#its like from my elbow radiating down my forearms and into my wrists

[cherrysnax]

I hate asking but I can’t draw due to chronic pain and my gfs last job literally made them develop asthma and we are very desperate right now. we’ve been surviving off of my gfs last paycheck and my savings and making it stretch but we just can’t anymore

we are two black disabled lesbians in a household of 6. we don’t have many groceries and our main priority is my little brother, my cat and my grandma. my gf is trying to get a job but is currently facing employment discrimination and is getting ghosted and rejected constantly. atm I’m STILL waiting to speak to a doctor because my chronic pain is making it to where I can’t stand or hold anything heavier than a drawing without significant difficulty.

usually I would offer commissions but I’m in too much pain to draw, I’m sorry. I just wanna be able to get some groceries

my PayPal is here

my cashapp is https://cash.app/$silvertheestallion and my gfs is $Peachjammn

my Venmo is @cherryadventure2

thank you for reading

[owlespresso]

vere tutors you on the sacred art of the handjob. spice beneath the cut. obviously. tags: handjob

Thank u @xvi-the-tower for the advice

"Of course we're using lube. What are we, animals?" The corner of Vere's lip draws up as he sends you a look bordering on exasperation and disgust.

You blink at him, slowly and blearily. This is the last time you take him up on an offer for anything, even if it's free. "And don't answer that. I don't want to hear your smart mouth right now."

"...Right," you mumble.

You're perched on your knees between his wide open legs. Looming over his laid out, prone form. He's completely open. Belly-up. Taut abdomen and lean chest and wide hips. It's a vulnerable position, one that you suppose should give you a feeling of...authority? Dominance?

You just wind up feel out of your depth, set in between the open vise of his thick thighs, just waiting for them to snap shut. Dig snug into you like the teeth of a bear trap.

"Lube's in the nightstand. Go get it." He nods his head towards the lacquered nightstand. The shiny russet waves of his hair fan out on the pillows and halo his thin, handsome face.

Grateful for the chance to move, you scuttle over and open the top drawer, retrieving a dainty, but elaborate glass bottle. Popping the cork, you lather a generous amount onto a trembling hand.

"Awh," he coos in faux sympathy, fluttering his eyelashes at you. "Are you nervous, little lamb?"

"No," you mumble, and settle in between his spread, naked thighs. He lounges back, radiating disinterest as you stare down his cock. A pretty, curved thing which stands proud against his stomach.

"Well? It's not going to bite you," Vere, growing impatient, seals his hand around your wrist and pulls you forward. "Though, I might if you keep dragging this out. Have you never seen a cock, before?"

You don't answer that. Cautiously, you press your palm against the head of his cock and tentatively rub it. Immediately, he heaves a contented sigh, head falling back onto that audacious mound of pillows.

"Take it in your hand," Vere instructs breathily. He's still staring at you, through half-lidded eyes.

You listen. Your wet fingers curl around the heat of him.

"Up and down, now," he says, and you start a tentative pace. He's hot in your hand. A little heavier than you thought he'd be. Enough girth to probably hurt if he put it inside you. "Faster," he murmurs, and you oblige. "Faster—right there, lamb."

He rolls his hips into the rhythm, droplets of lube spattering into your chest, your lap. Onto the nice silken beneath you. It dribbles down your wrist and your forearm, all the way up to your elbow.

"Tch, messy. You'll be—aah—cleaning the sheets after this," he says, but there's no bite to it. His voice is but a tender, lavish sigh. The sweet sound prised from his lips by the unskilled touch of your hand. It strikes you, then, how strange and thrilling it is to have such a powerful creature at your mercy. Writhing and moaning because of you.

"When you start to feel friction, add more lube," Vere instructs. "Or just spit on it, if you don't feel like stopping." You make a face at that, and he laughs. "Really? Your hand is already on my dick. It's a little too late to be a prude."

"I'm not a prude," the space between your eyebrows wrinkles in irritation. You debate on pointing out how much of a pillow princess he's being, but quickly decide that withholding his release could easily cost you your life. You've seen him kill more people for less.

"Whatever," Vere snorts. "Just put more on. I don't want you touching me with sandpaper hands." You pour more lube onto your hand and resume working. He tilts back onto the cushions like a spoiled cat, tail curling with each dulcet noise. His cheeks are flushed, rosen all the way down to his sleek shoulders. Long lashes fanning against his cheeks.

The rhythm of his hips stutters and begins to break as he climbs towards his orgasm, chases it, nips at its heels

"Twist your wrist," he pants huskily. "Just a little bit—"

He comes with his eyes closed. White fangs peek out from beneath painted red lips. He twists with the pleasure, hot cum spurting over your hand, dripping down your wrist and onto the bedding below. You milk him through it, eyes wide, fixated, and fascinated as he endures the throes of his pleasure. You persist until he's batting your hand away with pursed lips.

"Don't get too enthusiastic! One handjob and you think you have the right..." Vere complains, voice lowering into little grumbles you don't bother to catch. You watch him as he falls back, track the steadying rise and fall of his chest as he regains his bearings. It's silent, besides the soft sound of his breathing.

"How was that?" you ask after a few minutes. He huffs, amused. One of his eyes cracks open.

"Still second rate. But improving."

[toweroftickles]

Avatar: Plant Food (Tickle Fic)

So my amazing friend @trrickytickle drew this Way of Water fanart (see below) out of our mutual agreement that the Sully family just radiate tickle energy and I absolutely had to write a fic based on it for her birthday. Which was a week ago.

Plus I gotta take advantage of whatever brief fan-community zeitgeist still exists for this movie before it fades, right?

"I'm not sticking my arm in that," Neteyam announced.

Two blooming fwäkìwll (mantis orchids) rested side-by-side before the Sully children, wet with morning dew in the shade of the tree. Purple leaves crowned the insect-eating pitchers of the flowers. Their many pale cerulean tongues swayed gently back and forth in hypnotic concert like seaweed. Tuk liked to say that they were waving “hello,” for they were quite friendly plants.

"But it's fun!" the little one told her big brother. She fluttered her fingertips in the flowers’ open mouths to demonstrate, and giggled when the tentacles reached out for her.

"No way, it feels gross," Spider interjected.

All of them were out on a frolic through the Pandoran jungle (except for Lo’ak, who was ill from eating a rotten fruit).

“Ick…I don’t like it; it’s like your whole hand starts to tickle. And it’s so slimy…” Kiri shuddered.

“That’s why it’s fun!” insisted Tuk. “I want to play with them for hours!”

“Heh-Heh…You’re on your own for that one, sis.” It was Sully brother’s turn. “I don’t think I could have my hand in that for more than a few minutes.”

“Well I could definitely handle it longer than you,” laughed Spider, his usual cocky self.

Neteyam looked strangely offended. “You wanna bet, bro? You’re a wimp, you’d give up as soon as it started trying to eat you. You’re not even a real Na’vi.”

“Oh yeah? Come on; let’s go,” the human boy declared his challenge sternly, and suddenly, his left forearm thrust into the wiggly mass.

Kiri chuckled to herself…everything was a measuring contest with these two, no matter how pointless. In another second, Neteyam huffed and placed his arm in the tentacles of the other plant next to Spider.

The syrupy tendrils snaked around the boys’ forearms, clinging and un-clinging with little feelers as they searched for food that wasn’t there. Sticky venom…deadly to insects but harmless to mammals…festered all the way from their wrists to their elbows. Spider put on a determined face, but his eye twitched.

Squirming noodles buzzed under their skin, wriggling against their every nerve…

...tingling like mad…spreading goosebumps all over as they numbed...

“Gahhhhhh…!” Spider yelped nervously, his voice rising in pitch.

“NNNNNG!!” Neteyam groaned. His shoulders stiffened, his back arched.

Both were puffed up, laughing nervously. Their trembling fists clenched. Smiles tugged at the corners of their mouths.

“Th-this is so we-heird!”

“I am…ss-so uncomfortable…pfff…”

“Come on, Monkey Boy, come on!” Kiri cheered Spider. Tuk jumped up and down.

The tension was pulling tighter and tighter. It was the most uniquely unpleasant feeling. Suddenly, after barely a minute had passed, Neteyam cried out (the white flag was raised) and quickly yanked his arm out of the orchid too fast for the others to see. Its tentacles peeled away like a sticker. And everyone fell away laughing.

“Ehhhhhh, I don’t like that,” chuckled Neteyam. He rubbed the fluttering feeling out of his wrist.

“Dude, you’re weak,” Spider joked at him.

“Oh, come on.”

“I know, I know; it’s like the creepiest feeling.”

“Spider, you’re no fun.” Tuk announced, arms folded.

“What’s your dad say; you think they have plants like that back on earth?”

“Doubt it. He says they probably don’t have any there.”

“Hey,” Kiri suddenly spoke up. Both Spider and Neteyam saw an anxious giddiness in her smile, like she was about to spill a dirty secret.

"I dare you to stick your foot in there. Both of you."

Something dropped into Spider’s stomach. Not missing a beat, he coolly brushed it off.

“Heh. No. That’s stupid; why would we do that?”

“What, are you too scared, Monkey Boy?” Kiri teased, playfully shoving him.

“We already stuck our arms in it; what’s that going to prove?” interjected Neteyam.

“Yeah, come on. Totally weird.”

“Do it, do it!” Tuk laughed loudly.

The two boys looked at each other in awkward silence. Spider’s jaw jutted out slightly, and he stiffly exhaled through his nostrils. If Neteyam was doing it, he wasn’t going to look like a wuss. Especially not in front of Kiri.

Silence. Both dusted the loose flecks of earthen mulch from their soles. As their arms cautiously fanned out for balance, both of them slowwwwly stretched their left legs toward the orchids’ hungry maws. The closer they got, the faster and faster the feeding tentacles writhed. Spider could feel it…despite his best efforts, his heartbeat was speeding up.

He closed his eyes. There was no hot gust of animal breath to forewarn him of the flower mouth’s proximity. It could have been a yard away, or an inch.

Here it goes…

Without warning, the flower’s tall purple petals closed around Spider’s foot, certain it had caught its dinner. Unlike before, this time he was stuck. But he hardly even had time to panic or process this, as he suddenly felt a pair of sinewy arms wrap around from under him and ball up into a tight knot of knuckle bones behind the back of his head.

He gasped. His eyes snapped open. Neteyam had him in a Nelson hold...the elder Sully son had betrayed him. Tuk plopped down and wrapped all four of her limbs around Spider’s right leg, and Kiri approached him with an evil grin and wiggling fingers. Spider grunted and hissed and thrashed around, as close to a real Na’vi’s catlike aggression as he could muster. But Neteyam’s grip was too strong.

He always hated this part.

Kiri reached forward and kneaded between Spider’s ribs with her thumbs. His upper body began to tremble. He couldn’t look Kiri in the eyes…he twisted around to avoid her gaze as he struggled. Her hands planted affectionate squeezes down his sides, and on his stomach, and in his belly button, non-stop. Roughhousing and wrestling was fun; it was part of their DNA. And Spider was a proud kid, good at holding in his laughter. But it wasn’t long before his threshold broke.

“HEH! Nnnn…Heh-Hahuh! …Hk! *gasp* Heh-Heh Ha Ha! ….Zzzt….Hng….St-hop, cut it out!”

“Oh no; it’s gonna eat you!” Kiri laughed.

Neteyam was really struggling to hold their human captive still (Spider’s dreadlocks kept bristling his face). Tuk and Kiri, meanwhile, had descended into a complete and total giggle meltdown. Every time Spider’s leg lurched, Tuk would bounce on his ankle, and a happy, pitchy whistle would *squeak* out of her nostrils. She snuggled her arms even tighter around his knee, and even her tail held on for dear life. His other leg, as it thrashed around to free itself from the tickling flower, nearly bonked Kiri in the face.

“Nnnahhh..! …Heheh! *wheeze* GkHuh-Heh!! Haha! Ha! Get off me!”

“Uh-uh; I think I’ll keep you here!”

Kiri’s index fingers were sweetly needling up and down his torso, sending throughout his nerves these mean little ripples of energy that just made Spider want to giggle….and he couldn’t help it, no matter how hard he tried to hold his breath.

The intense buzzing in his foot was only getting worse, more tingly, flowing up his leg and toward his knee. It felt like hundreds of tiny and slippery little fish were feeding against his every pore.

Spider’s quickening breath painted the inside of his mask with fog. Blinded to where she would strike next, he could still feel Kiri awkwardly playing like a drunken pianist on his stomach. All he wanted was for her to stop.

“Heh-Heh….HGGGKKKHa-Ha Ha!”

With one last, aggressive tug, Spider’s leg tore the orchid’s petals open, unhooking from the tendrils with a fleshy snap, and sailed backwards through the air. The pile of Na’vi kids was upended, and all of them collapsed in a heap amid the rustling leaves.

Spider slowed down his breathing as he regained his composure. At first, they were all sore and uncomfortable. But as Spider leaned up and glanced around at the pool of blue siblings that surrounded him, and they all looked back and forth between each other’s heads, none of them could resist the urge to start laughing.

“See? I told you, I’m tougher than you.” Neteyam tussled Spider’s matted hair.

Spider grinned back at him and hissed. It was a comment Neteyam lived to regret.

I don’t care what it’s supposed to be called; THAT IS A FUCKING TICKLE PLANT.

[cryptidwritings]

Ten Random Lines Tag

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics/writing projects, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag people (ten if you want to follow the theme).

Thank you for the tag @ceph-the-writing-spook !!

I'm operating on low spoons, so if you see this you are tagged and have permission to tag me in your post.

Okay, I'm digging deeeep for this one... here we go:

1. Dark Water

Theodora nodded sharply and walked, leading from behind the back of the bar and towards the main room where the dozen tables and twice as many chairs were left in complete disarray, scattered around the room which was divided in the center by a large post holding up the ceiling. 

The smell of meat, rum, and sweat seemed to run deep into the floorboards, emanating most strongly from the pirates that lingered - passed out or half-asleep - inebriated and satiated. 

Isidro wished he was out with the horses.

2. Burn for Me

“Good job, I’ll get the… the um…” She swayed a bit as a veil of dizziness clouded her mind. She looked around, her vision stuttering as black smoke creeped in from all sides, creating a pin-point of which to see through. The colors of the mid-morning sun shifted to a dingy gray, and the sound of her breathing clogged up her ears as she glanced down at Nolan, who was busy striking the pin the rest of the way out of the hinge. Just beyond his head was a tuft of black smog drifting out from underneath the door, hot like smoke. It billowed and rose, changing shape independent of its texture, bubbling and clinging together.

3. Sonata

His breath left his body and he laid on the ground feeling a million fiery splinters racing up his right femur and left forearm. He flipped onto his stomach and used his right arm to pull himself forward across the gravel, tucking his left in to his bare chest that came alive with singing pain.

Everything hurts.

5. Tinsel (will be posted soon)

4. VOID (in development)

"What do you think you are?"

Alexela shook their head. They didn't want to think. They didn't want to do anything anymore. They were tired. So. fucking. tired.

6. Currently Untitled WIP

He moved his arms, and suddenly felt a blinding pain radiating down from his left elbow that made his knees buckle and his vision black out. His vision came back slowly, and he realized with horror he was sitting on the carpet.

She nodded and quickly moved out of his sight, feeling a very brief sense of relief as she shut the basement door behind her. That was quickly repelled by the sheer amount of steps down she had to take. She held the jacket close to her and took the first step down. The binding of the book bit into her side and she was bombarded with small memories of the night before.

7. Make Me Alpha (unposted werewolf fic)

Mae lowered her hand and threw her head back like a petulant teenager. Lily paid her no mind, turning back to the blueprint as Koa got up from the table. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he grabbed some ice water.

I had been wracking my brain all day in how to get him alone for two seconds to apologize. What would I even say? "Hey Koa, I’m super broken. Sorry about that. Do you want to go out sometime?"

8. Maroon (prequel fic to Make Me Alpha)

Lily looked back at the detective and stood, reaching out as her body lilted too far forward. The detective caught her wrist, steadying her. Lily nodded in thanks and answered the phone.

“Lily,” Her name rushed out. She stayed silent, her slender features catching the sun racing through the surrounding windows, “thank you. Yes I’ll be sure to let you know. Goodbye.”

She hung up and pocketed the phone, “My apologies. My boys should be here within the next few hours.”

9. DnD NPC Introductory Descriptor from a campaign I wrote

A stumped and bandaged arm reaches through the bars met by a tattered and torn shirt that exposes the malnourished humanoid torso. Masses of scars are spattered onto his pasty, yellow skin.

Over his head there is a bandage that covers one eye and wraps around filthy silver hair. Peeking from the bandage are the tips of pointed elven ears, uneven from a bite wound that severed the tip of one. A large rat scurries around his legs and then climbs up his pants and over his torso, it sits on his shoulder dutifully.

10. Another Untitled WIP

“Your blades aren’t long, so what you do with them will be limited,” He pointed at her wrist with one hand and then to her shoulder with the other, “what you allow your opponent to see will become a target. Use your speed against them. Create an opening, disarm, then strike. Clear?”

[luvvewan]

promptsssssss!!!

13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️

Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.

—

The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.

Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.

“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”

Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.

“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.

“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.

He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.

He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”

Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.

Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.

The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.

Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.

Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.

From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.

“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”

He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.

“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.

Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.

“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.

Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.

And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?

Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”

Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“

“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.

Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.

In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”

“Nuh, Evvi.”

“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”

Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.

My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.

“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”

Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.

Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”

“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”

They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”

Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”

“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”

“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”

“Oh yes. That was it.”

Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.

“Nearly done,” Evvi said.

Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”

“M-Master…”

“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”

“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”

Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”

For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”

Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It’s out, Master Jedi.”

“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”

His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.

—

Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.

They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.

But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.

He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.

Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.

—

When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.

Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.

“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.

Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.

—

Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.

Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.

Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.

He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.

“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”

Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”

“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”

“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”

“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.

Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

—

They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[unprofessional-bard]

Have it Your Way

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Request: yooo you should totally do a nsfw bigby wolf x f! reader 👀 Mr. Wolf going apeshit bc of work stress is lit

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Female!Reader

Warnings: A lil bit of tension, then pure smut with (fluffy?) after care: Rough oral (m! receiving) and unprotected vaginal sex + fingering & Bigby going beast mode, so a lot of biting and scratching~

Summary: The sheriff is more than grateful to find you in his office after a rough day at work.

Word Count: 3.521

Author's Note: I got a little carried away while writing this sjsnsjdnjss I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 😅

Enjoy!

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a fast approaching figure to where you were standing. You raise your head to see it's Bigby and he looks- well, pissed.

"Finally," You sigh as his steps slow down when he sees you. His knuckles are bruised and bottom lip cut, not to mention the bandages wrapped around his forearms and elbows. His frown dissolves just a little bit when you show your concern to him: "What the hell happened?"

"Woody happened," He growls and walks into the office before you can reach for his hands to take a closer look at his wounds. You follow him inside quietly and close the door. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's late."

He's right, it's around midnight and it was a little uncharacteristic of you to show up this late and at his office, instead of his apartment.

What you and Bigby have... it doesn't really have a proper name. Two people enjoying each other's company is a light term, fuckbuddies is a little vulgar for the both of you. There's sex, a healthy amount of it, but not too much romance. No romance at all, in fact. You weren't dating or anything, friends with benefits would be the closest term. People probably guessed you two had something going on, but it lacks certain emotions and behaviours to confirm their thoughts.

And you're okay with it. He's a bit of a wreck, truth be told - being this town's sheriff takes its toll on him, but by the gods he's one attractive man. Your relationship with him fit his aesthetic well, too. Surprisingly you hadn't caught feelings for him yet, but seeing him all beaten and tired like a puppy made your heart ache. You felt a strange responsibility of taking care of him, not like a wife and certainly not like a mother... but the instinct was there.

"I've been trying to reach you the whole day," You say calmly, not wanting to get on his bad side. "I got a little worried."

"I was out," He lights a cigarette and turns around to face you, leaning against the desk with crossed arms. "Nothing I can't handle... the usual stuff."

"You okay, though?" You take a step forward and take his chin in your hand gently, studying the cut on his bottom lip. "Come back to my place, I'll take care of this, hm?" You say, indicating his wounds. "If you want, of course."

His frown is still present and he senses that you're afraid: Afraid of pissing him off more and tries to calm himself for your sake, to no avail. He's confused about your sudden closeness - not physically, but because of your offer. You? Want to take care of him? We didn't agree to catch feelings, he thinks and his nose scrunches up with curiosity, trying to understand what was going on.

"Why? Are you a nurse and not telling me?" He takes a drag from the cigarette, but his tone comes off more annoyed than teasing and he notices the shift in your tone when you reply.

"Christ Bigby," You roll your eyes and turn around to leave. "If you want to be alone, just say so."

Before you can reach the door handle, he grabs your wrist to stop you, turns you around and places his hands on your waist. Your annoyance dissipates the moment his eyes lock with yours: "I didn't say I wanted to be alone..." He pulls you closer while pushing you against the door, then places a ghostly kiss on your jaw: "I need you."

"Here-?" You try to ask but when he lightly bites on that soft spot he knows so well on your neck, you interrupt yourself with a quiet gasp.

"Here..." He growls, suddenly gets impatient and kisses you deeply. His tongue is quick to find yours and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, which he takes it as his cue to grab your thighs and lift you up. Another gasp mixed with a soft moan leaves your lips when your core brushes against his erection - you'd worn a slip dress before going down to his office, so his hands easily sneak under it to push it up until your upper thighs reveal themselves to him. He was too busy giving all his attention to your lips that he was caught a little off guard when his growing erection met with your clothed pussy.

You're a little overwhelmed by how he's trying to hold back, because he's angry and clearly wants to blow off some steam, but doesn't want to hurt you in the process - it excites you and you want him to be rough, actually, so you bite his bottom lip when he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of where your thighs meet your ass. He pulls back suddenly and for a terrifying moment you think you bit the cut part- you didn't mean to hurt him, but luckily he doesn't seem hurt but rather bewildered.

He holds your gaze for a torturous few seconds and you just squirm against him impatiently: He hears your heart rate pick up and it's because you're excited, so he asks: "You want it rough, sweetheart?" You nod in fast motions, expression somewhere between desperate and aching and it makes him harder, if that was even possible. "You sure? I won't be gentle-"

"Just fuck me, Bigby," You whine, to his surprise. "You're angry: Go ahead, take it all out on me."

You feel his growing nails dig into your skin, then he kisses you once more, rougher than any kiss you shared with him.

There's a moment when you're spontaneously turned on by one another: The thought of him fucking you until you forgot your name made you literally anxious (in a good way) and to see you this hungry for him drove the sheriff absolutely crazy, which made him rougher and it made you... It's like a vicious cycle.

Your hands are trembling as you devour each other against the door, a desperate need to fuck overcomes the both of you. It's as if, the seven deadly sins were demons and Lust had possessed the both of you. Bigby groans and bites your neck and for a moment you swear his fangs had grown sharper - it startles you and makes you moan.

"Lock the door," Bigby growls into the crook of your neck and drops you after you nod in his arms. You hear him clear his desk at the speed of light as you turn to lock the door, but before you can turn back around, he grabs your hips and places kisses along your shoulders. The heat radiating from your body makes him go, quite literally, feral.

"Up," He murmurs after he turns you around harshly and you don't waste a second to jump into his arms. He carries you to his desk with three steps and places you on the empty spot like a trophy. He admires you for a brief moment, admires how ruined you looked and grins to himself: It was all because of him.

You snap him back to reality when you grab his black tie and pull him towards you, placing him between your legs and kissing him. It's a lot more messy this time, all teeth and tongue as he tries to pull his erection out of his pants.

Just then, there's a knock on the door: "Bigby?"

Fuck.

"Bigby, are you alright?"

It's Snow White. The both of you go incredibly still and Bigby feels himself get soft at the sound of her voice.

"I'm busy, Snow!" He growls, angrier than before.

"Is everything okay? I heard a-"

"I'm on a call, can we talk later?" He speaks loudly and you bite your lip at how unfortunate you two are and to calm your breathing down.

"Okay, sorry," She sounds a little offended, but you could care less, because Bigby leans back and away from you after she returns to her office.

"Charming," You take a deep breath then stand up. Bigby looks a little embarrassed and you feel a little awkward, but immediately come up with a solution. Instead of speaking, you pull him back towards you, slowly, by his belt until your back hits the edge of the desk. He gives you a quizzical look, but you just smirk: "We're not done yet."

You keep eye contact when you drop onto your knees not a moment later, and he almost chokes at the sight. He lets you pull his cock out of his pants as he puts his hands on the desk to lean on for support. Your touch (and the view alone) is enough to make him go harder by the second and his knees buckle when you pump him a couple of times. If it were up to you, you wouldn't rush it and take proper care of him, make him sing for you- coax it out of him rather than rush him, but the sheriff was impatient at the moment- and so were you.

A broken moan leaves his lips when you place a kiss on the tip of his cock and take him in your mouth right after. You see him struggling to stand still and his eyes close as you start to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking more of him with each move forward. You moan around him at how big he felt inside your mouth- not that it was a new feeling or anything, but his cock was a delight anywhere inside you; especially when he hits the back of your throat, just like he did now.

An animalistic growl escapes him, a bit louder than he likes, when he sees just how much of his length you took in your mouth and his hands find themselves in your hair. You grab the sides of his thighs and tap them, signalling him to start moving and let him fuck your mouth. You hear him groan at the feeling, which makes you moan and dip a hand into your underwear to touch yourself. His pace is rough and fast, but the doesn't go too deep for a while and enjoys the feeling without literally choking you.

"Fuck," He grunts out when he hits the back of your throat again and sees his cock completely disappear into your mouth. When you gag, he pulls out to let you breathe, a thin line of saliva connects the tip of his rock hard cock and your parted lips. There are tears at the corners of your eyes, but by god it's so worth it. You retreat your hand from your underwear and smirk at him at the best of your ability while breathing heavily.

"Up," Bigby growls and picks you up from on your knees and sits you on the edge of the desk again. He places himself between your legs, removes your underwear to the side and impatiently (but carefully) inserts a finger inside you.

A trembling gasp falls from your lips as you watch a second finger join the other not long after. You want to tell him that you didn't need him to stretch your walls, so you try: "Bigby, please, I need your-"

"Trust me, sweetheart," But he interrupts, looks into your eyes and stops his movements. "You're gonna need this."

You swear his eyes glow yellow for a moment, but before you can look deeper you throw your head back when you feel a third finger inside you: "F-Fuck!"

"Shh," Bigby smirks and kisses your neck. "You want Snow to hear what we're up to?"

Maybe, you think, but the word gets mashed up and leaves your lips as a shallow moan instead when he does come hither motions with his fingers. You tense around him and the sweet smell of your juices drives him absolutely mad.

That's when he had to pull out, because his claws are out, his fangs and yellow eyes are glowing and you whine at the contact loss. He lines himself by your entrance and whispers against your burning cheeks: "You let me know if anything hurts, okay?"

You quickly shake your head and unintentionally hold your breath, but immediately let it go as soon as he pushes into you.

He's big. Bigger.

"Fuck," You choke out and bite his shoulder through his shirt. He goes still for a moment and allows you to adjust to... a new experience.

"Shit..." He growls and immediately gets rid of his shirt. A round of teeth marks appear on his skin, he looks at it and smirks as you try desperately to not come and make it last a while. Your hands instinctively reach for his hairy chest and connect behind his back. He holds you close by your hips and pushes a little further: "You're so tight, sweetheart..."

You can only moan in his hear, the stretch bringing new forms of pleasure and pain to you, making you dizzy. Suddenly, you move yourself forward and sit yourself on the edge of his desk and completely take in his cock, letting out a cry.

"We should've gone to your place," Bigby breathes and chuckles darkly, then proceeds to fuck you.

You want to reply, but (you guessed it) you can't; you rest your head on his shoulder, ready to bite down in case you got too loud. With your hands and legs wrapped around his back, you let yourself relax in his grip and let him reach deeper into you. You could technically let yourself go completely and he'd still hold you upright, thanks to his hard grip on your shoulder and waist.

Your moans become more frequent and high pitched and his pace is a little out of rhythm, but he's absolutely ruining you.

"Oh Bigby," You whimper, letting him know that you're about to cum.

He's lost, completely, between your moans, heat and trembling legs. Neither of you realise his claws beginning to break through the skin a little, but when he does he immediately switches the place of his hands to the backs of your shoulders. He partly lays you down on the desk and bends himself over as he drives into you, the new angle making him let out a gruttal growl and you lose it. You have to bite on his shoulder again to keep you from crying out as you come undone- A sound so divine and loud (although muffled), it drives Bigby over the edge as well, making him bite you in the neck in return.

Your legs tremble as he empties his seed in you, his cock reaching the deepest parts of your insides and giving you the pleasure of your life.

"H-ah, fuck," You breathe out when he pulls back both from your neck and inside you. He immediately checks for marks and you can see a guilt ridden expression spreading across his face as he calms down.

"You... I'm sorry-"

"Bigby," You interrupt him with a snarky smile, matching with your (literally) fucked state. "I asked for it and you gave it to me. No need for apologies." He still can't help but worry and run his thumb gently across the bite mark on yout neck: "It'll heal by next day."

"Good thing we're fables, huh?" He sighs and you nod as you readjust your underwear and dress, then get off the table with shaky legs which almost makes you fall, but Bigby catches you gently.

"Let's take this back to my place now, hm?" You chuckle against his neck and place a small kiss there.

Reassured, he picks you up bridal style and offers you a small grin: "Agreed."

A second round hadn't crossed your mind while you were going up to your apartment.

He gently sat you down on your bed and asked you if you needed anything. You decided to take a look at his wounds from earlier today, so you sat there and studied the bruises on his knuckles and lips, while his seed continued to make a mess of your panties.

"You wanna stay over, or...?" You offered as he came out of the bathroom and, after taking his clothes of, joined you in bed.

"Let's get rid of this, hm?" He said and helped you out of your dress. It wasn't an intimate moment, per se, but you couldn't help but feel shy when he took your dress off- he hadn't even spared a look anywhere other than your face.

"What's wrong?" He asked, noticing you shying away, still keeping his eyes on yours.

"Nothing," You smiled softly when you realised this and let him help you with your panties.

When he took them off, however, he couldn't help but look down at the mix of cum leaking from your pussy; it made his breath hitch and you bite your lip. He gave you a look- the look...

... and that's how you ended up face down on the bed with Bigby right above you, pounding into your pussy. Your knees were holding your lower half up, while your arms were under your pillow and your face was resting, or rather, buried in it. Bigby's claws made their presence known around your hips and waist, then one hand reaches into the back of your neck and firmly holds it, pressing you down more. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, moaning at the pleasure- pure pleasue. The sounds in your room are just a mess of skin slapping  against skin, the occasional creaking of the bed and your constant moaning mixed with his.

He's close and so are you, you've had your relationship going on for long enough to understand when he's going to cum and vice versa, his pace becomes faster than you thought possible and you clench down on him. He sneaks his arm under your chest and pulls you up against him, on all fours. You're holding yourself up by the underside of your forearm and hand, while one of his hands grabs at your breast and squeezes it as he lets out yet another growl.

"Ah- Bigby," You breathe out and hold onto his arm across your chest. He inhales your scent deeply and with sounds close to brief shouts, he finally comes, once more, inside you. He sees the stars when he does and it triggers your second orgasm.

An earth shattering experience to say the least.

You both collapse to the left in a spooning position, breathing hard. He gently pulls out of you while holding you close: "Fuck..."

"Indeed," You chuckle, mind hazy with the aftershock and eyes closed, calmly resting in his embrace. Once he manages to recollect himself, which is a few long minutes later, he immediately starts searching your body for the marks he left. "Bigby, I told you it's fine-"

He simply ignores you and continues feeling guilty as he stares at them: "I... I'm really-"

"If you say I'm sorry one more time, I'll kick your ass," You smirk, looking at him with lazy eyes. You're too content -satisfied and utterly fucked- to move, the heat making it easier for you to fall asleep: "Sheriff or not."

He smiles at you fondly and kisses your shoulder- he seems more at ease: "Okay... Let me clean you up, then."

You hum, agreeing and letting him slip off the bed. Nothing seems to be significantly important to you at that moment. Perhaps tomorrow, things will go back to being difficult, but at that moment, it was just you and Bigby.

He comes back with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to clean your inner thighs. The sight made him feel a couple of things at once: A type of warmth, not caused solely by lust but the type that painted his cheeks red with... fondness? Sincerity? Something much more?

He didn't want to think or talk about it, even though the former was a bit impossible as he was cleaning and admiring your ruined state with an unintentional sprinkle of guilt. He then starts cleaning the small amount of blood that drew and you let him, not without adding: "If you feel that bad, you can make it up to me by coming here..."

He watches you pat the empty spot he was lying on moments ago and he complies, drops the towel on your nightstand after he's finished cleaning you and crawls under the sheets.

You slowly turn around and place your half asleep form on his broad chest, spreading an arm across it and lay your head on where his arm and body meet, dozing off as soon as you felt one of his arms around your waist and the other on your hand.

Sleep quickly catches up with Bigby too and his eyelids slowly start to close, his nose against your hair and an extreme comfort surrounding him because of your presence; right before he closes his eyes, his own thoughts echo in his mind: We didn't agree to catch feelings...

Oh, no.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Ok, so I might as well post the first part now since I already have it. Fun fact, it's four pages in a google docs. I'll give you the second part as soon as I'm done writing it.

Tommy glanced at Cedric questioningly. The older teen just waved him on, leaving the trophy open. Tommy shot another glance at Harry, eyebrow raised. “We’re all champions,” the dark haired teen said. “Besides, you and I never put our names in the Goblet. I don’t see the harm in letting him take the cup.” “No, no,” Cedric said with a small shake of his head. “You two have won basically every challenge so far. You deserve the trophy more than I do.” “Together then,” Tommy said, shifting Harry’s weight and reaching his hand out to Cedric. “After all, we are all Hogwarts champions.” After a moment of hesitation, Cedric accepted the hand, and together the three of them limped towards the Triwizard Cup.

Once they reached it, a glance passed between the three of them, and slowly, they reached out for the Cup. As soon as they did, Tommy felt a sharp tug in his belly button and he was yanked forward. He felt his hand slipping from Harry’s, and he held on tighter. Faintly, he thought he heard Cedric’s voice calling them. Then just as suddenly as it had stopped, the dizzying tug stopped, and dumped Cedric, Harry, and Tommy into a damp field of grass.

It took Tommy a moment to regain his bearing. He was still disoriented, but he saw a small hill rising to his left, dotted with tall, rounded stones. It took him a moment to realize they were graves. He was in a cemetery. His brow furrowed. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, helping Harry to his feet. “I dunno,” Cedric said confusedly. The teen was disoriented, but he seemed to have more of his wits about him than Harry did. “I think someone turned the Cup into a portkey.” “Well, obviously,” Tommy said, hand dipping into his inventory for his sword. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are though.” Suddenly, a small, snake-like voice croaked out, “Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!” A bolt of sickly green light shot out from behind the graves. It hit Cedric square in the chest before Tommy had even so much as a chance to cry out a warning. The older teen dropped to the ground silently, a tangle of robes and limbs. Harry checked him over, but Tommy could tell by the paleness of his skin that he was already dead.

He drew his sword, but before he could find his enemy, a bolt of red light hit him, and he dropped his blade. Tommy fell to the ground frozen, and after a moment, Harry fell beside him. “Very good, Wormtail,” the same snake-like voice said. “Now, as we discussed.” Tommy heard footsteps, and then there was a small hand twisting into the back of his robes, nails digging into his skin. There was a soft grunt, and then his captor was dragging him across the damp grass. “Tommy,” Harry whispered, scared. “What do we do?”

Tommy’s mind was whirling, but he was frozen. He was frozen in place and at the mercy of Wormtail. There was nothing he could do. Not yet, at least. Suddenly, he was slammed up against something hard and rough. A small shockwave rang through his skull and dirty hands yanked his arms behind him. Coarse rope wrapped around his wrists. The stupify hex he had been hit with was wearing off by now, but he was already trapped. There was nothing he could do. He heard Harry hit the grave next to him with a small thud, and after a moment, he too, was helpless.

Wormtail yanked the teens’ wands from their robes and stuffed them into his pocket. For the first time, Tommy managed to get a good look at where he was. He was at the top of the hill. A mausoleum rose in front of him, a cauldron sitting at the base of the steps, a small bundle fo black cloth at the foot. Wormtail aimed his wand at the base of the cauldron, and flames erupted under its base. Sparks danced across the surface of the water, illuminating the grave in a ghostly white light.

Wormtail bent down and undid the bundle of cloth, lifting a small creature into the air. It was grotesque and only vaguely human shaped. It was the same size as a newborn child, but there was nothing innocent about it. Wormtail raised the thing above the cauldron and gently lowered it into the water. Tommy saw Harry murmuring a prayer under his breath. “Please let it have drowned. Please.” Tommy knew they weren’t that lucky though. He still whispered the prayer anyways.

Wormtail raised his wand slightly and began to recite a spell. “Bone of the father.” The ground at Harry’s feet cracked and greyish white dust floated up. “Unknowingly given.” Tommy craned his neck to see that Harry’s grave read “Tom Riddle.”

“Flesh of the servant,” Wormtail continued, voice beginning to shake. “W-willingly given.” From the fold of his robes, he drew a knife. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and too late, Tommy realized what he was going to do. He turned away as Wormtail brought the knife down on his arm, and tried to ignore the sounds of metal cutting through muscle, skin, and bone.

Wormtail let out a single whimper of pain, but then he forced himself to his feet and lurched towards Tommy and Harry. The two teens scrambled back, but they had nowhere to go. Tommy’s eyes darted around the graveyard, looking for a solution, but Wormtail was too close. He raised his knife above his head, and Tommy braced for the blow. Instead, the point of the weapon dug into the skin of Harry’s forearm.

A jagged cut stretched from the boy’s elbow to halfway down his forearm, and Wormtail’s knife gleamed red. “Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given.” Wormtail’s voice shook with pain, but he held his knife steady as a drop of blood splashed into the cauldron. “You will resurrect your foe.”

The light of the cauldron suddenly turned to a dark, crimson red and sparks danced along the surface of the water. Wormtail dropped to the ground in a heap, clutching his arm to his chest. Tommy watched as the spell performed it’s magic, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the sparks were gone. White light filled the sky, turning night into day, and thick fog filled the air. From in the cauldron rose a slim figure, everything about it radiating wrongness. Everything in Tommy was screaming to run, but he was trapped. The figure spread its arms and said, “Wormtail.” It was the same snake-like voice as earlier. Wormtail whimpered, but he stumbled to his feet anyways. “Robe me,” the figure commanded. Wormtail grabbed the bundle of cloth and awkwardly slipped it over his master’s shoulder’s. The figure turned around and Tommy finally got a good look at his face.

It was flat, the eyes barely more than slits, nose flat and grotesque. He was pale, paler even than Cedric had been in death. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Harry,” Tommy whispered, a note of fear beginning to creep into his voice. “Who is that?” “It’s him. He’s back. Lord Voldemort.”

Voldemort slithered over to Wormtail, who was now kneeling on the ground, sleeve of his robes covered in blood. The Dark Lord rested his hand gently on Wormtail’s head, and the man glanced up, pleading in his eyes. “Please, my lord. You-you promised.” “You’re arm, Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. Wormtail began to extend his injured arm, but at his master’s sharp glance, he bared his other one.

Slowly, the Dark Lord reached for a dark mark that rested in the crook of his servant’s arm. As soon as he touched it, Wormtail doubled over in pain, and Harry cried out scar burning. “That should summon them,” Voldemort said. Then, he smiled. He turned and crept towards Harry and Tommy. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the boy who lived,” he greeted, cupping Harry’s chin in the palm of his hand. The teen’s breathing was shallow, face tight with pain. “How ironic that you’ll die tonight.” There was silence for a moment, but then he turned his attention to Tommy. “Ah, and the fiery friend.” Tommy’s jaw clenched in defiance, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Why are we here?” he spat, struggling against his bindings. He had an axe in his inventory, but it would do him no good if he was still trapped.

Voldemort shook his head as if he was explaining something to a child. It irritated Tommy. “Well, you see, I needed the famous Harry Potter here for the ritual. And now that he’s served his purpose, It’ll be my pleasure to finally finish what I started the night I killed his parents.”

Harry still looked terrified, but Tommy could see the hint of anger that crept into his eyes at the mention of his parents. “And I needed you,” Voldemort continued, digging his fingers into Tommy’s hair, and forcing the teen to meet his eyes. “Because a very special ally of mine requested your presence here tonight.” “W-what ally?” Tommy hated the fear in his voice. Voldemort laughed softly under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll understand in no time. After all, he seems quite certain the two of you know each other.”

Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air, and Tommy glanced up to see that a figure in dark robes and white skull-like mask had appeared in front of the mausoleum. “Ah,” Voldemort said, standing to greet the newcomer. “You’ve finally arrived.” More cracks filled the air, and a few seconds later, a total of fourteen death eaters stood in the clearing.

Voldemort examined them and no one dared utter a word. Then he rattled off a list of names that Tommy didn’t recognize as he surveyed his servants. He paused on one at the end of the line. “Lucius,” he greeted. “Wonderful that you could join us tonight.” The Death Eater shuffled awkwardly, but didn’t say anything. So Malfoy’s dad really was a Death Eater. Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid.

Voldemort’s gaze drifted towards the Death Eater at the back. They were different from the others; their cloak was bulkier and their mask sent a shiver of fear down Tommy’s spine. “So you came yourself,” Voldemort said, a hint of surprise to his voice. The Death Eater simply nodded. “So,” the Dark Lord said, now addressing the whole group. “You are my most loyal followers. How disappointing. Of course, there are those who are still trapped in Azkaban. And we mustn't forget our two fellows trapped at Hogwarts. But so few of you heeded my call. I must say, I was expecting more.” No one said anything.

After a moment, Voldemort said, “I have called you here today, not only to see that your master has been resurrected, but also so that you may finally see me triumph over the great Harry Potter.” An excited murmur ran through the group. “Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. “Free the boy. Return his wand. It would be best to kill him in a duel. Prove once and for all that I am stronger than a pathetic teenager.”

Wormtail did as he was told, freeing Harry from his bindings, and shoving the boy’s wand roughly into his hand. Harry was clearly still disoriented, and Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the teen’s scar was brutally painful. He was shaking, injured leg barely supporting his weight, but Harry looked every inch a match for Voldemort. He stepped towards his adversary, and the Death Eaters closed around the two, blocking them from sight. There was silence for a moment, but then two voices shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Tommy’s fingers worked at the knots frantically, desperately trying to free himself. If only he could get his axe, he could help Harry. Finally, he felt the rope fall away and loosen. But before he could draw his weapon, the strange Death Eater stalked towards him, sword drawn. Tommy leapt to his feet, yanking his axe out of his inventory, and barely raising it in time to block the blow.

The metal of the Death Eater’s blade dug into the hilt of his axe, splintering the wood. Tommy twisted his own weapon, disentangling himself from the Death Eater’s blade. He stumbled back, dodging the Death Eater's thrust at his abdomen. He caught the edge of the sword on the crook of his axe, and twisted it upwards, knocking the sword from his opponent's grasp. He slammed the hilt of his axe into the Death Eater’s head, and the wizard stumbled back with a grunt.

Now the other Death Eater’s began taking notice and drew their wands. Before Tommy could do anything though, the air filled with phoenix song, and everyone turned to see a net of golden light surrounding Harry and Voldemort as they rose into the air.

Tommy took advantage of the distraction to make his way over to Wormtail, Quickly he searched the man’s robes for his wand, and sighed in relief once he found it. Unfortunately, the Death Eater’s had recovered from their shock, and stunning spells were flying past Tommy.

He dove to the ground as curses flew over him, firing back at as many targets as he could. At least three of his spells hit, and the volley of curses lessened just enough that Tommy was able to scramble to his feet.

He fired spells blindly as he sprinted down the hill, trying to reach the sword he had dropped. A jelly-legs jinx curse hit, and suddenly, he was tumbling head over heels down the hillside. He crashed into a gravestone, knocking it askew. Quickly, he cast the counter curse and scrambled to his feet. He braced himself for more spells, but none came. He turned his attention towards the top of the hill.

The phoenix sound had grown louder, and the light from Harry and Voldemort’s wand was blindingly bright. The two weapons were connected with a beam of golden light, and figures surrounded Harry, protecting him. Tommy couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Cedric among them. Suddenly, the net dissolved, and Harry dropped to the ground. “Harry!” Tommy cried out, worried.

Suddenly, the dark-haired teen came sprinting out from the mass of Death Eaters, green Avada Kedavra spells just barely missing him. “Harry!” Tommy called again, waving to him. Harry dove to the ground, rolling down the hill, trying to dodge the killing spells. Tommy scooped up his sword, and dropped his axe into his inventory. Behind him, the Triwizard cup began to glow blue. “Tommy!” Harry yelled frantically, skidding to a stop at his friend's side. “We need to get out of here!”

Tommy nodded, and pointed to the portkey. “It’ll take us home. But we need to go. Now.” Harry nodded. He grabbed the portkey, other hand resting on Cedric’s back. At the very least, the boy deserved to be brought back to his family. Tommy grabbed the other handle of the Cup, and suddenly, he was yanked forward. It was only then did he realize that the strange Death Eater’s robes were green. Green robes and a white mask.

-Gemstone Anon.

Oh my god. Okay. This is beautiful. I have read this like 10 times now. Oh my god. This is- This is brilliant.

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha takes you on a date and decides how the night will end.

Warnings: dark themes, stalking, digital hacking, drugging, sexual content (all consensual!!!)

A/N: this is the closest thing I’ve ever written to smut so I hope it didn’t turn out to be complete trash! I’d like to try going further in the future but I’m just doing what fits for the story for now! anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Previous part

-

Natasha could barely sleep that night, the images of you swimming through her mind constantly. She’d stared at the pictures in her phone long enough to memorize every inch of you left uncovered. How she wished to be the one to undress you at night, maybe with your wrists tied together above your head or your ankles forced to separate with a bar between them. The possibilities were endless.

She took a cold shower the next morning after waking up in a sweat because of you, and she knew she had to see you again. Not through a window but in person, face to face. She already missed holding a finger to the pulse point in your wrist, feeling the pace quicken as you lost yourself in her intense gaze. It was thrilling.

Your shift today ended at 6, which is why Natasha strolled into the bookstore just after 5:45. She began feigning interest in a shelf of biographies until she heard your kind voice again, and god, could she come undone at the sound of it.

“You’re back.”

She closed the book she was flipping through with a smile, turning to you, and what a sight you were. Your light t-shirt clung to your torso and was tucked inside of dark pants that loosely covered your waist and legs, hugging your ankles. Your hands were tucked in the pockets, and she wondered what was the easiest way to pull them into hers instead.

“I am.” The book closed with a sharp snap as she stepped closer to you. “I was hoping you were here.”

“Why didn’t you look for me then?”

“Got a little nervous.” She shrugs and you find it endearing.

“You hide it well.” Your hands leave your pocket as she gives you the book. “So what can I do for you, Natasha?”

You noticed her eyes widened slightly when her name left your lips, and you wondered whether or not that was a good reaction. The smirk that followed answered your silent question.

“Call me crazy, but I wondered if you’d have dinner with me. Nothing fancy, just want to get to know a kind soul such as yourself a little deeper.”

“Well, I’m very honored that an Avenger is interested in a boring civilian like me.” You offer her a teasing grin and she laughs in response.

“You know who I am, then.”

“A face like yours isn’t easy to forget.” You step around her to place the book back on the shelf, trying not to focus on the warmth that radiates from her body in such close contact. “I just need to clock out and grab my purse from my locker, and then I’ll be ready for dinner.”

“I’ll be outside,” she promised, watching you until the doors to the back hid you from sight before heading out of the bookstore. She listened carefully for your footsteps as she set up the program on the new cellphone, giving you a smile when you appeared that told nothing of what she was doing.

“Ready when you are.”

Natasha held out her arm to you, unable to contain her grin when you looped yours through the space she left and rested your other hand on her incredibly toned bicep. The warmth of your forearm against hers and your palm through her sleeve made her long for more, but she decided not to rush, knowing she had all the time in the world. As far as she was concerned, you weren’t going anywhere.

You arrived at a quiet restaurant in the middle of casual and fancy, seated at a table in the corner per Natasha’s request. The reasoning given to you was her desire to have eyes on the entire room because “you can never be too careful”, but the phone in her lap told a different story. She was an expert at holding your gaze or keeping your attention while the device downloaded your information, tucking it away in her pocket when finished.

It was halfway through dinner when Natasha found herself wanting to touch you more than the high school hand holding you’d done so far. She noticed a bit of pasta sauce that dribbled onto the corner of your mouth and before you could react, it was swiped away onto the pad of her thumb that was now positioned in front of your lips.

“Open,” she commanded, gleefully watching you obey her with wide and innocent eyes. A shiver went down her spine when your warm tongue cleaned her thumb, smirking as she slowly pulled away from your lips with a pop. And then she was back to her own meal as if nothing happened, while you were left squirming in your seat.

“Would you like to come to my place for wine?” you finally get out when your heart stops making its home in your throat.

“I would love that.”

-

The two of you walked hand in hand to your apartment in a comfortable silence, a bubbly feeling spreading through you every time that damn thumb swiped over your knuckles. You turned on the living room light as you entered, locking the door behind her and offering apologies for a mess that didn’t exist.

“Stop worrying, printsessa. You have a lovely home.”

The bubbles returned at the sound of the Russian nickname. “I’m glad you like it. Have a seat on the couch while I run to the bathroom, and then I’ll pour the wine for us.”

Natasha waited a few seconds after you closed the door before sprinting down the hall to where she could only assume your bedroom was. A bug was placed in your bedside lamp, a camera hidden in the plant on your dresser and your window was unlocked. By the time you stepped out with an empty bladder and clean hands, her back was against the armrest of the couch.

“Do you prefer white or red?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

She followed you to the kitchen, resting her elbows on the island that separated tile from carpet as she watched you place two glasses in front of her. You poured the deep red liquid with a smile, and as you returned the bottle to the fridge, she unscrewed the tiny vial from her necklace and emptied it into one glass. She claimed the other one as you faced her, clinking it to yours and moving to the couch.

“You know, I’ve answered your questions all night but I would love to know more about you,” you told her after a long sip, and she smiled at you over the transparent rim of her drink.

“Anything in particular?”

“Just...something that the media hasn’t broadcasted anywhere. Like, how do you manage not to fall into a deep depression with everything that you deal with as an Avenger?”

“It’s the little things.” She leans forward a bit, her fingertips resting on your knee. “The team and I do pretty normal things when we’re not on missions. Movie nights, eating meals together, being honest with each other when we feel down and doing whatever we can to improve our moods. It helps to have a good support system with these things, or in my case, a best friend that’s a literal ball of sunshine. I’m very lucky to have people like them in my life.”

“I think they’re very lucky to have you, too.” 

A few gulps of the bitter liquid gave you the courage you needed to close the gap and press your lips to hers, and part of you wasn’t surprised at how easily she was able to slip her tongue in your mouth seconds later. A low groan spilled from her lips past yours, and it vibrated within the deepest parts of you as you wrapped an arm around her neck, the other joining after your nearly empty glass was taken away. 

Her hands held onto your waist, squeezing harder as the kiss deepened, and she used the tight grip to guide your back toward the couch cushions. Your fingers slid into her hair when her mouth separated from yours to trail wet kisses down your jaw to the base of your neck, her warm breath leaving goosebumps on your sensitive skin. You slid a hand down to your jeans, about to unbutton them when she let go of one of your hips to stop you.

“Patience, printsessa,” she mumbled into the space between your neck and shoulder. “We have time.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position and you followed, embarrassed when a yawn unexpectedly pushed out of you. 

“I’m sorry.” You chuckled shyly. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay. You got up pretty early, yeah?” You nodded. “I figured. Let me just take your number and then I’ll get out of your hair. I can always come back tomorrow.”

She winked as she handed you the phone that wasn’t an exact copy of yours, and you made sure to include your address in the contact you created. When you handed it back, Natasha erased your name and replaced it with your newly given nickname.

She left your apartment after a much more innocent kiss at the door, immediately taking the alley back to your fire escape when she was sure there were no witnesses. A smile shaped her lips as she watched you stumble tiredly through your nightly routine, eventually collapsing on the bed and falling unconscious before you could pull the blanket over your exposed legs.

Once you were asleep for a few minutes, she popped the screen off and set it to the side as she raised the window and climbed in.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @fayhar @muted-stoneheart @witchxaf @sakurat123 @bebe404 @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se 

[bipercabeth]

“your hands are shaking” + percabeth !!! 🥺 (ofc I went for the hands)

started this with the intention of writing a lil drabble between roommates ch 9 and 10, but it got away from me. here’s 1.4k of soft idiots and hands

Percy comes home from the last swim practice before states and promptly throws himself onto the couch, tossing an arm over Annabeth’s thighs and pressing his face into the cushion next to them, his skin and breath contrasting the pervasive cold their radiator fights against. Today was the last intense day, so she knows he's hurting even before he hooks his hand under her leg to pull himself closer and groans with the effort. Annabeth sets the notes she scooped up upon his entry down on the coffee table and combs a hand through his damp hair with a frown.

"Did you walk all the way here with wet hair? Perce, it's freezing out."

"Can you let a guy die in peace?"

"We both know it's my life's purpose to make sure you never know peace, so I'm gonna need you to answer the question."

"You know the answer."

She thunks him gently on the back of his cold head but soothes his responding whine by scratching her nails along his scalp. He purrs, a low throaty sound she feels through the couch and his grip on her. Her playlist plays through the TV, a soft instrumental meant to help her focus on school. Instead it zeroes her in on Percy's profile, the edges of him that soften in the light of their apartment and her company. Soft black curls drape over his eyes, and she pushes it back to find them closed in contentment. A finger traces the line of his jaw of its own volition, soft and feather-light against the hard edge. She trails it down his crooked nose, which was broken one too many times to heal straight, and rides the bump over the dusting of freckles. Her fingertip only just traces his lips before he presses the barest of kisses to it, nearly shocking her into recoiling. Of all the sideways attempts at kissing him to express her feelings, he has never once made that move. It's just a whisper against her pointer finger, not her collarbone or cheek or wherever else she's laid her lips on him in a moment of courage, but it's significant all the same.

Instead of telling him that, she says, "If you get sick five days before states because you walked outside with wet hair in February, I'm actually gonna kill you.”

Percy ignores her threat. "Just wanted to get home to you."

"Well that's...incredibly hard to be mad at you over."

"It is, isn't it?" The corner of his mouth lifts just so, hinting at the dimple she knows will press into his cheek at a moment's notice.

"I take it back. I'm mad." She lifts his arm off her legs and attempts to scoot away, but he catches her around her legs again. She lets herself be manhandled, knowing her smile will betray her posturing the moment he looks up at her.

He pulls her closer than last time, now laying his head on her thigh, his cheek smushed against her sweatpants. "How's studying going?"

Annabeth's gaze flickers to the pile of books on the coffee table. "It's...going, I guess."

"You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, just..." She exhales and looks back to Percy, the most peaceful thing in the living room. "Midterms, ya know?"

"Like last time?"

There's an undercurrent of concern to his voice, one Annabeth is used to hearing but can never quite comprehend being directed her way. "No, not like last time. A good, normal amount of exam stress and existential dread." Her hand returns to his hair, which warms under her touch. "Is that why you hurried home?"

He looks up at her then, earnest despite the long day. "I just wanted to spend some time with you before our week explodes. You not going crazy is an added bonus though." His eyes undermine his tone as they search Annabeth's face, checking for eyebags and other signs of stress. Seemingly satisfied with his findings, he tucks his cheek back against her leg.

Resigning herself to being done with school work for the night, Annabeth nudges Percy and asks him to fish for the remote between the cushions. They're mid season six on New Girl, and she's hoping to finish before the week is up. Percy finds the remote and bends awkwardly to pass it to her behind his head.

"Percy, your hands are shaking," she says, taking the remote and his hand into her own.

"Practice was brutal today," he sighs. "Coach gave us this arm exercise where you do this between each stroke"—he flexes his hand before making a fist and opening it again—"for some reason. Threw us off for the beginning of practice, but it made us work harder in the end. That was probably the point, but right now it just sucks."

"Sit up."

"Annabeth, I can't ask you to—"

"You're not asking for anything. I'm telling you to sit up."

Percy heaves himself out of Annabeth's lap and rests against the back of the couch, turning to jelly in his attempt to protest. Paying him no mind, Annabeth throws her legs over his like a seatbelt and takes his far arm into her hands.

"Forearms bad?" she asks.

"It's all bad."

Annabeth rolls her eyes and flips his palm to the ceiling, feeling a slight tremor from the angle once more. She presses her thumbs from his knuckles to his wrist, the soft flesh of his palms malleable beneath her touch. They're the slightest bit clammy too, she notes with a small smile. They weren’t before her legs were in his lap.

Before long she moves to his forearms, anchoring his palm on her knee while she digs into the muscle and pushes out the lactic acid. Just as she reaches his elbow, she realizes she forgot to do anything with the TV.

"You can turn on whatever you like. I'm just gonna focus."

His voice is close. "I like watching you focus." Annabeth doesn't remember scooting almost entirely into his lap, though she's been leaning in the higher she travels up his arm. Doesn't mean she's ready to look up—with her tongue poking out in concentration, no less—and find his face inches away from hers.

Percy clears his throat and offers her his upper arm in the form of an escape. Annabeth takes it, sinking her fingers into his bicep and working out the stiffness.

It's a nice arm. Two of them, actually—he has two very nice arms. Objectively. From an artist's standpoint. It's no wonder Rachel used to use him as a model for anatomy studies in her drawing classes. He has good anatomy. Solid. Streamlined. A true swimmer's build, all broad shoulders and tapered torso.

Annabeth gives the swell of his shoulder one last squeeze and switches arms, scooting away slightly to make room for his wingspan. She starts the same way as last time: with his palm face up in hers. Her hands have memorized this route by now, so she lets her mind wander as she sets about his forearm.

"How's practice been? Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Do we include Sloan being a dick in the obvious?"

She can't help the way her fingers dig in. "No. You tell me about that. Always."

He sets his free hand on her shin for a moment, putting out a bit of her fire. "Nothing serious. Just stupid comments, usually under his breath. He's not going to try anything with Coach watching him the way he has been."

Annabeth focuses her frustration into her work, ignoring Percy's wince. "You promise you'd tell me if it was bad?"

"Do I have a black eye?"

She makes a show of looking. "Nope."

"Then he didn't say anything bad."

Annabeth finishes his arm and frowns. "That just means you didn't get hit." She picks up both of his hands and checks his knuckles. The skin is unbroken and unbruised, and he didn't wince at all when she worked his palms. In a lapse of restraint, she presses her lips there. "Keep 'em that way, okay?"

He chuckles, and she watches his Adam's apple move. "Yes ma'am. You done?"

She releases him with a flourish. "All done. Nothing to do now but wait."

Percy looks at her, his eyes dark. "I know the feeling."

[cinebration]

Cuts & Bruises, Wounds & Abuses (Captain Syverson x Reader) [Part 8]

Syverson tries to get you and his men to safety.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Epilogue

Tagged: @scuzmunkie, @thethirstyarchive, @maan24, @igotkatiepowers, @sugarpenchant, @lamthetwickster, @omgkatinka, @helloitsmeamie203, @simply-heaven, @l-u-n-a-m, @fckdeusername, @woterezwhet, @olkathechaoticfox, @bethabear12, @bloodyinspiredfuck, @flor-la-ganga95, @bellumintra, @nothingright, @tapismyforte, @thebonzifonzibrothers, @peakymidwinter, @fanfictionaddiction99, @thereisa8ella, @kmuir1, @bichibibi, @love-yourself-first-tfw, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @lou-la-lou, @kat002nd, @babypink224221, @speakerforthedead0, @rn7rocks, @sofiebstar, @wheretheriversrunintothesea, @thatchickwiththecamera, @louiiissa, @october505, @turkish276, @heartfelt-pen, @mstgsmy, @kazzilla​, @alyxkbrl, @suhke3, @summersong69, @untraveled-road

Warnings: none

Gif Source: demivampirew

Cover.

Syverson needed cover. Using the smoke to conceal his retreat, he led you into the streets spidering out around the marketplace.

Robinson took up position behind you, sweeping the area with the muzzle of his M4. Syverson’s third man, Prichard, emerged from the smoke plume and replaced Robinson’s position, letting Robinson catch up with Syverson.

“Where’s Mahmoud?” Syverson asked.

“Last I saw—”

“I’m here!” Mahmoud peered around the corner of a building to Syverson’s left, waved him down.

Robinson and Syverson moved in formation, dragging you along between them as they approached Mahmoud.

“What about Deakins?” Robinson asked.

“He’s dead.”

Syverson risked a quick glance at you, your hoarse voice commanding his attention. Pain drew your face in stark lines, sweat running in rivulets down your pallid face, shock and fear alike warring for dominance in your eyes.

Syverson felt an overwhelming urge to tell you everything would be alright. He resisted it.

He’s seen enough war to know the words would be hollow.

Screams still resounded through the area. Men and women scrambled into buildings, sprinted down alleys.

Eyes everywhere.

Syverson’s skin crawled. His chest throbbed from the gunshot, but the pain in his left forearm felt like liquid fire. Adrenaline kept him moving forward, pushing the pain into the background.

Barely.

Moving southeast from the market, Syverson followed the winding streets, looking for cover.

A bombed-out building stood in stark relief against the white-blue sky ahead. The structure looked barely safe, but it had walls and a roof.

Syverson led his team inside, clearing the ground-floor rooms with practiced precision. Rubble littered the ground—a threat to a quick escape.

It was all they had.

“Radio Warhorse,” he ordered Prichard. “Tell them our location and the last-known location of the bastards who shot us.”

“Yessir.”

Prichard pulled out his radio and switched to one of the frequencies Warhorse monitored.

Syverson suddenly became aware of the pressure of your hand on his shoulder. It grew heavy, clutching at the fabric of his shirt and the muscle underneath.

Your legs were giving out.

Syverson seized you by the vest, catching you as you staggered. He helped you over to the nearest wall.

Gunshots resounded down the streets, coming closer.

You slid down to the floor, wheezing.

“Shit.” Crouching down in front of you, he pressed a hand to your skin.

Clammy.

“Don’t do this to me,” he hissed. “Do not go into shock.”

Gritting your teeth, you met his gaze. He could see you fighting it. Your right hand clutched his on your vest, nails pressing hard enough to leave crescent moons in his skin.

The gunshots drew nearer.

“Fuck.” They sounded mere streets away. The insurgents were bearing down on them.

He couldn’t tend to you and keep everyone alive.

“Can you shoot?”

You blinked. “What?”

Syverson snapped his fingers in your face. “Stay with me. Can you shoot?”

“I…know the basics.”

He pressed his Beretta grip-first into your hand. “Point and shoot if it’s anybody but us.” He turned to go.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“I…I can’t use my left hand. How do I…how do I shoot with one?”

Syverson glanced down at your left arm, held in the makeshift sling that was the camera and its straps. Your scarf wrapped around it, but he could see your burned fingers. Major second-degree, maybe third-degree burns,

Pain radiated through his own arm again, but he pushed back against it. Survival first, pain later.

He could see you trying to match that mentality.

Chest constricting, Syverson crouched back down beside you. “Hold your arm out straight ahead of you. Lock your wrist but not your elbow. Firm pressure in your arm.”

You nodded.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, pointing toward a spot where the wall had crumbled. “You make sure no one comes in through that door, okay?”

You nodded again, swallowing thickly.

“We’re not leaving you,” he assured you. The words emerged from somewhere inside himself. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you managed to answer.

Chest constricting again, Syverson left you against the wall. He prayed he could keep his promise.

[koalataeil]

Intertwined (Poly!DoyoungxKun xHaechanxJungwoo)

pairing: kun x doyoung x jungwoo x haechan x reader (gender neutral)

words: 1.9k

genre: pure fluff, established relationship, poly!au

request: poly!nct (kun, doyoung, jungwoo, haechan, reader) fluff

summary: doyoung isn’t really one for couple’s/partner’s items, but he treats his significant others to one that will work for them.

A/N: this was such a challenge to write because this is such a different group of members. it was super fun and i hope you all enjoy

You could hear the boys loudly talking as they walked down the hallway before they entered your shared apartment. You couldn’t help but grin as you tried to hear what they were talking about while you keep your eyes on the tv playing a new show you’d just gotten into. Once the door opened, their voices were significantly louder, continuing their debate.

“Y/N!” Jungwoo called, running to your spot once he got his shoes off. He tackled you in a tight hug, pushing you onto your side. “I missed you,” he’d comment, kissing the side of your head.

“We missed you too,” Haechan pouted, trying to get involved in the cuddling mess before him.

“Give Y/N some room you two,” Kun commanded from across the room, fixing their shoes and picking up their thrown jackets and bags.

“It’s okay Kun,” you replied, your heart full from seeing your boyfriends for the first time in a couple days. They’d been busy with some meetings to discuss comeback plans and the possibility of a new subunit debuting soon. “Where’s Doyoung?”

“He had to go pick up something quick. He said he’ll be home soon,” Kun replied, finally feeling content with how the entryway looked. He made his way over to you three on the couch, his smile ever-present as he finally took you in. Haechan had finally made Jungwoo move so he could join you at your other side. Both boys did their best to pull you closer to them, each resting their heads on your shoulders.

“He went by himself?” you asked softly, looking towards Kun, who took a seat across from you.

Jungwoo nodded, “he said it was a secret so we couldn’t go with him.” His voice was quiet as he snuggled into the crook of your neck.

“Did you eat yet, Y/N?” Haechan asked, his finger drawing lazy shapes on your thigh.

“Yeah, I got some pizza earlier.” Jungwoo immediately moved his head away from you and pouted. You smiled, “There’s some leftovers in the fridge for you Jungwoo.”

He grinned and rushed to the kitchen to grab a couple of slices. Kun took the chance to kiss your forehead while Jungwoo was distracted. He also ruffled Haechan’s hair, earning a light slap to the wrist from the youngest. You giggled softly as you pet Haechan’s hair, trying to fix it for him. “You’re so cute, Channie,” Kun cooed.

“Y/N, tell Kun to leave me alone,” he mumbled beside you. You just smiled in response, holding one of Kun’s hands in your own.

“Don’t cuddle without me!” Jungwoo yelled, returning from the kitchen, a small piece of sauce still in the corner of his mouth. He jumped onto the couch and returned to his spot beside you.

“You have something on your face,” Kun mentioned, leaning over to clean it off with his hand. Jungwoo instead pulled Kun further, their faces inches from each other. Kun got the hint, licking off the sauce from his lip.

They smiled at each other, “Thank you, Kun.”

“Get a room,” Haechan groaned, making the rest of you laugh.

“Are you jealous, Haechan?” Jungwoo questioned.

“Y/N, make them stop,” he whined from beside you. Before you could say anything, Kun had moved in front of Haechan, his hand cupping the younger’s chin and pulling him in for a short, soft kiss. Haechan seemed shocked after Kun pulled away, becoming silent as his face started turning red.

You glanced up at Kun expectedly, waiting for your turn. Kun just grinned in response, mirroring his previous actions with Haechan now with you. This kiss lasted a lot longer than the one between Haechan and Kun, but it remained soft and innocent and full of love. Kun smiled shyly at you as he pulled away. You smiled back in return before he moved to the couch across from you once again. A light conversation about your days started as you waited for your last boyfriend to return home.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“I’m home,” Doyoung sang as he closed the front door behind him, kicking his shoes off. Three bags hung from his arms, two filled with food and one with his surprise. The surprise that had caused his chest to tighten for most of the day and only just got worse as he walked home from the store.

“Doyoung!” Jungwoo yelled, removing himself from his spot beside you to run-up to the older man like an excited puppy. He reached to grab the bags in his arms, only for them to be pulled away from him.

“I still have a surprise. I don’t want you to ruin it,” Doyoung explained once he saw Jungwoo’s small pout. Jungwoo nodded, trudging back to his spot on the couch. Doyoung followed after setting the non-food bag on the table near the door. “I brought some snacks and drinks.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started as he handed you a bottle of your favorite soda.

“But I wanted to,” he continued, passing the other men their respective drinks and snacks.

“Is this your surprise?” Kun questioned, opening his can.

“If this was my surprise, don’t you think I would’ve let you guys come with me?” Doyoung responded with a small smirk. “I’ll go grab the real surprise,” he said, setting his drink on the coffee table.

Once he returned with the bag, he instructed you all to sit on the couch. Kun sat next to Jungwoo while Haechan and Jungwoo sat up more. “Okay, close your eyes. No peaking.”

Doyoung grabbed one box from the bag and quickly opened it, hooking the chain around his neck. His smile was ever-present as he adjusted the necklace. “Hold your hands out please. Do not open your eyes until I say so.” You all nodded at him, each of your patience running out as time moved on. He placed one small box into each of your open palms, noticing how his hands shook from anxiety awaiting your reactions.

“I think I know what this is,” Haechan teased, feeling the box with one of his hands.

“Haechan, I will take your back.” Doyoung replied, just as teasingly but featuring a hint of truth. Haechan stopped, moving both his hands to hold the box like he was initially instructed. “Okay, you can all open your eyes and open your gift.”

Doyoung’s breath hitched in his chest as he observed each of your reactions. You all opened the box at the same time, in sync with each other from years of being together. You gasped as you took in the piece of jewelry, right hand moving to cover your gaping mouth. “Doyoung...” You let slip out quietly. Your other boyfriends had smiles on their faces as they also processed their matching gifts.

“Do you like it?” You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice at the moment. Your right hand moved from your mouth to take the necklace out of its safe box. The necklace had five rings intertwined with each other, each ring alternating between black and white.

“Doyoung, this is so sweet,” Kun spoke first, his eyes sparkling with love.

“How did you get these?” Jungwoo moved to clasp the chain around his own neck after seeing the chain dangling from Doyoung’s own neck.

“I know a guy,” he answered nonchalantly, a giant grin plastered on his face. Kun and Haechan had started clasping their respective chains on their own necks. “Do you want help, Y/N?” Doyoung asked softly, his eyes filled with worry as he watched you nearly freezing up while staring at the rings. You were taken out of your daydream from his voice, only responding with a small nod.

He came up behind the couch, taking the necklace from your hands gently to clasp it around your neck for you. You couldn’t help but lightly touch the rings as they rested below your collarbones. Once it was secured, he leaned down a placed a couple of soft kisses on your head. Haechan and Jungwoo whined at the affection, causing Doyoung to chuckle and place kisses on both of their heads as well.

“I thought you didn’t like couple items,” you finally stated, waiting for Doyoung to return to his spot in front of you all.

He sat on the coffee table, resting his elbows and forearms on his thighs and leaning forward, “I usually don’t. It’s risky to have couple items and getting caught by fans or paparazzi wearing them. But I saw a couple with a similar necklace and I really liked it. It’s very subtle and can be hidden under our shirts or jackets so it’s a little safer. I searched for a place that would custom make us versions with five rings instead of two. It took a while, but they finally finished them today.”

“Aw, Doyoung is a sappy romantic,” Haechan teased, getting up and hugging Doyoung tightly. You giggled along with Jungwoo and Kun, all three of you joining the hug. While you rarely did group hugs like this, the love in the air was palpable.

“I love you guys,” you mumbled, slowly starting to part from the group because of the radiating heat of your boyfriends being so close.

“We love you too,” Kun replied, also pulling away. After a few more seconds, the hug was over, Doyoung finally being free of Haechan’s tight grip.

“And just because it’s subtle doesn’t mean you don’t still need to be careful,” Doyoung started, looking between Jungwoo, Haechan, and Kun. “Remember to keep it hidden when you can. We don’t want to deal with another lecture from staff do we?” He asked rhetorically. The three boys nodded almost automatically.

“I think we can handle it,” Jungwoo commented confidently. Doyoung nearly shot him a glare but stopped himself.

“Better safe than sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m glad you liked them,” his smile returning once again.

“Thank you, Doyoungie,” you started, the rest of the boys following suit with their own thankful messages.

Just as you felt Jungwoo start leaning into you, his first sign of cuddling, you removed yourself from the couch. You could nearly feel Jungwoo’s pout and puppy-like eyes following your every move, but you kept going. Reaching for Kun and Doyoung’s hands, you led them to the other couch across from the one you were just on. You decided to sit on Doyoung’s lap while resting your legs across Kun’s and hugging Doyoung’s waist to keep yourself steady.

“Hey, why are you cuddling with them?” Haechan asked, his arms crossed like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Hyuk, I just cuddled with you and Jungwoo since you came home. I think it’s their turn now, don’t you?” You watched as both Jungwoo and Haechan shake their heads and pout before they decided to cuddle together instead. You thought they may be trying to make you jealous. Still, you were never jealous that easily, especially after being in this polyamorous relationship for so long. You returned your attention to your two oldest boyfriends, one hand playing with Doyoung’s hair and the other holding onto one of Kun’s.

All of your boyfriends sparked another conversation with each other, returning the living room to its normal, chaotic state. However, all you could think about was the necklace resting on your chest, the love it symbolized, and the comfort of being able to cuddle with each of them.

[birdsandspades]

Ice Pack (A Todoroki Shoto Oneshot)

-The dorm is fresh out of ice packs. Lucky for you someone happens to know where to find one. 

Word Count- 3,122

*This is my first BNHA fanfiction so i’m sorry if its crumby. I just think Todoroki is really neat. 

----

You pressed a finger into the skin of your arm, hissing as the red gave way to white. Turning around, you looked over the rest of your body in the gym bathroom mirror.

“I think this is my worst sunburn yet. I really should have put on more sunscreen…” You frowned, wrapping a towel around your body. 

Your quirk had been a wonderful gift, the first in a long line of quirkless family members. The day you manifested it you could have sworn your father cried. 

“A hero, we're gonna have a hero in the family!” 

You remembered the fond words as you looked down at the pile of clothes on the locker room bench. It sure didn’t feel like a gift right now. You picked up your shirt, inching it over your burning skin. Each scape of the fabric drawing out a new string of curses. 

“Hey, are you dressed yet, Mina is wait...oww,” Jiro looked over your reddened back, wincing as you pulled the shirt over it.

 “Yeah, oww”, you sulked. You glared down at your pants, not ready to endure the pain they would cause your legs. 

“Tell me again how your quirk does all of that again.” She motioned to the entirety of your burned body. 

“Well, I'm like a solar flare. My body stores a large amount of heat, and if I save up enough of it I can make flames. If I have a big enough amount of it I can even produce light.” 

She nodded along, shuttering as you shimmied into your jeans. 

“But the more I use it, the more I'm exposed to the UV radiation I'm putting off. Eventually, if I use it too much. Well, I get this stupid sunburn.” 

“I still don’t get why you get so burnt, didn’t the department of support make you that sunscreen a few months ago for it?” She gave off a chuckle, recoiling at the faces you were making while you slid on your shoes. 

 “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s working…” , you trailed off, looking at the bottle of sun protectant stuffed in your gym bag. You picked up the rest of your belongings, motioning towards the door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow, let's just go back to the dorms so I can take these things off again.” 

Jiro held open the door, laughing as you waddled past her. 

----

You stepped into the common room, smiling at your classmates sitting on the couch. 

“Who ordered the L/N F/N, extra burnt?”,Sero teased from his seat, elbowing a giggling Denki.

You gave him a sarcastic laugh, throwing your gym bag at him.

Kirishima turned his attention away from the t.v, his eyes slowly roaming over your red arms. “Hey L/N-chan, how was training…?” 

You gave him a sad smile, “Exhausting, but I think I finally got my flashbang technique down!” 

“Jesus Glowstick…”, Bakugou walked past you from the laundry room, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he pressed a rough hand onto your forearm. 

You smacked him away, cursing at the now burning skin. You looked up, meeting his glare as he walked off down the hallway. You hated that nickname and he knew it. He had picked it out after the licensing exam, going as far as to even suggest it for your permanent hero name. Most people thought he chose it after your quirk, you did after all have a nifty move called glow. You had made yourself useful during the search and rescue part of the exam, using your quirk to illuminate your body as you searched for survivors among the rubble. Many of the students had commented on it after the exam, envious of the power giving you such a high boost on your score. But Bakugou had chosen the nickname for a different reason.

He had had the pleasure of running into you after the exam later that night in the kitchen. Your body red and raw from over exerting yourself during the test. “You're so red you're practically glowing. You should get a support item if your weaknesses are that obvious Glowstick ” , he mocked, poking your sunburn and he walked past you to the common room. 

“I’m going to grab some ice packs from the freezer and call it a night.” You patted Jiro on the back before walking to the kitchen. 

----

You had been looking for the ice packs for about twenty minutes when Midoriya walked into the kitchen.

“Hey Midoriya-kun, have you seen the ice packs? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t seem to find them.” You pulled your head out of the freezer, turning to him. 

He gave you a sheepish smile, holding up the warm gel packs. “I’m sorry L/N-chan, I took them out last night and forgot to put them back when I woke up.” 

You shut the freezer door, taking the packs from his hand. You squished a few of the warm beads around the plastic, sighing in defeat. “It’s ok, i’ll use a water bottle or something.”

You trudged past him out of the kitchen and towards the dorm rooms. Usually your sunburns only lasted a few days tops, but this one felt different. The heat radiating off of it alone was enough to tell you that it was deep. You really should have put on more sunscreen. 

You bumped into a stationary mass, the points of contact stinging as you looked up.

Todoroki’s hold on his phone slipped as it fell to the ground. “I’m sorry L/N-chan, I was reading something on the news.” His gaze fell on you, taking in the fluorescent flush of your skin. “Your sunburnt.” 

You took a step back, looking away in an attempt to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. “No, I'm sorry Todoroki-kun, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you ok?” You reached down, picking up his phone. 

“You should use the ice packs in the freezer.” He slipped the phone out of your hand, careful not to graze your sensitive skin. “ It might help with the discomfort.” 

“Oh, Midoriya was using them so they are warm now. I’m gonna use this water bottle for a bit.” You shook the bottle, giving him a soft smile. “I’m sorry I made you drop your phone, I hope it's ok!” You shimmied around him, giving him an awkward wave as you made for your dorm room. 

Todoroki raised his hand slightly, watching as you rushed down the hallway.

----

You had been working on your homework for a few hours in an attempt to keep your mind off the multi toned boy down the hall. You groaned, letting your head fall on the table. The second hand embarrassment burning the skin on your neck further. Functioning had not been at the forefront of your mind when your eyes met his in the hallway. That was painfully obvious as you replayed your awkward retreat over in your head. 

“You could have just talked to him, it's not that hard to talk to people F/N. He was being nice and you ran away.”

You continued to grumble to yourself, angry that once again your lack of social skills had robbed you of an opportunity to talk to your crush. 

This hadn’t been the first time you had made a fool of yourself in front of Todoroki, nore the second or third. The boy seemed to be a magnet for your most awkward encounters. 

----

You could remember the first time he talked to you. You were standing in the tunnel waiting for the first of the sports festival games to begin, the echo of the audience ringing through your ears. You peaked your head out from the entrance, scanning over the sea of people in the stands. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the thumping in your ears deafening as you cowered back into the tunnel.

A warm hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your eclipsing panic attack, the sound finally coming back to your ears as you looked up. 

“I heard that if you picture everyone in underwear, it makes it less scary. I don’t understand why, but maybe it will help?” 

Your eyes met a familiar mismatched set, the hardness you were used to was replaced with concern as he looked over you. 

You had grown attached to them in the time you had spent in class together, the small glimpses you caught stirring the butterflies in your stomach everytime they looked your way. 

The fluttering in your stomach started to stir per usual, the lump in your throat expanding as you searched the crevices of your brain for something to say. 

“Hi.”

He gave you a confused look, “Hi.” Shifting on his feet, he stood in silence. As if waiting for you to say something else. After a moment he gave you a small nod, disappearing into the crowd of waiting students.

----

A soft knock on your door startled you, your knee bumping into the underside of your desk. 

Standing up , you rubbed the stinging skin as you walked over to the door. Turning the knob, you pulled it open. 

“Hi Todoroki-kun.”, you stared at the boy in front of you. Unsure what warranted a visit so late at night, or really at all. 

“Hi L/N-chan.” His look was blank as he stared back at you. He shifted on his feet slightly, pushing his hands into his pocket.

“Um, is there something you need…?”, you broke the silence finally. Your eyes met his once again before looking away, focusing on the door behind him. 

“I wanted to bring you the ice packs from the freezer…”, he trailed off, looking down the hallway. “But they were gone again. So I figured, I could offer you a hand instead.” He extended his right hand a bit, offering it to you. 

You looked between him and his hand a few times, trying to connect just what exactly he ment. “Um, it’s ok Todoroki-kun. It’s late and you're probably really sleepy! Plus it doesn’t hurt that much anymore, so you don’t need to worry about it! I have my water bottle and I can…” 

He reached up, pressing his cold palm to your forehead. Your mind calmed as the soothing feeling sunk into your skin. You closed your eyes, leaning into his hand. Letting out a soft sigh, your hands reached up, circling around his wrist as you pulled him closer.

“I used to do this whenever my siblings were sick. They said it made their fevers feel better, is it helping you too?” He craned his neck, peeking under his arm to see your face. 

You gave him a small nod, sinking into his touch. The first bit of relief washing over your body.

He looked behind you at the desk, opened books and worksheets scattered across it. “I can help you with your homework as well if you like?” 

You opened your eyes, blushing as you met his own. You couldn’t help it. The way he tilted his head, the childlike curiosity that tinted his eyes as he watched you cling to his hand. 

“I don’t want to be a burden…”

“You're not.” He stated bluntly, gently pulling his hand away. 

You took a step back, opening the door wider for him to come in. 

He took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “You didn’t show your room when we did the room contest.” He was scanning over your bedroom, taking in all the things that made it yours. 

“Oh, um. I was kinda late getting moved in so mine wasn’t unpacked yet.” You played with your finger, watching as he walked over to your bookshelves. “It’s mostly manga, I don’t know if…”

“I like manga too.”, Todoroki looked back at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Your room is nice, I think you would have won.” 

“Ah, probably not. Everyone has such fun rooms, mine is pretty bland in comparison.” You waved your hands at the thought, giggling awkwardly. Your eyes went wide as Todoroki unzipped his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. He draped it over the back of the desk chair before pulling it out to sit down. 

“My jacket is insulated, you wouldn’t really feel my quirk through it.” He stated plainly, unaware of why you were staring at him. 

You gave him a simple “Oh” , before sitting down at the seat across from him. At least he was wearing a tanktop, but that wasn’t helping much either. You turned your attention to the math book in front of you, forcing your gaze off of him. 

He gave you a weird look, watching as you got out your worksheets. Pushing out his seat he walked around the table. Grabbing the chair next to you he pulled it closer before sitting down again. “I can’t reach you from over there.”

Your body tensed up as his shoulder rubber yours, the coolness of his exposed skin slowly permeating your shirt. 

He reached his arm around you, pulling you into his right side. His hand gingerly snaking up the sleeve of your shirt, as he caressed your heated arm. 

“How much have you done so far?” He used his left hand to flip through your papers, looking over the work you had completed. 

“Only a few problems.” You mumbled, looking down at your hands under the table. 

“Hm?” He leaned in closer, his eyebrow raised as he tried to understand whatever you had just muttered out. 

“J-just a few.” You spoke a little louder, earning a nod from him as he turned to the next page of your book. 

He slid the paper over to you, motioning for you to start so he could watch your work. 

You sat there for a moment, looking at your book. “Um Todoroki-kun, i’m right handed.”

His eyes shot open, letting go of your arm. “I’m sorry, go ahead.” Crimson creeped up his cheeks as he rested his hand back in his lap, unsure where to put it at that point.

----

He watched you work over a few problems, correcting you as mistakes popped up. He had a way of explaining this that just made everything make sense, if he had been teaching the class maybe you would have had a better grade by now. 

After a while you were out of homework to work on, the silence settling between you both as you packed up your books for class the next day.

“Thank you for helping me Todoroki-kun, I don’t think I could have finished it without you.” You turned towards him, offering him a small smile. 

“I enjoyed helping you, thank you for letting me.” He returned the smile, chuckling lightly. 

Your lips parted slightly, blinking slightly at the sight before you. You were in awe, not only had you seen him smile twice in one night, but that was the first time hearing him laugh as well. Heat blossomed up your cheeks as you gawked at the now very confused boy in front of you . 

Todoroki reached out, palming your face as if it was a ball. “I think your sunburn is getting worse. You look even redder.” 

“That isn’t the sunburn…” Your words were muddled by the hand over your face, the concerned look in his eyes visible through his spread finger.

He pulled back, clearly flustered by the mistake. “ O-Oh, i’m sorry.” He stuttered out, avoiding the amused look on your face. 

You reached for his right hand, bringing it back up to your cheek. “It’s ok, I didn’t mind.” 

He chewed on the inside of his lip, lost in thought as he searched your eyes. He had never been good with social cues, he could blame that on his father. But right now, it felt a lot like what he thought reciprocated feelings would be like. He ran his thumb over the skin of your cheek, wishing his other hand was just as cold. If it had been then he could have cradled your face, touched you just a bit more. 

You looked down at his left hand, his fist clenched around the fabric of his sweatpants. You reached down, pulling it away from it's grip and up to the other side of your face.

He was hesitant to touch you with it, the heat from it was sure to cause you irritation. That's what it had always done for him, an uncomfortable reminder of why his mother was no longer home. What had hurt those closest to him. What he didn’t want to be. 

He ghosted the tips over your cheek, testing the waters. He watched for a reaction, searching your face for uncertainty. When he saw none he closed the gap, letting the reservations pass as the anxiety melted out of him. 

You were naturally warm, just like him. He had felt it on multiple occasions. The arm brushes in the hallway, the finger grazes when he handed you something, the radiating heat he could feel just from being near you. He liked it, you were like the sun to him. That little bit of warmth kept him going most days, but he was getting addicted. But what would more feel like? Would you want more, would you want him?

You could see from the look in his eyes that he was debating something. Weighing the options in front of him. You reached out cupping his cheeks with your own hands. You ran your thumb over the bottom of his scar, his skin soft as it gave way to the soft pressure of your fingers.

He relaxed into your touch, whatever had been plaguing his thoughts was no more.

“Todoroki?” 

He hummed in reply, eyes still closed. 

“Can I kiss you?”

He opened his eyes, giving you a skeptical look. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again. Shaking his head he let out a soft chuckle. 

He leaned in, brushing his lips over your own. “I should have asked you that.” His lips met your own, molding to the shape of the smile that tugged at the corners.

His were warm, the perfect temperature between hot and cold. He lingered for a moment, extending the duration of the contact. No one wanted to pull away, but the need to breathe was bubbling up. 

You stared at him breathless, speechless as you processed the lasting heat on your lips. 

“Todoroki I…” 

He cut you off, “I can stay a bit longer if you want. You're still pretty warm.” He gave you a shy smile, taking your hand in his own. 

You smiled brightly, squeezing his hand in yours. “I would like that.”

[sheep-and-lykos]

Sinful: Scion!Hanzo x (Implied)Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Here it is! So sorry it took so long :c

Working at GameStop during holidays and now all this buisness is not fun lolol

But here is something for the trouble!

Includes: Spanking with objects, mentions of buttplugs and collars, Switch!Hanzo and Switch!Reader, dragons, hair pulling, cumming inside.

Song Choice: Freak - Doja Cat

The Shimada clan was one to be feared; Not only in the beautiful imperial islands of Japan but all over. They were powerful business partners other mafias and organizations would kill to have them as partners, able to supply weapons and trained deadly armored guards at a moment's notice. However, strike their match's bud the wrong way and whoever the poor sap started the fire will get burned and it will be devastating.

You should know, you've seen what happens to ex-business partners that try to get their revenge on the Shimada's. Your husband was vicious as he was quick to dish out punishment. Hanzo was a stern, powerful leader, yes-

But he was so incredibly wrapped around your fingers, ready to bend to your will at your call.

Which lead you to where you were at this very moment.

There was a room that was special to you two only, a room you both keep secret as well as the many treasures that lay inside its cavity. Nobody is allowed near the room. Choice guards, maids, even the elders he denied.

The usual light lacquered wooden floors lining the flooring of the whole castle was covered in a deep red carpet soft to the touch, but still tough enough to bite at your skin should you rub into it for too long. The familiar shoji walls were covered with black paint and silken curtains and sound-proofing foam in case things were to ever get too loud for your likings. The doors even had three different key locks you both made sure to change often out of privacy. Dark cherrywood dressers were full of not only lingerie and sleek black leather harnesses, but a variety of toys in various degrees.

Vibrators, plugs, gags, handcuffs, whips and riding crops, studded belts, blindfolds, ropes of various textures and twists were some of the many you had in every dresser.

You stood before Hanzo who had been kneeling on the carpeted floor for some time now. His bronzed skin had slowly been turning a grueling pinkish tone from the grading carpet sprigs, surely they were going to be sore when your night of debauchery ceases, maybe even a little scratched up. You made sure to remind yourself to pamper him afterwards once you both had returned to your chambers after this was done.

His thin ankles had been pulled together by a single, long blue silken strap, a tight knot decorated with a bow on top had tickled the exposed joint of his ankles, his toes twitching and curling somewhat with every light breezy stroke on the sensitive skin. He barely could shift his feet if he wished to.

His hands had been bound behind his back by two matching ribbons. One kept him together by his forearms starting from below the bend of his elbows down the length of his muscular forearms, tying at his wrists with a sloppy bow. The other ribbon started where the other ended, wrapping around both palms to keep them closed, binding fingers closed as well. The ribbons creaked eerily every time his muscles twitched. You knew that your husband was strong enough to break them with only a simple flex and pound into you mercilessly. You could barely suck back in the drool from spilling over your swollen lower lip, just the sight of your muscular husband tied up like a puppet had been doing wonders on your pulsing hot sex. Muscles held back by silken ribbons, dipping and digging into every bulge of hard muscle.

You slowly stepped behind Hanzo, pacing around him carefully on the tip of your toes as to lessen the amount of noise you made. You circled him like he was your prey (even though you knew you were in fact the prey here, Hanzo was merely allowing you to mess with him). You had stripped him of the pristine white button-up, still clean and crisp as if he had just gotten it, his sleek black dress slacks as well. He kneeled before you in only his underwear. They were cheap, something Hanzo wore only when you both agreed upon a night for yourselves. They were uncomfortable to Hanzo's royal jewels, but it was much more satisfying to rip them off of his body to reveal his cock and balls. Besides; the underwear was made of a cheap and thin material, you could see the bulge of his cock pressing up against the cheap boxer-briefs.

You hummed, strutting behind him to the cherrywood dressers, specifically the middle one. It had a large hutch on top with doors where you kept the riding crops. You saw Hanzo's shoulders stiffen upon hearing the familiar squeaking of the doors opening, his toes curling into the carpet sprigs. The corners of your lips twitched upwards into a coy little smile.

You slowly glanced over the many types of crops and other tools deemed well enough for spanking. Amongst riding crops hanging up were a single piece of bamboo that was thick enough to not break apart upon spanking and a cricket paddle with the word 'Naughty' written sloppily on it. Multiples whips of varying origins laid curled up on the bottom, one from Australia from before radiation consumed most of the Outback, one from Texas made from only the toughest of bull hides, one was personally made for your private meetings with your husband that laid in a fine loop of black shiny leather with small spikes down the thin leather. It was perfect for when you wanted to see him squirm during important meetings, little welts down the curves of his sculpted ass cheeks, hot throbbing pain fading to dull pulses the more he sat on that wonderful ass of his.

You decided upon a riding crop from England's finest for only the most finest of racing stallions. A thick black leather handle, squishy to the grip, perfect to hold and to never lose grip upon bringing it down onto flanks (of various species). The tube pristine and a shiny matte black finish on cool hollowed steel. The head of the crop was polished leather, blackened and shiny, ready to once again crack against Hanzo's flanks.

You spotted how his shoulders had shifted upon hearing your selection, trained ears picking up the soft clinging of steel against the hooks that held it up in the cabinet. A smirk curled up on your lips, seeing Hanzo's shoulders strain and tense, ribbons creaking as he twisted his wrists slightly.

You chuckled under your breath, slowly walking up behind your husband, the riding crop swinging lazily with every movement of your arm. You stopped yourself behind him, opting to lift up your foot and press it between his shoulder blades, putting just enough pressure to force Hanzo to bend at the waist and press his forehead against the scraggly carpet.

"Now," you tutted, walking to his side, "how long did it take for you to come up here? How many minutes were you late by?" you hissed softly in his ear.

"Seven minutes, my diamond."

"And what pitiful excuse do you have for me?"

Hanzo swallowed thickly, finding his throat suddenly dry and tight.

"A meeting had run late, my diamond. There is no excuse."

"And do you know what your punishment is? Making me wait so long, I nearly relieved my pent-up tension without you."

"Please forgive me, my love. I will take whatever punishment you put upon me."

"I expected nothing less." You walked behind Hanzo, seeing his body tense up a bit, no longer feeling your presence beside him. You raised the head of the riding crop up to the cheap underwear. You bent down a bit, hooking a finger in the waistband of the cheap bargain brand boxers. You gave the waistband a quick flick, letting them snap back against his waist before rehooking a finger around and pulling them down the curve of his sculpted ass. You gingerly caressed them for a mere second before gripping the riding crop harder and stepping back. "Seven strikes for seven minutes. Then maybe, maybe, I will let you finger me until I come."

"Whatever to please you, my dearest," he called from the floor.

You raised the crop, tightening your arms back you released the coil in your shoulders and allowing the crop to crack down on Hanzo's ass. Hanzo moaned in pain softly, knees buckling and spreading farther apart. The ribbons hissed, Hanzo's fingers flexed and curled in tightly to form two fists. A shiver ran down Hanzo's back violently.

You strutted out from behind Hanzo, cocking a brow at how silent Hanzo had fallen. Thick raven black strands of hair were already clinging to his tight jawline from sweat, some had fallen over his eyes. You waited a mere minute, dangling the riding crop loosely in your ringed fingers, waiting for him to open his mouth and count.

"Hanzo," you tutted like an annoyed mother, "you're supposed to count dear. Or do I need to start over? I'd hate to restart, even if you were spanked once."

"I am sorry, my love."

You watched as his adam's apple bobbed up and down deliciously. You licked at your bottom lip slightly, eyeing him as if he were a prized cut of meat being seared deliciously. There was a slight taste of the creamy lipstick gracing the tip of your tongue, smoothed colored beeswax and shea butter briefly filled the cavity of your mouth. You swore you drooled at the sight of him.

"Good. Now, what was that?"

"One, mistress."

You strut behind him once more, Hanzo tensing once more as he saw your heeled feet leave his peripheral. You purred, raising the riding crop once more and letting it whistle as you swung it back down.

A sharp crack against Hanzo's lower right hip had Hanzo bend over just a bit, his knees part just a little bit apart and letting him sink down closer to the floor. A cry pressed at Hanzo's lips, a hiss leaving.

"T-Two," he stuttered.

You twisted the crop in your fingers, admiring how the leather shined nicely in the dim lighting. Two bright red welts were starting to form on Hanzo's hide.

You coiled your arm back and lunged out once more, this time earning you a cry from him, loud and open, right from his chest. His head shot back, jaw slacking. You had struck him right above his asscrack, watching at the toned muscles of his ass rippled slightly from the smack.

"Three," he gasped.

Your free hand reached out and snagged at Hanzo's loosened locks, free from chemicals and gels and sprays meant to keep up his appearance before the clan. Fingers anchored around locks of raven black, you tugged Hanzo's head back farther so he would look up to you. You could see his cock straining, still inside the confines of the cheap underwear.

Hanzo's eyes were squinted through pain, white teeth bared slightly.

"Whose cock is that for?"

"You, my love. Only you," he exhaled.

His back was bent at a slight arch already.

You spanked him once more with the crop, Hanzo's mouth opening to moan, eyes screwing shut. A light pink blush has spread over his cheeks and nose. His back arched more, a feat only achieved from his years of discipline and training.

"F-Four," he gasped.

"It seems you're enjoying your punishment." You cracked his asscheeks again. "I don't think this is working, I may need to step it up, Hanzo."

"Five," he moaned. He blinked, tears had gathered at the corners of his eyes but had not fallen. "My love, I assure you, I am learning from this."

You squinted at Hanzo, debating if you should plug his asshole with a vibrating buttplug and leave him bent over, hunched down with his forehead to the floor and ass in the air for all to see.

Another crack, this time a single tear was jerked free from his left eye from the pain, a serpent's hiss pulling from Hanzo's gritted mouth.

"Six."

"You're my little bottom bitch, aren't you, Hanzo?"

He nodded wordlessly, panting as if he ran a marathon. Hell, he was sweating as if he had been.

It was at least somewhat true. Hanzo loved it when you dominated him, especially after a stressful day of leading the Shimada Clan and being the most feared yakuza boss in all of Japan.

But that didn't mean he was a full-on bottom.

You were suddenly reminded of Hanzo's brutal strength when the ribbons hissed and creaking, suddenly looking very worn and on the edge of ripped down the middle.

What you would give to be fucked right now, for Hanzo to rip out of the ribbons and fuck you until you forgot your own name.

Your grip on Hanzo's hair tightened before you pushed him forward, delivering the final crack on his asscheeks.

The ribbons wrapped around Hanzo's wrists had snapped apart with a very audible rip straight from a movie. Hanzo's hands gripped onto the carpeted floor, nails biting into the soft sprigs of colored wool, scratching raised grooves into the carpet as Hanzo's back and shoulders rolled back, head ducked below his shoulders. Sweat glistened like sparkles on his bronzed skin, intricate tattoos shiny in the low lighting.

Hanzo rolled his shoulders back, lifting his head, raven locks clinging to his sweaty neck and shoulders.

You watched as Hanzo had shot up from the floor, launching himself at you. You could only let out a short yelp before he had you pinned to one of the walls by the throat, the riding crop falling to the carpeted floor. Your fingers gently scratched at Hanzo's tattooed wrist, a soft squeak let open lips as Hanzo looked at you dangerously. He was panting like a wild animal, and the dampness in your panties did not help your fantasies of getting fucked by as if you both were wild creatures did not help.

You were yanked until he had pushed you violently back, your back now up against the lip of a lower dresser full of toys. You only got to see maybe a moment of Hanzo advancing towards you before you were flipped so your stomach was pushing against the rounded lip of the dresser and your face pressed against the flat top.

"Hanzo," you whimpered, gripping at the back of the dresser.

"You are not the only one receiving punishment tonight," Hanzo growled in your ear. "I saw you relieving yourself earlier this morning when you thought I had already left for my meeting."

Your eyes widened a bit, cheeks flushing at the thought of you getting caught by Hanzo masturbating while still in bed.

Hanzo quickly yanked down your soaking panties, groaning with delight at the sight of your bare pussy before all but ripping off the cheap boxers off his person.

You felt the thick head poke at your ass before he slid it along, pushing into your dripping folds as he completely covered you with his bulky form. Hands on either side of your shoulders, trapping you from moving. You winced as he ground against your bare ass, a growl leaving his lips as he shoveled his nose into your hair.

You winced as a sudden electric blue light filled the dim room, the bright neon hurting your eyes for a mere second before it had faded.

You knew what had happened as you quickly felt little clawed feet gently latch onto the sweaty skin of your legs and hips. His duel dragons had decided it was time to make an appearance at this very moment, feeling their master's fierce arousal as well as the tense feelings from your spankings. It was a nice reprieve to have cool watery scaley skin hovering just barely over yours, but the pinpoint prickling in your hips from their claws only made you whine impatiently.

Your mouth suddenly opened, neck flexed yet no sound came from you as you felt Hanzo sink himself fully in, stretching you. You threw your head back, eyes screwed shut once more as Hanzo growled into the crook of your neck as he began to piston his hips.

Snapping his groin back and forth quickly, pounding into your throbbing sex, you both fell apart in moaning messes. Hanzo had placed more of his muscular weight on top of your back and shoulders, forcing you closer to the dresser until you were pressed flat. Hanzo's hands snatched at your waist, nails biting into your delicate skin. Cresent moons would be carved into your naked flesh, they'll be red and sore come morning.

You cried out as Hanzo plowed into you without mercy, pent up agitation on top of being spanked and teased relentlessly finally snapped something inside of him; It seemed to have brought out an almost feral side of him.

You licked your lips in anticipation, stopping yourself from drooling against the flat surface. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your mouth hung open slightly from the pure pleasure you were feeling right now. You loved how fast the coils in your cunt and gut tightened until it was white-hot and you came on his thick cock, seemingly spurring him on to make you come at least twice before he finishes, but something about him right now had you thinking he wouldn't let up after he came once.

Hanzo clamped his teeth down on your shoulder as you moaned out, feeling the coils of your orgasm tighten.

Pain and pleasure never felt so good together.

"You're such a filthy little slut," he growled in your ear. His sharp teeth nipping at your earlobe. "Look at you, greedily taking everything I give you. Nothing but a doll in my hands, to do with as I please."

"Hanzo!" you cried, feeling the tightness in your gut start to burn.

You were close. And the twitching of his dick inside of you showed he was too.

Hanzo snatched at your hair, gripping it tightly, arching your neck back but you managed to look at Hanzo out of the corner of your eye.

"What are you?" he snarled.

"I'm yours!" you sobbed.

"Who do you belong to?" he demanded.

"You! Only you!"

You came violently, Hanzo had let go of your hair to allow you to snatch at the dresser and shudder as your orgasm ripped through you, your slick coating down Hanzo's cock.

You felt the two dragons nose at your sex, licking up your orgasm with their little forked tongues, their cool little bodies felt so nice on your heated flesh. They nipped at your inner legs, little fangs and claws on your sensitive spots nearly had your knees give out.

Your eyes fluttered as you came down from your high slowly, going slack between Hanzo behind you and the dresser beneath you until his pace grew sloppier by the thrust until he came.

He threw his head back slightly as he came, mouth open as he released a groan of pure pleasure. Hot ropes of precious Shimada cum coated your insides, painting them white as Hanzo rode out his climax inside of you, a few more lazy thrusts as he shuddered. Cum leaked out from your sex and dripped onto the floor, needing to be cleaned soon or else you faced a soiled carpet, but something told you that you would have a light stain forever on the dark carpet.

Hanzo didn't even bat an eye as he grabbed onto your waist and twisted you, tossing you to the floor. You landed on your back with a gasp, looking up at Hanzo. You suddenly felt like prey, but the sinful blush on your cheeks only buried yourself deeper in the sin bin as you stared up at him breathless and panting, still leaking cum down your thighs.

Hanzo glared at you, playful hints in his dark amber eyes.

"Look at the mess you have made of the carpet," he teased. "Must I teach you the lesson this time?"

You had failed to notice Hanzo had grabbed something from the cabinet, and now a thick leather collar was held tightly in Hanzo's grip as he loomed over you.

You had a feeling the carpet would need to be changed out after tonight.

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 1/6 - Also on AO3

(Part 2, 3, 4)

Rated E - for smutty reasons. __________

There was an itch prickling over Dandelion’s skin, a constant ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind felt hazy at all hours of the day. He watched the sun creep behind the horizon, quill in hand, the long feather brushing against his cheek, willing for some kind of inspiration, anything to distract him from the never ending lust. He couldn’t help it, he was a young man in his prime and he’d spent the last few months in the wilderness with a rather gorgeous witcher.

 They’d barely had enough coin between them to stock up on supplies let alone stay at inns or whorehouses, and Dandelion was really starting to feel it. He hadn’t even had the privacy to have a good wank in days. As much as he adored his new witcher companion, he was ready to drive one of those beautifully made witcher swords through Geralt’s chest. There was only so much they could take of each other’s company and living in each other’s pockets for months on end was taking its toll on the poet.

 “Geralt,” he snapped as the witcher prodded the growing fire with a stick, sparks flying into the sky.

 The flames bathed Geralt in a soft warm orange glow, casting almost magical shadows over his features. The witcher looked ethereal in the forest, a real creature of the wilds. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Dandelion couldn’t help but stare at the muscles of Geralt’s forearms, muscles he’d seen kill both man and monster like they were nothing but flowers underfoot.

 “What is it, Dandelion?” Geralt grumbled, not looking up from the flames.

 Dandelion scoffed, pulling his hat from his head and placing it carefully on the ground beside him, smoothing out the feather, relishing in the sensation of the soft bristles between his fingers. It tickled slightly against his sensitive skin, and his traitorous mind imagined what it would feel like for a lover, that definitely didn’t resemble Geralt, to stroke the feather across his naked skin. His cock started to harden in his trousers and he pulled his hat into his lap. “Can you go get some firewood or something, anything, please?” Dandelion hissed, feeling utterly pathetic but if he didn’t get his hand on his cock soon then he was going to go absolutely mad.

 Geralt frowned, finally looking up at Dandelion which was the sweetest torture. The witcher’s golden eyes glowed in the dim light of the fire. It was so bloody gorgeous and Dandelion wanted him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was just his frustration or an actual deeper rooted desire. “We have firewood.”

 “Yes, well,” Dandelion huffed with a flick of his wrist “wouldn’t hurt to get more, my dear witcher.” He swallowed, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t going to ruin the adventure of his life by flirting with Geralt and pushing him away.

 Geralt snorted, but, praise Melitele, stood up and left the camp. Dandelion watched him go with a tilt of his head, Geralt’s arse a finer view than any sunset, and as soon as Geralt was far enough away, Dandelion tore at the laces on his trousers. He barely had time to spit on his hand, too desperate for his relief, sighing as he finally gripped his cock in his hand.

 It didn’t take long to bring himself to completion, muffling his cries behind his hand, teeth sinking into the flesh of his palm. He cursed as he looked down at the mess of his hand and trouser, whining when he saw the state of his poor hat.

 “Oh bloody hell,” he grumbled, wiping his hand on the damp grass. Hopefully there was a river nearby and he could clean up properly in the morning.

 Geralt, contrary to Dandelion’s belief, had not been nearly far enough away from camp when the poet had lost all control. Witcher hearing was keener than Dandelion realised, and he’d barely left camp before he heard the soft sighs of the poet.

 Dandelion’s sweet scent of arousal had surrounded him for days, and it was testing his control. They hadn’t managed to visit a brothel since before meeting Gulet, before Posada and Filivandral and the Edge of the World. The last thing he’d needed was to be followed around by a horny poet who could barely contain his desires. Geralt’s back hit a tree when he heard Dandelion’s muffled moans ring through the forest. The poet was obviously touching himself, and he’d wanted privacy.

 Yet Geralt was listening in like a pervert.

 He groaned, his own cock starting to ache, begging to be released from the confines of his trousers, but he refused to touch it. He wouldn’t disrespect his friend like that.

 “Fuck,” the poet whined. “G- Geralt…”

 Geralt’s eyes went wide and his nostrils flared, taking in the heady scent of Dandelion’s arousal. His mind was filled with images of Dandelion’s pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock. He could finally pull Dandelion’s head back by his soft blond hair, kissing the long swan-like neck, biting into his pale skin, marking him as Geralt’s.

 “Shit,” he growled, stuffing his hand into his pants. It was rough, and desperate, driven by the cloud of lust that had taken over his mind. The cocky little shit that had run up to him in the tavern, in need of protection, thinking a witcher was his best bet, had completely changed the course of Geralt’s life.

 Before he’d enjoyed the quiet of the forest, being at one with the creatures around him, the only conversations he’d had on a daily basis were with his horse, and he’d been happy.

 Or so he’d thought.

 Dandelion, the beautiful golden poet, had brought music and warmth to his life. Dandelion, a friend he’d never really known he’d needed until he’d met him. Dandelion, the bastard who was fucking masturbating back at camp whilst Geralt hid beyond the trees.

 It was pathetic.

 Geralt grunted as he spilled over his hand, not enjoying the pleasure of his orgasm, the sensation soured by the knowledge he was doing this in secret, eavesdropping like a coward. Grimacing, Geralt tucked himself back into his trousers. He didn’t deserve Dandelion. He didn’t deserve his light. The poet would be better off without him.

 He stalked off into the woods to gather the firewood they didn’t need. At least it would give him time to think, time to process. This needed to stop before they both got hurt, because Geralt would inevitably hurt Dandelion. It was all witchers were good for. His life wasn’t made for one as beautiful and soft as Dandelion.

 Geralt was scowling up a storm by the time he came back to camp. It had taken him longer than Dandelion had expected to get the firewood, and the poet was starting to wonder whether his friend had heard him and decided to abandon him in the middle of the forest. It was only Roach’s presence that calmed his fears. The witcher would never leave his precious mare behind. Dandelion had seen Geralt go through hell for that horse, even if she was a stubborn arse that Geralt complained about on a daily basis, and yet he never exchanged her for a more amenable horse.

 Geralt was caring and sentimental in that way, not that he would ever admit it, and he’d probably have Dandelion’s neck if the bard ever said the thought aloud.

 A blush warmed his cheeks as Dandelion grinned widely at his friend, deciding to ignore the memories of his recent activities. “Geralt!” he greeted warmly “there you are, my friend.”

 The witcher growled at that, and Dandelion pouted, pulling at his hair. “It’s late, Dandelion. Go to bed.”

 Dandelion scoffed haughtily and put his hands on his hips. Geralt was ruining his good mood. He’d just about driven away that maddening itch of arousal and now Geralt was being all grouchy. It was unbearable. Perhaps Geralt should have taken advantage of Dandelion’s plea for privacy, clearly the witcher was as pent up as he had been.

 “I’m not tired,” Dandelion stated.

 “I am.”

 Dandelion tutted and glared at the witcher as he started to move the bedroll around the camp, making sure they were as far apart as possible. They’d never slept that far apart since the day they’d met. The nights were cold and Dandelion was a cold-blooded bastard, once the fire had cooled to embers he would start to shiver far too soon. Geralt, in contrast, seemed to radiate heat and Dandelion had found himself tangled up with the witcher on more than one occasion.

 He sniffed haughtily and mirrored Geralt’s movements, dragging his own bedroll as far away from the campfire as possible. He might freeze to death but it would be Geralt’s fault.

 “What are you doing?” Geralt asked.

 “Well, clearly you don’t want to be near me, which is quite frankly unfair, rude and completely unwarranted, but I will gracefully respect your wishes and move away.”

 Geralt grunted. “You’ll freeze. Don’t be stupid, Dandelion.”

 “Stupid?!” he shrieked. “Oh, that is rich coming from you. I’m not the one making a fuss about nothing, and you won’t even tell me what’s wrong. No, no, don’t look at me like that. I am quite aware. You heard me, but I won’t apologise. I have needs, Geralt.”

 “That’s not it.”

 Dandelion laughed and put his hand on his hips. “Care to elaborate, my dear?”

 “No.”

 “No of course not. So I’ll be sleeping over here whilst you sulk all the way over there, and you won’t change my mind!”

 It didn’t take Dandelion long to regret his decision. Only an hour after the sun had completely faded away behind the horizon, his teeth started chattering. He shivered in his bedroll, and fidgeted restlessly on the ground, trying to stay warm.

 Geralt let out a heavy sigh from across the camp. “Come here, Dandelion.”

 Dandelion pouted, wanting to stay true to his word but Geralt was offering him warmth and a body pressed against his. How could he say no? He whined and pulled his bedroll back until it was next to Geralt’s, scuffing his feet in protest. He wanted Geralt to know that he was still cross with him despite their new sleeping arrangement.

 “I’m sorry,” Geralt said softly “I didn’t mean to listen.”

 Dandelion’s mouth dropped, and he turned away from Geralt. The yellow eyes glowing softly in the moonlight could no doubt still see him and he felt exposed, especially as he himself was nearly blind in the darkness. “I thought you were far enough away.”

 “Witcher have heightened senses. I would have had to travel a long time before you were out of earshot, and… and I can smell it.” Geralt admitted quietly as Dandelion settled back down, pressing his chest against the witcher’s back. He buried his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades, forcing down the embarrassment.

 Of course Geralt could smell it.

 Foolish, idiotic, bard. He knew that witchers had tracking abilities beyond that of a normal man.

 “You, you can smell it?” He asked softly.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well shit.”

 An awkward silence fell between and Dandelion had to fight back the urge to start humming under his breath. They were trying to sleep now, despite the awkward confessions. Geralt hummed but didn’t respond so Dandelion decided to pretend he’d fallen asleep.

 Next time he’d wait until they could find an inn. He didn’t want to lose Geralt over something so stupid.

_____

Next

[lizzieraindrops]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny) Characters: Saint-14 (Destiny), Osiris (Destiny) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Touch-Starved, Grief/Mourning, First Kiss, Self-Destructive Tendencies, Caretaking, Trauma, Comfort, Trauma Recovery, Loss, slow-developing relationship, not in the fic but like in universe, Sometimes New Trauma Reignites Old Trauma!! Summary:

Sometimes you need to be with the only person you'd feel safe to break down around, even if you never have. In the immediate wake of Sagira's death, Osiris comes to find Saint in the City. POV Saint-14.

wrote this because i made a fic-writing pact with @hencegoodfortune

i have never destined a knee in my life but i am care about sad bird boys

read here or on AO3

Saint had never thought the sight of Osiris would strike dread into his heart. But there was something completely wrong with the sharp-soft-fluid outline of his gleaming helm, his cowl’s feathery tresses and the flowing robes. His posture remained as impeccable as always as he strode through the echoing Tower hangar. Yet something troubled the lines of him. It was as if each exposed surface were on the verge of collapsing inward on a vacuum, and the only thing preventing it was the sheer force of his considerable will. Saint had never seen him like this. A cold feeling ran through his body as if injected directly into the ducts of his circulatory ichor.

“Osiris,” he whispered, even though they were not yet within earshot. Saint trotted out on restless feet from the shadow of the Gray Pigeon to meet him. They drew together at the end of the long sun-emblazoned rug that sprawled before his ship. Saint could not help but begin to reach for Osiris, but he stopped when he saw the man’s unresponsive stiffness.

“Hello, Saint,” he said shortly. He crossed his arms. Only a stripe of his upper face showed between his helm and his mask. The lines around his eyes had gone flat and the ones between his brows had deepened.

“What is wrong?”

“Take your pick. This time? The Hive.”

“No. What is wrong?”

Osiris just gave him a pained look. “We should speak inside.”

Saint nodded acquiescence. He turned his feet back onto the path of the rug, slightly crooked: a rumpled casualty of Guardians playing soccer in the hangar. After only a moment’s hesitation, he offered his arm to Osiris, looking at him in askance.

Osiris blinked, surprised. Then it was Saint’s turn to be surprised when Osiris tucked one hand into the bend of his elbow and placed the other hand atop it, gently squeezing and encircling his armored forearm. They fell in step together and walked all the way back to the ship that way. If Saint hadn’t been so worried, the rare tenderness would have left him radiating contentment.

Saint took them to the Gray Pigeon’s close yet comfortable living quarters. It was just a simple serviceable room with a few little tables and a bunk, and probably more cushioned seats than the space warranted. Saint took a seat in one of them and removed his helmet so he could take a proper look at Osiris, who was doing the same. His skin looked weathered, as always, but darker than usual below the eyes. They both sat their helms down on the table between them, trying not to knock over the abandoned teacups there.

Osiris’ lip quirked at the sight of their tea-stained insides. “Ikora has been here, I see.”

“Indeed,” Saint chuckled. “A woman of fine taste. She believes the tea grown in the City these days tastes different than it did a few centuries ago. Less… what was it? Astringent? Smoother now, she said, more mellow. She wanted the opinion of someone who has not been drinking it throughout the entire transition as she has.”

“Of course she did.”

“Yes.” Saint eyed the way Osiris’ hands molded themselves to the armrest of the chair and went still. Likewise, his feet remained flat on the floor. His usual energetic presence, like an overflowing cup, was now subdued, stilled as if frozen. Saint waited for him to melt and kept talking.

“You would think I am the perfect test subject. I had not tasted tea for many, many years since I left the City. And I certainly had tea with Ikora many times before that, when your studies distracted you from visitors. She and I had many fine conversations. After my return, I ought to be perfectly poised in time to tell the difference.

“Ah, but I think my answers disappoint her. I do not know, because for me, everything has become new again. Not only the tea and the cookies - there are the new faces of all the new Lights and of the Traveler itself, and the City has grown, of course. But even that which remains the same still feels different now, yes? New eyes,” he said, watching Osiris’ softly closed ones.

“It is sometimes hard to tell the changes in others from the changes in myself. So yes, Ikora’s tea remains a mystery. I shall be surprised if she does not recruit you for her research, as well. If you stay in the City for more than a few hours, that is.”

“Hmm.” Osiris’ rigid demeanor had softened, but he had crossed his arms, head bowed. His eyes were still closed.

“I did not even know you were in the City,” Saint said, softer. “I believed you to be still roaming the Shore for answers. Geppetto has heard nothing from Sagira, not even a hail when you arrived.”

Osiris flinched.

The cold that had flooded Saint earlier crystallized into pure ice.

“Osiris. Is she -“

“Like I said. The Hive,” Osiris said shortly, unmoving.

“Oh, my dear,” Saint breathed. He stood up only to kneel before Osiris in his chair, reaching for his hand. Osiris let him take it. Even in its glowing gauntlet, his hand was so small. No wonder it was so tense yet listless, without that brilliant presence shining beside him like a second sun to his own fiery brightness.

The initial rush of grief made the pistons in Saint’s chest hurt, aching from his core to his broad plated shoulders to the twisted cables of his neck. But he set it aside for now: Osiris needed him.

But Osiris had other ideas. He withdrew his hand from Saint’s caress.

“The Hive are going to pay.”

“Undoubtedly they will. That does not mean you cannot take the time to grieve.”

“I do not have time for this. Time is critical. Xivu Arath is fast approaching, and growing more powerful each day. The intelligence I have gleaned regarding her methods and movements is invaluable, and I must -“

“You do not need to do this alone, Osiris.” Saint rose to his feet.

Looking wounded, Osiris stood as well. “I am well aware that I cannot, now, Saint. But I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything necessary to avenge Sagira. To that end, I’ve enlisted the Young Wolf’s assistance.”

“Yet you are still acting as you always do. As if you must do everything yourself.”

“I cannot simply stand by! Without her, there is even more I must do, all that she would normally do for me.” Osiris broke his fierce stare and cast his eyes downward. “It is the very least I can do when I am the reason she is gone.”

If Saint could have cried, he would have then. How strange it was, to be separated by fourteen lives and untold centuries from the last tear he could possibly have shed, and yet still long for a release he could not even remember.

“Osiris,” he said, voice low. He slipped off the shining metal of one of his gauntlets, so that he could lift Osiris’ face with the most delicate touch of two brushed-alloy fingers on his dear, scruffy chin. “It is not your fault.”

Osiris’ eyes followed his fingers, traced his face. “It is,” he said hoarsely. “She even told me not to pursue the Celebrant on the Moon alone. I was rash.”

“Be that as it may, I know you would never willingly harm her. You have already told me this was the doing of the Hive.”

“Saint, please don’t…”

“Then why did you come to me?” Saint set his other gauntlet aside and cupped Osiris’ face in his bare hands. “Surely you knew I would not let you be cruel to yourself.”

Glistening golden-brown eyes rested between gleaming silver fingers. “I needed to know you were still here.”

“I am here. Because of you.”

Osiris looked away and laid his hands on Saint’s wrists, pulling himself free.

“You would not have been lost in the first place had I not betrayed you, as well. I will not make the same mistake a third time. I will learn to take responsibility for my actions, and do what it takes to contain the fallout.”

“You are not taking responsibility, you are punishing yourself.”

“Two birds, one stone,” Osiris sighed. He drew away from Saint while he was stricken into stillness by the statement’s casual cruelty. The negative space between them wrenched at the pins of Saint’s every joint like it was a magnetic field, and he made of nothing but so much iron filings.

Saint fell an unsteady step forward, but Osiris was already picking up his helm and angling himself toward the door. Saint did not need to simulate the future to know that if Osiris left in a state like this, he would likely not return.

“Osiris. Just - stop.”

Osiris stopped. The feathers of his cowl floated idly, suspended and directionless in the close air of the small room.

“Do not do this. If you will not hear your own pain, hear mine. Do not do to me what I did to you.”

Beneath the morbid weight of his resignation, Osiris went rigid. He turned to look at Saint, really look at him. Yes, he’d faced Saint before, many times, with exasperation in his brows or fondness around his eyes. Saint had been thinking about how he’s seen more and more of the latter lately.

But this gaze was something piercing and haunted. In it, Saint could hear the echoes of a keening that had never fallen on his ears, could see the marks left by an invisible memory wrapped around the man before him like grappling vines of poison ivy. He watched Saint, wordless and wounded.

“If you continue like this, you will hurt yourself, not to mention those who care for you. Sagira would not have wanted -“ Saint broke off, looking down at his fist. Its faint tremor faded as he sank deep into himself as if into the Void, calling stillness into his shaking.

“I am afraid, Osiris. For you and for myself. I do not want to lose you. I do not think I can bear that. I have seen the way you still look at me. Like...”

“Like?”

“Like you are... like I am still lost to you. I have seen how that loss haunts you, even though you have flown in the face of everything to undo it and succeeded. Even when you are finally here, your mind slips away like you cannot bear to be here. Are you still searching?”

“Of course not.” Osiris’ eyes did not meet his.

“Then what is it?”

Silence. “You died, Saint.”

“I am sorry.”

Osiris blinked, looked at him again. “You are apologizing for dying?” he said, skeptical.

“For causing you such hurt that it did this to you. Even in the best of all timelines that brought us both here: I hurt you.”

“Saint,” he said, reaching out for his hands and seeming unaware that he did so. Saint held them oh so gently, afraid they’d fly away.

“You cannot - Saint, you died,” he repeated. “This isn’t your fault. I’m the one who should be -“

“Oh, it is always about you, is it,” Saint chuckled.

Osiris scoffed. He made as if to pull his hands away. But when Saint made no move to stop him, he stopped himself.

“Truly, my dearest. If our places had been reversed, I have no doubt that the endless loss would come to outweigh the pain of the long but finite fall, in the end.” Saint closed his eyes. “Please, do not reverse our places. Losing each other once was enough. I have no brilliant schemes, no Sundial to bring you back, nothing but the strength of my arms and of my heart. And we have already proven that those are not enough.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is true. I died before I could find you.”

Saint’s fingers were seized in a sudden vise grip. “Don’t. Do not speak that way. You are enough. You have always been so much more than enough. To me, you are - you are.”

“You know I feel the same.” They were standing so close, it was simplicity itself to bow his forehead to touch Osiris’.

“I know.”

“Then why? Why cannot you allow yourself to rest, here with me, even now? Especially now? Let me care for you.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I don’t know how,” came the whisper, barely loud enough to carry the short distance. “You should not bother with me.”

“Oh, my dove,” Saint sighed, and pulled Osiris to his chest and wrapped his arms around him. There, in Saint’s arms, Osiris finally crumpled against him like an empty spinfoil can as the absence inside him yawned wide, swallowing any resistance left in him. “Hush. I will always bother with you. I am here.”

Since arriving in this strange, strange future, touch, like everything else for Saint, had been different. Titan to his roots, bracing claps on the back and casual embraces had always been his native language of both camaraderie and comfort. With the long familiarity between him and Osiris, it had been easy enough to believe that an arm slung around the warlock’s shoulders or their hands long clasped in victory were merely an extension of the same. Though Osiris had often complained in mock protest, he had rarely refused the contact. Neither of them had admitted that it meant more until it was too late.

Now, though, in this City brighter than either of them remembered, every moment of this second chance was overwhelming. It was one thing to spend endless years isolated, touch-starved and battle-weary only to arrive in the new Tower, where homemade pastries were handed to him by scores of soft-handed civilians and eager-eyed Kinderguardians crowding close enough to brush shoulders with a legend. Though at first it jolted him like sparking Arc, each casual touch brought him a little more back to life.

It had been something else entirely to find the person he spent centuries searching for finally standing before him, close enough to touch. The idea of contact was a little too much for both of them, at first. They’d had to start sparingly: a palm on a shoulder, none too rough; knees or elbows brushing together when they could be avoided, but weren’t. It wasn’t the same as before they were separated by so much space and time and suffering, and they both knew it. The shape of Osiris was so familiar to him, but the illumination of that mutual knowledge made the lean old frame as new to Saint as those endless lost years did, if in another wholly different way. Together, such perspectives made a simple caress pierce him like a shout of devotion. They made a hand on a hand, on a heart, a home.

Although Saint was learning how to let the immensity of such small closenesses become mundane, he was near engulfed by the reality of Osiris, now yielding the entire weight of his body to Saint’s protective embrace while he shook and shuddered and clung like a desperate and heartbroken thing. It was so much, but the only thing Saint could do was hold him, hold his shattering self close and dear.

Saint had never seen him break like this. When the pressure of the lives laid at his feet as Vanguard Commander had become too much, he had always been more given to bouts of brooding and intensive study for sleepless days on end. But through all of that, Osiris had always had Sagira, who knew when to jolt him out of his melancholy with a sharp word, to soothe his weariness with a wash of Light, or to nag him into a semblance of eating and resting. No more. Though Saint could not weep, Osiris’ tears traced a shining abstract filigree upon his silvered breastplate. He ran soothing fingers along his spine with touch-aching hands, needing to offer any comfort he possibly could. Saint held him and waited for the storm of grief to subside.

Saint ended up seated on the rug on the floor, leaning against the side of one of the chairs with Osiris draped across his lap and curled against his chest.

“I do not know…” Osiris murmured. His head was tucked under Saint’s chin, one arm upraised to blindly trace the deep-violet ridge of Saint’s plated cheek with the pads of his fingers.

“What do you not know?” Saint asked just as softly.

“How to do this. Without her. Without the Light.”

“Mmmm,” Saint mused. He adjusted his grip around Osiris’ waist, making sure he was secure. The weight of him was comforting. “You will grieve. And you will learn. You are the strongest person I know. And that has nothing to do with your Light, your prowess in battle, or even your Ghost, may her Light be a bright and blessed memory. It has everything to do with just you. Just the strength of your heart, your determination, your tenacity. You, my dear.”

Osiris scoffed half-heartedly. “She was always the better of the two of us.”

Saint chuckled deep in his voicebox, his jawlights flickering gold. “She would agree. But of all the people in all of history she could have chosen to raise, she chose you for a reason. If you cannot trust my judgement, perhaps you can trust hers.”

Osiris uncurled and sat up to look at him, face to face. “Well, you can hardly claim not to be biased in my favor.”

Saint barked a laugh. “Take the compliment, you terrible man.”

“Hm, I suppose I am terrible. But you like it.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“Hmm,” Osiris said again. He brushed a light kiss against Saint’s sharp lips, making his purple optics go bright with surprise. What a sheer paradoxical kind of beauty, that this unfamiliar and unprecedented form of touch between them should feel the most natural of all.

Osiris studied his face, tracing every detail, his eyes soft yet alert like the morning sun. “Thank you, my love,” he said.

Saint hugged him, hard. “Welcome home, my bird.”