moving even without looking at it. He would be content with absolute silence at this moment, even where his thoughts seem to leave him no escape, chasing each other, huddling, in a disgusting orgy of anxiety and terror that, at least for once, stirs in front of him without inviting him to participate. Where are you, Aziraphale? The pendulum chimes eleven and Anthony dozes off.

[tired-biscuit]

how would the boys react to the reader touching herself, thinking she’s all alone in the bedroom🫠🫢(naruto, kiba, shikamaru)

18+ MDNI/fem!reader // mix of modern AU and canonverse, established relationship, reader getting caught in 4k whilst touching herself.

i'm so sorry this took me so long. hope you like it!!

𝙉𝘼𝙍𝙐𝙏𝙊

Naruto hears it before he sees it.

The breathless tone of your voice comes as a surprise for him when you pick up the phone and answer his call with a mere, “Yeah?” instead of the usual bubbly lilt that he’s gotten used to over the course of your relationship.

Out of habit, he’s called you one last time to say goodnight before his head hits the pillow and he snoozes off to dreamland, but the tone of your voice changes that initial plan in an instant. So instead, Naruto finds himself feeling awake and alert now; the upper half of his body propped up with the help of one elbow whilst his fingers fiddle with the crispy white bed sheet that seems to have become a standard for every hotel he spends the night in.

He’s miles away after all; attending a business trip for the rest of the week, and you’re panting while he’s not there with you. He can literally hear the slight tremble of every inhale and exhale you make the moment he presses his cellphone closer to his ear and just listens.

It’s feeble - so very faint - but it’s there. The slightest hitch in the back of your throat, the deeper and longer exhale than usual. Listening to you like this, Naruto wonders what on earth could you possibly be up to at nearly midnight? Come to think of it, it’s so late that he catches himself feeling more surprised that you’ve actually picked up, rather than the way you chose to do it.

It’s the reason why his teeth find home in the inside of his cheek as he asks, “Hey, baby. How come you’re still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply now, sighing. He listens in as noises that he, at best, recognizes as you tossing and turning on top of the bed he simply longs to be in at that exact moment before you finally settle and speak into the phone again, “How about you, love? Can’t sleep either?”

“Mm, no,” your boyfriend mumbles absent-mindedly, playing around with the two strings of his grey sweatpants, which you’ve packed into his suitcase so neatly just a couple of days prior. You’re still panting; still breathing deeply just like you do every time he races you up the stairs of your apartment complex, or makes you chase after him when he steals your phone like some damn toddler.

All of it certainly piques his interest.

“Aw,” you gush softly now, nudging him back into focus. “How come?”

One string wrapped around two thick fingers, Naruto finally speaks again, “I miss you too much. It’s weird sleeping completely alone, to be honest... I’m not used to it anymore.”

He swears that he can hear you groan now. This soft, little sound that makes his heart race and his blood rush through his veins at a faster rate than normal. That makes him start to sweat and turns his hand clammy in mere seconds as his grip turns tighter around the device he keeps pressing to his ear. Especially as you inhale deeply and utter, “You miss me, baby?”

“Yeah, baby,” he finds himself replying in a tone so hushed he can barely decipher all the vowels and consonants, “I do.”

Nothing but silence meets him on the other line for a couple of short moments. You’re breathing through your mouth now, so much that there’s a literal gasp lacing your voice as you question him further, “How much?”

“Like I’ve said,” he mumbles, fingers still fiddling with the string, “a lot. So much actually, that I can’t stop thinking about you. I mean, I could barely concentrate during the meeting we had today… Shikamaru was pissed because I ended up looking stupid as hell, but all I could think about was how I can’t even remember the last time we’ve been apart like this, and the fact that it makes me upset.”

“Fuck, Naru.” You whine now, and he can’t see it but judging by how deeper your voice turns, it sounds like you’re tipping your head back into the pillow as you speak from your throat: “Why do you gotta say shit like that…? You’re so–... You know.”

So honest.

“Well, you asked,” he says, feeling his brow quirk at your inability to finish your sentence. “I’m just telling you how I feel about you, pretty… I thought you liked that about me.”

“Ah,” you sigh again. “I do! Of course I do… Like it s’much, actually.”

He’s silent again. Just listens to your fast-paced breaths and the little, cutesy noises you make whilst he twirls the string around his fingers. He touches the waistband of his sweatpants at some point as it tightens around his knuckles, forcing him to repeat the action all over again.

But that's not all. Mind full with you now, Naruto is also promptly ignoring the bulge that’s turning more and more distinguishable against the thick cotton with each passing minute he spends playing with the string. Turning a blind eye at the way it twitches when he trails a single fingertip along its length just because he can; he finds it hard to concentrate on proper socialization now.

Christ, just the way you sound is enough to turn his mind hazy and his dick hard. Is he just that easy to arouse, or is his love for you that potent? Might be both?

“Baby?” Still gasping and swallowing all your vowels, you’re nudging him back to reality again as you ask, “You there?”

“Mhmmm,” you hear him hum gently, his voice nothing more but a soft lullaby that nearly strokes your ear now with love and tenderness, “I’m here, pretty. Don’t worry.”

Your heartbeat speeds up at the pet name and how willing he is at reassuring you. At how deep his voice gets whenever he’s oh, so very tired. It makes him drawl on his words in the most appealing of ways, and is nothing like the eager, boisterous way he speaks with you during the day. So you just need to make him keep talking. Need to keep listening to that wonderfully sluggish drawl, because you only get to hear it during times like these.

“What’re you doing?”

Sadly for you, Naruto keeps his answer short and rather bland, “Nothing much, you?”

But his fingertip is still tracing the ridge of his cock as he says it. Lazy, even strokes that he's still deciding on whether to prolong or not. But you don't know that, of course. You just hear his drawl and the sigh he lets out afterwards.

And now you pause whilst you eye your own hand that’s wound up in-between your legs even before he called; as well as the fingers that keep disappearing from view as you keep pushing them deeper and deeper into your needy pussy that isn’t at all satisfied with what you’re doing.

You're so frustrated. Even the vibrator didn’t help. Come to think of it, all of your toys just feel so wrong. And you know damn well what would feel right, however the trouble is that it’s unreachable from how far away it is at the moment.

You’re practically yearning for just two of his digits that’d stroke your demanding walls and curl inside you in a way that would make your toes curl just as intensely. Yearning for his mouth and tongue that love to lap up every droplet of your essence and suck at your sensitivity until you’re outright squealing from pleasure. For his cock, that would pound into you right after you’d cum the first time and would make you gush twice as hard only minutes later. 

Hell, you miss him so darn much that you’d even be satisfied with him letting you ride his thigh until the friction would make your cunt drool all over his jeans. You’re just that sexually frustrated - when he’s away, especially.

And you’re also so sad that he’s not here with you. So much, in fact, that it makes your pussy hurt from how empty it is.

“Also nothin’,” you manage to mumble finally, face blooming with warmth at the little mistruth. Shaking your head, you sink into reality by force. It’s not like he’ll know, right?

Silence greets you again. You spend it by continuing to pleasure yourself and attempting to breathe normally during it.

“Yeah?” he says all of a sudden, chuckling into the phone so darkly that it makes your skin buzz whilst a shiver tumbles down your spine. “You’re sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-Yes!” Your brows knit tightly together as you attempt to curl your fingers inside you in the same way he tends to do it, but to no avail. Even speeding up the little circles your thumb draws over your puffy clit doesn’t help. You’re absolutely drenched; lying naked and sweaty on top of the mattress he loves to fuck you on, and it’s all for nothing.

He pokes at you again, “Absolutely sure?”

“Of course, Naruto.” Irked.

Still, your boyfriend sniggers at the quiet groan of agitation you let out the moment you pull your fingers out and smear the gooey slick all over your clit instead. He doesn't know what you're doing exactly, but he has acquired a vague idea by now. You're not that smooth with it, after all - not smooth at all, actually.

It's why he sounds nearly complacent as he says,

“You don’t mind if I FaceTime you, then; do you, baby?”

𝙆𝙄𝘽𝘼

Kiba smells it before he sees it.

His senses heighten as the scent of your sweet arousal wafts to his nose the moment he steps foot inside your shared apartment. He’s come home late from his mission; finished it two days later than he’d said he would to be exact, but instead of being annoyed with the bothersome delay, he catches himself feeling needy instead. 

Why? He can smell you all over the place, after all. Strong and sweet - the scent of your pussy is quite literally everywhere, because the door that's leading to your bedroom is wide open and the smell seeps right out of it like a heavy fog of sorts.

Kiba's body is blazing. His mouth waters at the sugar as he attempts to swallow down the groan that's bubbling up his throat; sharp pupils dilating sideways until they’re so big he’d be able to see everything in the dark. Even his breathing is getting heavier as his heartbeat accelerates to the point of hurting.

The smell of your yearning for climax is potent enough that it coats his mind with a layer of fuzz that's so thick he can't think straight anymore, and it makes his skin burn hot so fast that even he’s surprised. Only seconds pass and yet his dick is already twitching with immoral anticipation. By the time he drops the heavy backpack off of his stiff shoulders and starts walking down the hall, it seems that his cock is doing all the thinking for him already.

He hasn’t fucked you in a while. And he’s tired; simply exhausted from the stupid mission that’s kept him away from you for so fucking long, but he can’t bring himself to care about that. Not now.

Because as soon as he approaches the doorway of your bedroom and rests one shoulder against its frame, he can’t just smell you, but he can see you as well. 

And he can also hear you panting as he watches you pleasure yourself on top of the bed he’s longed to sleep on for the last three weeks. Your legs are splayed so wide apart that you're completely exposed to his wandering, albeit just as hungry gaze. Holy fuck, you look so pretty like this; all needy and driven mad with lust because you're so clearly aching for him. He’s missed you so much.

And it's rather uncharacteristic for Kiba, but he takes a moment to appreciate the sight. To just take you in; all tender and raw, because in your delirious state, you haven't even managed to pick up on his presence yet.

The reason for it might be because your eyes are screwed shut in visible frustration. He can tell that you’re unable to make yourself cum just by how agitated your little moans sound, as well as the fervour you're fingering yourself with, after all. 

You're knuckles-deep in your pretty pussy, thumb pressing against your puffy clit in clumsy circles as your brow furrows in response to the too-mellow pleasure that never feels right anymore. Gosh, no matter what you do, your digits just aren't enough. They aren't as long and thick as his own are, and they don't curl in the same manner his own can. They don't go as deep. Aren't able to stroke that sweet spot you’re trying so hard to reach now.

And for fuck's sake, he can’t take it. Looking as helpless as you do, he needs to take care of you now. Now, now, now. Fuck you like an animal; all raw and fast and rough.

“Missed me that much, huh, pretty?”

His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin the moment it meets your ears inside the dark bedroom, but before you can even scream in terror, he's already on you; palm clamped over your mouth so tight that you can’t even get a squeak out.

It takes you long moments to realize who you’re looking at. Nothing but his heavy breathing fills the hot air between you as you keep staring at each other and he slowly moves his palm from your panting mouth when he’s absolutely sure you won’t make noise. The room is so dark that half of his face is covered in shadows but his eyes are still as fierce as ever. All sharp around the edges and messy-haired, he’s nothing short of a brute. That’s definitely your moron of a boyfriend, all right.

“Idiot,” you whisper-shout, “y-you told me you were going to be-”

“C’mon, lemme in,” he interrupts quietly, way too hot and impatient to endure your scolding now. He’s already dipping in to spread your legs further apart when you attempt to protest from how embarrassed you are that he’s caught you in an act so lewd. 

Having him so close, you begin to acknowledge that he smells like the forest he's spent three weeks sleeping in. Like the smoke from the campfire and the moss on the ground, as well as the cheap soap from the inn he's spent the nights bathing in; the musky aroma turns you dazed and soft until you’re resembling nothing but body-temperature putty in his hands.

By the time one slips between your legs to make enough space for his head, you're already drunk on the scent and the path of kisses he’s paving down your stomach. The ends of his chestnut hair tickle your skin so pleasantly that you can’t help but giggle now.

“What's so funny?” His mouth is so close to your cunt that you can feel his warm exhale brush your clit now. Covered in arousal, the breath sends a shiver tumbling down your spine.

“You scared me,” you mumble softly as he places your legs on top of his shoulders and his rough hands find the back of your thighs so that he can manhandle you into position. Goodness, his touch feels so hot that it nearly makes your skin sizzle. “You should have called out, or something...”

“M’sorry. You smelled so good that it kind of messed me up... I couldn't think,” he admits, sounding like he actually means it this time. “How 'bout I fuck you with my tongue as an apology? Yeah, pretty?”

Oh, wow.

𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙆𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙐

Shikamaru feels it before he sees it.

He’s lying in bed on his side; with his back turned towards you the moment that first hitched sigh brushes his ear and your elbow nudges his shoulder blade seemingly by accident at first.

But accident or not, the brown-haired Nara still stirs awake in an instant at the touch. Parting his heavy eyelids feels like a chore he doesn’t wish to tend to at the moment - or any moment, whatsoever - but he still wills the bothersome weight away by fluttering them open and letting his pupils dilate in the dark as they help him take in his surroundings easier. 

The room is warm. It’s the middle of summer and shadows seep inside the space and dance over the walls only with the late hour which he was supposed to be spending in deep slumber. You’ve both kicked the thin covers off of your sweat-riddled bodies ages ago, he can see the duvet pooling at his feet and over the edge of the bed, but it does nothing with beating the hazy heat that’s dropped down upon you like a thick fog of sorts.

And yet; a certain kind of chill still manages to rush down the entire length of Shikamaru’s spine, despite that the room is so hot that it feels like you’re both stuck inside a fully-working oven. Because now, he feels your warm skin brush his own as the mattress dips deeper from the subtle tossing and turning you’re trying to accomplish, and he experiences that chill again as it trickles down his neck the moment your knee rests on his hip when you spread your legs wider apart.

The sensation rounds the curve of his side and nestles deep inside his gut now. The moment the realization sinks in, it is already taken the form of pure thrill.

You're being naughty.

And so, Shikamaru swallows harshly at the thought to cross his mind. He’s fully-awake now; alert and free from the fuzzy chains of sleep that have a tendency to hold his brain hostage on the norm. The spit he forces down his throat isn’t audible. Or so he thinks. 

Perhaps he’s just incapable of hearing it over the sound of his own racing heartbeat and the blood that’s rushing straight into his ears. It might as well be that.

But he can hear it now, too. These deep breaths that you’re attempting to inhale and exhale through your nose instead of your mouth. The occasional whisper of a naughty word and this lewd, wet sort of sound that doesn’t require a genius to comprehend what it actually is.

For once, he can't stay still anymore. So he sucks in a deep breath and feels your body freeze the moment he exhales that same inhale through his mouth. He groans with content; all deep and raspy whilst pretending to stretch his long limbs that are always so very tired, before he presses his palm flat against the mattress and uses the momentum to flip himself around.

His hair is down instead of being tied up in that signaturely spiky ponytail; the colour dark like ebony wood but smooth-looking like midnight silk. A strand of it sticks to his forehead as he looks at you through sleepy, hooded eyes - reminding you of a thin crack of void in the middle of the pale, porcelain-like surface that is his skin. You lick your lips as you stare at him in the dark now, your own eyes growing wide open.

He grins at you lazily as soon as the eye contact is made, barely showing you any teeth. Even the smile is enticingly droopy just like his entire demeanor tends to be. How enticing.

Still, you don’t say anything despite the warm grin, and Shikamaru doesn’t seem to mind it – just like he doesn’t mind most things that happen in his life. Your boyfriend is as easy-going as ever, and his voice is nothing but a low drawl as it reaches your ears; right after he purses his lips and blows the lock of hair from his face in a single puff, “Mm... What are you up to?”

God, you’re so tense because of the seemingly simple question he presents before you that it’s almost funny in a way. He can literally see the stiffness that overtakes your entire body in the way your jaw clicks shut, as well as the way you just lay there; all straight and still as a plank of wood nobody has bothered to pick up. Every breath you take is ragged. It makes your chest heave quite visibly in that white, thin tank top that you like to wear to bed on hot nights like these.

He can see your nipples poking against the light cotton. Just two pretty numbs that seem to harden underneath his keen eyes in the colour of rich coffee. Oh goodness, you’re adorable.

The smart-ass smirk that is forcing its way onto his lips because of it is hard to hide now. Especially as he adds a rather derisive, “Well?”

“Nothing,” you squeak out at long last, your voice the definition of flustered panic and the nervosity of getting caught. Fumbling with your hand which you’ve still got stuck underneath the waistband of your flimsy pyjama shorts, you’re attempting to ignore the heat of embarrassment that sears your face to almost a painful degree as you attempt to pull it out, out, out.

But Shikamaru works faster than you for once. Cool, slender digits wrap around your wrist the moment the waistband snaps back into place, and your hand becomes free. It’s dark inside the room, but he can still see the glimmer that coats your fingers because of the glow from the street light just outside his window. Can see the sticky arousal that is practically drooling down your finger pads now.

Oh, you really have been so very naughty, indeed.

And the silence is deafening. Your heart is ready to climb up your throat and just knock your front teeth out by this point.

After all, the moment his dark brow quirks in blatantly sinful amusement, you’re ready to bury yourself six feet under. Nothing but a mess of yelps and unfinished sentences begins to leave your mouth as you attempt to apologize and explain yourself for being so stupidly horny.

So much for being sneaky and subtle about this entire ordeal. You should have known better, and now you’re paying the price by listening to his smug chuckle and watching the mischievous glint start to appear in those sleepy eyes of his.

And Shikamaru; sleepy, lazy Shikamaru, listens for a while, just because it's fun. You're pure chaos - nearly teary-eyed, lips trembling, and so sweaty that your entire face is glowing as you beg him to forget about this entire thing. And then, when he's finally had enough of listening to your erratic pleas for forgiveness, he shuts you up by bringing your smaller fingers to his mouth and kissing each finger pad so softly, that it feels like a touch of a feather had just grazed your skin.

He makes the waterfall of apologies outright cease when he wraps his plush lips around one digit and strokes it with the tip of his tongue, then. Just barely there to be considered as present, the feeling of his warm saliva turns your breathing slightly irregular when he repeats the same action with another digit and just sucks them both inside his mouth not a moment later.

He's never done anything like this before. But to be fair: neither have you.

“Sh-Shikamaru,” you whisper his name, voice shaking like a leaf on the surface of a rowdy river, “wh-what are you-...? Nnh...”

“This doesn’t look like nothing to me, darling.” Musing like a curious cat at the shock that crosses your face as soon as his lips part from your fingers with another gentle kiss and flick of tongue, his voice resembles a purr, which you swear that you can feel vibrating inside your very skull. Especially as he turns your wrist to the other side gently, and shoves your fingers into your own mouth so that you can finish the job he’s started.

His lips are right next to your ear as he watches you do it; broad palm already sneaking underneath that tiny top he likes seeing you wear around him,

“And it doesn’t taste like nothing either, now does it?”

[sophierequests]

Could I please request a Toyla x reader..? (Bless you for writing for everyone I can’t find any for him 😭) they’re crushing on each other and them having to share a bed 🥺

you are foolish to want

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Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x gn!Reader

A/N: After reading this you might ask me: Sophie, will you ever write anything else than Hurt/Comfort when you get requests that aren't in any explicit genre? The answer to that question is: no <3 Also, the second time of using horses in a Tolya fanfic?? What has overcome me?? Thank you for the request! I hope you'll like this, even though the one bed trope isn't the main focus of this story </3

Summary: Tolya and the reader are on their way to the Lazlayon until unforeseen circumstances put a slight dent in their plans.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 5.8K (oh god)

Warnings: Mention of almost dying, broken ribs and hurt feelings

The silence between you became louder the longer you indulged in it. It wasn’t really silence, so to say. It was more the state of not speaking. The forest surrounding you was anything but silent. Between the creaking of old rotting larch trees swaying in the wind and the padding of hooves against the more or less solid ground, nothing ever really felt quiet. 

He couldn’t be sure how much longer the path ahead of you could possibly still drag on; all he knew was that he likely wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the entirety of it. The tension of riding next to you alone would have usually been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Hell, the thought of you alone did the job well enough already. Yet something about this time felt different. 

It was just the two of you. No Tamar. No Nikolai. No Zoya. No one else to worry or think about. Just the two of you, wordlessly riding next to each other. 

And while his brain screamed at him to use that factor in his favour, to finally make some sort of move, his body recoiled at the impulse of opening his mouth and articulating his feelings. Whenever he even attempted to do so, an obstruction seemed to form inside his larynx, blocking the feeble sounds that might’ve crossed the breach of his vocal folds. Maybe it was his heart leaping out of his chest and ending up in the enclosure of his throat, desperate to be spat out and stowed away inside a neat little box that he could disregard as long as he pleased. Maybe it was bile at the thought of having to come clean about the months and months of yearning he had been subjected to since meeting you. Maybe both of these options rang true; he couldn’t be sure. The sole thing he was painfully sure of was that it had to be closely related to you. 

Everything was somehow related to you. You had always been everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing at the same time. At least to him, he hoped. You occupied his mind, his space, and his time whenever he should be focused on anything else. When he wanted, no, needed to focus on anything else. You were everywhere just as much as you were nowhere. Nowhere he could reach. Touch. Hold. You had always been more of an idealistic daydream, rather than something concrete. And just like most dreams, you would be foolish to pursue.

“Do you think we’ll reach the Lazlayon before the night sets in?” Your voice broke through the air like a gunshot, forcing his gaze away from the impenetrable barrier of trees next to him. You stared at him expectantly, waiting until he could will himself to produce a coherent sentence.

He let out a huffed breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with the reins in his hands as if they were a set of tarot cards that would permit him to look into the future. “If we keep up this pace, we’ll likely get there right before sundown.”

“Oh, lovely. Just in time for Count Kirigin to welcome us. I’m sure he’s already buzzing with excitement,” you chuckled dryly, giving your companion a distinctive eye roll to accentuate your annoyance. 

Tolya rolled his shoulders, the mention of the count’s name sending a wave of unease through him. He didn’t necessarily hold any tangible grudges against him, he didn’t know him well enough to form any sort of well-shaped opinion of him to begin with, but what he knew was that the man was an absolute rake. If the countless times of resolute flirting with anyone that didn’t leave his presence on the count of three wasn’t enough to support this hypothesis, Nikolai’s long-winded tales of his drinking and lavished parties sure filled the gaps. Count Kirigin as a whole simply wasn’t a coeval he wanted to be around. Not when he was busy enough with keeping his emotions in check while you were close to him. 

“There’s still hope that he chose to go to bed instead of waiting by the door for us to arrive. I doubt that he’s all too invested in our presence. After all, Zoya isn’t accompanying us, so he won’t have much to ogle at,” the Heartrender objected slyly, using the scarce situation of being alone with you to voice his obvious disdain for the man in question.

“We can only hope.” You clasped your hands together, holding them in front of your chest as if you were in prayer. “At least we’ll share the same fate if it comes down to him having genuinely waited on us.” 

He nodded in agreement. It was a comforting thought to know that he was there with you. The fact that you were meant to take on the journey to the Lazlayon on your own at first disconcerted him greatly. Not that he wouldn’t have trusted you to come back in one piece, however, having you be out of his sight for so long without a possibility of contacting you made him uncomfortably aware of the actual extent of his feelings.

Another wave of silence settled around you. It was more comfortable this time. Especially since it didn’t take too long for you to speak up again. “I’m glad Nikolai decided to have you come along.”

His smile falters for just a split second, the wave of emotion your simple statement had created stripping him of the last bit of feigned confidence he had. Perhaps his years of studying and breaking down ancient poetry had gotten the best of him. Convinced him that there was more to the comment than merely you being glad that someone else had to suffer through the hours on hours of travel. But that’s what you would have said, right? You would have said ‘someone’ instead of explicitly mentioning him. During times like these, he genuinely missed Zoya’s bluntness to bring him back down to earth.

“Oh, uhm, it’s good to know that you don’t see my presence as patronising,” he stammers, his voice hitching and cracking as if he was a puberty-stricken young boy again.

You tilted your head and looked at him with narrowed but gentle eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to magically find his own whenever he had stared at you for a bit too long. “Your presence could never be patronising to me. I like being around you.”

In an ideal world, he would have told you that the feeling was mutual. The sentence would have rolled off his tongue equally as casually as it had off yours, and you both could have continued your travels with the knowledge that you appreciated each other’s company. This was not an ideal world though. In fact, he didn’t even give you a verbal response. Instead, he hastily turned his head away from you, futilely trying to cover the gleaming blush that had spread across his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Once again, the steady whirring and rustling replaced your short-lived stab at a conversation. It took another hour for the unkempt thicket to gradually turn into a widespread field, stretching out in front of you until it was obscured by the dense artificial fog that hid the watercraft testing grounds of the Gilded Bog. It would have been a stunning view if you hadn’t been aware of the massive amount of work that lay behind it.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when Count Kirigin’s estate came into view. Your whole body ached after riding for hours on end without a break, making you long for a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t take long for Mother Fortuna to knock that idea out of your head though.

Just as you had intended to throw some sort of sarcastic comment in your friend’s direction, a sudden sound of a rifle being fired cut through the forest behind you. After that, everything continued to go downhill horribly fast. 

You barely managed to calm down your horse, yanking the reins to the side to let it spur out its fright by trotting in a circle. Tolya, on the other hand, was less lucky. He hadn’t been able to react quick enough, his horse rearing on its hind legs before he was in the right mindset to properly hold onto the straps of his saddle. He was thrown off its back quite roughly, his back hitting the hard ground with a bone-chilling thud.

“Tolya!” you called, dismounting your horse without thinking about the looming threat of someone directing their gunshots at you. It was as if you were passing through a tunnel, eyes only focused on what was in front of you.

A litany of his name spilt out of your mouth as you knelt down next to him; you repeated it so many times that it didn’t even feel like a real word anymore. But no amount of repetition could bring him to regain consciousness. He remained laying on the ground, perfectly still and with no reaction to anything you did. Years and years of basic medical training flickered through your mind, hopelessly trying to give you an impulse that might be able to save his life. Your hands promptly moved to the pronounced column of his throat, a motion that would have been intimate if you weren’t filled with panic. The skin underneath your fingers was warm - and unexpectedly soft - as you dug for any form of heartbeat. When you finally localised a faint but rhythmic thudding, you sucked in a deep breath, momentarily considering changing your stance on the Saints if they had been the ones to grant you this minuscule act of reassurance.

“Tolya,” you tried again, hands cradling the sides of his face as you shifted him onto your lap. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, immediately seeking out contact with yours. It took another moment for him to recognise what position he was currently in. Your hands on his face and his head on your lap felt almost too good of a situation to be anything but a dream. 

He wanted to say something, anything for that matter, but a piercing pain in his chest caused him to let out a stifled groan. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. His whole body felt like it had been pulled apart and reassembled without a manual, and you couldn’t do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Hey.” You let your thumbs smooth over the ridges of his cheekbones, your feather-light touch creating an embarrassingly visible trail of goosebumps all over his arms. Everything you did was too soft. Too delicate. Too wholly overwhelming. “I know it hurts. Just stay here for a while and-”

“Saints!” A shrill voice made your head shoot up, the memory of the gunshot striking you like a brick. When a familiar figure scrambled out of the woods, an extravagant hunting rifle strung over his back and a mortified look on his face, you began to piece together what was going on. “I’m terribly sorry! I- We were just coming back from our hunting trip and we didn’t- Oh, no.” The count ran a shaky hand through his neatly slicked-back hair, causing a few stiff strands to fall onto his forehead.

Something inside you wanted to be mad at him. It was his fault after all. If he had been more careful and a little less trigger-happy none of this would have happened. However, Tolya’s weight still very much present on your legs substituted your anger with worry. “Kirigin, I’ll need some help getting him to the Lazlayon. He needs to be looked at by someone more…medically-inclined than me.”

Emil nodded his head reverently, calling over a few of the other men that had joined him in his hunting party. With their help, you heaved him back to his feet. His nails dug into your shoulder as you helped him walk to your horse; neither of you trusted his horse enough to not throw him off again. It was quite the struggle, but after a lot of cursing and griping coming from the normally very composed Heartrender, you reached the opulent mansion just before the sun had vanished behind the mountain range completely.

Upon entering, the count immediately called for a medik, showing the two of you to his drawing room while he flittered through the foyer in a frenzy. Tolya let himself fall onto one of the plush divans with a groan. His hand flew to his side as soon as his back met the fabric underneath him, flinching as he seemed to have pressed down too hard. It was a strange picture to see him look this helpless. He appeared small and vulnerable, almost as if a bare touch could cause him to break and crumble.

“Don’t move,” you requested gently, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. He was aware that this gesture was merely meant to give him a piece of reassurance; you wanted to give him something to hold on to, something to get his mind off of the erupting pain in his chest. Still, a nimble twinge of hope sent a burning wave of longing through his body. “I think you may have broken a rib. After your fall earlier that would be one of the lesser evils,” you assessed, letting the fingers of your free hand brush over the clothed expanse of his chest. “We should probably pass a message to Nikolai. You can’t be expected to take on the ride back anytime soon. But all of that can wait until tomorrow.”

The medik arrived just as you closed your mouth, forbidding Tolya from saying anything in response to your short-lived ramblings. He was a bit miffed by the fact that the person treating him was a simple medik instead of an actual Healer that could have fixed him up in the blink of an eye. However, a faint memory of Kuwei accidentally setting a whole section of the laboratory on fire told him that their presence was a bit more required downstairs. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when the medik pushed down on his ribcage with unexpected force. A jolt of pain flashed through him again, and embarrassingly enough, that only caused his grip on your hand to tighten. You didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he did so, entirely concentrated on providing the tiniest bit of comfort you could offer him.

“Fractured rib,” the woman beside you muttered, her brows furrowed as she looked at his exposed chest stomach. “This will take a few weeks to heal on its own. We can send for a Healer as soon as one’s available, but that will probably take just as long. The new project is keeping everyone busy, I’m afraid.”

“I will send a letter to the King,” the Count interjected, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to cope with his nervousness. “The Healers at the Grand Palace are often more willing to make the trip than the ones we have on our hands here. I’m certain he would do everything in his power to ensure that one of his most trusted…guards is back in his service as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that would be for the better.” The medik took out a few differently coloured vials from the pouch on her hip, handing them to you as if the person needing them wasn’t also in the room with you. “These are painkillers. Make sure he takes one of these twice a day.” You nodded along slowly, letting go of Tolya’s hand to not drop any of the flimsy flasks. “It would be best if someone keeps an eye on him for now. Especially after taking the medicine. In case the pain gets worse, you know where to find me.” She directed her gaze at Emil who merely dismissed her with a grateful wave of his hand.

“Thank you for…taking the initiative.” You gave him a brief smile, sitting on the armrest of the sofa where Tolya was still laying. Slowly but surely, the heaviness of the day began seeping through your bones.

“But of course! That’s the least I could do after causing such a mishap.” He pursed his lips but opted to force them into a straight line while he pondered his next words. “I shall send for a servant to mind you during the night if that’s alright with you. Someone should probably be there to attend to you, just in case something happens.” 

Tolya looked up at him, evidently not too fond of his suggestion. The idea of having some stranger even do as much as stay in the same room as he slept didn’t sit right with him at all. “I…appreciate your kindness, Count Kirigin. However, I would prefer it if you refrained from doing anything like that. I’m certain it will be fine if I’m left unsupervised for the night.”

“The count has a point,” you reasoned, a distinct expression of worry present on your face. “You’re hurt; don’t be so blasé about it. It would genuinely be better if someone is there for you. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe you could stay with him for the night if it’s the aspect of familiarity he’s concerned with?” Emil offered, his eyes darting between the two of you nervously. If his upper body had allowed it, Tolya would have shot upright in his seat after hearing that. As much as he hated the notion of having someone else practically babysit him while he was asleep, anyone else would be a better option than you. He wouldn’t survive spending a night under these circumstances.

His suggestion caught you off guard with what felt like brute force. He was a good friend; one of your closest actually. Yet you had never even seen the inside of his bedroom. Spending the night in the same room, no matter under what circumstances, seemed like a terrible way to improve that friendship.

“I… Tolya? Your call.” You shifted all the responsibility of decision-making onto the Heartrender, giving him an apologetic look while he struggled to find the right words.

He mentally considered all the implications this action might entail. What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? What if the medicine made him do or say things he might regret? What if nothing out of the ordinary happens and he was just diving into the worst-case scenarios? “If I have to choose, I’d prefer your presence,” he mumbled, instantly clamping his eyes shut in order to avoid looking at your face while you let his words sink in. 

“It’s decided then,” you chirped, slumping off your seat to carefully place the ampoules in your bag. You sounded pretty much unbothered by the prospect of sharing a room for the night. Weren’t you even a little bit uncomfortable with that?  He should be glad that you were taking this situation so well, however, your unexpected nonchalance concerning the topic made every last speck of hope that you could possibly like him back dwindle down to nothing.

“Very well!” Kirigin clasped his hands together with a resounding clap, the jovial nature returning to his face in an instant. “Now, if you’d be so inclined - and able -, please follow me upstairs to the guest bedrooms.”

The guest bedrooms of the count’s estate reminded you of the countless ornate rooms you had seen at the Grand Palace; broad wide rooms with high ceilings and long windows that made them appear more like a makeshift dining hall than an actual bedchamber. Needless to say, the Lazlayon was a bit more bucolic than what you were used to seeing in the capital, but the white walls and the rococo king-size bed definitely opposed every notion of humility one might expect if there was no prior knowledge of Kirigin’s spendthrift way of living.

Neither of you really had enough willpower to change into your nightclothes, so you merely rid yourself of the thick jackets and clunky boots, which you mindlessly tossed on top of your bags. The bedding would be changed in the morning anyway.

It was a terribly awkward scene, the tension practically electrifying the air around you. Tolya sat on the bed, his back perched on the carved headboard while he watched you scurry around the room like a rabbit in front of a rifle. You also seemed to have realised what the offer of staying in the same room for the night might imply; your previous casualness being gone completely.

“Here,” you said, handing him one of the vials the medik had given you earlier. He took the medicine from your hands, eying it with a suspicious expression. In comparison to his hand, the tiny bottle looked like a prop right out of a doll house. The image of comparing your hand to his popped into your mind, but you hastily shooed it away, thinking about how inappropriate that thought was. “Drink. I’ll get you some water to help with the taste in case you need it.” 

Quickly, he downed the viscous medicine, cringing at the sickly-sweet flavour that spread inside his mouth as he swallowed. As soon as the liquid went down his throat, he had to stifle a cough, the taste only getting worse the longer he occupied his mind with it.

You plopped down on the empty spot next to him, cautious to not spill any of the water that you held out for him. When he reached out to take the glass, your hands touched his for a split second, your fingertips barely brushing over his. Still, that simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Saints, he hated that you had that effect on him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not quite knowing what exactly he thanked you for. Thank you for being there for me when I fell off that damned horse? Thank you for holding my hand earlier? Thank you for staying with me tonight? Thank you for getting me that glass of water? He could probably think about at least a hundred things to thank you for off the top of his head.

“How are you feeling?” Your voice sounded just as sweet as the medicine tasted, he thought. He just liked listening to your voice a whole lot better. Were the painkillers already kicking in?

“Better. Sore, but better. I’m dreading thinking about what Nikolai will say once he gets wind of this.” He let his head slump against the wall behind him, his eyes glancing at you furtively as you scanned his body for any sort of unease or pain he might still feel.

“Forget Nikolai. He can survive without you for a bit longer. And Tamar is still there to save his ass when it comes down to it.” You gave him a quick smile, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before leaving his side again. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re getting better. No matter whether that happens naturally or with the help of a Healer."

“I’d prefer it happening through the help of a Healer,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the idea of having to spend another six weeks alone in the confines of a bed without being able to follow his usual duties.

“Well, an actual break would do you some good every once in a while. After everything that Nikolai put you through during the last few years, you should be eligible to take off at least a few months without him being allowed to say anything against it.”

“So eager to get rid of me now?”

A sharp snort escaped your mouth as you looked at him, the feigned pout on his lips making him look like a kicked puppy. Sometimes you had the suspicion that Nikolai’s inherent obnoxiousness was rubbing off on him.

“Believe it or not, I still like being around you. Even though you now gave me the added stress factor of having to keep a close eye on you when we’re around horses.” You walked over to one of the cushioned armchairs that decorated the corner of the room, leaning against it without actually sitting in it. “And If I really would be so eager to get rid of you I wouldn’t have agreed to play your nursemaid for the night. Especially not if I had known that I’d have to sleep in one of these forsaken chairs. Kirigin could have at least given us a double room.”

Tolya’s previously playful expression dropped. He had been so hung up on the fact that you’d be with him for the entire night that he had completely neglected to think about the logistics of his request. Had he known that you’d end up sleeping in a chair rather than a bed, he would have answered differently. 

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into his mind; he wanted to strangle it before it could properly manifest. Had he been Nikolai or Tamar he would have immediately sprung into action, offering you his bed, and probably also his heart while he was at it. But he wasn’t like either of them. He wasn’t brash, or romantic, or even socially intelligent. These attributes would be foreign on him, like a coat that was just a bit too big to fit correctly - contorting his actual silhouette to make him look like something he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a worried undertone present as you spoke. He quickly closed his mouth, straightening out his features to appear more collected than he felt before fixing his gaze on you again. You didn’t only sound worried, you also looked the part; eyebrows tightly knitted together while a distinct flash of concern gloomed in your eyes. “Are you still in pain? Should I get-”

“No, it’s- I’m fine, Y/N. I was just thinking…” 

“Care to share with the class?”

Even though everything inside him rebelled against opening his mouth and speaking his mind, his heart moved quicker than his mind could process. “Sleeping in an armchair can’t be comfortable. We could share the bed,” he trailed off, watching as you gawked at him like a fish on land. “If you want to, that is.” He felt the need to add that, even if it was only enough to calm his raging nerves.

“Tolya, you’re hurt. You need the rest more than I do. I can’t possibly do that in good conscience.” The room was filled to the brim with the nervousness exuding off of the two of you. It was almost sad to watch you two stumble over your own words, acting as if you were two little schoolchildren that both had a crush on the other.

Seemingly taking your refusal as a challenge, he awkwardly shuffled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the other side very clearly unoccupied. “Would that be enough space for you?” Your eyes darted from the comfortable-looking bed to the stiff armchair you had originally intended to sleep in. Much to your dismay, the bed did look more inviting than the chair could ever be.

“I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was everything you could muster up to talk yourself out of it. A futile attempt at not giving in to the want clouding your coherent thoughts ever since being in the same room as Tolya.

“You wouldn’t.” You couldn’t. “Trust me, I don’t mind. I couldn’t let you sleep in a bloody chair with a good conscience either.” As if to underline his statement, he patted the empty space next to him.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook off the roots that had metaphorically formed around your ankles and moved to the offered side of the bed. You felt terribly awkward as you slid into bed right next to him. You two had never been this close. Not in this context.

“Thank you,” you whispered, laying flat on your back with your hands folded over your stomach. He mirrored your movement soon after, albeit a bit slower.

He wanted to say something - anything - to relieve some of the tension buzzing between you. But everything he could have said wouldn’t have improved the situation in the slightest. Just like a few hours ago in the woods, the silence was anything but silent.

“You really scared me earlier, do you know that?” you mumbled, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Again, he thought. “This could have ended with way worse consequences than a fractured rib.”

“I know.” The words were heavy on his tongue, suffocating him. Up until the possibility that worse things could have happened had sounded like an impossible what-if situation to him. But judging by the honest fear in your voice, he really could have suffered a fate way worse than being forced to rest for an uncertain amount of time. The only feeling he could recall after his fall was the dizziness of laying on top of your lap and the intoxicating touch of your hands on his cheeks. He didn’t even think that he genuinely registered the pain in his chest until he felt the impulse to move. “Thankfully, we didn’t have to find out exactly how badly this could have ended.”

“Good. I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t woken up. What I would do without you.” The last sentence was so unexpected that it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. You had your way of catching him off-guard with your words that was so brutal, but equally as stunning.

“You won’t have to that out either. Not if I can help it.” He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you so badly that breathing normally became more and more difficult. But he couldn’t. Not right now. And maybe not ever.

Silence fell over you again. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside his head that he barely noticed when you turned to lay on your side, facing him. He forced his eyes to close in hopes of at least getting a few full hours of sleep before he was pushed back into a world where it wasn’t normal for you to sleep next to him.

“Tolya?” you whispered, resisting the urge to nudge him. 

“Mhm?” he murmured, eyes still clamped shut.

He heard you shuffling next to him, probably to put a bit of distance between you and him. “I have to tell you something.” You shuffled again, the mattress giving in ever so slightly when you did. You were sitting up now. “This might be a terrible time to do so, but I have to get it off my chest.” That caught his attention enough to look at you again. You sounded so serious.

“Uhm, sure, go for it.” To say that he was concerned would have been an understatement. His whole body tensed, much to the dismay of his fractured ribcage.

“I don’t recall the last time when I was genuinely so afraid of someone I care about not being alright, but what I felt when you didn’t wake up at first was way worse than just being scared. I'm not sure how to tell you this, and I’ve been putting this off for quite some time now. But I don’t just care about you like how I care about the others. I think I'm in love with you." The last words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, so quickly that he almost didn’t comprehend what you were saying. He could have sworn that this was a fever dream. Maybe the medicine had kicked in way stronger than he expected it to. Maybe he was genuinely going mad. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel real.

You realised how badly timed this confession was as soon as you saw the completely befuddled expression that was plastered all over his face. Suddenly, sleeping on the armchair looked way more appealing than the shared bed. You felt like you were trapped in a mass of writhing quicksand, slowly but surely devouring you until there was nothing left to take. This was way more embarrassing than you had imagined.

“I, uhm, this was a mistake.” You felt your cheeks heat up, burning you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of this bed. Preferably also this room. “It would be best if I leave, I’m so sorry. I’ll go downstairs to call fo-” 

Tolya seized your wrist just as you wanted to throw the covers off of you. The rash movement caused him to wince slightly, but he didn’t let go of you. A thousand questions forced their way into his mind, and he could answer none of them. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he knew that you needed to stay. “Are…are you being sincere?”

“What? Of course? Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that? Especially in our…current situation?” you questioned, absolutely bewildered that he thought you were joking around.

At this point, his face was beet red. He couldn’t tell where his embarrassment came from. Whether it was the fact that he had been tiptoeing around his feelings for months by now while you felt the same or the fact that he had the genuine audacity to ask you if you were kidding.

“Tolya, I can understand that this makes you uncom-”

“No, no, don’t!” His grip on your wrist tightened as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grasp. That was his cue to say something. Anything if it made you stay.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you too,” he blurted, maybe a bit too quickly. But the fear of having to watch you leave made his heart act before his brain could.

“You do?”

“Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that?” He gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes gleaming with adoration. Saints, he really was in love. “I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He had intended to let go of your hand, giving you a moment to process what he had just said. You didn’t let him pull away though. Instead, you took his hand in your own, tightly squeezing it before allowing your lips to curl up into a wide smile.

“Sounds like we’re both idiots then.”

“At least we’re idiots in love.”

“But idiots nonetheless," you laughed, your heart thudding even louder when you heard Tolya join you.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light @treasureofmy-heart

Tolya Yul-Bataar: @juneberrie @horny4knives

[lokisgoodgirl]

Claim Him :Clandestine F*cks [Avenger!Loki x Fem. Reader] 18+

Part of the Clandestine F*cks Collection [Link] A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (16) A confession from Loki produces an unexpected reaction in your panties. (w/c 3.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Hysterical bonding. Sex. Jealousy (kink). Voyeurism. Dirty Talk. Language. Thigh-riding. Oral sex.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” Loki murmured against your hair, cradling you across his chest on the antique sofa. Once the anger had subsided, and your heart rate had slowed...the calming embrace of Loki’s touch had begun seeping through your pores. A soothing balm against the unexpected news. “This doesn’t change anything between us, does it?” you said, propping up on your elbow as his hand slid over the curve of your waist. “Of course not...I’m sure we will find a way to enjoy the enforced continuation of our clandestine rendezvous, my love" Loki purred as you kissed the side of his palm, inhaling his scent. “It’s only another six months, and you’re forgetting the most important part...” he whispered, “my chambers can be enchanted again.”

A memory of this morning flashed through Loki’s mind as he cupped your breast through the silk blouse, his fingers toying with the buttons. “Megan…” he chuckled absent-mindedly, shaking his head. “Excuse me?” you spluttered, as Loki shuffled awkwardly on the sofa. His brow creased, the purse of his lips telling you that his mouth had spun ahead of his mind. “Ah” he sighed, “there is one other aspect to my meeting this morning which I should tell you about. Although I think not that you shall like it.” You straightened, hands falling from his shoulders. “Worse than the threat of being sent back to Asgard if they find out you’ve been fucking me?” you huffed, as Loki tilted his head, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Perhaps. But you must promise not to overreact, kitten.” Your stomach flipped, nerves buffeting against the mirth dancing in his eyes. “I’m afraid that I may have left a few loose wires where Megan is concerned, she got rather...amorous, before the meeting.” “What?” you screeched, as Loki jumped in his seat; thankful that the silencing enchantments had already taken hold. “Darling, please” he chuckled softly, as you stood and began to pace the floor “her feeble attempts at seduction were rather comical in hindsight. Merely some unrefined groping and brash failure in erotic imagery.” He cleared his throat again as you stood facing him, arms folded. “Did she kiss you?” you said, voice wavering. “She tried.” Loki said bluntly, seeing your eyes twitch with bubbling rage.

“That bitch.” you murmured, anger searing. Your vision blurred as white noise crushed blood through your ears. A vision of Loki with Megan’s hands grasping against his taunt body, her arms hanging around his neck as she sought the lust pledged to you. The thought of it turned you on in ways you couldn’t explain.

Adrenaline soared through your heart, pumping to your swelling core as you paced towards your lover and straddled his lap. “Where did she touch you?” you hissed, breath catching in your throat as lust thundered in your blood, overtaking you like a rush of cocaine. You had an overwhelming urge to retrace the imprints of her on his body. Reclaim every inch tainted by her wandering hands. To mark your territory. “Truly, darling...you needn’t be concerned” Loki purred, his velvet voice igniting the pooling wetness between your thighs like gas to a flame. “If you recall...no one is aware of our entanglement, at your insistence” he added coyly, noting the flash of jealousy in your eyes as he fanned the fire of your need. You thrust your hips gently against his thighs, dragging your core across his crotch. He could feel the heat from your cunt through his trousers. “She is a simply a victim of her own weak and foolish desires” Loki growled, stoking your arousal, watching your lips curl as you accepted his bait. “Her desire? What did she desire from you, Loki?” you murmured coyly, squeezing your calves around his thighs. His eyes glinted with primal mischief, biting his lip. “My body.” You ran your hands down Loki’s upright chest, his posture still so regal underneath those tight cotton shirts. He raised his chin, looking down at you teasingly; enjoying watching the flames of your possessiveness grow higher. “My lust.” Your grip on his thighs tightened, raising yourself so your chest was level with his eyes. Now it was you who looked down on him, his devastating cheekbones flashing upward. “My cock.” Loki enunciated purposefully. The final k sat a second too long on his tongue before his lips spread to a dark smile. You pressed your mouth to his in a rough show of dominance, realising you had quite possibly never wanted him more. In a flurry of desire, you felt yourself placing messy bites down his neck, his hands sliding firmly up the plains of your thighs. “Do you like the idea of others craving me, pet? Coveting what is yours?” he whispered, thrusting his hips slowly upwards. “Tell me what she did” you muttered, biting his earlobe. Loki hissed beneath you. “Darling, are you sure?”, the coy smirk never leaving his lips. “She did get rather...intimate.” “Tell me what that she did” you repeated, running your hands over his temples and through his long hair, giving it a firm tug, “make me jealous.”

Loki chuckled softly. His eyes guided your gaze down to the thick arousal straining against his suit trousers beneath your straddling legs. It was all for you. He cleared his throat. “She began by bending over, displaying herself in a little skirt, much like the one that you currently wear” he murmured tentatively, watching your eyebrow raise at the confession. His hands teased under the edge of said skirt, cupping your ass in his large palms. You sank back to rest your core against one of his thighs, grinding your soaking pussy against the thick expanse of muscle. “She...fuck, darling...you know I love when you do that-” You pressed a finger to his lips. “Tell me what she did.” you repeated, the edge in your voice making his breath hitch. “Ran her hand up my leg and squeezed rather- ohhh-” your hand followed his reminiscence, grasping the firm curve of the thigh you had begun to ride; just below his desperate cock. “- rather tightly. She said that since our ‘date’ she’d been having all manner of sinful, filthy fantasies of us together, my love…” Loki’s eyes narrowed, his lips parted as your fingers danced across his turgid length. “Did she tell you what they were, Loki?” you whispered, rubbing your sodden panties across his thick muscles. He shook his head as you smiled knowingly, the bubbling lust and envy twisting deep inside making you drunk with sexual power. “I can tell you what they are, baby...do you want to know?” Loki moaned softly, placing his hands on your hips as he began to rock you harder against his solid thigh. “She touched herself thinking of you ahhh- kneeling between her open legs, eating her p-pussy like the god you a-are” you grunted as the first pangs of orgasm spread from your clit. “She thought of your chest pressing against her back as you fuckkkk, fff-ucked her into the headboard; riding that perfect cock until you moaned her name so loudly...uhhh, Loki.. everyone knew you were hers…” “How does she know my cock is perfect?” he muttered darkly, watching the sparks in your eyes blaze as you began to pant. “Everyone knows” you groaned, gyrating harder as Loki’s hands guided you, “Lang’s been telling everyone what’s between your legs since the first time you showered with the rest of them.” “She called it ‘legendary’, darling...wasn’t that nice?” Loki purred, “as she was pawing at me like a sex-starved slattern, running her hands over my chest...wrapping them around my shoulders, pressing her wanton lips to mine.” You moaned loudly, the tale he told making you drunk with possessive need as your hands slid over his broad shoulders. Loki pulled you further up his thigh, your knee snugly pinned against his balls as he hissed in approval, “The poor girl was so overcome, seems she has quite the desperate fixation.”

The eyes of the god never left yours as you tortuously pleasured yourself on his leg, each thrust of your hips tugging the material tight against his cock. His brow was furrowed in concentrated lust, relishing the new kink unlocking in the depths of your hysteria. “Are you going to mark me with your scent, darling?” he murmured, knowing exactly the effect his velvet words would have “...so that everyone knows I belong to you?” A primal flush rolled through your body as you crashed to his lips. Tongue and teeth clashed in a mess of desperation, orgasm spiralling through your blood. You pulled his hair back as you dragged your aching clit a final time across his thigh, exposing that thick neck laden with muscle below luxurious skin. You tore aside his collar, sucking a deep kiss into the nape. A primal moan rumbled in your throat as you claimed him for your own, the scent of your cum, your markings. He needed to be yours. All yours. You drew away, panting. Deep redness was patching across his neck as Loki observed you with a wicked smile. It would bruise. The same desire as before still raged inside you, despite the ebbing pulsation of your climax. You needed to consume him. “There was one other thing” Loki whispered, as you coiled one of his curls around your finger, his every movement making you hotter. He began to unbutton your blouse slowly, letting the words hang in the air as he placed a lingering kiss on your exposed cleavage. “Megan told me in no uncertain terms that she wished to pleasure me relentlessly with her mouth. She was keen to demonstrate her abilities with my...finger.” You shivered. The mental image of Megan draped across him with one of his long fingers trapped sluttishly in her mouth to the knuckle drove you feral, white-hot adrenaline shivering under your skin. Loki’s digit trailed between your breasts as your eyes re-focused, meeting his with a pursed smile. Was it the thought of him being aroused by another? Your competitive nature? Or simply a murderously passionate need to re-stake your ownership. Your mind staggered through the possibilities for the insatiable primality to have all of him, in every way, before collapsing to his open mouth once more. Loki was breathless with the force of your kisses. They were thick and fast and merciless, leaving no time to catch his breath as your hands fumbled with his buckle. “Gods, darling…” he mumbled, as you whipped the leather from its holster, smacking it against the ground. Fingers tore at the buttons before you slid off his lap to join the discarded leather on the floor, Loki’s eyebrows raising in anticipation. “Now...love, be gentle with me” he laughed nervously, seeing the wildness of your eyes as you spread his knees wider. “I just want to remind you who you belong to” you shrugged, making him shudder beneath your touch.

“Oh I know who I belong to, my ferocious tigress” Loki murmured, his breaths staggering as you gripped his thick cock beneath the fabric and tugged it free. Was this what Megan wanted? Was this what she had fantasised about? Her grand seduction? You kissed along his long cock, heavy with need and ready to be serviced. The smell was intoxicating, the centre of him an intense rush of Loki's natural scent; the warmth of his clean musk. Would she be able to make Loki as deep of a writhing mess as you could under the work of your tongue? Would she be able to make him cum so hard it took him several moments to remember where he was? You thought not.

“Fuckkkk, darling...” he groaned, relishing the return of the silencing enchantments as your lips fastened around his length. You took him completely, feeling the hard pillar of flesh hit the back of your throat.

Never in your life had you sucked a cock more enthusiastically, more desperately. His thunderous moans of pleasure rang around the high ceilings, hands sporadically tangling in your hair before falling again to grip the cushions. “...gods above...that’s my girl. Norns...d-darling fuck yes.that’s it.ohhh yessssss, uhhh.” His raucous cries of prolonged ecstasy were poetry. It had been too long since you’d heard the needy praises he saved for when your mouth was wrapped tightly around his manhood. His thighs shook as you sucked him mercilessly, alternating the pressure whenever he came too close to spurting delicious seed down your throat. Knock Knock “Loki? It’s meee.” Your stomach clenched. A thrill roared through your belly as Megan’s whining voice snaked through the door behind the veil of silence which encased you. “Just thought I’d swing by to see you, Lokes...if you’re free. I have a surpriiiise for you.”

Fuck, that brazen bitch has some nerve, you thought as you tightened the grip of your lips around the root of Loki’s engorged cock. You drew them up to the tip firmly, the deranged groan of pleasure from his lips charting your slow progress over every inch. You released him from your mouth with a soft pop, pumping the base with curled fingers slowly. Too slowly. “Lift the enchantment, Loki” you purred, as his eyes widened in disbelief. He began to speak, a sharp sigh replacing words as you tightened the grip around his member. Knock Knock Knock “Lokiiii…? You there?” He smiled, his tongue darting across his lips. The sight of you kneeling between his open legs, fingertips digging into his thigh, one hand tight around the centre of his desire. “She cannot know it is you, love” he muttered, chastising you with his piercing gaze. “She doesn’t need to know you’re mine. Just that you aren’t hers.” you said darkly, squeezing his foreskin around the tip in a sharp movement, making him groan. The white silk of your open blouse trailing around your waist, those perfect breasts heaving over shallow breaths tights against your lingerie. You were a goddess. Utterly and completely his. Tonight, you had one aim: one clear goal in your wild eyes. Mischief. And he could work with that. Possessiveness suits her, Loki thought.

You saw a glow radiate from his fingertips, a brief wink the only acknowledgement of his compliance to the game. Silently, you lowered your mouth back to the straining length which had somehow grown even harder in the interlude. With another flex of his fingers, his trousers disappeared, the beautiful expanse of taunt skin revealed as you sank against its warmth. Wet licks covered his velvet skin as you slid down his girth, finger and thumb tight against the thick base. You felt his hand rest on your head as he resisted the urge to face-fuck you, to jam his needy cock down your pretty little throat. Your lips tightened as you grasped him mercilessly; the thought of Megan hovering outside making arousal slide in your panties. A moan rumbled from your throat, the fabric between your legs rubbing teasingly against your clit with every delve of your mouth. Loki groaned loudly, hips squirming beneath you as he began to pant. “F-feels so ff-fucking good, don’t s-stop darling…don’t stop doing that...that.....t-that uhhhhh yesss” A swell of pride made you flutter as eloquence left him, the swirl of your mouth as you bobbed on his cock making him forget clever words and wit. Louder and louder he moaned as you squeezed his thighs, relishing the thought of his desperate voyeur only meters away. Was she pressed against the door in disbelief? Listening to every loud grunt of pleasure from his throat as another gave him what she never would? Flat presses of your tongue worshipped the sensitive underside of his meat as he grasped against your hand. Loki’s head fell back against the sofa with a soft thump, primal groans escaping his parted lips as he yielded to the pleasure only you could give.

He began to thrust upwards, meeting the dip of your throat easily with every smooth motion of his hips. You felt his naked thighs widen further as he gently rocked your head against his lap, craving more yet fearing the end too soon. “...la konge ditt komme, darling...fuckkk..” Loki stuttered through broken moans, “gi meg det jeg ønsker, my filthy god-slut...” “I’ll give you everything you desire, Loki” you murmured quietly, kissing lightly up the velvet skin as he pleaded for release in his native tongue. You licked a long stripe up his leaking manhood, swallowing the tip. The groan he released was pure desperation. He only started talking Norwegian before he tumbled off the edge. You released the swollen end of his length with a wet slurp, licking your lips as you drank in the sight of an undone god. His loosely buttoned white shirt hung ragged around his toned hips, the angle of his legs spread like a king on his throne; made to be worshipped only by you. Tousled curls hung around his shoulders as he released ragged breaths to the ceiling. How the muscles of his neck flexed with every beat of his thundering heart, how his clenched jaw sent shivers directly to your soaking pussy. At the loss of your warm mouth, his head reluctantly fell forward. “Come here.” he ordered, extending his hand as you rose. There was silence from beyond the door, whether Megan was still present was a mystery; but what she had heard just now, was not.

“Such dangerous games you play, pet” Loki murmured, as he slid your panties down. They pooled around your ankles, before you kicked them to the side. You watched your lover’s fingers glow with seidr as he silenced the walls once more, cloaking you in privacy. The god’s eyes burned with desire, his need to possess you equal to your need to reclaim his body for your own, however unnecessary. “Come here” he repeated firmly, the smouldering tone of his voice making you clench. You could feel the messy slick between your thighs as you lowered yourself to his lap, Loki’s lips parting in a moan as you slid neatly down his insatiable cock. “Fuckkkk...du eier meg, darling” he groaned, bottoming out with a single thrust into your heat. You began to bounce, every slap of his thick thighs against your ass making you keen for the next. The searing desire to claim him entirely reared within you again. The ache to feel his hot cum explode inside your tight pussy, to have him unravel within your simmering heat. Loki’s palm met the curve of your ass with a tight smack, making you gasp before he sank his fingers into the soft flesh. “Mine.” he growled against your skin, burying his face in your cleavage. Your fingers slid around his jaw, clasping tightly to the sides as you pushed his head back against the sofa. Clamping down on his cock, the god’s eyes narrowed; his teeth bared as he growled like a trapped animal. “Mine.” you echoed darkly, staring him down as you rode him like a stallion. Loki’s eyes rolled back, succumbing to your tightened cunt against his desperate flesh. You could feel the thrusts meeting your bouncing hips become erratic, shuddering spasms coursing through him as his body yielded. “Mine” you repeated breathlessly, Loki’s cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy; wetness coating the tops of his thighs, wet slaps of skin on skin filling the air. Loki let out a desperate moan, soaring between his lips as he came hard inside your channel with a broken cry of your name. Heavy Norse curses littered the air, thick ropes of cum filling your centre as Loki of Asgard finally found his release. “Jeg er din...darling” he gasped loudly, his body clenching through the final throes of a bone-shaking orgasm. “I am yours...I am yours…” he panted breathlessly, his forehead resting against your chest, swaying with every slowing gyration of your hips.

- Rough translations

la konge ditt komme - let your king come gi meg det jeg ønsker - give me what I desire du eier meg - you own me Jeg er din - I am yours - Tags @lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @thedistractedagglomeration @michelleleewise @mochie85 @lokiprompts @cakesandtom @nerdy-fangirl-65 @xorpsbane @muddyorbs @fictive-sl0th @ladylovesloki @lokislilkitten @lokikissesmyforehead @yelkmelk @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @ravenwings73 @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @fictional-hooman @123forgottherest @thomase1 @peacefulpianist @handsaroundmyneck @your-taste-on-my-lips @trojanaurora @five-miles-over @lyn-soso @demoiseller @peaches1958 @loopsisloops @ozymdias @maple-seed @kats72 @trickster-maiden @mistress-ofmagic @anonymousfiction211 @gracecaldwellx @sititran @loki-laufeyson-1054 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @gigglingtigger @evelyn-kingsley @animnerd @vbecker10 @ladymischief11 @daggers-and-mischief @simplyholl @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

[me-uglypretty]

I Would like 85 with Kate Bishop x Reader :))

#85 Le Ja Le Ja Le Ja Mera Dil - Sharda | blurb replay 2022

Kate Bishop x Reader | Warning: (18+), enemies to lovers vibes

In life, there’s always two sides to every narrative. The first which advocates themselves as morally right and holding a favourable value to those around. The second which evokes fury for their immorally wrong deeds and acquired the attention of the first.

However, you were neither as you would assume.

You were simply someone traveling from one location to another and creating ripples of resentment along the way. It doesn’t dither you away from your significant career. Besides, everyone has their own special occupation, either a clerk in the office or a thief in pursuit for their newest hunt.

It wasn’t unexpected to face the aftermath of said ripple.

A razor-sharp arrow was pointed in your direction, stern eyes whirling in hues of blue, and intensely waiting for your next move. But you smile fearlessly in the line of threat as hand remained raised and confusion arose on her face, eyebrows furrowed as she absent-mindedly lowered her weapon.

“Kate Bishop?” you inquired, taking a hazardous step forward which enforced the arrow to raise and aimed back at you. “New Hawkeye. Hmm, much pettier, I’d say.”

There was a fleeting subversion expanding in your mind as fingers twitches, tongue darts the width of your mouth, and declining at the same time. New doesn’t mean feeble, not by the sheer tense of her body, and jaw clenched, like your latter comment didn’t affectively redden her cheeks.

And she seems interesting to mess with or to induce into your little scheme of mischief. You haven’t decided yet.

Kate was standing as a stick when you casually approach her, and you noticed the way her eyes bluntly ogles the dagger wedges on the belt around your waistline then darting back to your face. Brief chuckles trembles at your throat as she gulps, almost afraid or far too confident.

“I won’t hurt you, Kate,” you pledged with a cheeky smile. “Unless…you’re into that?”

The suggestive remark formulates a blabbering mess out of Kate.

“No! Don’t move, don’t— just shut up. Give me back the diamond you stole,” Kate grumbled, extending her hand while the other grips her bow.

You didn’t like the advance made in support for the ownership of a diamond that was already stolen, then thrown into the hands of another wealthy lineage.

A thief and a hero—surely, there are better things to debate about.

Instead of compelling to her request, you made an exit by shooting a zipline pathway from your fascinating mechanism. From the metal structure to approximately three floors down, where an exit sign flickers.

“It was nice meeting you, Kate Bishop. Despite the circumstances…I think we could had been friends,” a teasing tone emits, as you waved and readily makes the jump.

But an uncomplicated task seems to undertake a much difficult approach on you—when an arrow whizzes past you, nearly striking your arm.

“Don’t do that,” you whined, comically like as you inspect the wall where the arrow hit. “Kate Bishop, you are an Avenger, so you are smart. Stop getting yourself into this mess. This diamond,” you expertly revealed the oval brilliant, which was kept hidden in your sleeve and closer to your hand. “Doesn’t belong to whoever hired you.”

Kate scowls, pitifully, you must add.

“Give me the diamond and I would not hurt you,” she warned, exposing the irritation on her face, and fingers twitches, awaiting to shoot her arrow again.

A shake of your head, the wave of your hand, and the attempted escape was altered when your body was tackled into the steel flouring, rattling the entire structure. Kate straddles you as her first aimed to punch, but you swiftly grip her hand. A smug look on your face as you twist her wrist and swap your position.

“How do you like it when I’m on top?” you ridiculed, while easily dodging her attempts of striking you. The polished bow was kicked to the side as you glared at her.

Kate huffed, “Let go of me!”

A compliment dribbles at your tongue, mild praises of her persistent on winning, then some marvelling at the gleam in her eyes—something so familiar, like your endeavour through cities and hers as a mighty hero.

“So cute,” you purred, and on impulse, your forefinger traces the crease between her brows, and tenderly brush strands of hair sticking to her forehead.

Kate appeared stunned, eyes widening at your affectionate touch and her body slacks underneath you. An absolute passageway releases as you warily stand, leaving her bewildered self on the metal flooring.

Two steps forward, and you felt a tug on your ankle. Kate was a little disorganised when she tried pulling you down and lowly grumbles in displease when you stood still, completely unbothered. A glare fixates on her face she releases her hold on your ankle and shakily stand back on her feet. She doesn’t admit defeat easily when her hand stretches to seize your dagger.

But you were faster as you swiftly grasp her hand and turns her around, your body pressed to her front and the sharp dagger skimming dangerously over her throat. You heard her gasped first then taking hefty breaths after, and fear emitting warmly as you held her close.

“Wrong move, Kate. You got a little too confident, but still good,” your mouth slant to her ear and whisper the next words, “I won’t hurt you. Let’s walk away and we’ll both be safe.”

Kate struggles to escapes than accept your request. “If you kill me—”

You scoffed, “I won’t.”

Reminder grazes your mind of a thief and a hero. You were equipped to continue, but you rather not prolong your schedule time to complete your task.

You effortlessly push her body away from yours, and she stumbles forward. Confusion flutters while determination flourishes in those round eyes. It’s attractive, you’d admit. The flood of blue around her irises, wide and youthful, and foolish too.

A sigh weary scratches at your throat. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You tried to kill me!” Kate’s hand firmly feels around her throat, and gazes intently at the dagger still being held tightly in your hand.

There’s something appealing about Kate Bishop and equally appalling for her sheer dedication to complete a mission. Despite the danger that was seconds away from ending her life. You admired that—or perhaps, you were finally facing someone worth your attention.

“Take it,” you offered your dagger to her with the handle facing her and the blade carefully pressed between your fingers. “A promise that I won’t hurt you.”

Kate extended her hand, accepting your dagger without any question. Warmth blossoms in your chest, a smile appearing on your face that wasn’t tracked by a teasing remark or exploit to fool her. But a genuine smile which in return, made her frown.

Finality stirs where you continued your exit, and she remained there, gripping your danger in her hands and witnessing your effortless escape.

When your feet landed on the ground with a thud, that’s when you hear the rattle of metal.

“Hey! What’s your name?”

It seems as if—you weren’t hers to chase after all, but an interest that buzzes curiously.

You lift your head to meet her gaze then notice the dagger being held tightly in her hand, before meeting those eyes just waiting for your answer.

“Uh, Suzy!” you waved with a cheeky smile and briefly glance at the dagger that instigates her to follow your gaze.

Kate eyebrows furrowed when she feels something rough against the dagger’s handle, her finger traces the engraving of a name and when she looks up—she doesn’t see you there anymore.

But she knows your name the next time she sees you and relishes the way you smiled like you were waiting for her too.

[willowwind78]

1 Annabel- Chapter 3

˜ Chapter 3 - 1 Samuel 3:1-4 - KJV ™

1 And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord before Eli.

And the word of the Lord was precious in those days; there was no open vision.

2 And it came to pass at that time, when Eli was laid down in his place,

and his eyes began to wax dim, that he could not see;

3 And ere the lamp of God went out in the temple of the Lord,

where the ark of God was, and Samuel was laid down to sleep;

4 That the Lord called Samuel: and he answered, Here am I.

˜ ™

The same dream for the second night in a row. Eve’s scream echoed in Annabel’s ears intermingled with something else…“Anna..bel…” Someone was calling her name. It was faint, off in the distance. She lay still, straining her ears to hear. Was she imagining it?

“Annabel…” quieter this time, but she was almost certain she had heard it.

Realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She leaped from bed, flying across the room, her bare feet making a loud smack against the cold hardwood flooring. She ripped the door open, allowing it to crash against the wall as she bolted down the hall towards his room.

When her feet reached the soft woven fabric of the Oriental rug, she tore the door open calling “Here I am!” startling the room’s occupant from slumber. Her jaw dropped, gaping at the newly woken man lying deep within the folds of his covers.

“Annabel!” his voice croaked as he recognized the form in his door. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

The color drained from her face clear down to her toes. What had she done? She was imagining it. Obviously, he had not called her. The dazed and confused look on his face was the clearest message she could receive. She knew she needed to speak, but the words were swallowed by her own shame. “Father Samuel…I apologize. I …I was mistaken.” Her head flopped forward and she attempted a hasty retreat.

His voice cut through her, stopping her in her tracks. “What has frightened you, my child?” Father Samuel’s words were not an idle request, they were a command. She took a deep breath and entered his room, closing the door softly, in a vague attempt not to disturb others down the hall more than she already had. Silently she prayed she had not awoken anyone lest she would have to explain this act of stupidity multiple times. She knew how foolish she looked and how foolish she was about to sound. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as his feeble old hand reached out and pointed to the chair at his bedside. Uncertain how to will her feet to move forward, her legs felt like lead weights. Inch by inch she closed the six-foot gap between the door and the wooden chair.

She climbed into the chair marveling absent-mindedly at her feet dangling below. Her focus shifted around the room concentrating on minute details and letting her thoughts wander in a half-hearted attempt to avoid the inevitable. Skin stretched like tissue paper over Father Samuel’s knobby fingers, nearly devoid of cartilage. He had been this way since she met him nearly fourteen years ago. He must be well over ninety by now. She sank into the chair as far as she could, which was not far considering the hard wood had no give, only the groove of hundreds of years of bottoms rubbed into its seat.

“Annabel.” His voice was ancient, soothing and kind. He spoke barely above a whisper. “Talk to me, child.”

At twenty-one, she felt barely an adult, but sitting here by Father Samuel’s bed she felt a small child, ashamed of the irrational response she had to a dream. Her feet swayed an inch or two off the floor, distracting her from the uncomfortable conversation they were about to have. Might as well get it over with, she thought.

After a deep breath, her voice emerged in a squeak. “I had a dream.” She shook her head and cleared her throat, stifling an extraordinarily inappropriate giggle when Martin Luther King Jr. raced through her mind. “I am sorry, Father. It was only a dream”

Father Samuel’s thin arms pushed against the soft mattress, lifting his body until his back rested against the headboard. “Have you had this dream before?”

Annabel found it difficult to tell if he was being condescending or if he was genuinely concerned about her sanity. A simple nod seemed the appropriate response as it would avoid another embarrassing squawk escaping her lips. She stared intently at her own wiggling toes wishing that those feet could carry her away from furthering this conversation.

“Do you want to tell me about this dream?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Without looking at him, she could tell he was smiling. She knew that the wrinkles in his face would deepen as his lips curled upward and his blue eyes would twinkle. She knew what he was going to say to her next. “Tell me anyway.”

She relaxed slightly as she began to recount her tale. She assumed she had stayed up too late reading and the stories had simply manifested themselves in her dreams. She told him of the angels exactly as she could recall. Eventually, her embarrassment was relinquished and her tale recounted with ease.

She could not help but watch his every movement as he listened to her words. His head covered in fluffy white hair, disheveled from sleep, bobbed periodically in acknowledgment as she spoke. When she neared the end, she could feel the pain and hear the scream echoing inside her own head again. Her muscles tightened. His hand reached out and took her own as a tear unwillingly slid down her cheek. Her voice wavered as she spoke through tears she could not restrain. “I am so sorry for waking you, Father. I heard my name called and assumed that it came from you.”

“How many times did you hear Him call?” His voice took on an uncharacteristic urgency that sent a ripple of fear down her spine. She pulled her hand away as his steely gray eyes widened and his brow furrowed in concern. The way his eyes changed color with his mood unnerved her.

She could do little to prevent stuttering. “I… I… don’t know. I was half asleep and then I listened again when I awoke to be sure that I heard.”

“And you heard it again after you were awake?”

She nodded and wiped the tears from her face. “Yes. I heard my name again after I awoke.”

“How many times did They call?” Father Samuel’s voice grew harsh and cold.

“Twice.” She tried her best to not panic while she searched her head to make sure her answer was correct. “I heard my name once through Eve’s screams and then once again when I was awake.”  Father Samuel’s tone was setting her on edge.

“Good.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. His voice returned to a normal, comforting level, his eyes softened to a pale blue. “They will call again.”

There was no masking the confusion she knew spread across her face. “Who will call?”

His face smoothed in seriousness, the wrinkles of age fading as his eyes locked on hers. “The Lord will call again. You’d best answer next time.”

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

3. "I think I didn't want to be a cop anymore. That's why I tried to flush my cop life down the toilet."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well..." He doesn't know what to say.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - His eyes express a rare condolence. Then he picks it up:

KIM KITSURAGI - "Lucky we found it. You should take stock of what remains, just to be sure some has not made it into the hands of the RCM's adversaries. Organized crime and the like. There might have been police secrets in your notes."

"Okay, I'll do that."

Say nothing.

"I don't know, man. Sounds like an order. I don't take those."

KIM KITSURAGI - "It would also not hurt to start taking notes on the case. Anyway, where were we..." The lieutenant peers into the trash container where soggy cartons and rags stink uninvitingly.

New task: Read your ledger and name the case

TUTORIAL AGENT - Some items, such as the ledger you found, are interactable. Go to your INVENTORY and select the INTERACT tab to read your paperwork.

4. Dig in Hobocop style -- for extra content.

TRASH CONTAINER - Wow, an Armistice calibre 50 nock cannon, half wrapped in paper tissues! So shiny...

What's a nock cannon?

Where?! I can't see it.

TRASH CONTAINER - It's a giant rifle and it's very expensive. Not as expensive as that fat string of pearls snaking among the rotten banana peels however...

And is that a Cordon Electrics pre amp with Elektra f2 tubes? It is! That catches quite a price, we're talking 12,000 easy. Unless you're into hi-fi yourself?

I am into hi-fi!

I'll sell it.

TRASH CONTAINER - That's too bad, because none of those things are actually in there. There's just food waste and crisp wrappings.

A cruel jest... there must be *something*...

I knew it. (Withdraw from the dumpster's cavernous depths.)

TRASH CONTAINER - All you see is a broken mug with a racist depiction of *the yellow man* frolicking in saffron.

An antique?

(Take the mug.)

TRASH CONTAINER - Only in its social sensibility.

Our low Perception missed this earlier, but Hobocop came through for us.

(Take the mug.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mhm..." The lieutenant briefly glances at the mug, then returns his sight to the trash.

4. Close the lid.

TRASH CONTAINER - The container sounds a muffled gong.

KIM KITSURAGI - "That's one thing off the list..." The lieutenant sounds relieved. "I think we got it all."

Open the lid again.

[Leave.]

Let's check out those items we picked up.

YELLOW MAN MUG

This broken eared mug somehow made its way into the Whirling-in-Rags dumpster. It depicts a person of Samaran descent frolicking in a field of saffron flowers, buck-toothed and grinning feeble-mindedly. It seems to be a cheap knock-off of some colonial-era antique.

>Interact

YELLOW MAN MUG - It's just a racist mug, what's there to *read* here? Not much.

There's quite a lot to read into here, actually. Look at all that content.

Got it. [Leave.]

YELLOW MAN MUG - Oh, boy. Here we go. What are you going to say about a broken, tossed away mug that *you* dug out of the garbage?

[yellowfingcr]

In the depths of the hive city, where the smoke of incense obscures the form and limits the sight, a robed figure strides forth. Pale flesh peeks out from beneath her hood, three-quarters obscured by a heavy facial mask and three blue optical lenses click and bring the Psyker's form into focus.

Steel and brass in the shape of an arm reach into the Tech Priestess' robes, and a case is procured. Her vox clicks on, allowing synthetic tones to leak out.

<[ New hardware, to scour your enemies and mine. May their blessed bolts scour the halls of the bestial unclean. ]>

Inside the case are a half-dozen grenades of coils and steel. A hand crank is provided which slots into their top. <[ Meditate and let your rage fuel into the motion of the crank. When you can meditate no further, the Omnissiah will reward you justly for your effort. ]>

Note: To fuel the Tesla Grenades, they must be hand-cranked. They are pre-primed with mechanical torque behind their initial charges. Heysel's successive attempts to charge them may vary.

“Hardware for me.”

Heysel’s tone is kept pleasantly frictionless, a diplomat’s reply- but there is an accent of puzzled perplexity, barely peeking behind the dark of her eye. The psyker cannot say she can fathom the idea of receiving something, of any kind and sort, granted with attached additional intent as they might come; since the awakening of her powers it has been made extraordinarily clear to her that she is not held in the palm of His mercy, and the gift of hurt is all that might allow her salvation.

But, she figures, a servant of the Omnissiah might not bother herself with such trivialities. Psyker or blunt, what does it matter? Surely she sees no true difference. Surely the whole of the inhabitants of the wretched planet they stand on, independent from skill and rank and weapon, is made the same singular thing under the scrutiny of her blue lenses: a weak, flesh-slathered mass, uniformly pathetic in its primitive architecture, wonderfully equal in its feebleness. 

Absent-mindedly Heysel considers attempting to infiltrate her thoughts, to pluck from the source the reason for her actions. Decides against it. She likes tech-priests, she does. She wants to continue liking this one too.

“I am… unsure of what I’ve done to be the object of such kindness,” she continues, cautiously taking the box and crank, “but, ah, thank you? Thank you. I’ll make the finest use of it.”

A beat. A smile, then, tentative, but not insincere.

“...Do you allow the presence of guests, when working your holy work? I’ve always wanted to watch a tech-priest’s art as it happens.”

[trans-lykanthropie]

See Part One

The weather the first mate was dreading continues unabated, and the atmosphere in the bridge is tense. The captain is striding the foredeck and laughing as the bow plunges down towards deep heaving waves, her oilskin seems to give her a curious, tall, hunching profile. The helmsman and first mate exchange worried glances. You are only worried about the engines for now, occasionally shouting down the speaking tube to the furnaces below and working the engine room telegraph.

A small figure wrapped in a raincoat crosses the foredeck and approaches the silhouette of the captain. From what you can make out through the lashing rain, the figure tugs on the captain's sleeve and shouts something in her ear. The captain doesn't move, seemingly reluctant to seek shelter from the growing tempest. Another shout from the figure, however, causes the captain to sweep the second figure up in a lift and carry her off in the direction of the crew's quarters. The navigator has gone bright red and is staring intently at her collection of maps, seemingly unaware at her inkwell sliding across the desk with the pitching of the ship. The first mate chuckles, seemingly relaxes, and mutters '...thank God she's got her distracted....'

The next day the sea is calm. You bump into the captain's steward on the way to the mess at four bells of the morning watch. She greets you jovially as she rubs White Cloverine salve into a curious arc of red marks on her lower neck, beneath her open collar. She seems remarkably energetic for someone who looks like she hasn't slept all night. Nobody at breakfast asks after her strange wounds.

Later you stroll the ship and talk to some of the passengers. Some comment on the rough conditions last night, others ask about the ship's progress to Port Boston. The severe and steely-eyed Madame F., clearly the wealthiest passenger aboard, icily remarks on the captain's absence from the table at dinner last night, asks if she means it as a personal affront to the guests, and interrogates you on 'why the engines sound so loud outside her cabin'. Confused and withering under her baleful gaze, you make a feeble excuse and leave for a safer part of the ship.

You find the captain gloomily watching the almost glassy ocean, leaning despondently on a railing with her chin on her hands. She looks like she hasn't slept either. She comments absent-mindedly on the 'boring weather', how there's 'too much sun', and on how you 'smell of coal tar and hot brass' before yawning. Was that a flash....fangs you just saw? You have no idea what she's talking about, but you ask the first mate about it later. They smile a little proudly.

"Oh we missed the worst of the storm for sure, but I think the captain's in a strop with me now. She'll forgive me soon enough mind."

The captain bounds through the door in her typical way and glares daggers at the first mate, who slyly comments on how splendid the weather is. She strides over to the navigator's desk, examines the charts, makes a sound almost akin to a growl, downs the lukewarm coffee-like contents of an enamel mug, and disappears below in a flurry of topcoat and that strange forest-like scent. The navigator makes the kind of noise you'd expect someone to make on seeing a cute animal. You reflect on how the dynamic of the bridge crew makes your head spin sometimes, as if there's a joke that you don't know the punchline too.

You've been meaning to ask the navigator why she keeps a lunar calendar pinned to the wall by her station. It's not the most pressing question you have.

[clockcall]

@eddie​:

⛧˖ ‒‒‒‒‒ IT WAS NO EXAGERTATION TO SAY that Eddie had developed a bit of a soft spot ( a massive crush ) for Chrissy Cunningham, but despite the glaringness that he felt towards his own affections, he still outwardly denied the claim whenever someone would bring it up—namely the annoying ducklings in the Hellfire club. They liked to quack a lot, always catching and pointing out each time that he would smile around her unnecessarily, or when his cheeks would turn red during their conversations. His denial of his feelings was only for the sake of his own sanity, however, because admitting that he was actively falling for what could only be defined as a DEAD END only made his heart sink. Jason Carver was still standing between them, and he couldn’t see that changing anytime soon … least of all for eddie THE FREAK munson.

          The way that Chrissy had caught herself before she’d rambled off more questions brought an even wider smile to Eddie’s face, although he’d done his best to stop it from growing by pursing his lips. Despite his feeble efforts, a soft chuckle slipped out from between them anyways, his grin once again reaching his dark eyes. Her apology was nothing short of endearing, as was the way in which she’d so sweetly delivered it.

          Eddie watched her, chocolate eyes shifting their gaze towards her fingers and her polished nails as they traced along the car door and eventually settled on the handle of it. It seemed as though he was always absent-mindedly studying her … The way she moved, the way she talked, the way her nose crinkled a little when he said something goofy to make her giggle, the way she stopped looking down at her feet whenever she was finally at ease in his company … He wasn’t sure when he’d started noticing so many little details, or when he’d started caring so fucking much about them, but he knew unequivocally that he couldn’t make himself stop. Whether she was building him up with the innocent batting of her eyelashes or tearing him down by holding another boy’s hand, he was beginning to fear that he might be perpetually doomed to be patching self-inflicted wounds for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like he could walk away after everything they’d been through together … they were in too deep now.

          Eddie’s smile softened some, but only because the shift in the tone of Chrissy’s voice and the words that she spoke tugged on his heart strings in a different way; in a way that made his own flutter and melt in the hollow of his chest. She was speaking to him as though he didn’t owe her just as much gratitude for all of the late nights and the comforting conversations that they’d shared, but the verbal expression of her gratefulness was met with warm welcome nonetheless.

          The note of a soft chuckle was carried out on the wave of an even softer hum, his gaze averting once again, continually defaulting to the keychains that dangled in the ignition. ❝ it’s, uh, it’s all good, ❞ he answered her, the accent of laughter carried out in the inflection of his coy response. ❝ i wasn’t too attached to my shitty sleeping schedule anyways, SO … ❞ He tilted his head in her direction. ❝ don’t mention it. ❞ The modest shrug of both of his shoulders was accompanied by the forward-lean of his body as he found her face once again in a search for her doe-eyed gaze, the smile growing at the corners of his mouth.

          For a moment, Eddie was quiet, the sweet smile on his face never wavering. It wasn’t long before he broke the brief silence with a soft tone and an expression that looked akin to a puppy dog, however. ❝ not that you haven’t humored me enough by, y’know … like, showing up here with me in the first place, ❞ he laughed, making an open-palmed gesture at the surrounding, bustling parking lot. ❝—but, chrissy … ❞ He pauses, deliberately drawing out the question. ❝ —do you think you could do me a solid and humor me just ONE MORE TIME? ❞ He quirked a brow, raising one ring-adorned index finger.

♡ ┈┈ ꔫ ┈┈ ♛ → THE DESTINY OF SHOWING UP here wasn’t by means of humoring Eddie, she thought, though she wouldn’t speak up about it, afraid of how he might take such news. Whether he’d be delighted to know this or feel inclined to inquire further, only to understand that her reasoning was out of fear of another attack on her, she felt the sensation of guilt grip her chest. Judas Priest might not exist as her cup of tea or she could find the musical talent of it granting her a new doorway into the unknown world of something she had only heard blasted out of cars in parking lots near the school or from the memories of Corroded Coffin’s stage performance. To stand here and deny Eddie this chance to introduce her to his music would be disgusting of her, so she’d sit here and open the passage way to the unholy church of this talent.

       Trepidation pauses her response, however, fingertips tracing lines over her skirt, humming in thought. What would he have her do? Wear white makeup and black eyeliner like the members of Kiss? Put on something less conspicuous so when she stepped out of this car, it wasn’t so obvious that she was some kind of prep born into a high school gymnasium? Try to learn some of the lyrics to Judas Priest for an easier time understanding the music and to sing along with him during the performance? Whatever Chrissy was to these people would be deemed as a pretty little liar, their sneers at her stupidity over their favorite music taste would permeate her and she did fear, slightly, the idea of embarrassing Eddie in front of his peers, his group of people, his place in society that he longed to show her a piece of – no, she wouldn’t care what his idea was.

      ❝ Music saved my life, Eddie, ❞ she’d gently remind him, lips creaking underneath the stress of the reminder. Some used this as a metaphor for being pulled from a dark time in their existence, but for Chrissy? The meaning went literal. Gentle gaze fluttered shut, open, shut, trying to piece together how to continue her thoughts thoroughly ; she still felt that anxiety over embarrassing him, yet she wanted to assure him that his ideas wouldn’t be anything equal to a burden – or maybe she did this for herself since she thought this way often when requesting something?

       Lithe fingers reached for his raised finger, poking it with her own index. What did that do exactly? Nothing but it felt right in the moment. ❝ I’m defiantly not, like, indulging you since you saved me, too ; if it wasn’t for you and your home and your radio… ❞ She wouldn’t have woken up in the first place. ❝ I would have been all alone and…and… ❞ Trailing off, her finger would slowly disembark from its point of contact and fall to her side. They both knew the answer ; they were both aware of whatever that thing was that she told him about, it was hungry for a life – she was certain that the Devil (as she saw it) would return one day – and hers had been spared by the very PERSON that society tried to place the blame on: a metal loving, rock-and-roll indulging, DND playing, and alternative guy who, deep down, wasn’t anything like they thought.

        Compared to the images that society placed on the screen of a devil worshipper who sacrificed girls for eternal youth and power, Eddie didn’t live up to that at all. Kind, thoughtful, and interested in her and her problems – as if she were a human being who needed a support system… Eddie Munson was, and always must have been, a soul whose judgment was passed on too quickly. If only she could inform others of what they were misinterpreting about him…but for now, she finally pushed through her hesitation to perk up, cherry lips plucking away the insecurity and nervousness to shove aside the downer of a conversation topic she’d plunged them into the crowd of.

      ❝ The point is: I’d be happy to do whatever it is you need me to! ❞ Truthfully, she hoped it wasn’t some ploy to have her do something embarrassing, but he seemed more a gentleman than anyone in the school had given him credit for. It felt like the whole world was against him, yet he wasn’t bothered by it – he wasn’t…upset at her or her people who weren’t initially antagonistic toward him. ❝ I can do it! ❞ Her confidence is bolstered by her fingers reaching up, pulling on her ponytail to tighten it, like a warrior headed into battle – or, in her case, a cheerleader headed out on to the gym floor to scream her little heart out. Chrissy Cunningham was ready!

[poeticallyella]

part from BITTERSWEET

(*ongoing* fic available on wattpad and ao3)

The library is relatively empty, with just a handful of students dotted around studying. It’s silent aside from a few scattered whispers and the occasional turning of a page. Lethia and Aurora sit down at a table by the fireplace. I notice Draco across the room, mindlessly thumbing through the pages of a book. Our eyes meet and he stands up. Panic rushes through my body as I worry he’s going to walk right over here. But he doesn’t. He wanders further into the library, his eyes lingering on mine, beckoning for me to follow, until he’s out of sight.

‘I’m just going to go and look for a book,’ I say absent-mindedly, placing my satchel on the table and following in the direction Draco went.

The quiet chattering of students begins to fade as I venture towards the back of the library. Old floorboards creek beneath my feet and I can hear my own breath.

Draco grabs me by the hand and tugs me into an aisle, pulling me into a kiss.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I push him off me.

He smirks. ‘You seemed to like it the other day.’ His voice is a low, husky whisper.

‘We’re in the library. Somebody will see,’ I hiss.

He rolls his eyes at me, and glances about the deserted aisles of books. ‘We’re in the History of Herbology section. Nobody cares about old plants.’

‘Aurora and Lethia are right out there.’

‘Why did you bring them with you?’ he asks, his hushed voice thick with irritation.

‘I didn’t bring them with me. I told them I was going to the library and they invited themselves along. I couldn’t exactly tell them what I was coming up here for.’

Draco’s eyes flicker with exhilaration. ‘What did you come up here for?’ His smug smile widens and he places his arms loosely around me, his hands resting on either side of my waist. He pulls me in. My stomach tightens. He’s so close to me. Too close to me.

‘What do you want?’ I breathe.

‘You know what I want. And I know you want the same thing,’ he whispers in my ear. I struggle to look him in the eye, afraid that if I do, that same frantic hunger I’d felt on Saturday might overtake me completely.

‘They hate you, my friends, and rightly so. I can’t be doing this with you, Draco. It’s wrong.’ And I know it is. So wrong. I know I should push him away from me. I should leave and never be this close to him again. But my feet stay disobediently glued to the floor.

‘You can’t, or you shouldn’t?’

‘Stop it.’

He leans in. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘Yes, you are.’ I’m not worried about looking him in the eye anymore; I stare hopelessly at his lips.

He’s so close and his cologne clouds my senses. My core flutters, sending uncontrollable agitation pulsing through my body. The room fades away and, with it, the last feeble scraps of restraint I have left in me. My lips catch his in a kiss so all-consuming that there is nothing left but this moment. His hands tighten around my waist and he pushes me against the bookshelf. I feel it rattle against my back as he presses his chest hard against mine. A breathless moan escapes my mouth. I run my hands up his chest, the material of his shirt soft against my fingers, and rest them on his shoulders. His lips move from mine to my jaw, planting hungry kisses all the way down my neck. I lace my fingers through his hair, soft as silk against my face. I roll my head back, eyes landing on the serpentine patterns that wind and spiral the length of the ceiling. He snakes a hand around the back of my neck, roughly bringing my lips to meet his again. I could stay here forever.

With an insane amount of willpower, I pull my lips from his. Just barely. Our faces still pressed together. I feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against mine, the warmth of his hands through my shirt, the slight quiver in his breath.

‘They’ll wonder where I am,’ I utter, my voice hardly audible.

He drops his hand back to rest against my waist, loosening his grip and taking a small step back from me. My eyes drift up to meet his and my legs feel weak.

‘Will you wait for them to leave?’ His voice is low and demanding. I don’t think it’s a question.

Unable to formulate a sentence, I nod and he steps aside, letting me go. I make it out of the aisle, before turning back, picking a random book off the shelf, and leaving once again.

‘Found it, finally.’ I say, placing the book in front of me on the table.

‘Magical Fungi Through Time?’ Lethia laughs.

Aurora peers over at the book. ‘You don’t even take Herbology.’

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with showing an interest in other subjects…’

Great. Now I have to sit and read about ancient mushrooms like I care.

It’s over an hour before Aurora and Lethia pack their things away and say they’re going to head down to the common room.

‘I’m going to stay for just a little longer, actually,’ I say, ‘I have a couple more things I want to go over.’

‘Okay, well don’t be too long. It’s like eight-thirty and curfew is at nine,’ Lethia reminds me, taking another look at the random book I’m forcing myself to read. She and Aurora giggle to themselves as they walk away.

I watch the door close behind them and I slam the book shut, breathing a sigh of relief. The library has emptied out quite a bit; I’m one of maybe five people left. I sling my satchel over my shoulder and begin making my way towards the back of the library, peering down each aisle in search of Draco. Outside, the wind howls and batters the castle walls. The walls seem to wail and groan as the night grows darker and the cold creeps in through every miniscule crack it can find. I shiver. In a tight aisle, right at the back of the library, just in front of the restricted section, Draco is sitting on the floor with his back resting against the bookshelf behind him. He holds a leather-bound book gently in his hands, his eyes dark and concentrated as he scans the pages. I drop my bag down on the floor and he looks up at me for a moment before rising to his feet.

‘You came back.’ He grabs me by the waist, hoisting me up onto a desk and standing between my legs. I’m dizzy with desire. My heart explodes in my chest. ‘Detention would have been a lot more fun if we’d been doing this,’ he says into my ear.

‘That night we had detention was the night I decided I hated you.’

He forcefully pulls me closer, pushing his groin against mine and I can’t breathe. ‘What do you think of me now?’ he asks, his voice deep and hoarse.

‘I suppose you’re slightly less unbearable. Slightly.’

He pushes his lips hard against mine, arms tightening around my waist. Every thought in my mind ceases to exist. There’s nothing but this. Us. Here, now. The cold doesn’t bother me anymore. Neither do the distant footsteps and scattered whispers from across the room. He threads his fingers in my hair, gently caressing my scalp, before securing his grip and pulling my head back roughly. He moves his lips just below my jaw and begins planting angry kisses all the way down my neck to my collarbone, one hand snaking loosely around my neck. His ring is like ice pressing into my skin. A soft moan escapes my lips. My hands are in his hair and everything is gone. In this moment, he’s all I want.

There’s a loud clatter.

I gasp. ‘What was that?’ It sounded like it came from just behind the bookshelf.

Draco takes a step back from me, offers me a hand and helps me off the desk. The two of us creep to the end of the aisle and peep around the bookshelf in the direction the noise came from. There’s a flicker of light. A lantern. Two boys, younger than us, fourth years maybe, are tiptoeing around the restricted section. The taller one is angrily hissing at the other, who seems to have just tripped and toppled over a chair. Draco sniggers under his breath.

‘Do you think they know we’re here?’ I ask.

‘No.’

A mischievous impulse rises in me. ‘Wanna mess with them?’

His eyes light up. ‘Definitely.’

I go over to my bag on the floor and fish around for my wand, before poking my head back around the bookshelf. Draco stands behind me, his hands wind around my waist.

‘Sternius,’ I whisper, flicking my wand in the direction of the two boys. The taller one inhales sharply a few times, stumbling back on himself, and then starts to sneeze uncontrollably.

‘Stop that,’ the other boy snaps, slapping him on the arm, ‘Shut up!’

Draco fails to suppress a laugh, but the two boys are too busy squabbling to hear him, the taller one still sneezing non-stop. Behind me, Draco pulls his wand from the inside pocket of his robe and points it towards the two boys, his arm under mine. His face is just above my shoulder and I can hear his breath, slowing as he concentrates.

With a flick of his wand, he says, ‘Serpensortia,’ and a snake springs from the end of it and begins slithering towards the boys, still bickering, at great speed. It hisses and writhes around their ankles and they both leap up in horror. The shorter boy screams which earns him a smack from his friend, who tells him to shut up through a sneeze. The two of them run away, scrambling over chairs and knocking a few books off the shelves as they do. The sound of frantic sneezing gradually fades away.

Me and Draco look at each other and burst out laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh like this before. A genuine laugh, not just a little sneer after a rude remark. His whole face softens: eyes crinkling at the corners as he screws them closed in hilarity, a rosy glow blossoming on his cheeks, his eyebrows slightly raised.

He’s beautiful.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath and when I do, he’s watching me and smiling. My heart flutters and I feel my face heat under his gaze, not cold and penetrating like usual, but warm. He takes my hand. Gently. I want to melt into the floor.

Draco opens his mouth to speak but a set of angry footsteps distract him.

His smile vanishes and I follow his eyes over to Filch, standing in the restricted section, his cat curling around his feet, and frowning at the overturned chairs and books scattered on the floor. My stomach drops as his eyes land and Draco and I.

‘You two! What do you think you’re up to?’ He starts stomping towards us.

‘Shit,’ Draco hisses, pulling me in the direction of the door and scooping my bag up off the floor. He slings it over his shoulder. Filch’s cross footsteps fade into nothing as we speed away from him. I can’t help but laugh. Draco’s laughing as well.

The corridors are cold and empty. The bell hasn’t rung yet but it must be almost nine. My hand still in his, I follow Draco all the way to the common room. There’s nobody following us anymore, but we’re still running, our frantic footsteps and breathless laughter echoing through the castle halls. We stop just outside the door to Slytherin.

[stardust-in-your-eyes]

Glasses

(this is from my old account, which I deleted in a period of....well, whatever that was. But I still like some pieces off it, so I guess I want it here again. For now. Might delete later, who knows...)

Please hurry back.

I was  turning those three words in my mind over and over again for the last five minutes,  ever since my phone buzzed in the middle of my meeting. My private phone, that is, the one that he gave me in case he wanted to reach me. In cases like…..this.

He never used it though, he never texted me, he was typically content to periodically check my location indicator blip on one of the plethora of screens he was glued to. So, what now? What’s wrong?....

I tentatively raise my hand, mortified. “Excuse me…”

“Yes, Miss …Kami?” The chairman looks at me over his gold-rimmed glasses.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go. It’s an emergency.”

“Can’t it wait for another half an hour until the deposition of the witness is taken in full?”

“I’m truly sorry,” I plead, already fumbling with my things, “it really can’t. Thank you for your understanding…” I add, in an attempt to salvage whatever face I can still hope to preserve here. “Je suis vraiment désolée,” I offer meekly to the witness, who sits  there dumbfounded, caught in the cross-fire, “il va falloir reprogrammer le plus tôt possible….”

Please hurry back.

Three little words, like three little ice shards in my heart…or so it feels like, as I jump in the first taxi I can find and give the driver the address of a coffee shop near the hotel, as instructed. Never park directly in front of the hotel, always enter one coffee shop or another similar establishment until the car leaves...but today I have no time to spare for these, even if he clearly had a purpose for insisting upon them. The hell with all these rules, I seethe to myself, furiously biting at my already abused nails.

I hum and nod absent-mindedly to the driver’s feeble, but commendable attempts at small talk, which gradually die down in the absence of any feedback, apart from my constant urging to go faster. Not that the silence that ensued is much better than the previous semi-friendly chatter – it allows me too much opportunity to think. To think of all the horrible ways in which I could lose him, of all the dreadful scenarios in which I would arrive too late, and he’d be….

As soon as he pulls over, I stumble out of the barely stationary car, my knees skidding harsly against the sidewalk. I only allow myself one second to inspect the bloody mess I thought I’d never see again past the age of 5, and I hiss in pain as I force myself to walk at a normal, albeit rapid pace towards the coffee shop. Thankfully, I never make it to the door – the taxi takes off, melting into the heavy metropolitan traffic.

Please hurry back.

I want to run, to fly – the few hundred meters to the hotel seem like an eternity away, time whooshing past me as I move too. damn. slow through the sea of unbothered, oblivious faces. Once inside, the concierge shoots me an alarmed glance, taking in my less-than-put-together demeanor and my new  ‘bloody knees’ fashion statement, but he has the sense to keep silent – he knows me well enough.

Moments later, heart pounding achingly against my ribs, I hurricane through the door of the suite, expecting fifty shades of catastrophe to unfold.

“L? You here?”

No answer. Oh my god, what if I’m too late?!....

But no. He’s in the main room, sitting quietly in the dark in his usual chair, his eyes for once not glued to the monitors. In fact….is he sleeping?....

“L?...” I approach him quietly. “Are you alright? Did anything….”

He frowns, gripping his knee with a little more force than usual.

“…you’re here. Good.” He mutters in a hushed tone, not bothering to look up or even open his eyes.  “I will need you to listen carefully to the next set of instructions that you’re about to receive…”

I sit down next to him. “L, what’s wrong? What is this about?”

He frowns again, jaw clenching as if he’s in pain. Wait, is he?!

“Please just listen to me,” he breathes. “There’s a file in your partition containing detailed instructions as to transferring the database concerning the case I am currently handling onto a server you need not concern yourself with. You will need a set of codes which I’ve….”

I feel a chill running down my spine and I can’t suppress a shiver. “Please don’t….talk like that. What’s happening to you?...” He doesn’t answer. “Should I call Watari?...”

“Watari is on his way here as we speak,” he finally offers, his eyes still averted. “He is coming to drive me to the hospital….”

“Hospital?!” I kneel down in front of him. “For gods’ sake, L, what’s wrong?!”

“…and I expect my stay there to last over a reasonable period, that is why I need you to transfer the data to….”

“Please stop!” I place my hand over his own and I feel him trembling. “Please talk to me. Why are you….why do you need to go to the hospital?...”

He sighs. “I suppose it won’t do to keep this concealed from you after all…. I arranged for the top neurosurgeon in the country to be present there because…I am fairly convinced I have a brain tumor.”

I feel sick to my stomach. “L, but…why? What makes you think…..” I trail off, as as refuse to let these words touch my lips.

“I’ve been having….these headaches,” he speaks again after a long pause, his voice shaky and small. “Bad ones. Like an iron band tight around my skull. It made it…..difficult to concentrate on the case, or anything much really.”

….It’s true. I do remember seeing him rubbing at his forehead lately…But, oh god, a brain tumor?!...

“…..after a while,my vision gets blurry too….as if…I can’t focus enough as to read the reports I’m sent…” he continues, and my heart breaks to hear the vulnerability  in his voice, resembling the fear of a child hoping for a miracle. I tentatively put an arm around his shoulders, and, a moment later, he leans into me with his whole body, his hand gripping my own for any semblance of comfort I can offer him. I can feel my own vision becoming blurry with the bitter tears I feel welling in my eyes, pooling up behind my glasses…

Wait a damned minute…..

“L, where exactly does it hurt?” I ask him, shifting a little so I can see what he’s showing me.

He grimaces. “My forehead, mostly. And behind my eyes…” he sighs, as he brings up a hand to physically illustrate his words. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t taken any medication, that would only mask the symptoms, making harder for the diagnosis to actually be reached in any reasonable int….

I reach up to touch his lips, stopping the torrent of words he’s rationalizing his anxiety behind. Then I move up to caress his forehead, smoothing back the unruly strands of hair shadowing his eyes from the world. With a sigh, he leans against my touch, my cold hands seemingly offering him a shard of relief.

“L…” I softly call out to him. “Have you considered other….possibilities? Other….explanations for these symptoms?...”

“Such as what?” he groans, face still buried in my palms. “There is no other diagnosis that can encompass these manifestations, other than….”

“Other than you needing glasses”, I finish his sentence.

He halts abruptly, the screech in his mental processes almost audible, as he finally opens up his eyes to give me an absolutely horrified look.

“Gla..sses?!” he utters, his voice a shocking two octaves higher from his usual monotonous vocal fry, making me bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood – don’t laugh, Star, I keep myself in check, whatever you do, don’t fucking laugh.

“It’s not that bad, L,” I cannot suppress a smile, as I point to my own rims resting awkwardly on my nose now. “Sure beats having a brain tumor, if I may say so. And….” I lean towards him to whisper in his ear, “you can always get contacts. No one will know.” He pauses for a whole whopping minute. Then he uncoils to his feet, reaching for the phone with one swift gesture. “Watari, it’s me. No, everything is fine. I just need you to cancel my neurologist appointment and transfer it to Ophthalmology instead.” He pauses, as his lips curl into a smirk. “Not a word, Watari. Not a single word, if you please.”

[fyrewalks]

“are you lonely?” // @lcvesdeath

He’s not sure when their conversation switched from easy chatter, the kind of light hearted fun that comes easy to them, to something more revealing. The kind of conversation Bob can’t hide from. Not with Nat, at least. Absent mindedly, he takes his glasses off. He stares at them in his hands before grabbing a napkin off the table and making a feeble attempt at cleaning them. It’s an obvious nervous habit; he’s always been like that when uncomfortable, his fingers desperate for some sort of distraction whether that’s cleaning his glasses or pulling at loose thread. It gives him something to do, another place to look. Maybe he can ignore that Nat’s staring at him, quiet and expectant for an answer.

“Nat, come on,” he says feebly, tossing the napkin on the table, lips twisted into a scowl. Bob wants to argue that this isn’t the place for this kind of conversation. Except, it’s exactly the right place. Probably the only place either would broach the subject outside the comfort of their respective apartments. The diner is quiet in the early morning. The few patrons look to be truckers or shift workers taking comfort in the solitude before the morning rush starts to trickle in. It’s the type of place where no one really pays them any mind. No one cares to look twice at their old training shifts they had each changed into after a grueling night of training exercises navigating the dark sky with faked broken nav systems and comms. 

It might be easier if she only focused on their flying, the kind that earned them top spots and a reputation many wanted to chase. There’s no need for proud bravado and puffed chests with the records they set. He could talk in the language of flying without worrying about stumbling over his words, without the usual awkwardness. “You know the answer,” he starts, unsure of where else to start. Bob wouldn’t have this conversation with anyone else, but that doesn’t translate directly into eased nerves. 

“It’s just not,” he shrugs, trailing off. Bob reaches for the discarded napkin, crumpling and uncrumpling it before tearing off small pieces to busy his fingers. He’ll clean it up when their done. No reason to make the waitress work harder due to his exposed nerves. “I guess I’d have someone to share this with, y’know?” Bob’s hardly the first to put aside his personal life in favor of focusing on his piloting career. Their skills were not built without sacrifice. Nor was he complaining; it’s what he wants, afterall. Still. Now that he finally feels settled, respected and sure in what he does, there’s an emptiness he can no longer ignore. “I guess I wish I just had someone to come home to. Someone waiting for me.”

[mamamania]

Could request a scenario with jeff (creepypasta)? With this 🍷🚬? Where his darling finds his shrine and he just kidnaps them.

Trudging through the woods you let your mind absent mindedly drift. The chill of the cool autumn air making it's way under the jacket you had on. Though you weren't sure if it was the cold changing of seasons or the odd chill up your spine...but you swore you felt watched.

Up ahead a cabin could be seen not to far from where you were. Though as you approached the unease began to know at you. Anxiety feeling like bugs chewing at your insides, but you persisted, curiosity stronger than the pool forming in your gut.

The cabin was falling apart, its original frame being what's mostly left of it. Through the gapes in the wood of the home you swore you saw a faint light coming from inside. So ignoring the paranoia as you opened the door, you made your way inside. Each step leaving an eerie creak beneath the weight of your steps.

The faint glow coming from a room with no door. Each step you took the stronger your anticipation grew, the grown of the floor like the instigator to your hearts beating. Yet upon nearing the room, almost rounding the doorframe to head inside, you stopped.

Photos of you were littered on the wall, and floor. The candles careful not burn or touch any picture softly lit up the room. Your breath caught in your throat with a tight squeeze. God you wanted to throw up . Taking some steps back, bumping into something cold like dying wood.

Turning ever so slowly you came face to face with a grotesque sight. A man around your age stood, still as a statue in a graveyard; his cold blue eyes look through yours with an emotion you've never seen. He was unnaturally pale with skin so tight it looked as if he was made of leather. His black hair matted and greased, hair straight and thin like the his body.

But his face, oh his face.

Jagged scars fought against the natural movement of his skin, as if it was a mock smile done by a child. Taunting you, haunting you and burning its way into your memory forever. And ever so slowly, he smiled. Not a normal smile, no, far from it. It was the smile that rabid dogs have before they attack whoever they lay eyes on. Crazed and gluttonous for whatever violence they desire.

And that he did. He set off this silent standoff of yours by lunging at you. Snapping out of your daze you attempted to lunge away from the lunatic. Fear pumped through every vein in your body, fueling you to try and escape. But he had a painfully tight grip on your ankle and clawed his up your fallen body with his boney hands.

Holding your legs down with his own, he positioned himself on top of you. His chilly hands wrapped around your throat. It wasn't enough to kill you but enough to make spots appear in your vision. Feeble attempts to claw at his face were futile, only making you waste energy and for him to somehow smile wider.

You could've sworn you heard him chuckle as your vision completely faded to nothingness. Unaware of how horrible waking up would be. And that you'd never get away from him now that you've seen him.

He won't let you get away now.