#it’s a solid drawing and i could push this lighting even further

[pizzazz-party]

Day twenty three! This counts as an outfit because I want it to.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Through the Shadows

Summary:

During a mission in an ancient ruin, Y/N faces her fear of tight spaces. When the passageway narrows, panic sets in, but Azriel’s steady presence and calming words help her push through. With his guidance, Y/N discovers her inner strength and realizes she can conquer her fears with him by her side.

Word Count: 673

Warnings: This story contains themes of claustrophobia and panic attacks, which may be triggering for some readers. It involves moments of intense anxiety and emotional distress. Please read with caution if these themes are sensitive for you.

The mission had gone smoothly until now. Y/N and Azriel moved silently through the dark, narrow corridors of the ancient ruin, their footsteps barely making a sound against the stone floor. The air was damp and musty, thick with the scent of centuries-old decay. Shadows flickered around them, cast by the dim light of Azriel’s shadows.

Y/N had always prided herself on her ability to remain calm under pressure, but the tight, confining space was beginning to wear on her nerves. She could feel the walls closing in, her breath growing shallow and rapid.

“Just a bit further,” Azriel whispered, his voice a steady anchor in the oppressive darkness.

Y/N nodded, though she wasn’t sure he could see her. Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears. She forced herself to take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. They needed to retrieve the ancient artifact hidden deep within the ruin, a relic that could turn the tide in their favor.

But as they rounded a corner, the passageway narrowed even further, forcing them to squeeze through a gap barely wide enough to fit their bodies. The walls seemed to press in from all sides, and Y/N’s vision began to blur with panic.

“I—I can’t,” she gasped, backing away from the gap. “I can’t do this.”

Azriel turned, concern etched on his face. He stepped closer, his presence a comforting weight against the rising tide of her fear. “Y/N, look at me,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you.”

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I can’t. It’s too tight, too...”

He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Breathe, Y/N. Focus on my voice. You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”

His touch was warm, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. She forced herself to meet his eyes, finding a steady resolve there that helped to calm her racing heart.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Azriel continued. “I’ll go first and guide you through. You can do this.”

Y/N nodded, drawing strength from his unwavering confidence. She watched as he slipped through the narrow gap with ease, his shadows providing just enough light to see by. He reached back, holding out his hand.

“Take my hand,” he urged. “I won’t let go.”

With a deep breath, Y/N grasped his hand, feeling the solid warmth of his grip. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the feel of his skin against hers, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Together, they inched through the tight space, Azriel’s hand never leaving hers. His voice was a constant reassurance, guiding her through the claustrophobic darkness.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Just a little further.”

The walls seemed to close in even more, but she focused on Azriel’s voice, letting it drown out the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Each step felt like an eternity, but eventually, the passage widened, and she stumbled into a larger chamber, gasping for breath.

Azriel pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. “You did it,” he murmured, his voice full of pride.

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling with the aftermath of her fear. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she whispered.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “You’re stronger than you know, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that.”

She nodded, finding strength in his words and the warmth of his embrace. Together, they could face anything, even the darkest and most confining of spaces. With Azriel by her side, she knew she could conquer her fears and complete their mission.

In the depths of the ancient ruin, surrounded by shadows and the weight of history, Y/N found her strength in the unwavering support of the shadowsinger. And as they pressed on, she knew that with him, she could face anything.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 20. Duel Characters: Lyse Hext, Livia Junius Rating: Teen Summary: And when this fight is over, I'll see you in hell Notes: Weird Wild West AU - a Desertwalkers story. I don't have to make it make sense, I'm too cool for canon

Lyse had caught up with the war train.

She climbed up onto the back of its armored caboose, pausing to turn and watch while the tiny ceruleum-powered rocket-assisted trolley burnt out the last of its solid fuel and began to fall behind.

She would not be getting home that way, and hadn't intended to, anyroad. She would be missing its mounted gun, though. She only watched it for a little bit before resuming her climb, clambering to the top of the caboose, and looking forward at car after car of armored carriages, all carrying more material to fuel Baelsar's ambitions.

And some carrying prisoners.

Up forward, nearest the engine, would be the ceruluem. He could keep that. The rest, she had to decouple, before they hit the pass and there'd no longer be a way to divert the rest of the train away from his holdings.

Easy every day.

She checked her sabatons and her heavy gauntlets, making sure both were at full charge. Satisfied, she took a deep breath in, and let it out slow, and began to move forward, careful, keeping an eye out for trouble. She was a little surprised she hadn't encountered any problems on her way up. Watching the rails for people like her seemed like the least they could have done.

Ahead of her, a white clad figure launched itself up into the air. She looked up and dived backwards just in time for a levin-powered fist to pound into the metal, sending sparks flying.

Well, that explained some things. Only one woman out here would be arrogant enough to let her get this far without answer, and said woman appeared to be spoiling for a fight.

Livia Junius stayed crouched for a moment, giving Lyse a sneering grin that soured the taste in her mouth. She stood up slowly, exaggeratedly shaking her fist, showing off the electricity from the twin tesla spikes arcing back and forth.

"Pretty princess, far from home," taunted Livia. "You should have stayed in Ala Mhigo."

Lyse steadied on her feet, and dropped into a fighting stance, light on the balls of her feet, fists up and ready.

"We don't have to do this," she tried. "Let those people go."

"I will not suffer you to interfere with Lord Gaius' plans any further!" yelled Livia, charging forward.

"Lord now, is he?" muttered Lyse, but there was no time for further discussion.

Livia leapt in the air again, drawing back a fist to slam forward in a powerful punch. Too powerful, too slow, Lyse dodged to the side, her eyes going wide at the levin arcs mere inches from her face before she twirled, to deliver a backhand against Livia's head. The other woman ducked under it, going low, and using her other hand to try to deliver an uppercut.

The smell of ozone filled her nose as Lyse hopped back. The fight was now joined in earnest, both women quick on their feet and fast with their fists, as the train thundered over the landscape. Livia was strong, and fast, and a single hit from her tesla-powered fists could spell doom for Lyse. More than once she raised a fist high in the air, and slammed it into the top metal plating of the train car, forcing Lyse to dance back or risk electrocution.

Lyse could match her in power. But could she match her in technology, that was the question. Two otherwise even fighters, and it could come down to the force multiplying advantage that Livia enjoyed at Nero's able hands.

Powerful strikes continued to just barely miss their mark. Lyse was breathing hard, trying to keep up, while Livia seemed to be living in the moment, grinning maniacally as she continued to press her offensive. She was losing ground, Lyse realized, as she was being pushed further and further back along the train, already now on the caboose, and while going off the end would get her away from Livia, ending the fight, it would also mean ending the mission, and losing the greater battle at stake here.

Livia went for a low sweep, and Lyse hopped over her foot, backwards, and almost off the end. She steadied on her toes, then stomped forward, getting stable back on her feet, returning to ready position. Her sabatons made a thud noise as she stamped her heels down, a magitek conveyance adding weight to her feet.

She could not let the fight end like this. Lyse watched Livia's movements, continuing to match them as best as she could. She was a dancer, and a woman of peace, and while she knew how to fight, it was apparent that fighting was all Livia knew. Lyse was many things, a performer, a peacemaker, a dancer, a fighter, a friend.

Livia was just a weapon.

But narrow experience made for a narrow focus, and Lyse's experiences had broadened her perceptions. It was almost as though her friends were with her, whispering to her. Be curious and watch for patterns, a crisp clear voice said. Look past the surface and into the truth of things, said a darker one. Use your head instead of your fists, another chided.

Keep them on their toes and when they least expect it, you strike, said a clever man who hid himself.

Right. Livia was repeating herself, not bothering to change what was working for her so far. It was possible she was too rote in her approach, almost military, and was relying on rolling her chances until Lyse's luck ran out. Put it all together.

The train shot out over a gorge, the ground suddenly far away as it crossed a bridge over a deep ravine. A fall off the train before would have hurt. Now, it very well might be lethal. The stakes, already steep, were now raised.

Livia's grin grew ever more feral, and she drew her fist back, levin arcing, as she overcharged her tesla fist. She would need only one good hit, and the fight would be over, and this was it. Faster than she had previously displayed, she moved in with a haymaker, and Lyse brought her gauntlets up to block, thumbing a switch as she did so, and she braced.

Livia cackled as her fist followed through.

Lightning flashed. A powerful shockwave blew outward in its wake, delivering thunder that rolled throughout the gorge. The crackle of ozone filled the air, and then, there was quiet. And from behind her fist, her arm still out and stiff in the punch she had thrown, Livia's manic grin fell slowly into dismayed surprise.

Lyse glared at her, only one eye visible to stare across the expanse at Livia's face. Her gauntlets had, in the moment before impact, taken on a deep orange-brown, almost earthy sort of glow. They smoked, now, from the energy they had absorbed and grounded out.

"You're not the only one who knows a tinkersmith," said Lyse, her glower turning to a grin. She pushed back, shoving Livia away, sending her off balance as she twitched her thumb, the colour on her gauntlets shifting to green. Spreading her arms wide, she then slammed both fists together, sending a powerful gust of wind that pushed Livia further back.

She hadn't bothered until now, knowing that the tools she had would offer her no favors or advantage against Livia if she didn't know what to do with them. But she knew, now.

Solve the puzzle, put the pieces together. Know yourself and learn your opponent. Think, then move. And when the opportunity arrives, strike.

She took her weight off her heals, and her sabatons unlocked from the train top. She lifted each leg up, one a time, quickly tapping heel to gauntlet to activate the elemental effects in her leg armor as well. Livia was quickly back on her feet, but another click, and Lyse was rushing towards her, riding a miniature wave forward. She did a backflip kick as she got close, with another click shifting the color of her armaments from one shade of blue to another, and ice shards snapped out at Livia, cutting into her armor and causing her to cry out.

The train was halfway over the gorge, now, and Lyse decided it was time to finish this quickly. She rushed forward, now with red fists spurting fireballs that she aimed at the train top, causing Livia to have to dance to avoid being set on fire.

"And it seems my tinker's more imaginative than yours!" crowed Lyse, closing the distance, closing in on a now-panicked Livia. In a last ditch effort to regain the upper hand, Livia overcharged both sets of her tesla fists once more, and slammed their spikes into the top of the train car, electrifying it, relying on her rubberized boots to keep her safe.

Lyse went high, leaping up into the air, and Livia looked up, helpless, trying to pull her fists back out, the spikes stuck in armor as Lyse came down with both feet. And with no elemental charge at all, she slammed into Livia, laying her out flat onto her stomach.

"Turnabout's fair play, bitch," snarled Lyse, hoping to the side quickly and winding up a powerful kick. A levin-empowered boot slammed into Livia's side, ripping her free, and she was punted off the side of the train with an electric crack and another boom of thunder.

Lyse looked over the side as Livia curled up, tumbling through the air, before righting herself and throwing a hand out. She watched, as one of the magitek fists showed a new trick. A grappling line snagged onto the underside of the bridge, and Livia, hooked, swung herself underneath it, coming around up on the other side, twisting her body to gain momentum.

The last Lyse saw before passing out of sight was Livia swinging herself up and around to land in a crouch on the bridge behind the train, before standing and screaming her rage after her.

Lyse just watched dispassionately, and then turned away. She had a train to hijack, and people to save.

This fight was over.

For now.

[devynconstance]

How to Get Straight Stitches when Sewing

The first thing you should look at when it comes to getting straight lines while sewing is your seam allowance. This is the distance between the edge of the fabric and where the thread sews the two pieces of fabric together. For commercial patterns (store bought patterns) the most common seam allowance to have is 5/8" which has to do with the guide plate on most sewing machines.

This is the guide plate.

And this is the 5/8" guide line that those sewing patterns what you to follow

So for example, when your sewing, you want the edge of the fabric to stay against this line as evenly as possible to keep the seam straight which would look like this.

This can be hard for beginners, especially when going around a curve so some people prefer the help of a sewing guide. The most common one ive seen is a magnet that will sticks directly to the guide plate and looks like this.

If you are using indie patterns (digital downloads from independent pattern makers) the seam allowance might be different. If such a seam allowance is smaller than 5/8" the pressure foot has notches as additional guides.

They're also good for making multiple lines in a row without having to remeasure every time (for example if you were doing something like shiring which is the stretchy back panel on this dress).

It's also an option to use the edge of the pressure foot as a guide which is my prefered method when making my own patterns.

Another option for getting straight sewing lines is to mark the sewing line directly onto your fabric. I prefer a heat erasable pen such as this one. (Please remember to test this on scrap fabric first not all erasable pens actually work)

But there are many other options to pick from such as tailors chalk or a tailors pencil just to name a few.

Use a ruler to measure in from the edge of the fabric and mark the seam allowance and connect the dots to get a solid easily seen line to follow. Now when it's under the machine the needle should follow this line and you won't have to worry about keeping track of which guide line you were supposed to be following.

I also recommend drawing the line directly onto the fabric if you are hand stitching the seam instead of using a machine since there is no machine guides to follow in that instance.

Further tips from my friend thats learning right now

- it's almost easier to keep the fabric straight when sewing at a medium speed. Too fast or slow and the fabric wants to move around a lot under the machine.

- It's best to keep in mind that certain fabrics (such as anything silky or stretchy) are a lot harder to sew then say a cotton, linen, or flannel becuase they move around a lot more or they stretch out funny while you're sewing. Doesn't mean to avoid them, just know that it will require more patience and learning.

- Iron your seams. If your seams still aren't coming out right, it might not be that they're uneven, it might just be that they're unironed. It makes a huge difference even if it sucks sometimes.

- don't push the fabric under the sewing machine, there's feeders that will pull the fabric in for you so all you have to worry about is keeping the fabric lined up and straight while sewing.

- use matching thread (or a light grey thread, seams to blend in with most colors). A little wobble in the seam is not a big deal and most of the time won't be noticed if using a thread color that matches the material. The only time an uneven seam might be really noticeable is if you have multiple lines close together like you would see on a corset with boning channels where the lines are a visual staple of the garment.

Other than that it really comes down to practice and time. If anyone has any further tips they want to add please feel free and if anyone has any questions or wants anything further explained please let me know. Its been a few years since i was a beginner so i could be forgetting something and I know it's a lot of information all at once.

Happy sewing everyone!

[kittynomsdeplume]

Whaaaaat? A new chapter of Under Her Mask? I surprise even myself sometimes. The horny idiots have returned at last.

The Cold Light Of Day

Summary: Solona wakes on the morning of her final intended day in Val Royeaux, restless and eager to spend as much time with Cullen as possible. The closing of the Conclave looms before them however, and the boiling tension between the Chantry and the mage rebellion is ready to explode in the heart of Orlais. Is peace even attainable, or is there too much anger and resentment on all sides? Can a mage and a templar truly put all the hurt and sorrow behind them, and find their happy-ever-after? Relationship: Cullen Rutherford/Solona Amell Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: 4326

Preview: Cullen’s skin twitches as Solona gently sweeps her fingers over his broad shoulder-blade. He turns his face toward her, continuing to doze as he nuzzles his cheek against the pillow and Solona’s mouth twists in frustration.

Always an early riser, she has lain awake for some time, quietly fidgeting beside him as the first blush of dawn illuminated his sleeping form; the soft sun catching the golden highlights of his tousled hair.

She supposes that she could have taken the opportunity to get a head start on her day and slink away under the cover of dark. To let Cullen wake alone and wondering, feels too cold to her however, and besides, she has no great desire to hurry from his side. He looks soft and serene in his sleep, and Solona burrows in closer to him, unable to imagine a place she’d rather be than here.

She runs her fingers down his spine now, resisting the urge to increase the pressure of her touch. She feels a swell of guilt; it has no doubt been a long, exhausting week for Cullen and the least she can do is let him have his well-earned rest.

Her body seems inclined to disagree however, growing hot with want as she admires his sculpted shoulders and she cheekily draws the covers down to reveal his lower back. How she longs to lean over and run her tongue along the furrow of his spine; to squeeze the firm, prominent muscles that flank it.

Pushing the sheets down further, she utters a needy sigh, her thighs pressing  together fitfully as she considers sinking her teeth into the perfect curve of his bottom.

She bites her lip instead, restlessly squirming beside him. He is so unexpectedly warm, a solid comfort at her side and Solona sighs once more, inching closer to press against him. She drapes her arm across his back and rests her chin on his bicep, taking the opportunity to study his face at rest. 

It’s unusual to see him so relaxed, and truly she never thought she would have the opportunity to witness him in such a vulnerable state. Solona wants very much to kiss him; to graze her nose against his stubbled cheek and whisper sweet words in his ear.

Continue reading at AO3

[tiredassmage]

28. feeling for each other in the dark (any ship(s) ! *scuttles away*)

"Please allow 2 business days" I said to myself, and then they kept me up late and I rose early back to back because I couldn't stop vibrating about them.

I hope it pleases the Senate, insert date-appropriate Ides of March joke here because If I don't meme for emotional distress, then what am I????

[touch prompts]

His breath feels loud in his ears, like the utter darkness around them siphons all other possible sound. The only thing that tells him he’s moving at all is the continued contact beneath his feet and the slight shift and give in the rock.

There’s not even a drop of light to glint off the barrel of the pistol he knows is at his thigh or the rifle strapped across his back - the one familiar constant that he can reliably sense.

It’s suffocating.

Allow your body to betray you. Allow your blood to boil and your heart to slow.

Of the many things Cipher Nine could have chosen to forget, Darth Jadus’s presence remained subtle and venomous in his veins like the slow decay of a half-life.

His next step doesn’t meet anything solid, but he barely has time for an extra jolt of nerves before a firm grip wraps around his arm and pulls him back. Tyr’s breath leaves him in a single blow that swallows any potential sound he could have made before his back even connects with an unseen wall.

“I’ve got you.”

He can barely make out Eight’s halo of pale white hair, as the faint glow of the moon and stars behind thick clouds passing - just enough there to give him an illusion, something to cling to and hope is more than a trick of the mind. Tyr gulps for another breath of air. He’s certain he trembles when Eight’s hands carefully move - one against each shoulder to give a careful squeeze.

“Nine?”

Another breath crashes out of him. He fumbles blindly for the other agent’s arms, following until he’s vaguely sure they’re almost squared, or at least that Eight is solid and real beneath his desperately seeking hands.

“Breathe.”

Tyr closes his eyes for a moment before he manages a nod through a thick swallow.

Nine can’t see it, but a faint smile flickers briefly across Eight’s lips. He takes the other agent’s hand. “I’ve got you.”

Eight navigates the shadows like a second home, each step deliberate and confident ahead of his companion’s. Nine’s threaded fingers grip his back like they’re the only lifeline he’s ever known, without fear that he may be leading to slaughter.

There’s places where the path isn’t wide enough for him to press against Nine’s side as beacon, where they must walk before and after, but he doesn’t let go again.

Not until they arrive.

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Everything… hurts.

Everything is dark. Pitch. He barely registers the scorch of ozone and heat disturbing what had been thickly silent air - so empty it’d almost been cloying.

Wait…

Nothingness has returned, but the quiet feels almost… lighter. He grimaces as he rolls to his side, off his back.

Move.

He pushes against the gravel and the dirt, but barely makes it to his knees before he staggers heavily back against the braced hand that didn’t even move from the cave floor.

His free hand goes to his thigh - empty. Holster’s empty. He closes his eyes like that will do anything to ease the way his mind swims and sways.

They’d been… They…

“Eight…” His name nearly catches hoarsely in his throat.

Somehow, the utter shadow swallowing this place didn’t seem so absolute, but there still wasn’t much to see - he still couldn’t see much.

There was only one thing that mattered now though.

“Eight?” One hand idly reaches out, only half-searching for the pistol he assumes must have fallen somewhere nearby.

His eyes are starting to adjust again to the level of pitch black. He’d seen too many Sith hit the ground and keep cackling to-

“Tell me, Cipher Nine… What is he to you..?”

“You first.” Caution guarded his words, his half-closed stance that was tensed and poised to shoot, to draw further arms.

If the answer was anything less than ‘everything’-

You didn’t ask questions of a Sith Lord.

When he can’t find the blaster in a moment, he hauls himself ungracefully to his feet with a grimace, ignoring muscles screaming in aching protest.

He’s not alone. He can’t tell if it’s a desperate plea or a registering lack of the overwhelming presence of the Dark Lord; either way, he gruffly pushes aside the uncertainty.

“It’s… done.” Eight seems to melt out of the shadows. This time, Nine can just make out the faint smile across his lips.

The weight it carries settles almost as heavy as the undeniable dread of the Dark Lord’s presence.

“Mission complete, Cipher Nine.”

“Eight…”

But the relief hits like floodwaters breaking a dam. His steps are hobbled when he closes the distance and Eight tenses briefly in surprise as Nine’s arms close around him, desperation curling his fingers into battered fabric and displaced strands of starlight hair.

“Did he..? Are you..?”

Eight carefully wraps an arm around him.

“I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eight rests his head against Nine’s shoulder and stares into the empty darkness. For now, the hole is gaping, the void echoing and hollow where it had once all but writhed with its raw power and presence.

But the life in his hands now is stained with crimson and maybe a little scorched around the edges. It is vibrant. It is unknown in an entirely different way than the dark. It shakes beneath him from the exertion, from the struggle of living, but no longer with fear.

“We both made our choice.”

Tyr draws back slowly. It’s harder to make him out in the dark without the all-encompassing temper.

But his hands move carefully to take stock - a palm against his cheek, a hand slipping over his shoulder, fingers twisting briefly into the collar of his shirt.

Nine reminds him of Keeper, the old man. Regret sets similarly around their eyes and creases their brows. He had always idly wondered if there could have been anything to the relation beyond the jesting that served to briefly lighten the older man - at least enough to exhale a sigh weary of constant deflection.

He enacts the familiar dance of half-statements and partial truths for now. Give him space. Give them both time.

It was always going to be an end. What path would open beyond that, he could not have said. His part was to lead to the destination, to take a place upon the pyre.

The flames had been theirs. This was his new ash.

But Tyr offers him a tired smile. “I… think I owe you those drinks, at the very least…”

This time, Nine offers out his hand - bloodied knuckles and dusted hands, gloves fraying from the obsidian-sharp edges of their descent.

“Let’s go home, shall we?”

[townofcadence]

“human shield” (this is a weird role reversal situation for Zack too, I dig it!)

My Muse to take a Blow for Yours

Artair didn't know--- exactly where he was. He'd made another jump, like usual, and that had gone smooth enough. But this place was definitely nothing like home.

It was natural still, but in an open sprawl, nowhere near the dense, verdant woods he was used to. Here was more of a flatland plain, carpeted by green grass in a thin layer over relatively gentle hills. In the distance, he could see where the greenery cut away sharply to sand, and an expanse of water disappeared even further into the horizon. It sparkled as the choppy waves reflected patches of sunlight, and the waves ran their way up the shore in rhythmic ebbs and flows. Large outcroppings of rock seemed to jut from random places as well, forming shelves of flattened steppes, at a variety of heights. Some jutted out past the waves, forming a rocky plateau and a steep drop straight into the waters.

It was--- definitely pretty. But emptier than he'd ever seen a place as pretty as this.

Sound ended up drawing his attention, though-- the ring of metal as it struck something solid, the heavy thuds of movement that seemed to vibrate the ground even from here, and several periodic, bestial roars. It sounded like some kind of scuffle, and it was definitely close.

Concern had his feet moving beneath him. He hurried beside the natural outcrop of stone that hid whatever was happening from view, coming to a small overlook over a lower area of beach down a incline of sand. What he saw had him halt, if only to--- try and comprehend what he was seeing.

Were those..... turtles?

They-- were. Giant, bigger-than-people sized turtles with horns growing from the sides of their heads curving forward, and a mouth of pointed teeth. Their feet, all four, were tipped with long, sharp-looking claws near the size of knives. He was pretty sure turtles or tortoises weren't supposed to have at least two of those things; he was a bit more than a hop skip and a jump out of Kansas, that much was clear.

Currently, these Not-Turtles were on the lower slopes of the beach, and very interested in-- some dark haired guy in blue with a sword. He looked to be encircled by four of them, and they were doing-- something? Roaring, like he'd hear even from a distance, but a shimmer of light seemed to twinge through the air as they did.

He had no idea what was going on, but it seemed like that guy might be in trouble, with how aggressive they seemed and how divided his attention had to be. He was dodging, but a few of them were clearly taking swipes with the natural weapons they had, and those horns looked awfully sharp.

That was all he had to take in to drop-slide his way down into the dunes. He launched forward, cutting away the distance with a sprint over the sand. The creatures were more and more reactive, keeping the guy's attention in all directions, and it was only a matter of time, before--

"Look out!"

The words slipped out of him in a bellow, as one of those monsters whipped its head at the guy while he was parrying another. It was behind him, in his blind-spot, and without thinking Artair cut between two of the beasts in his rush, barreling into the guy to push him out of the way of goring horns. The move doubled to push him out from where he was surrounded as well.

The coarse sand made that more of a drop to the ground than it was meant to be, though.

Artair followed him down, landing on all fours to keep him out of harm's way as a pair of sharp claws swiped over him. He flipped almost instantly, and brought his arm up in time for another horned strike to grind sparks up the metal of his arm, showering them harmlessly over the ground. The second one snapped that jaw of teeth out, and the same arm moved in time to let those teeth latch uselessly to unfeeling steel.

"Sorry about that!" He grunted, trying to keep his arm in between those jaws, if only to make it harder for the creature to maneuver it's head for the moment. His momentum had carried them far enough that the guy was outside the ring, so the two creatures on the other side couldn't get close enough to do anything for the moment. "But you should get out of here while you can! I'll be right behind you!"

[pred1059]

Just A Chance Chapter Twenty Two

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Ansem Report 15

When I had departed years ago to rally the heartless, I had expected that to be the end of these reports. I had all I needed to know to accomplish my goal, so recording my findings was a meaningless effort now.

Yet after ten years, I have found reason enough to review my work.

Those hollow shells left behind by the strongest heartless. The Nobodies. I had considered how they might be filled and shaped by others. But left alone, what would these Nobodies fill themselves with?

Light?

Or Darkness?

Kairi held the dark lamp before her, a vortex of magic vacuuming the geniefied Jafar. Right as the genie was sealed, the lamp itself vanished into nothing. Just another phantom of the past that was brought back for no other purpose than to menace her. Besides Axel’s brief attack and that strange voice, enemies were her only company up until now.

Of course, this world brought a big difference. Kairi had hoped that the further she went, that eventually she would meet a memory of one of Sora’s friends. But actually seeing Naminé and Riku did so much to lift her lonely heart. It was a sign that her journey wasn’t for nothing, that she was closer than ever. Yet, what should have been a joyous moment was marred by separation, as both of her friends slipped through her fingers again.

“Then perhaps,” Ansem struggled to retort as he lifted one of his hands, “you should choose which of your friends matters more!” In a flash, he managed to fire a bolt of darkness towards Naminé and the boy. Naminé raised the keyblade in her hands to block it, but the blast knocked the two of them into the depths of the cave. 

“NAMINÉ!!!” Kairi cried out as her friend and the boy in black fell, one hand reaching out to them on instinct. But the feeling of light slipping away caused her to grip the keyblade once again with both hands. It was only a moment that her attention was split, but it seemed almost as if that small window of escape was enough, as Ansem’s form became more solid.

Kairi felt the spell she was trying to weave falter, ready to snap at a moment’s notice against the darkness pushing back against imprisonment. Even so, she didn’t stop casting the beam of light at Riku. “No! I’m not giving up! Riku, can you hear me!?” Riku had held Ansem back before in Hollow Bastion. Maybe the two of them together could stop the dark seeker for good.

Ansem scowled as he tried to gather darkness in his hands. “You. Are wasting. Your—!”

“KAIRI!”

Her eyes widened at the voice of her friend, and for a moment, he was visible again. “RIKU! Hold on!”

“Listen to me! I can’t do this for long!” Riku strained as he reached out, trying to draw on the light to strengthen himself for just a few more seconds to speak. “Ansem’s planning something, and Naminé and that boy in black are—!” He was cut off as darkness coursed through his body.

Kairi shook her head and tried so desperately to hold on with her light. She looked her wayward friend in the eyes and pleaded, “Riku, please! Don’t give up!” 

Riku’s eyes widened at her words, but slowly he began to nod. “If you think I’m worth fighting for, then I won’t ei—.”

“ENOUGH!”

At Ansem’s snarling voice, a blast of darkness finally broke  the attempted sealing spell. Kairi held up her hand in reflex, watching as the form of Ansem retreated into darkness once again.

It was bad enough watching Riku being taken by darkness, despite the two of them trying to fight Ansem. Even worse, searching the caves for Naminé and the boy just turned up nothing. Even if she knew the boy was too different from Sora to really be him, the resemblance was just too uncanny. It just seemed like her friends were slipping away from her.

Riku was being consumed by darkness, even as he had begun to fight against Ansem’s corruption.

Naminé had vanished once again after their reunion, after getting a keyblade that mirrored Kairi’s own.

And even though she hadn’t seen any sign of Sora, her heart could feel that he was somewhere close in this castle of illusions.

All of her friends were in danger. Danger she barely knew how to fight. Despite the keyblade in her hands and light at her command, there was little Kairi could do to help them. The only path she had was to continue her ascent and hope to find them again. As she walked up the marble steps through the castle proper, another thought came to her. Who was that boy? The one in the same kind of coat Axel wore with Sora’s face. He seemed determined to keep Naminé safe, but was he friend or foe?

As she began to reach the top of the stairs,she stopped at the swirling sound of darkness. Her eyes widened at a blur of a black cloak coming through it. Was it someone else? She called her keyblade to her head, ready to fight.

*THUMP*

But Kairi’s grip loosened as she realized the figure had unceremoniously fallen to the floor. Wincing, she made her way over to the small black cloaked figure picking themselves off the floor. She began to extend a hand as she asked, “Are you okay?”

Getting to their feet, the black cloaked figure pulled off their hood as they answered back, “Yeah, I’m fiiiii…” The boy’s words seemed to fall out of their mouth as he saw her. Though Kairi was hardly any better. This was the same boy from before, and just as it was then, his resemblance to Sora was uncanny.

The boy took a step back, steeling himself as Kairi regained her composure and asked firmly, “Where’s Naminé?” He made a stand against Ansem while crying out her name. That wasn’t something a person did for a total stranger.

The boy slowly curled his hands into fists as he tersely said, “She’s safe, Kairi.”

At the mention of her name Kairi tightened her grip on the key. She barely knew this boy but he already knew her name?! “Safe where? Who are you anyway?!”

“My name is Roxas,” he introduced himself as he raised one of his hands, a familiar flash of light calling the keyblade to his hands. ”And I can’t let you go without a fight.”

Kairi’s blood ran cold and her eyes widened as she saw the familiar silver and gold keyblade in Roxas’ hands. The Kingdom Key.

Sora’s keyblade. 

“Where did you get that?” Was it stolen? A fake? Something else? Kairi wasn’t sure, but one question raced to the front of her mind and she demanded, “Did you do something to Sora?!”

“He’s fine!” Roxas answered back, holding out a hand. Shaking his head he began to explain, “It’d be trouble if I told you everything, but he’s alive.”

Kairi looked back at Roxas' eyes as he tried to explain, trying to understand what he was thinking. That sort of explanation and the way he was acting seemed straightforward enough. But that left one question. “Why do you have to fight me anyway?”

Roxas gripped his keyblade with both his hands and settled into a stance. “I need to prove that I’m strong.” 

Kairi’s eyes narrowed as she questioned, “Is that really it?” The line wasn’t just clichéd, it sounded like Roxas didn’t really care about it much himself. 

He closed his eyes with a sigh before tightening his grip on the keyblade, “There’s someone I want to see again.”

Kairi gasped quietly as she recalled how Naminé mentioned someone she cared for deeply. Maybe someone who would put their lives on the line with a sense of honor.

Maybe it was Roxas. But she had no time to dwell on maybes, as Roxas rushed forward and she had to parry the swing from his keyblade.

Naminé watched the crystal ball as it showed Roxas and Kairi lock blades before the latter pushed back. Taking a chance, Kairi went on the attack as she swung her keyblade at a blocking Roxas. Unfortunately, her gamble was a mistake, as there was just enough of a gap for Roxas to dodge away and start casting magic.

Axel chuckled as he saw the fireballs Roxas began to shoot from his keyblade. “Guess he’s taking a page out of my book.” 

Naminé clasped her hands tighter as she watched Kairi stand her ground, not moving to defend. But before the spells reached her, she began to swing and knock the barrage of magic back at Roxas. Zexion raised an eyebrow as he saw Roxas respond in kind to parry the spells back. “Fascinating. The two of them have become capable.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough.” Larxene crossed her arms as she watched the two combatants bat the spells back and forth between them “The princess is fighting for her friends,” she spat out as she rolled her eyes and continued, “What’s Roxas got to fight for besides living?”

Naminé had an idea, or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. However, she dared not say it out loud. She couldn’t bear exposing it before Marluxia and Larxene and their cruel scrutiny.

Axel put his hands on his hips as he shook his head and asked, “I think that survival is a pretty good motivator. What are you really getting at?”

In the crystal’s projection, Kairi had managed to gain the advantage by outlasting Roxas, one final flurry of reflections finally forcing the latter to block and stumble back. Marluxia stepped forward and tapped the crystal ball and raised an eyebrow. “The right motivation can drive even a rank amateur to beat the odds. How else could you explain Sora’s victory over Ansem and all his darkness?” As Kairi rushed forward to attack, she was brought to a stop as a burning firestorm of energy began to glow around Roxas and he regained his footing. Marluxia closed his eyes and turned to the group, “Survival can spur one to action, but its longevity as motivation is lacking.” 

Larxene began to smile, and Naminé knew she wouldn’t like what she had to say. “But we might have a way to fix this. It all depends on you, Naminé.”

She swallowed the lump growing in her throat as Larxene looked to her and Marluxia walked ever closer. “What do you mean?”

Marluxia opened his eyes as he looked down on her. “You hold sway over his memories as he is connected to Sora. All you would need to do—.”

“No.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could even think about the answer. But the strangest thing is that Naminé realized she meant it with everything she was.

Of course, that was before she had time to worry about the consequences. Larxene barking out a laugh. “No? Did you just say no, little witch?

Marluxia leaned down, a sinister wind beginning to gather around him as he questioned, “Are you refusing our commands Naminé?”

Naminé cringed as she knew what Marluxia’s power could bring. Petals that sliced at the slightest touch, the threat of death in the air. When he first explained their initial plan for Sora and she refused, that power was used to bring her in line. The easy thing to do would just be to apologize and think of a way to change Roxas’ memories.

But the idea of changing him so completely and fundamentally made her sick. To erase the one person who saw her and cared. Someone who gave her the slimmest hope that she was real? No, she dreaded that far more than any pain. She clenched her fists as she began to look back at him. “I won’t change Roxas’ memories, Marluxia.”

The wind began to grow to a gale as Marluxia scowled, “You should reconsider your answer. Allow—”

“Actually, you’re the one who should reconsider, Marluxia.” At Axel’s words Marluxia’s winds came to a stop. He raised an eyebrow as Axel made his way over with crossed arms and a frown on his face. “Tampering with Roxas’ memories is off the table.”

Marluxia glanced at Axel and demanded, “On what grounds do you question my order, Axel?”

Zexion walked next to Axel and explained, “On the grounds said order goes against the direction given by the Organization’s true leaders. We cannot risk altering his mind to the point that it drives him to madness.”

Axel held two hands up as he sighed. “Look. I get wanting to get a leg up with all the upset plans. But take a look at what we have.” Placing one hand on Marluxia’s shoulder, he gestured to Naminé and the crystal ball. “Two keyblade wielders that we’re training up, and one of them isn’t doing half bad.” In the image being shown, Roxas was flinging blasts of fire at a dodging Kairi before unleashing a burst of flame that knocked her back. Axel smiled and put both of his hands on Marluxia’s shoulders. “The plan is working. Okay? Just relax, and we’ll take care of keeping them motivated.”

The room was silent for a moment as Axel’s words sunk in. Finally, Larxene clicked her tongue and returned to watching the crystal ball. “Would have been funny to make him go nuts for Naminé. I was looking forward to making Sora crazy with that.”

Marluxia moved one of Axel’s hands off as he narrowed his eyes. “We will be watching this closely.”

Axel smirked as he patted Marluxia on the shoulder with his remaining hand before letting go. “Don’t worry. You’ll get what you’ve earned.”

Naminé wondered if she and Roxas would be so fortunate. 

Though now that hope seemed a little less distant.

Kairi’s sneakers squeaked on the hard marble as she avoided Roxas’s fire infused swings. Even dodging away, she could feel the sweltering heat radiating all around him. Clearly, Roxas wasn’t just copying Sora, he had picked up some power that neither Sora or Riku had learned. A power that wasn’t making things easy.

But then again, Kairi had a power of her own as well.

She jumped over Roxas as he charged forward with a wave of fire. Aiming her keyblade at him as he turned in surprise, she called on the power of light. Roxas swung to try and interrupt, but a shining spark rotated around her and intercepted the attack.

The clash of metal and magic was enough for Roxas to stop wide eyed and take a step back. It was likely what kept him from feeling the full force of the spark exploding into a dazzling shimmer of light magic. Even so, he cried out as the spell caused him to stagger back. Kairi saw her chance and rushed forward to try and knock him down with one last overhead swing of the keyblade.

Roxas caught the attack with his own sword, but the blow caused him to drop to his knees as he held her back. He gritted his teeth as he put both hands on his grip and tried to push back. “No! I can’t lose!”  

Kairi stopped for a moment as he saw a familiar glimmer in Roxas’ eye.

“I won’t lose!”

A touch of darkness.

Kairi let go the instant that darkness began to explode forth from Roxas. The blast of shadow that comes from him knocking her away. She watched wide eyed as Roxas gasped for breath as he struggled to his feet. 

The moment where she saw his eye as he tapped into darkness haunted Kairi. It wasn’t the consuming hunger that Riku had which was fostered by Maleficent. It was despair she saw, the fear that something precious would be ripped away from Roxas which drove him to tap into that power. 

She wasn’t even sure he knew what he’d done as he began to look at his hand as the shadows gathered around it. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him throw himself away. Especially if he was who Naminé cared about. 

“Can I ask you something, Roxas?” Her question snapped Roxas out of his stupor and he gripped his keyblade tightly. Kairi simply stepped forward and questioned, “Is giving yourself to darkness really the best way to help someone you love?”

“Love?” Roxas furrowed his brow before shaking his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I have to make it back.” He pulled back to swing, shadow gathering in his hands, “And if darkness gives me that power—!” “Even if it changes you and you lose yourself?” Kairi’s plea made Roxas stop mid-swing. Kairi placed a hand on her chest as she asked. “Would your friend be happy with it?”

Roxas gasped and in that moment the darkness faded away from him. He looked to his hand before screwing his eyes shut. In that moment, Kairi began to relax as she saw him pull away from the abyss that had consumed Riku. 

However, that relief was short-lived as a dark portal appeared behind Roxas. He glanced at it before sighing and dismissing his keyblade. “Looks like I’m done here.” He reached up to his hood and pulled it over his head. “Kairi, I hope you make it through this.”

With those parting words before Kairi could even move to reach him, he stepped into darkness before the portal vanished. She stood there, hand outstretched to where Roxas was. Even though she didn’t quite know him, her heart could tell that he needed as much help as Sora, Riku and Naminé. And she knew that it would take more than a keyblade to save them.

But maybe what Kairi needed wasn’t an unbreakable weapon or unstoppable magic. Maybe all she needed was to trust her heart. It led her here, and she was sure that somehow she managed to reach Roxas’ heart.

Maybe she could reach the hearts of her friends too.

[gisele-siegenthaler]

Personal Statement (regarding the application to Brighton Universitie’s Fine Art course)

In my drawings and paintings, I aim to capture the feeling of an instance: Everything in a painting, from its colors, it’s composition, the details left out or added, indicates a certain mood. The way that art can make you see an ordinary scene differently fascinates me, an simple view can become a source of strong emotions. For example, Hopper made a simple bar scene seem eerie and strange. I would like to be able to paint an image of a room with people so well that a spectator would know exactly what the mood of the room was in that instance. That, to me, is one of the reasons art is important: one can transmit an emotion and make people see something differently.

My first inspirations were the impressionist and post impressionist artists I learnt about in Art History, such as Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, I love how vivid his paintings seem, with the bright lights illuminating his subjects. Recently, I have taken an interest to more contemporary painters, such an Kent Williams, who mixes figurative and abstract painting to create a dreamlike affect. Another artist I recently discovered is Hernan Bas, who’s strange composition really intrigues me.

In the past three years, I have pushed myself a lot to try bigger formats, different mediums (I started painting in acrylic in 2019), and trying to paint detailed scenes accurately, as I wish to have a solid set of skills on which to base myself further on.

During my studies at Brighton, among other things, I would like to acquire and practice the technical skills necessary to improve my work, such as better anatomical and perspective drawing. I would also like to learn more about different techniques and media’s, as for the moment I mainly paint in acrylics. In the future, I would also like to experiment with more abstraction in my paintings, as for the moment my paintings are still very strongly based on photographically or live references. I would like to introduce a more personal quality to my work, mixing figurative painting or drawing with something that feels less real. Ideally, I would like to make art that mixes the recognizable with the dreamlike. Of course, I would also enjoy discovering that I might want to do something artistically completely new that I hadn’t even thought about before, new inspiration could never be a bad thing.

In the future, I would love to be an artist (obviously, who paints and says “well I hope no one ever is interested in that”), I would like to make work that is fascinating, that makes people feel something, because otherwise painting makes no sense to me. I have come to understand that is quite a tricky job got have. So, in case that doesn’t work out, a job as an art teacher also sounds great. I know I would always continue painting.

[saltydumplings]

SNIPPET 4 SNIPPET 4 SNIPPET 4 SNIPPET 4 I KNOW ITS ONLY 1 HR AGO BUT I CRAVE MORE VAMPIREEE SO GOOOOOD

Snippet #4.3

Part 3

OOOOO YES, HERE - ENJOY!!

A castle. The hero lived in a castle far outside of the city limits. As if the fangs and lust for blood wasn't enough - if anything this was almost too on the nose. What was next? Would they turn into a bat? Catch fire in sunlight? Would the villain have to fashion a stake and stab them through the heart in order to regain their freedom?

They hoped it wouldn't come to that. The villain preferred to use their hands to create, not to destroy - not to mention that their fighting skills were admittedly a little, well...lacking. In fact, any skill that they possessed outside of their main craft was unfortunately rather weak.

The villain felt their legs give out again as the hero dropped them down in front of the doors, having just flown them all the way from the government facility to wherever the hell this place was. As soon as they touched solid ground again, the villain reached out for the closest thing to steady them - cold, cracked wood scratching against the palm of their hand but they hardly cared, leaning their weight against the door and holding on for dear life, trying to slow their racing heart and churning stomach before they worked themself up to the point of being sick.

Behind them, the hero let out a low chuckle, their hand coming to rest upon the villain's back and drawing small circles in a way that the other might have felt was comforting if they couldn't feel the hero's claws digging in through their clothing.

"Eager to see your new home, darling?"

The villain would have glared if they felt brave enough. But they didn't, just shook their head as the other brought out a key and unlocked the door with a click - the villain only just managing to catch themself before they fell fowards, determined to stay rooted to the doorstep as they caught sight of nothing but shadows and darkness staring back at them.

The hero's hand glided down to their waist, their breath a chilling brush of air against the villain's neck when they spoke. "Well, go on then. Take a look."

Take a look at what? The villain couldn't see anything! It was too dark, how could the hero possibly expect them too--

Suddenly, they were pushed forwards - a startled yelp leaving them as the door closed behind them.

The darkness was suffocating.

The villain found themself on the verge of another panic attack, desperately trying to even out their breathing once more as they fumbled around blindly, searching for...something. Preferably a light. They didn't know whether or not the hero had entered alongside them but they assumed the other was hardly about to just let them leave their sight. They needed them alive after all - that's what the villain had to keep reminding themself. The hero couldn't kill them. The hero needed them. Or, at least, the people they were working for did.

It took a while, but the villain's hand finally managed to touch something smooth - the sudden discovery making them flinch back in fear for a second before returning to it again, their hand tracing over what felt like a statue. It was taller than them, wider too, and they let their touch wander over each dip and line in an attempt to make out what it was; it's shape seemed strange but not overly unfamiliar, and when the villain reached up further they could feel the thing's face - though it was not a human one: two eyes, a square nose like that of an animal, and beneath that an open mouth of sharp teeth. Shuddering, the villain quickly moved their hand to the back of its head, following the line of its back until their hand touched something else. Wooden, smooth, ascending upwards with small iron bars holding it up. When they moved forward and their foot hit against something they realised what it was.

They'd found a staircase.

Whether that was a good thing or not the villain had no clue, but there was hardly anywhere else they could think of to go and so they gripped the banister tightly, slowly beginning to climb. After a rather clumsy twelve steps up, the banister curved up to the left and they continued to follow it, eventually reaching the next floor up...And now what? The banister came to an end and the villain simply stood for a moment, trying to decipher what to do next. They could feel where the banister met a wall, and where that wall curved and opened - seemingly leading down a corridor. Was this the right way to go? Was there a right way to go? The villain went to go down it, one hand sliding along the wall and their steps slow until they felt something brush against their back: they ran.

They didn't even think, just bolted down the corridor blindly, hands out in front of them in a vain attempt to stop them from running into something though it hardly helped them to avoid a hitch in the carpet below them. They tripped, falling forwards with a scream and laying frozen. Part of them expected to be grabbed - attacked, dragged, beaten, bitten - but nothing happened. A minute passed, and still they heard no movement - felt no cold touch upon their back or any other part of their body.

Perhaps they'd imagined it... It was a rational thought, and they hoped they were right as they scrambled back onto their feet, not quite sure whether this was the way they'd been going or not. If they'd gotten turned around during their fall they'd never have known. Sighing, they continued forwards again - or, what they thought was forwards - taking a second to refind the wall before taking their time as they had done before. The corridor felt endless: minutes passed and the villain felt as if they were going nowhere; it all seemed to be the same - no furniture or decoration, just bare walls and a strip of carpet that led on and on and on until--

Was that a light?

The villain stopped, spying a small line of amber spilling out onto the floor just a short way down. They continued forward with a little more haste, now making out the outline of a door - a door behind which their was light: it spilled through the cracks and even the keyhole, very vaguely lighting up the dim corridor. Wanting nothing more than to be out of that thick darkness the villain showed no hesitation before opening it, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the light of a lamp that stood in the corner of the room, the only item on top of a small table which sat beside the head of a large bed. There was a closet and a drawer - the paint that had once decorated them faded - and a vanity table just to the right of the villain as they walked in, the mirror of which was covered over with a sheet. The room had no windows; no doors either. It was a dead end.

Though thankful for the light, the villain found themself moving backwards - trying to step back into the corridor for fear of being trapped - only to bump directly into something blocking the doorway. They jumped, a startled cry barely leaving their throat before a hand was pressed against their mouth while another caught them by the waist.

"Do you like it?" the hero asked. "I would have shown you here myself but I had a little tidying up to do."

The villain squirmed as the hero's thumb brushed against their cheek, struggling briefly until they felt the other's grip tightening around them. With a shiver, the villain forced themself to go limp - slowly starting to realise that the other only truly seemed to threaten them when they fought back.

The hero smiled at this. "Learning already: that's good. Very good."

They released the villain's mouth, the other letting out a small whimper but otherwise remaining quiet as their hand trailed along the villian's jawline before following a path down their neck - sharp claws leaving the faintest of lines upon the villain's smooth skin.

"I have a set of rules for you, darling, and if you are going to live with me," the hero said, "you are going to learn to follow them. One way...or another."

[hongism]

04 - s.mingi + degradation (18+)

» s.mingi x gn!reader » 18+ dni if minor » language, explicit smut, cock caging, degradation, praise, ruined orgasms, overstimulation, manual stimulation, anal fingering, use of sex toys/dildos, use of a riding crop, oral sex: m receiving (but not really), some impact play/cock slapping, use of gendered slurs (directed at mingi), dacryphilia, subspace, dominant reader, submissive mingi » wc 2.7k » link to masterlist

today you have mingi on his knees, skin pressing into the pale carpet in a way that looks more comfortable than it really is. it’s deceptively innocent, even without an ounce of clothing on his body and feet tucked under his ass like he’s trying to seem smaller than he actually is. it won’t work in his favor; such behavior never does when he’s already gone this far. 

instead, it earns him a light smack over the top of his thigh with the riding crop in your hand, and the impact draws a whimper from his full lips seconds later. a slight bit of saliva trickles out the corner of his mouth, enough to catch on his chin and stop there before falling further. the visual is intoxicating in a lot of ways, things you don’t like to admit outside the bedroom out of fear of ruining the pretty, picture-perfect innocence you seem to bear there. some part of your brain does wonder what those people would think seeing you dominate mingi in this way when they always assume him to hold that position in your relationship.

on his knees, drooling and whimpering with a solid metal cage around his big useless cock, and you over him with a smile on your lips.

it’s intoxicating.

“you enjoy this, don’t you?” you inquire. the edge to your tone feigns true curiosity but your gaze says otherwise, something borderline sadistic to the way you look down at the man on his knees. “must be so hard having such a nice big cock only to have it locked up right now.”

the riding crop pushes under his chin. you raise his head to look more clearly at his face slowly, admiring the glisten on his brow and in his eyes. something twists in your brain. 

you want to see him cry.

“i asked you a question, baby boy.” 

mingi’s thighs twitch at that nickname, a blatant cue to how much he enjoys it, and his watery gaze flits up to look you in the eye.

“there’s my pretty baby, looking all good and needy for me,” you coo. there’s a faux innocence in your words, lacing some easy praise in to heighten the blow you’re about to deliver. “what a pathetic slut.”

if he could crumple to the floor, you don’t doubt that he would do so now, but he has enough sense to stay put despite how the words send a shudder through his spine. he tucks his hands further under his legs, pressing between where his calves and thighs squeeze together and make his skin splay like the perfect canvas for you to paint on. the red streaks across his pale skin, the sheen of sweat over them, and the way his muscles tremble from the effort of keeping still — he’s a masterpiece, one of your own creation, and you don’t plan on letting anyone else see him.

for now, though, you wish for those crystalline tears to fall, you want to see spit smeared over his neck and chest, and you want to hear him gag prettily for you. 

“what do you want, baby?” you take a moment to squat down to his height, head tilting to the side as you look him in the eye. “want me to touch you?”

mingi offers his first weak nod of the night as his cheeks flush a pretty red and he ducks his chin to the side. 

“good boy.” perhaps it’s a bit too cruel, the way you lower the riding crop further and slip the tip between the small gap in his cock cage. the leather digs into his dick, teasing his slit enough to make mingi writhe under your touch. he’s still good though — still stays put and doesn’t try bringing his hands out from where they’re losing feeling between his legs. it’s going to result in his first ruined orgasm, and you count the seconds in your head before he cries out and a weak trail of cum spills through the slit of metal encasing. “must be hard having to cum like that, baby. can’t even put your big dick to good use, huh?”

“n-no,” mingi whimpers as you pull the riding crop back and hold it to his face.

“clean it for me.”

his tongue slips out like he’s putting it on display. you give him a sweet smile that’s deceptively innocent again. the first slap of the leather on his tongue is a shock to him. it’s almost enough for him to lose his position and grab for his crotch, and you’re nearly tempted to take the cage off for him so he can cum properly. he has to earn that right though. you only give him two more sharp hits to the tongue before turning away and stepping over to the edge of the bed. mingi pants behind you, almost dog-like in how hard he’s breathing.

“need a break, princess? what’s your color?”

“green…. ‘m okay, ‘m okay, p-promise,” mingi huffs out in response, lifting his gaze to you as you look back at him over your shoulder. 

“my pretty baby, you’re so good for me,” you singsong back through a tight-lipped grin. “made to be my perfect little toy… made for me, yeah?”

“y-yes.” 

you exhale a breathy laugh despite his affirmation not being funny in the slightest.

“you aren’t being so chatty tonight, love, are you sure you want me that badly?”

“i do!” mingi almost stumbles over his words in the rush he makes to affirm them, and another laugh slips free, one that comes from your chest with more force. “i do, please, i want you.”

“please?” you echo, arching a brow at the collection of toys before you. you settle on one in particular and pick it up with delicate fingers and a smirk. 

“please, please, i’ll beg, i’ve been good. i’m still in position! i’m being so good for you, y/n, i really am, right?”

“you are…” you turn back towards mingi, letting a genuine smile of adoration come over your lips. “you’re being my perfect little princess, baby. the perfect toy for me. you’re always so good, aren’t you?”

mingi nods like a man possessed, motions erratic in his rush to affirm your words. you press the head of the dildo in your hand further into your palm. 

“do you wish this were you?” the stroke you give to the shaft is long and obnoxious, emphasizing the twist of your wrist and how you squeeze the base lightly. mingi goes dumb for a moment; his gaze flits over the silicone then up to your face then back down to your hand that repeats the rhythmic motions. “can’t even use your stupid cock to please me right now, but that’s okay, right? you can get off if i fuck myself with this in front of you, no?”

the whimper that leaves mingi is borderline pathetic.

“don’t worry, my love. i won’t do that to you. you’ve been so good for me tonight… there’s no need for punishment, okay?”

“promise?” he asks, lashes growing wetter by the second. your gut twists and turns, the desire to see those tears fall over the balls of his cheeks rising up only for you to squash it a second later.

“promise, baby boy.” you step closer to him again, and rather than kneeling down to his height, you merely stop before him and lower the flesh-toned dildo to his lips. “won’t you be a good cockslut and suck for me?”

it’s a lewd mimicry of an actual blowjob — the visual of him taking the dildo that’s settled in your palm right beside your hip almost makes it look real. his lips stretch around the girth, the size of it almost akin to how his own erection would look if not for the metal keeping him locked up right now. there’s a certain haziness to the way mingi blinks up at you, the motions slower than normal like he’s thinking too hard about it or approaching a different mindset that will leave him needy and clingy for hours to come. not that you mind — taking care of him afterward is almost as good as taking care of him during, and you’d rather die than be a bad dom for him. 

you push the dildo to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat in one easy thrust, and the tears overflow. they stream over his skin with ease, and you see his shoulders begin to cave in a bit with each passing second. his hips jut in little staggered motions that betray his intentions, but you simply let him strive for a friction that will never really come. not the way he wants at least. 

he’s drooling around the cock between his lips and wetting it more and more with each thrust. you can't resist the urge to take your free hand to his chin, catching a dribble of saliva and smearing down towards his chest. you cross the planes of his flat chest with a wet path in your wake before reaching one of his budded nipples. just brushing over it with the slightest amount of pressure has him groaning out a low moan. like music to your ears, he repeats the sound when you tweak his nipple a little harder. 

“you can cum, baby boy. think your pathetic cock can squirt for me?” you pull the dildo from his mouth to let him speak, obviously waiting for an answer with the way you dangle the fake cock just out of his reach. his voice comes out gravelly and low when he manages to squeak out a response. 

“good whores can.”

“is that what you are, my love?”

“please,” he whispers, an edge of desperation to his tone, and you can’t deny him what he wants.

“yes, my baby, you’re a good whore for me. all mine.” you nudge the dildo back to his waiting mouth, putting more pressure into your push this time around. mingi takes it almost greedily like it can’t get in his throat fast enough, and he all but leans into it seconds later. you squat down to his level, at last, keeping one arm up to thrust the silicone between his plump lips that have long since swollen up from the overuse. you don’t have your key on hand — it’s over on the bed along with your other supplies — but you won’t be needing it quite yet, reaching down to grip the little bit of his shaft that isn’t trapped within the metal cage. 

mingi gags around the dildo once more, but this time you aren’t nearly as deep in his throat, so you withdraw the toy to let him choke out a few words. 

“c-can you finger me? please?” 

your mind goes blank for half a second, hand reaching up to sweep away some of the leftover tears on his cheeks before you recover and remember your place in the scene. 

“mm, keep sucking.” you push the dildo down to the floor then go to pull mingi’s hands out from under his thighs. the freedom has him flexing his probably numb fingers as best he can, but he doesn’t waste any time in sitting up on his knees and bending in half to reach the fake cock once more. you get to your feet, eyes taking in the pretty expanse of his back and ass, the red marks on his hamstrings that indicate how much pressure he was putting on his hands. even as you retrieve the lube from the bed, mingi doesn’t budge and continues to follow your gentle orders without complaint.

you announce your arrival behind him with a sharp backhand slap to one side of his ass, delighting in the way he jolts and clenches around nothing. his noises are muffled by the dildo, but still music to your ears as always. his cock dangles uselessly between his legs, and the metal encasing jingles with his sporadic movements. 

your first finger is cold when it slips into the heat of mingi’s ass, no effort put into trying to warm up the lube when you know how much mingi enjoys that first chill a little more every time. your fingers aren’t nearly as long as mingi’s so the effort that goes into searching for his sweet spot is far greater than it would be the other way around. he seems to content to wait, dick still dribbling strings of translucent cum like he never stopped cumming in the first place. you know by now he’s surely bordering the brink of overstimulation, the limit where it starts to become too much, but he keeps whining each time you threaten to pull your fingers out of him.

“one more, baby boy, then we’ll be done for the night and get you cleaned up,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him at this point because of how far gone he is. it’s endearing in a way, at least in your eyes it is, and it turns intoxicating once more with the first brush of your fingers over his prostate. 

“hngh, o-oh… y/n, ah, i’ll cum early!” his mouth pops off the dildo to spew the words, and spit pools on the wood floor with his motions. 

“the sooner you finish, the sooner we can get you in the bath, love.” you dig your fingers as deep as they can go, crooking them midway to repeat the same brush over his sweet spot. it garners you the reaction you were after — mingi cries out louder than he has so far in this session, legs going weak as he threatens to topple over. you grab for his hip with your free hand and try your best to steady his big body before he fully falls. all his cock can do at this point is give a few more weak spurts of the same translucent cum that pools on the floor between his legs. “good job, baby, look at you. you did so well for me.”

“y/n, i-i, fuck, i—”

“shh, baby, you’re okay, i’ve got you, okay?” you turn him to the side as gently as you can, trying to avoid any of the bodily fluids that are now spread over the wood, and help him lay flat against the floor on his back. you won’t make him stay there long, only enough for him to catch his breath and get some feeling back in his legs. you’ll get the key to his cage later too; you can’t risk leaving him right as he’s coming down from an orgasm even if it’s just a few feet away. so you drag yourself up his lanky body and settle over his waist with hands planted on his shoulders and a smile on your lips. “you with me still?”

“y-yeah,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that there are wrinkles around his temples. you shift your hands up to brush over those spots, and the man under you relaxes into the touch. 

it’s a slow process, bringing him down from the intensity of the orgasm and overstimulation, but it’s comfortable as well if you ignore the sweat sticking to your bodies. 

“mm, okay, ‘m back, i’m back. fuckin’ drowsy as hell,” he murmurs some time later. the way his words slur is indication enough of his exhaustion, but you aren’t about to let him pass out on the floor like this.

“okay, big boy, up we go then. let’s take a bath and let me get everything cleaned up then you can pass out.” you move to climb off mingi and get to work, but he catches hold of your waist and tugs you back down to his face momentarily.

“love you, baby.”

you smile into his lips, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“i love you too.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Karma.

Pairing: Yandere!Xiao/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count:  2.1k.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Codependence, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Slight Victim-Blaming.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Xiao knew that this was what he deserved.

This, all of it, everything. Whatever the world had to throw at him, all the things he’d earned over centuries of bloodshed and death and guilt that grew more crippling with each passing day. He’d come to terms with that, and if he was being honest with himself, he might admit that he was growing numb to the pain, that despite his distaste, violence didn’t seem as utterly unpalatable as it used to. He wasn’t thankful for it, he didn’t want it, but he was resigned, apathetic, too used to it to care the way he used to, when fighting left him as battered as his enemies. He'd grown accustomed to it. He’d adapted.

He just wasn’t used to this. A new sort of discomfort. A different kind of pain.

He just wasn’t used to you being the source of his karmic suffering, whether or not you realized it was quite that poetic.

He’d earned it. He knew that. He’d earned every part of his current punishment – your glare, your locked jaw, the unadulterated loathing that emanated off of you in waves, unignorable from the moment he shrugged open the heavy, wooden door to his crowded room on the inn’s top floor. He’d managed to stave off the urge to use chains, ropes, anything more solid and more restraining than an idle threat and a locked door, but you were smart enough to stay balled up in the furthest corner, your knees pulled into your chest and your eyes on the floor, narrowed with an intensity he’d only ever seen in demons, moments before their deaths. It hurt him to see, the stance too defensive not to be learned, but it was better than the alternative. He’d caught you on the balcony, once or twice, leaning over the railing or admiring the view, and…

You could’ve slipped. You could’ve tried to jump. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but you shouldn’t have been so reckless. It’d been dangerous, even you were still too naïve to see that.

Xiao grit his teeth, shaking his head as he forced himself to focus on the matter at-hand. You didn’t move as he approached, only shrinking further into yourself, becoming something small, something timid, a form of passive resistance you’ve perfected, in the weeks since you last put up a real fight. If he was feeling any less patient, he might’ve resorted to less honorable methods, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you through his routine of self-indulgence despite your attempts to struggle against him. He’d tried it before, broken his own promises countless times, but it was almost never worth the way you’d cry afterwards, like he’d hurt you, like he’d done anything wrong. Like you could expect him to do anything less, when you were determined to be so stubborn.

So, instead, he tried talking. Talking was more peaceful. He didn’t like talking, but you did, and he was trying to be more considerate of what you liked. “I’m back.”

He waited, but there was no response. That was fine. He was fine. He couldn’t say he’d never given you a reason to ignore him. “You’re not reading,” He tried, again, fighting to keep his voice even. You tended to flinch, whenever he got too loud. “It’d be a better use of your time than sulking around, like this.”

You didn’t look at him, your voice muffled by your self-made haven. “You keep burning my books.”

Burning? That sounded like something he would do, as an act of precaution or anger or the same petty vengeance creatures so far beneath him were so prone to. It’d probably been one of the anthologies you were so fond of – folklore hiding under the guise of real history. Usually, he didn’t pay it much mind, the liberal retellings of events no living mortal could possibly be old enough to have witnessed, but he didn’t care for it when you found value in such trash. Stories about the Adepti were far too common in Liyue literature, and you’d always been the type to ask questions, to try to pry your way into subjects you could never hope to comprehend. It was better to eliminate the problem entirely. That was how he’d survived for so long, among humans -- terminating issues before they could arise.

But, you wouldn’t understand that. And even if you did, it wouldn’t do anything to heal the wound he’d already created.

He was beginning to think nothing he tried would ever be enough to mend your anger, not when you were so content to tear at the stitching yourself.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He wasn’t sure if he had, but you didn’t correct him, only squaring your shoulders, digging your nails into your legs, going even further to block him out, push him away, isolate yourself and leave him to suffer for your insubordination. Xiao rolled his eyes, scowling to himself, but whatever irritation he could summon was quickly replaced by his exhaustion, that perpetual desire to fall into your arms and have you welcome him willingly, lovingly, the way you used to before he decided he had to ruin it. He was tempted to touch you, to reach out, to cup your cheek or wrap an arm around you or draw you close by force, rather than natural attraction, but he thought better of it, crouching by your side, instead, letting his back hit the wall with a heavy thud.

When he opened his mouth, his tongue felt heavier, his throat hoarse. Like the weight of his conscious had found yet another way to make itself known. “You hate me.”

It was a fact, like the color of the sky or the scent of the air before a storm. It was true, both of you already knew that, but you were kind enough to hesitate, lifting you head just high enough to see him. For him to see you, tiny and terrified. A trembling rabbit that knew better than to hope for mercy from a hawk. “I do.”

It stung more than it had any right to. “And there’s nothing I can do make you stop hating me.”

You laughed, at that, the sound breathy and sardonic, melodic and unabashed, akin to bird songs and wind chimes and every other beautiful thing Xiao could think of, even in its most beaten down state. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to deafen himself because he knew nothing would ever be half as lovely as that laugh, but you were talking before he could act on the impulse. That was for the best, really. Acting on impulse was what got him into this, and he wasn’t eager to drive you away any further. “I don’t have any other choice,” You started, your tone light, your anger softened into something playful. The kind of tender rage only you were capable of. “If I could choose not to hate you, I would. You were my friend, and if I could find any way to justify your actions, you’d still be my friend. I don’t want to think of you as anything else.” You paused, letting out a deep breath, relaxing slightly. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to celebrate the small victory. “I don’t want to hate you, but I have to. You see that, right? After everything you’ve done to me, I have to hate you.”

He deserved this, and you deserved to say it. He deserved to have his heart broken, crushed and shattered in his chest, and you deserved to be the one to break it. “I don’t want you to hate me, either.” It felt more intimate than it should’ve, a confession rather than common knowledge. You might’ve teased him for it, months ago, smiled and said something about softening him up. Now, your frown only deepened. “But, I need to do this. Your safety comes first. If something ever happened to you, I’d—”

Even in his own mind, his logic faltered. ‘If something ever happened to you’, like he hadn’t already done more damage than any monster ever could. It might’ve been more redeemable if he was honest, if he admitted he was doing this for himself, because he wanted to, because just for an hour, a minute, a few key seconds, he was idiotic enough to think he deserved to have you, permanently, whether or not you wanted to have him.

But, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t know how. His mouth wouldn’t form the right words, so he was left to say the wrong ones, his tone taking a sharp turn towards hostile as he spoke. “The door isn’t locked. I’m not keeping you here. You can leave, if you’re really that miserable.”

You shifted, and Xiao’s throat went dry. He knew the answer, and yet, it still hurt to hear it in your voice, to know you were capable of inflicting such insufferable pain. “If I try to, will you let me?”

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even tell himself he’d try. He’d hunt you down to the ends of Teyvat if he had to, spend the rest of his immortality finding you and making sure you never had the chance to do something so short-sighted again. He could make the guilt more bearable, promising himself he’d take care of you, that since he couldn’t do away with the cage entirely, he’d do his best to make your prison a comfortable one, but you’d still be unhappy, you’d still hate him. He’d hate himself, too, but that might be the one aspect of your relationship he thought he could stand. If nothing else, Xiao didn’t make himself a stranger to self-loathing.

“I love you,” He mumbled, as if that counted for anything. “So much. More than you could possibly understand.”

“I know.” You were the one to bridge the gap, this time, a hesitant hand coming to rest over his. Something in his chest tightened, and for a moment, Xiao had to wonder if it was possible for a mortal to be so cruel. “But, I don’t love you. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You moved to pull away, fear fading into sympathetic pity, but Xiao didn’t want your pity, he didn’t want you to go back to hiding from him, trembling and screaming and treating him like some monster, a beast waiting to lash out. That’s what he was, really, but he didn’t have to admit it. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to let himself believe he’d fallen that far, and he didn’t want to let you treat him as if he had.

His grip was too tight, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he caught you by the wrist, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when it was so easy to jerk you towards him, forcing you out of your pathetic, laughable shelter and into his lap, his free arm latching onto your waist before you had a chance to pull away. The remorse was reflexive, immediate and instinctual, but for the first time, he allowed himself to ignore it, to bury it underneath the pleasant warmth of your skin against his and the bliss that came with being so close to you, with burying his face in your shoulder, with indulging every necessity he’d denied himself in the name of your comfort. Your hands were already on his chest, your entire body shaking as you made a weak attempt to push him away, but Xiao was stronger than you, and he loved you so much more than you could ever hate him. This was fair. That had to be enough to make it fair.

You shifted, the air catching in your lungs, but Xiao only bared his teeth, letting pointed fangs ghost over the side of your neck before he could regret scaring you. Maybe he wanted to scare you. Maybe it’d be better, if you were scared of him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to keep playing dutiful lover. 

“Don’t move,” He snarled, and instantly, you went still. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, hear the cracked sob you failed to swallow, but he wanted this, he needed this. You’d get used to it, with time. You might even begin to appreciate the weeks he spent coddling you, once you were exposed to the alternative. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need this. I need you to let me have this.” He paused, giving you just enough to time to stiffen, to realize he wasn’t letting go. To realize he was never letting go, even if that meant you only grew to hate him more. “I don’t care if you love me. I need you.” 

Because he’d already gotten what he deserved. He’d already suffered, anguished, submitted himself fully to karma and reaped the consequences. The lesson had been drilled into him a thousand times, by his own hand another hundred. He already knew pain.

He’d already gotten what he deserved.

For once, he wanted to know what it would be like to get what he wanted, instead.

[rebrandedbard]

The Chain

Slightly horny drabble. Geralt has a thing for Jaskier’s neck and a chain he wears around it. Reverse bath shenanigans. Non-explicit.

WC: 1900

-

Geralt had noticed it on many occasions: on hot days when Jaskier opened his chemise a little wider than usual, when Jaskier stripped for a dip in a river or tub, when he stripped for the night and bundled himself into bed. It was unusual considering the ornaments Jaskier usually hung himself with, shiny rings with etchings, engravings, and gemstones. But these were for parties and grand affairs. Day to day, he did not primp and preen like a peacock with a fat purse. He wore only his signet ring. It was a tool as much as an accessory, though it was still something with detail.

The thin chain around his neck served no purpose. It was not silver, nor iron, which at least would offer some barest form of protection. It had no enchantments. It could not even be said to bring luck. It was dull, unfashionable, and did not have so much as a single charm hung from it. It was just … there. A short, barren chain wrought of plain steel.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was so plain, so thin, flimsy, and pointless that drove Geralt to distraction. At the very least, Jaskier might put something on it. If there were a locket or a pendant, something for the eye to focus on, that would be enough. But leaving the chain bare only seemed to draw attention to Jaskier’s neck itself. It was … a handsomely long neck. When Jaskier turned his head, the muscle stood out in an attractive line. Objectively.

Geralt wished he’d put something on the damn chain. Before he volunteered his own teeth to the task. It was a fantasy that had come to him one night. Jaskier had a rather distracting habit of nibbling the ends of his shirt laces. The chain was too short for him to reach. But Geralt could. And he nearly had before he’d come to his senses, leaning too close into Jaskier’s space. He clumsily reached past Jaskier to collect his empty bowl from the ground, floundering for an excuse. That had been a week ago when they’d been out in the woods. He’d had plenty of space then to breathe and forget about it.

But now? He was suffocating. Trapped in their little room above the tavern, Jaskier stripped of all his things, sighing as he leaned with his torso above the line of water in the bath, his head dangling back over the rim, neck elongated, exposed, and Geralt saw that damn chain glisten in the firelight. Jaskier had even taken off his ring, but the chain remained.

Jaskier hummed pleasantly, a damp washcloth over his eyes. “You’re awful quiet, even for you,” he said. He lifted the washcloth from his eyes and smiled at Geralt, catching him staring. “Cat got your tongue, witcher?”

Geralt looked away immediately. “I was just thinking,” he grumbled.

“Is that something you’ve learnt to do? Oh, I’m so very proud,” Jaskier teased. He dropped the cloth back over his eyes and put his hands behind his head, sinking further into the water. “Do indulge me. Pray tell, what has those ancient, rusty gears clinking and turning tonight?”

Geralt glared at him, the effect rendered less than effective by the washcloth. “Nothing,” he said. He finished unbuckling the last of his armour and sat to clean it. There was nothing to wipe away but dust. Even so, he was looking for an excuse to stay. To linger. Or perhaps to distract himself, having little else to do but turn in for the evening.

“Hm, that’s the Geralt I know. But come, some thought is rolling around in that head of yours; I heard it clink against the walls just now when you did your curious little head tilt. Won’t you share it with me?”

“You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes,” Geralt replied. “You haven’t even begun to wash up and the water will be getting cold.”

Jaskier waved a hand at him. “So it can be reheated. A little snap-snap of Igni and I’ve got another half hour of relaxing ahead. Besides, cold water is good for the skin.”

“You’ll keep me up all night tending your water if you had your way.”

“Ah, if I only could have it my way,” Jaskier sighed. “I’d have you tend to me hand and foot, hanging on my every word. What fun! Providing hot water would only be the start; I’ve got a long list of things I’d do.” He chuckled fiddling with the chain, twisting a length of it between his fingers where his hands supported his neck.

Geralt tracked the motion with rapt attention. He cleared his throat began to pack his armour up after all. As he walked behind Jaskier, he plucked the cloth from his eyes. “You’d better hurry up and wash. I’m not reheating the water for you and I know you hate when the water gets cold, never mind what good it does your skin.”

He dropped the cloth back down on Jaskier’s face with a wet plop and Jaskier slipped back with an indignant yip, splashing beneath the water’s surface. It was a satisfying sound.

Jaskier wiped his face clear and wrung the cloth out again. He huffed and began to lather the cloth with soap. “Always so gruff,” he complained. “Here I help you selflessly scrub monster guts and foul muck from your hair day in and day out, but you can’t even be bothered to heat up a little tub water to warm my icy bones. By rights, you ought to at least return the favor once in a blue moon. I’m not asking you to scrub me head to toe—I only think a little reciprocation would be nice.” So saying, he scrubbed his face and ears, rinsed, and patted around for his oil.

Geralt sighed. Depositing his armour, he turned back to the tub. He scooped up the oil and pushed away Jaskier’s hand. “Fine,” he said. “Sit up.”

Jaskier beamed at him. He wiped his eyes and turned around. “Will you really? Surely I’ve fallen asleep, dozed in the hot water, and tumbled into some fantastic dream. Who is this courteous stranger before me? You couldn’t possibly be my witcher. My witcher would never!”

The hairs stood on the back of Geralt’s neck, tingling at those words. My witcher. Jaskier said them so often, so casually, and yet they never failed to get a rise out of him.

Geralt turned Jaskier’s head roughly. “Face forward or you’ll get soap in your eyes,” he said.

“O-o-o, so forceful. Always straight to manhandling with you.”

“Give you something to handle,” Geralt grumbled.

“What was that?”

Geralt poured a bit of the oil on his hands. “I said it smells like sandal. Sandalwood.”

Jaskier settled once more against the rim of the tub and tilted his head back. “Got some new supplies. Do you like it?” he asked.

Geralt did, but then he liked most of the scents Jaskier wore. They complimented him. Not that he would ever dignify that with a response. Instead, he simply began to massage the oil into Jaskier’s hair, working his way from the crown of his head down, fingers lightly scratching his scalp the way Jaskier often did.

“Oh, that’s heavenly,” Jaskier sighed. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closed as he relaxed beneath Geralt’s ministrations.

Up close, Geralt had a perfect view of the chain. He watched it shift as Jaskier spoke. The chain reflected the flickering light in an almost hypnotic fashion. Slowly, his hands worked down to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, still massaging as he stared, his mind drifting. Jaskier made an odd little rumble in the back of his throat. Geralt massaged the place harder, hoping to hear that sound again.

“Soap next,” Jaskier said. He passed the cloth to Geralt, not bothering to open his eyes.

They’d never said anything about soaping or scrubbing, but Geralt was in no position to refuse. Not with Jaskier’s neck angled so enticingly, and here, the perfect excuse to reach out and touch. He lathered soap in the cloth. In a moment, it was touching the side of Jaskier’s neck. And yet …

“Your, uh. Your chain,” he said.

Jaskier cracked one eye to look back at him. “Oh. You may remove it. Just be sure to put it back when you’re done.”

Geralt swallowed and set the washcloth on Jaskier’s shoulder a moment. He reached for the chain, only to find no fastening in the back. He had to turn it, had to watch the drag of it against Jaskier’s skin as he searched. The chain was warm and wet and it was difficult to get a solid grip on the clasp when he at last had found it. But it soon came free.

He hesitated. Now that he had it, where could he put it? There was no stool, and it felt improper to put it on the floor. He looked at Jaskier, wondering if he might offer to hold onto it, then he was again distracted by the line of his neck.

He’d been wrong. After wearing the chain so long, it was now, perhaps, more indecent to see his neck without it. Geralt watched a drop of water roll down the side of Jaskier’s neck and felt the impulse to chase it with his tongue. To prevent himself from following through, he succumbed to another impulse which might go unobserved and placed the chain between his teeth.

Jaskier hummed once more as Geralt’s hands returned to their task. It was meditative, Geralt discovered. He moved the cloth in small circles, covering every inch of Jaskier’s neck twice. He cupped water in one hand, let it trickle down and wash the suds away. With gentle fingers, he flicked away a stray bubble, his touch lingering only a moment more to appreciate the soft skin beneath. And then he was washing Jaskier’s shoulders, his hand dipping only a little to feel the breadth of his chest.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said.

But Geralt was distracted. He was busy running the cloth once more between Jaskier’s shoulders, running the tip of his tongue across the links of the chain.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. He reached back, raised a hand up to run along Geralt’s cheek. His fingers touched the end of the chain, slipping against the corner of Geralt’s mouth. He tugged it, pulling it link by link from between Geralt’s teeth. And then Geralt felt something warm and wet lightly touch the opposite corner. A kiss. Just barely.

Geralt’s breath caught in his lungs and his eyes fluttered shut. He felt Jaskier’s teasing touch disappear, fingers curling beneath his chin and sinking once more beneath the water. He opened his eyes and saw Jaskier smiling back at him, the chain dangling in his hand.

“The bath is getting cold,” he said, a salacious tenor to his voice. “Feel like warming me up?”

And before Geralt could answer, Jaskier had a finger curled around the silver chain of his medallion, pulling him in.

Jaskier smirked up at him. He took the washcloth from his hand and replaced it with the chain. “I’ll wear yours,” he whispered, “if you’ll wear mine.”

And now Geralt indulged a new fantasy. Yes, Jaskier’s chain needed something after all, he decided. It needed only one simple ornament to make it complete.

It needed a wolf.

[fruitcoops]

could you PLEASE write the fic where coops break the bed bc I would love to read how that went down

I'd love to! This is a reference to part three of this fic, and the prompt was combined with asks for another jealous Sirius and seeing Remus in his game day suit for the first time. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut (including blowjobs)

The lock slid home and Sirius’ knees hit the floor.

“Wh—okay,” Remus laughed as Sirius fumbled his belt open and yanked the zipper of his dress pants—fucking dress pants, is he trying to kill me?—as far as it could go without ripping straight down the middle. Slender fingers combed through his hair; some of the shock must have worn off, because he could feel a growing bulge under his cheek as he nuzzled the dip of Remus’ hipbone.

“Nobody looks at you like I do,” he said, licking a broad stripe up the front of Remus’ boxers. They were the nice kind, soft and tight—he wanted to tear them off.

Remus, for his part, looked both baffled and quite happy. “No, they do not,” he agreed, giving the back of Sirius’ hair a light tug. “And nobody looks as good as you down there.”

“You’re goddamn right they don’t.” Without further ado, Sirius pulled his dick out of his boxers and did his best to inhale it.

“Jesus fucking—” Remus’ hand slammed into the wall with a sharp gasp. His knee buckled, but Sirius gripped his thigh and pushed it against the wall. “Holy shit, baby, give me some warning.”

Sirius leaned back and let the tip slide out through his lips for just a moment, reveling in the slackjawed awe on Remus’ face. “No.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Remus’ voice cracked as he thudded his head back against the wall and began lightly rolling his hips per Sirius’ request, huffing each time Sirius tightened his hold on his ass.

“Game suit,” Sirius managed as he slid off to bite the hollow between Remus’ hip and thigh, drawing a whimper from him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, shouting mine, mine, mine with each pulse. “Game suit and those fucking fans.”

Remus’ chest heaved as he took him all the way to the base again, holding Sirius by the hair the way that always sent lightning down his spine. He spread his knees slightly on the floor and palmed himself through his pants without breaking pace. “Are you—ah—are you upset or happy? ‘cause this is great and I’m not complaining but—oh holy fuck.”

Warm, slightly sweaty palms shoved him away by the forehead. Sirius made a noise of protest that turned into a grumble when his mouth was finally empty, and he batted Remus’ hands away. “What?”

“Two seconds.” Remus’ pupils were dilated so far they almost hid the pretty amber that turned dark with lust. “You look so good down there, baby, but I’m gonna come and I’m really confused why.”

“I want to make you come,” Sirius explained, moving back towards him only to be guided away again. Obviously. “Remus!”

“What is the occasion?” he asked, a little desperate. “What did I do?”

Sirius sat back on his heels with an irritated exhale and held up three fingers. “You, in general. Game suit. Fans. May I please finish what I was doing.”

If possible, Remus looked even more lost. “The fans? What about the fans? Why do they entail an amazing blowjob?”

“Because.” Sirius pulled his pants down enough to suck a mark on the thickest muscle of Remus’ thigh. He was salty and sweet and perfect. “Because they were looking at you like they wanted to eat you, and that’s my job.”

“I—” Remus opened and closed his mouth twice, then leaned back against the wall with an aborted muss of his hair. “Yeah, okay. I kind of want to get you off too, though, ‘cause you look like sin on legs in that blazer and I would hate to waste it.”

Sirius Black, why did you commit yourself to someone so selfless. He took his mouth off the underside of Remus’ dick and hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the protests of his plane-tired muscles. “Then we’d better get upstairs.”

“Upstairs? But—” Remus’ eyes widened and a slow smile spread over his face and he pulled his pants back up. “Yeah, yeah, okay, yes, right now.”

“Right now,” Sirius confirmed, taking him by the wrist to hustle them both up to their bedroom. He gave Remus’ ass a solid smack before scooting around him to flop backward on the bed, tangling their legs together until he could wrap himself around Remus and kiss him like he deserved. Hard and sloppy and so dizzying Sirius had to catch his breath when they broke apart. “Now.”

“Huh?” Remus coughed, still ruffled and red-lipped.

Sirius took his face between his hands and felt Remus go weak on top of him. “Fuck me. Right now. I’m yours, and you’re mine, and you don’t do this with any of those people undressing you with their eyes today.”

I’m the one that’s going to be walking funny tomorrow, Sirius reminded himself as he expertly unbuttoned Remus’ shirt and shoved both that and the navy jacket off his golden shoulders. Not the moon-eyed women twirling their hair, not the chiseled men with their fucking smirks, not the people in the comments marveling at that pretty face. Me. Mine.

Remus made a funny sort of whimpering noise as he pushed Sirius’ shirt open and attached himself to his neck, biting and licking in equal measure as Sirius divested them both of their pants. He leaned back to catch his breath, but Sirius reeled him back in by the blue tie still around his neck and tangled his fingers in Remus’ tawny curls, crushing them together while he pushed his hips up for any friction and basked in Remus’ moans. Mine. Yours.

“Lube,” Remus said against his mouth, breathless. The temperature of the room had to be a hundred degrees, Sirius was sure of it; they were both sweating already, but he couldn’t let go of Remus for more than a second at a time. He needed the contact. Needed the feeling of drowning in his touch.

“Mine,” he said, nipping Remus’ bottom lip before letting him go enough that he could reach the nightstand.

“Yours,” Remus promised. He kept one hand splayed over the side of Sirius’ neck as they kissed; the other popped the cap off the lube and hoisted Sirius’ leg further to the side. “Ready?”

“Go.”

He threw his head back when two—two!—slick fingers pressed against him, opening him at the wonderful intersection between a snail’s pace and an uncomfortable sting. Remus moved his free hand down to hold Sirius’ hip; his weight pressed him into the mattress, and Sirius was sure that he would burn up at any moment.

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth when Remus’ fingers found his prostate. His ears began to buzz as Remus rubbed the pads of his fingers over it in relentless circles, not pushing, just giving him enough friction to go mad with it.

Teeth skimmed his collarbone and Sirius shivered when wet lips trailed over his nipple. “Get on your stomach.”

“Wanna see you.”

“Sirius.” Remus’ hand wasn’t damp when he curled it around Sirius’ jaw and guided him to meet his eyes. “On your damn stomach.”

Sirius was not proud of the half-breath sound that escaped him, but he wasn’t ashamed either. He got on his damn stomach, and he did it with a smile. “What now?”

“Hold the headboard.”

He obliged and felt Remus run a hand down the curve of his spine before sliding two fingers back into him. Sirius arched, grinning at the waves of pleasure rolling through his stomach. “We don’t have games for two days,” he said, flipping his hair back to look at Remus over his shoulder.

Amber eyes roved up and down his body with an appreciative gleam before Remus pressed a kiss to the small of his back. “I know. Hold on, baby.”

A shiver ran through Sirius’ limbs; he flexed his fingers on the wood of the headboard and sighed when something much more blunt than a few fingers pushed inside him in a slow, continuous motion. “Tabarnak,” he muttered, mouth agape as Remus found his seat and pushed down even harder on his lower back. His spine was going to ache in the morning, and he didn’t care a bit.

“Why were you upset about the fans?” he asked with a slow roll of his hips that left Sirius shuddering. “You know I don’t pay attention to that.”

“Comment section,” he panted, gritting his teeth against a loud moan. “And I could hear them when you walked by.”

“What were they saying?”

“Everything.” Sirius’ thighs trembled on the hard thrust that followed. “Everything, everything—how good you looked. That suit, Remus, I can’t handle it.”

A beat of silence passed, save for the creaking of the bed beneath them. “Say it again.”

“You looked—”

“Not that,” Remus interrupted, sliding his hands along Sirius’ sides and back down his thighs. “You want me to be yours? Then say my name.”

“Remus,” he breathed.

“What was that?”

“Remus,” he repeated, a little louder. It came out as a whine and Remus bent down to bite the junction of his shoulder as he gripped the headboard with white knuckles.

“Again.”

The word was punctuated by a yank on Sirius’ hips paired with a thrust that sparked fireworks in his eyes. “Remus!” he almost shouted, half in shock.

“Atta boy.” Strong arms wound around his abdomen, pulling him impossibly closer to Remus’ front as he rocked in and out and stole Sirius’ breath from his lungs. Feather-soft lips traced from one shoulder to the middle of his back, leaving open-mouthed kisses in their wake that were cold against the flames in Sirius’ gut. His arms were already shaking.

“Remus,” he begged, though he didn’t even know what to ask for. He was so hard it almost hurt—spreading his exhausted knees to try and sink down onto the mattress did absolutely nothing to help him. “Remus.”

“No,” Remus ordered when he tried to take one hand off the headboard and stroke himself to relieve the pressure. Sirius let out something akin to a sob despite the distilled joy and pleasure running riot through him. “Headboard. Now.”

“I am.”

Remus’ breath was hot against his ear. “Don’t get bratty with me.”

Sirius had never come untouched before, but he wondered if it felt like this. Unfortunately, he was still painfully close to the edge and Remus insisted on dragging over his sweet spot every—fucking—time, so he was stuck in a horribly fantastic limbo that bent every cell to Remus’ will.

It was exactly what he had been after from the second the front door locked behind them.

“Come on, baby.” Remus made a low sound in his throat as Sirius clamped down around him at the nickname and upped his pace by a degree. “Come on, you can do it.”

“Quoi—what d’you want?” Sirius asked, dropping his chin to his chest with a moan.

Fingers wound into his hair and pulled his head up again, gentle but unyielding. There was never any pain when Remus was in charge, only the feeling of being entirely encompassed. It didn’t matter what position they were in—Sirius could be on the bottom, top, sideways, anywhere, and still feel cared for in every aspect.

“Fucking love you,” he mumbled, voice breaking as Remus’ hand slid through his hair to trail along his neck and wind around his chest.

He could feel the smile pressing into his shoulder blade as Remus left a mark there between world-shattering rolls of his hips. “Love you, too. You know you can come whenever, right?”

“Touch me.”

“Tell me three things and I will,” Remus all but purred into the arch of his neck. Sirius nodded frantically. “What color was I wearing today?”

“Blue,” he managed through clumsy lips. “Dark blue, ‘s perfect on you, oh.”

“Two: how many times have I worn that suit?”

Sirius stifled a moan in the crook of his elbow. “Once.”

“Last question.” Remus licked the salt from the crest of his shoulder and Sirius’ vision went for a moment; he gripped the headboard like it was his only anchor on earth. “Who is the only person in the world I will ever love like this?”

“Oh, fuck, me.”

A palm, broad and callused, wrapped around his shaft and gathered the precome that had been dripping onto the sheets for a glide so smooth Sirius thought he was dreaming. Then the world caught up to him at light speed and he was gone, tumbling over the edge with a shout and throwing his weight forward while Remus guided him through every ripple down his back as he reached his own peak.

Crack—crunch.

Sirius yelped as his knuckles hit the wall, pulling back on instinct despite the fact that he had nowhere to go but down. Remus cursed into his shoulder and they hit the pillows in a mess of limbs and sweat; Sirius pulled his hands to his chest as the smarting pain began to fade. “Ow,” he said, bewildered and pitiful.

“Oh, oh, oh.” Remus pulled out with a slight wince and carefully took his hands, pressing kisses over the reddened skin before horror overtook his face. “Did I—was that sound your hands?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his flushed cheek. “It wasn’t me. I think…”

Remus blinked at him. “Did we…”

“That was the headboard.” A smile tugged the edges of his mouth until Sirius gave in and began to laugh, shifting back onto his stomach for a proper look. Sure enough, the wooden board at the top of their bed was both sideways and several inches further down the wall than it had been when they started their venture.

“Oh my god,” Remus spluttered, still laughing as he tried to pull it back into the right spot. “Jesus, this thing is heavy.”

“We broke the bed,” Sirius snickered. It was so beyond unbelievable that he couldn’t help it. “After all this time, it finally gave in. Mon dieu. I can’t…I don’t even know where to start.”

“We broke the headboard,” Remus corrected with a grin. “Well, you broke it.”

“If you try to pin this all on me—”

“I had you pinned pretty well a minute—”

“Remus John Lupin—”

They dissolved into laughter, bordering on hysteria as they fell back onto the sheets. The headboard groaned at the impact, setting off a whole new round with no hope of letting them catch their breath.

“So,” Remus managed once his lungs were functioning again. He quirked an eyebrow at Sirius with a troublemaker’s smirk. “The suit?”

“The suit,” Sirius huffed, shaking his head. “I thought I was going to die.”

“Now you know how I feel all the friggin’ time.”

He sighed through his nose and stared upside-down at the cracked wood. “We’ll need to replace that.”

“Mhmm. And never tell the guys about it, ever.”

Sirius ran a hand down his face. “They’d bring it up at our funerals.”

“Is there a way to get just the headboard? Do we need to buy a whole new frame?”

His jaw crackled as he yawned, wrapping both arms around Remus to drag him over for a snuggle. “Those questions can wait until tomorrow. Or at least after a nap.”

“How about a shower and a nap?”

“Definitely a shower,” Sirius agreed, burying his face in the bend of Remus’ neck. “After a nap.”

“Come on, cuddlebug,” Remus groaned, giving him a halfhearted pull. “You hate the feeling of cum on your legs.”

“I just broke a plank of wood with my bare hands,” Sirius mumbled into his soft skin. “I can handle a few extra minutes of cuddles.”

[biisexualemma]

tired pt.2. bucky barnes

word count: 2.3k

warnings: violence, mentions of blood

requested: n/a

plot: you get injured during the mission to locate karli

a/n: so this is sort of a part 2 to the winter soldier imagine i wrote! i'm gonna be posting a part 3 soon too, i'm pretty much following each episode lol, this is obviously episode 4, and then next part with follow episode 5! hope you enjoy! i am very much enjoying writing for bucky atm! let me know what you think anyway! (sorry if there are any minor mistakes i cannot read this over again i am tired lol)

pt.1 / pt.3 / pt.4 masterlist

you knew this was a bad idea. any idea that involved trusting zemo was bad. which you had reiterated to your team multiple times now, but here you still were, relying on zemo to get to karli. to top it all off, captain america and his nosey sidekick had found you guys, somehow, and invited themselves to tag along. too much toxic masculinity was floating around in the air when john walker tagged along anywhere, it was suffocating. made you wanna punch him whenever he opened his mouth and that arrogant, condescending tone came out. that, and he was resolved to shamelessly coming onto you whenever he spoke to you. you were sure he only did it so he could feel more in control of the situation. you tried not to let it get to you, but sometimes he was plain insufferable.

bucky already hated walker with every fibre of his being, and he definitely didn't take kindly to his flirting with you either. the only thing holding either of you back from decking walker was sam, and his level head. but you were constantly stealing subtle glances and touches with one another when you could without bringing too much attention to it. you had both decided it would only make things way more complicated during this mission if your relationship was out in the open. there were too many things that could go wrong, you definitely didn't want your relationship to be used against you. so only sam remained in the loop. everyone else was blind to your affection for the super soldier, and his for you.

the blonde haired fraud and his right-hand man, had somehow managed to make everything ten times worse again. you found yourself scouring the building, looking for karli, after mr-i-have-jurisdiction charged into the room where sam had been having a, somewhat productive, conversation with the girl. he barged in there, throwing around hollow threats, like karli would cave and come lightly after everything. he was ignorant and he was an idiot and you could've killed him for screwing up another mission.

you held your gun at arms length, kicking the door open in front of you, edging your way in, eyes scoping the room for any signs of movement. it was empty. you lowered your gun, making your way across the floor to the door leading to the next room. "east wing is clear so far, one last room to check and then i'll circle back to the stair--"

your words caught in your throat as a grunt left your mouth, feeling the blunt impact to the back of your head. you stumbled forwards, clumsily spinning around to see one of karli's super soldiers towering over you, an old pipe gripped in his hand. you quickly lifted your gun to shoot but the bullet hit the ceiling when he swung the pipe, knocking the weapon out of your hand.

you gritted your teeth, your head was throbbing where the pipe had made contact, and now you were weaponless. you ducked swiftly as he swung the pipe at you once again. you dived forwards, trying to catch him off guard and using your full force to tackle him. ordinarily, this would have knocked him off his feet and you would have used the upper hand to locate your gun and seize it before he could recover.

but this guy, unfortunately for you, was far from ordinary. he was significantly stronger than you were.

"all clear, y/n?" sam's voice echoed in your ear through the comms but you were far too distracted by your current predicament to answer him straight away.

"shit," you mumbled under your breath. the man had barely flinched, before switching it on you. before you could retreat, his arms grabbed your torso and you were halted, heaved off of your feet. "i need backup!" you shouted desperately into your comms, hoping one of them would turn up sooner rather than later. his grip was painfully strong as you tried to scramble out of his hold. but, with almost no strain on his behalf, he hurled you across the room, your body slamming into the brick wall and crumpling against the hard floor.

you let out a wheeze, you felt like the air had been knocked right out of you, and you definitely heard something crack. you clutched your side, wincing as you clumsily dodged the blows he threw at you, trying to clamber away from him. you had to pull yourself together, get up and get to your gun before this escalated any further.

you propped yourself up onto your arms, pushing yourself back and away from the super soldier towering over you. "sam, buck," your breathing was laboured as you tried to reach them again, after hearing no response from your initial plea for help. "east wing. i'm unarmed. super soldier with a pipe and a mean swing-- i need backup-- now."

you cringed, sharp pains rushing from your chest the further you dragged yourself away from the soldier. that was when you noticed the gash along his calf, blood soaking his pants. that was your ticket. you waited for him to swing again, dodging it only by a split second, but took your window and kicked as hard as you could at the open wound on his leg. he let out a loud groan, his leg collapsing under the shock of the pain.

you, however, scrambled as quick as you could, onto your feet and ran to the gun sitting on the floor behind him. before you got too far, your legs were swept out from under you as the soldier grabbed your ankle, your face slamming into the concrete floor as you fell. you let out a groan, followed by a soft whimper, blood now pooling from your nose. you desperately stretched out a hand for the gun that was just out of your reach. his grip tightened on your ankle, you felt yourself being hauled backwards before you lunged one last time for your weapon.

your hand clasped around the gun, twisting yourself onto your back, not hesitating to fire at the super-soldier attached to your limb. the bullet fired straight into his shoulder, he let out a shriek of pain, his grip lost on your ankle. you hurried as far away from him as you could on your hands and knees, your breathing shaky and uneven as the adrenaline coursed through you.

you sat still, legs brought up to your chest, your breathing heavy as you watched the super soldier grip his shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. you held the gun up, directed at him in case he made any more movements. you were panting, your hand moving to your head, wincing as the throbbing pain started to return, and your comedown ensued.

"oh shit," you heard from the doorway. "shit," he muttered harshly, his footsteps drawing nearer to you. you were preoccupied, the pain was spreading quicker now that your heart rate was slowing down. you felt the sharpness in your ribs every time you took a breath in, ringing in your ears growing louder and the throbbing in your nose intensifying as blood dripped onto your shirt.

you flinched when his hand brushed up against yours, your unsteady hands still gripped tightly around your gun. "hey," he whispered, you only just about heard his soft voice echo over the ringing. you noticed the familiar metal hand grazing yours and your grip loosened, letting him remove the gun from your hand. your eyes trailed up to his comfortingly familiar, blue eyes. you let out a soft sigh of relief, cracking a weak smile.

"took your time," you mumbled, teasingly, trying to ease some of the tension you were feeling. you moved your hand to your mouth, blood transferring onto your fingertips from where it had trickled from your nose onto your lips. you let out a halfhearted, tired, chuckle, your face contorting as the pain in your chest intensified. you were relieved that it was over, and that he had been the one to find you. you let out a strained breath, "i'm gonna need one hell of a drink when this is all over."

bucky, however, was examining every inch of you, his eyes shifting all over you, frowning as he found more blood the more places he looked. he watched your hands shake as you touched your lips, the lump grew in his throat. he knew you were trying to make light of the situation, to ease his mind but he could tell you were hurting, a lot.

he moved his hand to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. his stomach lurched when your eyes met his again, the blood soaking your face was a sight he never wanted to have to see again after today. as impossible as that would be in this line of work. "let's get you fixed up, then we'll see about that drink, alright, doll?" his voice was soft, quiet when he spoke to you. you nodded, reassurance slowly washing over you with his fingers caressing your cheek. his touch was more comforting to you than he'd ever realise.

he dragged his eyes away from yours, over to the super soldier who was still squirming, his hand clamped over the wound in his shoulder. bucky glanced at you for a split second, his expression harder than before. you knitted your eyebrows delicately, noticing the shift in his temper. "wait here," he mumbled, his jaw twitching as he moved away from your side. you felt cold with the loss of contact.

bucky moved to tower over the super solider, his head tilting slightly, not hesitating for even a second as he raised his leg, quickly slamming the heel of his foot against his face. the solider dropped back onto the ground, now unconscious. "stay down," he mumbled under his breath.

"c'mon, we gotta' find sam and zemo first," he ignored your amused expression, helping you onto your feet.

-

you'd returned to the hotel room now you had zemo in your custody again. zemo was nursing his headache with a glass of whiskey, sam busying himself with something on his laptop, and bucky had pulled you into the bathroom to help clean you up.

"how ya' feelin', doll?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, positioning you so you were seated, while he hovered over you. he busied himself, soaking a cloth in warm water so he could tend to your wounds. you shrugged, lowering your gaze to where your hands sat in your lap, shaking less now you'd had that drink.

"i'll be fine," you muttered, unconcerned with your well being for now. your mind was swimming with thoughts on how you were going to handle the karli situation. no doubt, walker would be knocking around soon too, just to make things harder for you guys, and probably try and twist the story around to make it seem like karli getting away had nothing to do with him.

bucky wasn't convinced by your answer, but he didn't push you. instead, his hand moved to your chin, using his forefinger and thumb to tilt your head upwards. you saw his jaw clench before he started to wipe away the dried blood from your face. you flinched when he touched the bridge of your nose, recoiling from his touch. "ow, that kinda' hurt," you admitted.

"suck in your breath," he instructed, his jaw stiff as he spoke. "if i don't clean it up now it'll only get worse," you just nodded, doing as he said. you held your breath, biting the inside of your cheek as he cleaned up the rest of the blood (his spare hand moving to the back of your neck to stop you from pulling away). "all done," you let out your breath, your eyes were watery, a reflex from the sensitivity of your bruised nose. "y'good?"

you nodded, letting yourself fall forward, resting your forehead against his stomach, trying to disguise the range of emotions you were feeling. he let out a sigh, his hand still tucked around the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. "you don't have to keep up this act," he spoke after a while. exhausted, you let him hold you up, relaxing yourself against him. "it's just me."

you sniffled, pulling back to look up at him. he felt his chest tighten at the sight of your bruised face, stinging red eyes and pink cheeks. you weren't often vulnerable with anyone, but you were so worn out from everything going on, and bucky was looking at you in a way that made you feel so safe, you couldn't help but let go a little.

"i'm just tired, buck," your voice wavering. he moved both hands to either side of your face, pushing your hair out of the way. he cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing against your flushed skin. you relished in his touch, comforted by the warmth he was radiating, soothing you. "this missions been hard."

"i know, doll," he hummed, his gaze softening watching you relax against his palms, your eyelids drooping shut. he gulped. "let's get you clean, then you can get some rest."

you hummed softly. "thanks, buck," he took a step back, his hands leaving your face for a second. you hastily moved your hands to his, stopping him from moving further away from you. "no," your voice came out hushed. "just a bit longer," you pleaded, you weren't ready to let go of his comfort just yet.

bucky simply nodded, moving his hands back to either side of your face, letting your head fall against his stomach again. he raked his fingers through your hair soothingly, holding you for as long as you needed. he was just relieved you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him, it meant you felt just as much for him as he did for you.

[mythicamagic]

May I have one for "just wait for me here." "It's not like I can go anywhere." please.

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, staring across the sunlit glade towards a peculiar sight. His brother’s miko was acting strangely. She stood, clutching her bow tight- knuckles turning pale from the force of her grip. She tentatively used one end to feel around the grass, before prodding the ground with her shoe and inching forward.

Although they shared the same clearing, Kagome didn’t look up, nor acknowledge his presence.

Sesshoumaru gave in to curiosity, not particularly concerned about an enemy but too intrigued to ignore this display. She jerked when his boot crunched on a twig.

“Stay back!” Kagome snarled, voice shaking as she whipped her bow up defensively.

Sesshoumaru bit back a chuckle. What good would a mere bow do as a weapon without arrows? His humour soon abated however, staring into her murky blue eyes that gazed just over his shoulder.

Ah, I understand.

“W-who’s there?” she stammered, fear clouding her scent.

Inuyasha and her friends were clearly absent, always so foolish. They’d left a blinded miko vulnerable and alone?

Sesshoumaru gave the quivering woman a once over, noticing a few scrapes over her bare knees. Cut rope looped around her freed wrists. That strange white and green clothing she always wore was marred with dirt, torn in various places. She’d likely been kidnapped and escaped her captor on her own. Mildly impressive.

Still, she was nothing to do with him. Sesshoumaru turned on one heel.

“S-sesshoumaru?” Kagome called out tentatively. The words became firmer, more confident. “Sesshoumaru...wait. Please.”

The Daiyoukai paused, looking at her sightless blue eyes. “How is it that you knew who I was?”

She released a short, hard breath, clearly relieved to be speaking with someone. “I’m getting better at sensing stuff, I guess.”

“Hn,” he frowned, “and your eyes?”

Kagome touched her cheek, curling in on herself a little, “a demon blew a powder into my face and it blinded me. He kidnapped me...but I managed to get away. I just hope its temporary, ya know?” she gave a nervous giggle, despair threatening to take her under. Sesshoumaru hummed, attention drawing away to the forest surrounding them. He knew these woods well, and there was nothing around for miles. No villages nor clans. Just wild flatlands that eventually led to the mountains. She’d certainly ran a long way.

“I know we’re not friends- or even allies,” Kagome mumbled. “You’ve got no reason to help me-”

“That is correct,” he silkily agreed.

Her pretty features tightened with barely concealed frustration, amusing him. “But I’d owe you, hugely, if you just drop me off where Inuyasha can find me. I promise I’d return the favour- tenfold!”

Sesshoumaru chuckled, rather liking his position in this situation, studying his immaculate nailbeds in an unnecessary show of disinterest. “There is nothing a human could give to me that would be worth my time- nor do I need a favour.”

Blowing out a frustrated hiss of air through her teeth, Kagome stepped forward, gazing in his general direction. “So you’re going to just leave me here?”

“As previously established, miko,” he purred in a low tone. “We are not friends nor allies. Are we lovers?” he teased.

She instantly turned red, barking; “in your dreams!”

“Well then, if we are not friends, allies nor lovers, I have no need to heed your cries above those of the ants I crush beneath my feet when I walk,” Sesshoumaru turned away again, heading in the opposite direction.

“Wait!”

The desperate crunch of feet thundering through tall grass reached his ears, though the demon lord kept pace. Something knocked into his side- and Kagome stumbled, before latching tight onto mokomoko, wrapping her arms around his furs and hugging them to her chest.

Golden eyes widened at her audacity, pressing a palm against her forehead, trying to extract her from his person. “Off.”

“No way!” she twisted and tried to bite at his hand, narrowing sightless eyes. “Don’t be so heartless. At the very least, leave me at the nearest village- jerk!”

“You are doing a poor job of endearing yourself to me, wench,” Sesshoumaru lifted his hand, resting sharp claws against her damp forehead, slick with sweat. He prodded warningly. “Release this one.”

Kagome shuddered but refused to let go. “I-if I do, I’m as good as dead anyway,” she murmured, tightening her grip. “Please.”

Sesshoumaru flirted with the idea of releasing acid from his nails and reducing the nuisance into a pile of melted flesh and bone. However, even while blind- those blue eyes managed to fill him with a strange sense of intrigue. If this woman died, he ludicrously felt that the fates would turn their wrath upon him, not that he heeded the threat of any higher powers. She was so unusual in appearance, word and deed he could not help but think her a special existence, but even were she ordinary, Sesshoumaru felt his world would become less amusing without her presence in it. Encounters with Inuyasha would prove somewhat blander.

Sneering, his claws lowered. Continuing to walk with no acknowledgement of her trailing form hurrying after him, Sesshoumaru allowed her to hang onto mokomoko like it were a lifeline.

----

Kagome focused on keeping her footing, stumbling after the silent Daiyoukai. His furs pillowed her cheek, comfortable and silky. From what she could tell they’d left the wilder grass behind, her muddy loafers crunching on twigs and dry earth.

They didn’t talk often and she didn’t give voice to her exhaustion, closing her eyes after a while since it did little good to keep them open, her world endlessly black.

She tried not to fall prey to the dark feelings of dread and worry threatening to claim her, lingering on the outskirts of her tired mind. She’d come too far to give up now.

Kagome bumped into something solid and stopped. “What is it?” she mumbled.

“I am going to rest for the night.”

“Oh…”

His voice sounded a little light, which meant he found something entertaining. “I take it you are going to cling to me throughout?”

“Y-yeah, can’t have you running off on me.”

“Hn, if that is the case, measures will need to be taken.”

Kagome wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Nonetheless, she faithfully followed when he walked on, having little choice in the matter.

Warm, stuffy vapour began caressing her skin, rendering it slightly damp, her hair curling from the humidity. It began closing in around her like a shroud, the air thinning a little. Lapping water reached her keen hearing.

“Hot springs?”

“Indeed.”

Mild alarm raced through her bloodstream. Kagome squeaked- feeling herself being lifted up, a single hand grabbing her by the scruff and yanking so hard mokomoko was successfully pried from her grip, sending her flying through the air. Kagome cried out when water rushed up to meet her, warm and lulling, closing over her head. She quickly found her footing on the bottom of the pool and pushed up, sputtering as she broke the surface.

“You jerk! What the hell?!”

Sesshoumaru answered with a lofty chuckle. “You cannot expect to sleep near me while wearing such dirty clothes.”

“Throwing me into a hot spring isn’t the answer though!” she growled, splashing the water in his general direction, though she had no idea if it made contact or not.

“Hm? Would you have preferred being stripped bare to shudder against me all night long?” he suggested offhandedly.

“Of course not,” Kagome gritted out.

“Then I suggest you start bathing yourself, miko.”

Hesitating, Kagome wrestled with herself. The sound of his boots stepping over rocks and drawing further away loosened her tongue.

"J-just don't abandon me here, okay?"

He halted. "And what will you do if I decline to listen?"

"I'll haunt your ass once I'm dead."

"Hn."

He continued on, his answer not exactly assuaging Kagome's fears. With little else to do but tentatively trust him, she stripped out of her uniform and bathed as best she could. Without the use of soap or a sponge and being unable to see the dirt being washed away, it would likely be an unsuccessful bath. She tried her best to make herself 'clean', scrubbing at her uniform for good measure.

The silence was heavy, only broken by the sound of gently lapping water. She had no idea what time it was. How far away Inuyasha and her friends were. Kagome shivered, hugging her arms to her chest. She began to feel paranoid, suspecting the slightest sound. Dark youkai reached out, brushing her senses.

Kagome exhaled in relief, hanging onto Sesshoumaru’s aura.

“Step out of the water.”

She stiffened at the abrupt sound of his commanding voice. “And let you see me naked? No thank you.”

“There is no point in assuring you that I will not- since you cannot see if I am being truthful. I can merely promise that my curiosity about the human form will never be acted upon.”

Kagome flushed red. So he could look He just disliked humans too much to ever be ‘interested.’

She reluctantly supposed she had little choice in the matter. Standing, Kagome waded through the hot waters towards his voice, reaching out to feel for the side in order to climb out- only for her hand to be ensnared, captured by lithe fingers.

Kagome’s hazy eyes widened, climbing out with the aid of his grip, quickly covering herself with both arms as soon as she were able. “M-my clothes are wet…”

Something wrapped around her body, and she recognised the material to be a short towel. Quickly drying herself, Kagome paused when new, silky material nudged against her cheek. “Dress in this once you are done,” Sesshoumaru’s low voice rumbled.

Since she could sense his strong, dark presence linger close, she wondered if he were watching out for enemies or just plain watching her. Kagome fumbled with the silks, feeling around for the collar. Sesshoumaru’s rumbling chuckle made goosebumps race over her bare skin. She nearly bit out a comment- feeling hot breath fan over her forehead. His single arm nudged at hers, guiding her hand through a sleeve, before holding the parting open, allowing her to slip it on. Kagome blushed wildly, groping for the obi and hurriedly tying it at her waist.

A cool hand stilled hers once she was done, cutting into the rough rope still bound around her freed wrists. Kagome murmured her thanks.

“Where did you get the yukata?” she mumbled.

Mokomoko bumped her chest and Kagome held onto it reflexively as Sesshoumaru strolled away, the furs guiding her forwards. “I have many bases littered around the countryside, should I need to make use of them for trysts or shelter.”

“T-trysts?” she squeaked. “Is this clothing from...?”

“Do not worry, foolish one. That is an unused article of clothing. I keep them in case my lovers are in need of a spare change of clothes. I have been known to be...impatient.”

She arched a brow and used her free hand to measure the length of her sleeves, touching the seams. “This is a man’s yukata.”

“What of it?”

Kagome clicked. “Oh, nothing. I just didn’t know you were interested in guys.”

Sesshoumaru gave a tired, long-suffering sigh while wafting steam pulled away from their bodies, leaving them exposed to the cool air while they walked through what Kagome assumed to be a sparse forest. “Provided an individual captures my interest, gender has no bearing on who I share a bed with. It is inconsequential to me, unlike humans with your...limited choices.”

“Hey! Humans can swing both ways too. A-and look who’s talking! You’re getting all high and mighty about gender but species and blood purity matter a great deal to you. Sounds limiting to me.”

He became silent for a moment, which made Kagome feel slightly victorious. “Admittedly I have never lain with a human before,” he pretended to sound considering. “Are you volunteering yourself, miko?”

“As if,” she snorted, cheeks burning red. “You’ve tried to kill Inuyasha,” she quickly supplied as a valid excuse.

“Hn,” he gave an entertained noise, “so if we were not enemies, you would accept?”

Her mouth grew dry, feeling like she’d held her face over a flickering fire. “You’re way too arrogant to be my type.”

The sound of his quiet chuckle changed as they seemed to step into an enclosed space. Kagome reached out and touched a rocky surface, dragging her palm over it. The remnants of a demonic barrier littered the area. She suddenly stopped, yanking mokomoko and forcing Sesshoumaru to stop with her. “Have you just taken me into one of your trysting spots?"

“Where else are we to rest?”

“Not here!” she burst.

“You complain often, miko. I will leave you to the hungry animals outside if need be," he sneered. "Do not worry. This place has not seen use in a long time and is clean, I assure you,” his tone lulled into a patronising one.

Kagome held her tongue, uncomfortably settling down onto a silky bed of furs when he guided her over to it. She felt extremely weird. Staying in a place where Sesshoumaru had once had sex wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned her Thursday going.

Something smooth and pronged was placed into her hand- and she gentled a little, quietly thanking him. Beginning to brush her wet hair, Kagome carded her fingers through the strands, making a soft noise of enjoyment.

All the while, she felt the keen sensation of being watched. Arranging herself into a more comfortable position on the bed, she sighed, gazing in his general direction. “I might be blind right now but I can feel your eyes on me. What’s up?”

“Up?”

“I mean- is something bothering you?”

“No,” he sounded briefly considering. “Rather...this one noticed your ears.”

“Hm? The fact that they’re round compared to yours?”

His thumb and forefinger closed around the sterling silver stud pierced through her earlobe. Kagome stiffened, soon relaxing. “Oh, my earrings? They’re not a big deal.”

“They are different from what I have seen before,” he stroked the shell of her ear consideringly, making her shiver. "I wish to test something.”

Since the demon lord had been magnanimous enough to offer shelter, provide new clothing and allow her to tag along with him, Kagome decided to indulge his curiosity. She sensed him move and root through something nearby, a box, she assumed.

I wish I could look around, her lips pursed, exceptionally interested in what one of his hideaways looked like.

“Remove the earrings.”

Nodding, Kagome fiddled with them, taking them out and rubbing her ears slightly. Removing them always felt weird. An inquisitive claw brushed her ear, and Kagome swallowed, holding still with mild confusion as Sesshoumaru donned her with new earrings. When he pulled away, Kagome brushed her fingers over them, finding some sort of stone dangling from her ears. They were cool to the touch and weren’t too heavy, a nice weight.

“What kind of stone are they?”

“Never you mind,” he rumbled, something tickling her brow. She wondered if it were his bangs sliding forward. Soft breath fanned over her nose before it pulled away. “Merely wear those for the duration of your stay. They suit you.”

Kagome tilted her head slightly, “well...okay? They’re not a keepsake from an old flame, are they?”

“No. Those are mine.”

She hummed, touching them again. “You can keep my earrings if you like. They can be my way of saying thanks. They kinda look like diamonds so maybe they’re to your expensive tastes.”

Even though they’re fakes.

Sesshoumaru made a rumbling noise that she assumed was positive, and wondered if they had been his true aim all along. She figured that would be all for the night- before feeling a touch against her hair. Kagome paused, fighting an exasperated smile. Who knew Sesshoumaru could be kind of… cute?

"Anything else?"

"Hn, your hair would suit this kanzashi. Hold still."

Kagome got the feeling their dress-up session was going to take a while.

---

When she awoke, the permanent darkness made it difficult to know exactly what time it was. Only the birds chirping in the trees outside let her know dawn had broken. The heat at her back that had warmed her throughout the night was gone. Kagome sat up, touching her bed hair and refusing to examine what the warmth had belonged to.

"Sesshoumaru?" she rasped.

She heard him shift and stand within the cave, "I sense something nearby. Wait for me here."

"It's not like I can go anywhere," she quipped, smiling slightly.

He made a noise of acknowledgement, walking away. His footsteps became softer until they disappeared completely. Kagome felt unnerved by it.

She reached out with her aura, but this time there was no assurance from his dark youki. Kagome steadied her breathing, trying not to freak out.

Strangely, the darkness was giving way to something. Murky shapes. Browns, whites and buttery yellows. Kagome’s heart burst with gladness.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “It wasn’t permanent...thank God.”

She could see! Well, kind of. Colours were back though, and shapes were sure to follow.

A commotion was happening outside though. Distant cries could be heard, along with familiar shouting. Kagome stumbled to her feet, following the light source out into the open despite the lack of solid objects yet.

Inuyasha’s loud voice broadcasted his location, making him easy to find- a bold red blur to Kagome’s eyes. Other colours were nearby, purples, blacks, pinks, yellows, oranges and greens.

“Guys!” she breathed.

The murky shapes turned, sharpening slightly into hazy focus. She registered Inuyasha’s horrified features. “K-Kagome...what the hell?”

She blinked and frowned, wondering what his problem was. The Hanyou rounded on a white shape that had sprinkles of red mixed in. “Hey, bastard! Why the fuck is Kagome dressed up like that? W-why does she reek of you!”

Looking down towards a nearby puddle, Kagome crouched and squinted, curious about what Inuyasha was babbling about. Her face came into focus, and her lips parted in surprise.

It wasn’t just one kanzashi, a few were nestled into her fall of curling wild hair. They glittered in the morning light. Some made of ivory, the others were black and adorned with gems. The blue of her eyes linked beautifully with the sapphires hanging from her ears. Everything paired well with the yukata he’d given her, which was white with illustrated ocean waves and smoky clouds patterning its hem and sleeves.

After enduring kidnapping- stumbling about blind for many hours, falling into ditches and streams and not knowing if she would live or die- Kagome couldn’t help but appreciate being swathed in finery. It made it feel a bit...pampered. Happy.

“Kagome, are you alright?”

She raised her head to find Sango and the others drawing closer, Inuyasha was still engaged with a verbal sparring match with Sesshoumaru that would likely head south soon.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, Shippo’s cute face appeared near hers, clear as day.

“We were worried!” he exclaimed. “We couldn’t find you anywhere after Inuyasha caught up with that demon goat and killed him.”

Nice to know my kidnapper is dead, she thought dryly, murmuring an assurance to Shippo but soon standing. She hurried closer to Inuyasha just as he took out Tetsusaiga.

“Hey- stop,” she called firmly, grasping his trailing sleeve. “That’s enough. Sesshoumaru took care of me last night, that’s all.”

“Took care of you?” Inuyasha paled, ears pinning back.

Kagome turned red. “W-what? What’s weird about that? Nothing happened!”

“Then why are you dressed like- like...that!”

Sesshoumaru gave a velvety chuckle from where he stood further away, tilting his chin up and curling his lips with an air of disdain. “I amused myself with your miko, Inuyasha, that is all,” he sneered. “She struggled so sweetly beneath me when I forced the clothes on her.”

“Bastard!” Inuyasha snarled, confused when Kagome stepped in between them. She glared first at the Hanyou, “Quit it- both of you! You’re acting like children!”

Turning her dimmed sights on Sesshoumaru, she struggled to see him clearly since he stood further away. “I don’t know what you seek to gain from lying but...thank you for all that you’ve done up till now,” she murmured. “My offer still stands if you need a favour.”

Inuyasha blustered behind her, shouting up a storm. Kagome muttered a ‘Sit’ to get him to quiet, straining to hear Sesshoumaru’s reply.

To her surprise, with Inuyasha briefly incapacitated, Sesshoumaru drew closer. The sweep of his brows, regal nose and cupid’s bow of his lips caught her dazed attention- her breath halting. Familiar diamond style studded earrings adorned his ears.

“These will do nicely as payment, miko,” he rumbled.

Kagome blinked and slowly smiled, sharing a quiet moment with him. “I-I suppose you’ll want these back,” she murmured, closing her hands around the sapphires on her ears.

“I have plenty more.”

“Right, of course you do,” she giggled, hearing Inuyasha squeak out a ‘did you just giggle at Sesshoumaru?!’ from his crater.

“Hn, as I said, they suit you,” Sesshoumaru turned. “And miko?”

“Yes?”

He began walking away, but she could hear the smile in his voice without seeing his expression. “You have captured my interest.”

Kagome’s eyes widened, heart bursting into overdrive. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, and she felt a mix of confusion and anticipation.

Ditto, she thought with a faint smile.