#pulling at my hair and turning to water molecules

[blues-sues]

I'm so fucking stupid- my brother showed me an image of a cat with the caption "when you leave your grandma with your cat too long"

And. My brain. Fucking died. And I said "that is the most well cat fed."

I MEANT TO FUCKING SAY WELL FED CAT.

WELL CAT FED. WHAT THE FUCK

[8lyme]

Heat Rises

Logan Howlett x f!Reader

SUMMARY: The mansion is boiling hot

WARNINGS: excessive use of italicisation, borderline dirty thoughts, makeout scene bc that's the best i can do, maybe ooc bc I fear I imagine Logan a little funnier than he actually is.

a/n: the ac in my room broke and inspiration struck after I doomscrolled through wolverine edits on tiktok ... chat i love men

It was hot. Boiling. Stifling.

You woke up at 2 a.m. drenched in sweat, sucking in a deep breath of hot, stale air. Grogginess fading, you stumble from your bed while pulling of your shirt and pajama pants. You open the door to the bathroom and turn the cold water on in the sink.

The heat was dripping down your back despite your lack of clothing. Overheating and still half-asleep, you stuck your head into the stream of cold water, splashing over your neck and across your shoulders.

You straighten to tie your hair up before turning the water off and running your still cold hands down your arms. The patter of thudding sounded outside your door, and you move to dress in a thin tank top and shorts.

You let your eyes adjust to the light as you began walking down the hallway of the mansion. A few children slipped out of their rooms in similar sweaty conditions to follow you down the staircase and onto the main floor.

Gathered by the professor's office were Scott, Storm, and Jean. The stray young mutants who trailed you settling around them.

"Goodmorning," You call out the the group.

"Do you know who turned this place into a boiler?" Jean asks. You both swipe sweat off your foreheads in sync while you shrug, shaking your head.

"Jesus, my glasses are gonna slide off my face," Scott complains, knocking his head against the wall in exasperation. He was shirtless, (rightfully so) wearing what you guessed were swim trunks.

"Charles is working on it," Jean put a hand on his shoulder, then quickly removing it to wipe his sweat off her hand and down the wall.

You turn to Storm, who was pulling the fabric of her tank top to fan herself off.

"Do we know where Bobby is?" You ask in search of the Iceman. You turned to scan the room, addressing the three students who followed you.

"Pretty sure him and Rogue took off before lights out," a young girl from the floor calls out. Her mutation rubberized her molecules, and her legs were in misshapen puddles - akin to flat stanley - due to the heat.

"Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here," a familiar voice groans loudly from behind you. "Nice shorts." Logan said to you before reaching your side.

"Alright fashion police," you respond in mock annoyance, offering a small smile at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."

He shot you a wink before turning away. When you caught full sight of him, your face froze and (if possible) more sweat rolled down your spine.

It was sickening how attractive he managed to look in what felt like the inside of an air fryer. Having clearly just woken up, his hair was perfectly tousled into a messier version of his normal tufts. His hair hardly looked damp despite the oiled-up glow he had on his face ...

And torso.

Fuck he was shirtless.

Although you've known Logan for the better part of a year, you unfortunately failed to experience him half-dressed. You'd been in close proximity frequently - sparring and other various training taking a large percent of that. You were friendly with each other, his acknowledgement of you with a nod whenever you walked in a room affirming he didn't hate you. You normally ate breakfast together, often offering the other the last portion of cereal or setting aside an extra cup of coffee for whoever entered the kitchen second. Within the last few months, however, after a particularly unfortunate mission gone wrong in almost every way, your friendship became more affectionate in those 'off the clock' moments.

Quick but firm hugs, slinging his arm over your shoulders, nudging each other with elbows or hips at inside jokes. He'd also been placing a hand on your back or shoulder every time he was in proximity to do so when moving behind you; in the kitchen, during briefings, even while you were grading papers in the library. He would touch your shoulder to let you know he was moving past you or going to sit next to you.

All that is to say you were aware - in theory - he was well built. He was taller and broader than you, so you made an educated guess. Theory proven, but well beyond expectations.

A month ago, you and Scott had stopped at a Texas Roadhouse an hour outside of the city after having spent two weeks clearing out a mutant experimentation lab in eastern Quebec. The plump and shine of the appetizer rolls (that you and Scott had both equally asked for seconds of) had absolutely nothing on Logan.

He damn near glistened. The dim light of the mansion sconces bronzed his skin, cutting him into an even more defined picture for you to look at. His chest expanded with each breath, shoulders and pecs slightly flexing in response. His hands lazed on his hips, if even possible causing the room's shadows to shade in the dips of his biceps and forearms. The veins of his arms just barely covered by the moisture-slicked hair covering his skin. If you had a fork and knife, you would throw them behind you to happily eat a piece of him with your hands.

You had to force yourself to swallow to shock your brain into looking anywhere else. You made an 'eaugh' sound and swiped your hands across your face. You meant it defensively, but you really were dripping into your eyes.

"I feel like I'm being waterboarded," you say disgustedly while wiping your palms on the back of your shorts. Feeling a texture that wasn't fabric, you turned your head. Glancing down, you understood Logan's earlier comment.

These shorts must have been from your freshman year of high school that somehow never got tossed or donated. They were a pair of (very) short, low-cut and dull pink velour Juicy Couture shorts with the word 'Juicy' spelled out in rhinestones on the ass. You actually felt like hurling as your body got even hotter.

You slowly turned your face away from the glittery stones on your booty to unfortunately glance in Scott's direction. His hands covering his mouth to block how obviously he was holding in a laugh.

"Scott, don't even look at me right now," you groan in exasperation, crossing your arms over yourself in attempted modesty. Scott's eyes glitter, and you snap "Keep your mouth shut" at him to no avail.

"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass?" He snickers. "In rhinestones?"

He's cracking up now with his hands in fists over his mouth. Jean bites a smile away and looks down, shaking to stifle a giggle. You look across the room to the kids who are choking down laughter themselves.

"Oh my fucking God-uh!" you again groan out, covering your eyes. "I really liked Jersey Shore when I was in High School, guys, leave me alone!"

Storm bursts into a laugh that inspires the others to join in. You're cracking up too, mortification disappearing. You glance at Logan through your fingers, who surprisingly seems to be choking back a laugh himself.

"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan clears his throat. "Save her from embarrassment?"

"Not how it works," She says. "I can't pull cold air or moisture out of this heat to create any snow." She looks at you and winks. "Sorry J-Wow, the shorts are staying on."

Scott about keels over with a snort before Jean thwaps him in the shoulder.

"If we bring you enough bags of ice, could you use that to cool the building down then?" Jean asks.

"In theory," Storm says. "I can stay here with the students to wait for the professor if you all don't mind searching for some. I'll need to conserve energy if I have to create a blizzard out of thin air."

"Copy. Divide and conquer," you say glancing at Logan again. The four of you turn to wander the mansion, but you stop to turn back to Storm.

"Also," you call back to her. "I'm so obviously Snooki."

Scott barks a laugh from the other corridor as you trot after Logan. He turns to meet you with a confused look on his face.

"What the fuck is a Snooki?"

---

Logan daydreamed about upper-cutting Scott with his claws unsheathed. He fantasized about throwing him down the stairs and curb-stomping him after. He imagined speeding over him on his own motorcycle and drilling him into the asphalt.

Right now, as your face flushed with embarrassment over your bedazzled booty shorts, he wished he had enacted any of those in reality so he had never, ever, heard Scott say a word about your ass.

Logan was used to waking up in a sweat, heart racing as he yelled out in anger (or fear, he couldn't tell which) from the nightmare that slipped from him the longer his eyes were open.

This time, he awoke uncomfortably hot and sprawled out diagonally above his sheets. He pushed himself up onto his knees and rubbed his eyes. He took a beat to wake himself up and stared at the clock on his nightstand blinking at 2:00 am.

He found it impossibly hotter in the hallway, swiping his palms on his pants every few steps. He regretted not scouring his room for shorts or even a pair of briefs. He moved down the stairs and rounded, following the sound of conversation. He dragged his sweaty palms across his pants again, groaning out; "Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here".

And then he almost tripped over his own feet.

You stood facing away from him, hands clasped on top of your head, in the tiniest clothing humanly possible. You wore a thin, strappy little yellow tank top that ghosted just under your ribs. In the dimmed lighting, your skin glistened, droplets of sweat gliding down your neck, your spine - fucking hell, was your sweat turning him on? - down your lower back, and -

Logan just about stopped in his tracks.

Impossibly tiny pink shorts clung to your ass, riding low on your hips. In glittering rhinestone, the word Juicy was bedazzled over the fabric. He felt like a dumb moth to a flame, trying to look like he wasn't seconds away from using his hands for some workplace misconduct.

"Nice shorts," he managed, trying to shake his head clear.

"Alright fashion police," you smirked up at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."

He winked at you, turning away to avoid staring at the beads sliding down your collar bone. Trying even harder to not imagine where the droplets would travel next.

Too focused on thinking about anything else in the world other than you, he blinked back into reality after Scott's voice grated his ears.

"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass? In rhinestones?"

Whatever you or anyone else responds with falls on his deaf ears. The only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood. His face tightened and he clenched his jaw.

He coughed to clear his head and interject into whatever conversation he's too furious to tune in to.

"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan paused, coughing again to catch himself from saying anything related to freezing Scott solid so he can shatter him to pieces. He settled on "Save her from embarrassment?"

Once again, Logan half-listened and half-internally plotted extreme violence, perking back in at the sound of your voice. He turned to you as you catch up with him.

"What the fuck is a Snooki?"

---

You declined to continue to explain trash TV to Logan. You settled on "It's entertaining to watch people be out of touch with reality", to which he quipped back a "That's stupid", effectively shutting you up.

The both of you wandered to the kitchen, you fanning yourself as Logan tried not to burst a blood vessel while holding to his willpower to not watch you tilt your head back and exhale while uttering whines of complaint. He decided the amount that his was sweating coupled with the lack of sleep made him delusional. That's why his brain kept trailing back to the same thought: you.

You pulled open the bottom drawer of the fridge, exposing the freezer. The rush of cool air fanned at your skin, and you signed in relief.

"Logan," you call, eyes closed. You waved him over and he leaned next to you.

"Oh my god," he quietly uttered out, eyes closing in relief. "Oh my god, this is better than sex."

You snorted and slapped your hand to your mouth.

"Logan, shut the fuck up" you giggle. He snickers back with you, shoulders shaking.

"Aw man," you groan, staring into the freezer drawer. Inside, there was an empty popsicle box, an half-eaten pint of strawberry ice cream, and an unwrapped ice-cream sandwich with freezer burn. You and Logan met each other's eyes with matching disappointed expressions.

You shut the freezer drawer, straightening up.

"I think there's a freezer in the basement lab," Logan says, sweat instantly beginning to drip down his neck.

"Aw man," you respond, lifting your arms slightly as sweat slides down you as well.

"Come on, bub," He moves around behind you. You feel the familiar ghost of his fingers against your back, but you recoil away at the thought of more heat against your body.

Logan yanked his hand away like he had been burned, gaze raking from you to his hand. You keep walking, not realizing how far behind you he's trailing.

---

He tries to shake it off, he really does. He feels stupid for letting something so small seep into his head and twist his thoughts around.

It's just because it's hot, he thinks to himself. Rationally, yes, he knows that is the answer. And yet he stupidly can't help but overthink every interaction he's had with you.

He masks it with a stony expression. The walk to the elevator is sticky and humid. When you both step in, he strays as far away from you as he can.

You've felt the shift in energy from him. He's pressed against the curved wall, arms crossed over his chest. It's palpable, but you aren't the type to pry when Logan is brooding.

He slips out of the opening doors first, relinquishing in the slightly cooler air of the lab. You trail after.

The air is awkward now. You fumble in your brain for the right words to say to him. 'Are you okay?' doesn't seem to cut it.

You've come to understand Logan. He has a complicated relationship with feelings and is awful at communication. If you don't notice the energy shift and bring it up, it isn't getting spoken about.

You follow him to a white metal crate pressed near a cabinet of saline. It's clasped shut and luckily on wheels. The precipitation on the outside confirming this is what you were looking for.

You place your hands on the corners of the crate to slide it from the wall, but Logan damn near rips it out of your hands. He shoves it across the lab towards the elevator.

You stare at him in shock and confusion. Your thoughts whir as you replay every moment from the entire day, convinced that he's pissed at you. He seems pissed. He's acting pissed.

You reach the elevator just as the door slides open. You're trying to decide if you should say something. Trying to think of a way to approach this in a way that will actually get him to talk. The air in the elevator is thick, more so with his shift in attitude than with heat.

Logan is locking himself inside his head. He can’t organize his thoughts and all he feels is stupidity. He can't understand why he's over analyzing, much less what he's over analyzing.

He doesn't know it's basically radiating off of him. Unaware that you've been staring at him to try and decipher what's wrong.

You utter out "Are you okay?" just to cut through the thick silence (and hopefully the wall he's locked himself in). You're sure he hears you, but the sliding of the door gives him the perfect opportunity to continue to ignore you.

Again, you trail after him. The wheels scrape against the hardwood, a testament to how hard he is pressing into the metal.

You're confused, sweaty, and almost on the verge of nonconsensual tears when you reach Storm and the other kids. The girl from the floor has turned into mostly puddle. Everything besides the tip of her shoulders and up are deflated to the wood. The other kids have spread to the floor themselves.

Logan shoves the crate towards Storm.

"Alright," he says curtly, once again crossing his arms. "Cool this shit down."

You fiddle with your fingers as Storm unlatches the metal. Her eyes gloss over to a milky white while she lifts the lid. The temperature drops almost instantly, and you begin to shiver.

"Done," She says, blinking away the glaze. "Charles said that-"

"Great," Logan cuts her off with a slam of the metal lid. He slides it around before moving back towards the elevator. You glance back and forth between Storm and Logan for a second. When you meet her confused expression, she gestures back towards him.

Ignoring the comfort of your sheets and lack of emotional drainage, you jog after Logan.

---

He huffs at you when you reach his side.

"I can push a metal box by myself," he says dismissively.

"Okay," you say, just to get something in the air. "Am I not allowed to come with you?"

You regret even speaking anyways as he scoffs at you, kicking the crate into the opening of the sliding door. It hits the wall with a loud clang. You flinch, but you're more concerned about him to not slip into the door at the last second.

You hug yourself as you start to shiver. Logan rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and turns away from you to lean against the wall. For the third time tonight.

You are racking your brain. Screaming at yourself to say something, literally any words at all. It feels like you've been panic-searching your thoughts for anything to say for a while.

"Are we not moving?" You ask. You wait for an answer before repeating, calling him by name and moving to stand in front of him.

He huffs before standing straight. After a beat, he says "We're not."

"Shit, how should we -" You start, but are cut of by the metallic unsheathing of Logan's Claws. In a blur he rears back and slices through the door, scraping three parallel lines across the metal.

"Jesus Christ, Logan!" You snap out at him. The glare he gives you while his claws sink into his skin makes you back up into the wall.

"What the hell is your problem?" you say evenly.

He scoffs at you, muttering out "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You just sliced the wall open," You point out, gesturing to said wall. "And you're acting like you're pissed at me"

"You're imagining things," he says back, resuming his position against the wall with his arms folded.

"Oh, that's bullshit. You're literally sulking in the corner and you want to tell me that isn't happening."

Logan stays silent. You almost expect him to turn into the wall so he can pretend to not see you.

"Logan," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "Why can't you be upfront with me? It's very easy to say 'Hey, you pissed me off because of this' or 'Oh, something sparked a bad memory' or, I don't know, 'I don't want to talk about it' "

"I don't want to talk about it," he responds. You smack the back of your head into the wall behind you in exasperation.

"Oh my god, obviously that was just an example. Please just tell me what's wrong."

Logan raises his eyes to meet yours for just a second. You catch his gaze, and you can tell that he wants to tell you. When you quietly say his name he looks away.

"Logan, you’re being mean." Your eyes flick over him, trying to catch any more indication that he'll open up. He stays stoick, stubborn piece of shit. You decide to wait just a moment longer before giving up. If he's going to be this adamant about whatever happened, you aren't about to keep fighting him on it.

"Okay, you’re pissing me off and I give up" You spit, sinking to the floor. You draw your legs up and fold into yourself, the chill of the room sinking into your skin.

It takes a long, awkward amount of time sitting in silence before you her Logan speak.

"You're cold," he states.

"No, I'm not," you say into your arms. Shivering.

"You look cold," he once again states plainly.

"I'm not, stop talking to me."

"I thought you wanted me to talk," Logan retorts at you. You look up at him over your arms, seeing a smug look on his face.

"Yeah, if the words you say are 'Hey, I'm sorry I'm being a dickhead and shoving stuff around and slicing into walls and ignoring you. I'm just thinking about X,Y and Z, which is making me feel X,Y and Z,' and then I would say 'Oh my gosh Logan, I had no idea! I'm so sorry, I wish you told me so I didn't make a big deal out of it because I thought you hated me!" You snap at him, mocking his voice for emphasis.

He blinks at you, and you move your head back into your arms.

"I don't hate you," he says quietly.

"You're acting like it."

"I don't."

The softness in his voice makes you sigh. You decide to take it easy on him, and ask him to come to you.

"What?" he asks, hesitation evident in his tone.

"Can you come sit next to me, please?" You ask softly.

"Why?" he asks, and you roll your eyes.

"Because I'm cold and you run much warmer than I do."

He moves and sinks down beside you, thankfully. You scooch closer until your arm is against his. The warmth of his body radiates against yours.

"Can you please talk to me?" you break the silence. The smallness in your voice chips away at his resolve, but his pride is still in the way. He's embarrassed enough about being upset in the first place, he can hardly stand (much less find the words) to say anything to you.

"Look, I'll literally cover my eyes so I'm not even looking at you," you offer, covering your eyes with your palms. "Please, just tell me."

"It's stupid," Logan says, pride dwindling down.

"I don't care, I promise. Please, Logan," You plead.

He sighs loudly, searching for the right words. He stutters out a few syllables before managing a sentence.

"In the kitchen earlier, you flinched away from me. I don't know. Didn't feel great."

Your hands dropped from your face. He was staring down at the floor. He looked embarrassed, maybe downright ashamed. You gently placed a hand on his arm.

"Logan, I'm sorry. It was just so hot and I felt all gross and sweaty. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

"Okay," he says, but his eyes never left the floor.

"And that's not stupid. I freak out over the tiniest things in the world."

"Yeah?" he huffs out a small laugh, finally turning to you.

"Yes, duh, I'm a girl. One time you didn't sit in the stool right next to me and I had to suck my tears back in and I thought about it for two days straight," you told him.

"Because I didn't sit next to you?" he teases, and you push off of his arm in mock annoyance.

"Yes, I'm not kidding. I remember once when you came back from a mission you ignored me when I said 'hi' to you on the stairs and locked yourself in your room for almost two days. I was genuinely convinced you wanted me dead and I couldn't function until you'd brought me toast because you thought I was sick."

"You weren't sick?" He raises an eyebrow at you.

"No! I thought you wanted me to jump into oncoming traffic!" You laugh at yourself, feeling ridiculous after replaying those few days back in your head.

"Okay, okay, I get what you mean. I don't want you dead, by the way. Never will." His face has relaxed and the tension in the air completely dissipated. You tilted to rest your head on his shoulder, relishing in his body heat and enjoying the comfortable silence.

"Seems like I get you pretty worked up, huh?" Logan smiles to himself, knowing he'll get a rise out of you.

"I'm not answering that," you snort, giving him a side eye.

"Are you kidding me?" He says in a deadpan.

"No! I'm not answering that," you sputter, forcing an even tone out of yourself. "Why'd you get so upset about me moving away from you?" You shoot back.

"I'm not answering that," he says, and you now shove him away jokingly.

"Oh, come on!"

You both start to giggle at each other, needing to look at anywhere except at the other. Weight has been lifted off both of your chests, being stuck in the elevator long forgotten.

"So," Logan speaks, letting the word hang in the air for a second. He wonders if the feelings he's completely sure are mutual should remain unspoken. "Are either of us gonna do anything about," he gestures to the both of you. "Or..."

"Oh man, I was wondering which one of us was going to take the bait first," you giggle out to mask the nervousness settling in your chest. "You almost had me, I never figured you'd say anything."

"Did I?" He asks. You turn to him and meet his gaze, smirking at him. You hum happily after a few seconds, turning away from him to lean on his arm once more.

"So," Logan says again, so you mock him and echo the word back.

"So," he tries again, obviously wanting a certain response from you. You bite, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Oh my god, you can just kiss me. I'm cold, I'm not moving my arms," you say to him, earning a short laugh from him.

Logan moves and scoops you into him, sandwiching your arms between both your bodies. You slide one of your hands up him so that your fingertips reach his collarbone. His nose is just touching yours, and he tilts, barely touching your lips.

"So," he whispers against you. You snort and shove his face away with your free hand.

"Okay, nevermind! Get away from me!" You giggle, Logan following suit.

You feel Logan's hand move to the back of your neck, and you blink at him a few times with a small smile. Finally, he leans down to kiss you. You snake your free hand up to the side of his neck and grasp onto a few tufts of his soft hair. He leans into your touch slightly, so your curl your fingers in response.

One of his arms releases you to brace the floor for support, the other moving to hold you tighter. His fingers splayed across your shoulder blade as you slip your other arm out. You slide your hand up the side of his abdomen, almost moaning when the feeling of his back muscles reach your fingers.

You both pull away for a second to breathe before diving back into each other. Logan pulls you towards him, hand that was on the floor now sliding down your side to squeeze at the flesh of your hips.

He pulls back from you and presses and open mouthed kiss just under your ear. You crane your head back in response while feeling your way up the front of his body. Your fingers dip over the curves of his abs and over his chest, and then slide over his shoulder and down his arms. You think about the glisten of his body earlier in the night, the shadows of his muscular biceps and forearms.

"You and these damn shorts," he groans between the kisses he's now leaving on your collar. You let out a breathy laugh.

"I'll take them off later, they don't even fit," you say, pulling his face up so you can kiss him again.

"I hope you'll let me help," he says into your open mouth, causing you to squeeze your thighs together as you heat up.

The shrieking sound of metal against metal surrounds you both, and you shove Logan off you to scramble to your feet. He moves besides you, claws unsheathed on instinct.

The door of the elevator slowly slides open, coming to a halt while it's halfway open. Charles and Jean were waiting from the outside.

"There you both are," Jean huffs out. "You've been gone for about an hour."

"What time is it?" Logan asks, moving out into the mansion floor and sinking his claws back into his knuckles. You follow behind, the chill coming back to your skin.

"About 4:30 in the morning," Charles replies, gliding away from the opening of the metal door. "I suggest you all get some sleep while it's still early." He looks pointedly at you and Logan before rolling to face Jean.

"Agreed. Goodnight you two," Jean says, moving down the hallway to her room.

You and Logan make your way up the stairs, still buzzing. You stop at his door while he opens it. He turns to face you. Once again, you're back to staring at each other hoping you both can understand what the other is thinking.

"Well, good night Logan," You sigh. He cocks an eyebrow at you.

"You're not coming in?" He says while leaning against the door frame.

"Oh," you begin, a smile nervously making its way to your face. "Well ... I ..."

"I gotta help you with those shorts, remember?"

You can't help the soft laugh that leaves your mouth. You move towards him and step just into the doorway.

"I'll take all the help I can get," You say up at him. He takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arm and move you both through the door.

He turns you both, pressing your back against the wall next to the doorway, shutting the door as he molds his lips into yours. His hand slides under your flimsy yellow tank top as you hear the click of the door lock.

More than likely, neither of you were getting much sleep tonight.

[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part 12

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Previous part

Part 12: bad memories

TRIGGER WARNING: strong mentions of sexual assault

Author’s note:

The next few chapters might be a bit dark but they have to be in order to move the story in the direction I want. I’ll be writing a summary in the footnote for anyone who wants to skip this part. Keep in mind, I’m writing this story for myself as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started taking my magic training into my own hands.

When Alastor was busy doing one of his many radio broadcasts, I was in the library searching through the various books. Husker sat on the window seat with a bottle of alcohol, listening to my random mumbles. I wasn't really talking to him but every now and then he made a comment to kickstart my thoughts again.

I had books laid out on all the tables and chairs. Surely this shouldn't be hard to figure out and Husker had to have some insight to it. So I started with something simple: turning water into ice. I read the books on water magic and read about some of the science behind it. Water molecules start to move slower and stick together. So it was just very condensed water.

Husker watched me fail the first time and splash water on myself. I casted a cup on him and he jumped from his seat with a hiss and hair sticking up. The second time I half succeeded. The water in the cup solidified into water for a moment before instantly melting. I tried a few more times until it stayed as ice without melting.

I put the cup down and tried something different. I casted the water out of the glass and twirled it into a constantly moving ball of water in my palm. I already knew how to control water from my fighting days so this part wasn't hard. I cupped my hand over the moving ball and imagined it slowing down until it was a frozen cluster. I felt it weigh down on my hand but forced myself to focus until I was sure that it had turned completely into ice.

Pulling my hand back, I revealed a perfect sphere of ice.

"Nice job," Husker congratulated in his own grumpy way. This felt like the first big step as the rest of my experiments started to work on the second try. I combined water and fire to create steam and filled the room with it, quickly sending it out the window before it ruined the books. Telekinesis was my next easy experiment.

I could draw the curtains and slam the doors like Alastor did. I could move chairs and tables around and put books back on their shelf. I laughed as I put the library back to its original state, paper and books flying past me. They all slid back into place and I planted my hands on my hips. I had done it.

"Impressive."

I bristled at Alastor's voice, turning to face the Radio Demon with a scowl. I noticed the fowl aura of hatred coming from Husker. Picking up on emotions became easy thanks to my keen sense of smell. Alastor remained a concrete wall.

"Rosie will be arriving shortly. I thought you might want to actually prepare yourself this time."

I crossed my arms. "I'm always prepared to deal with you so I think I will be alright."

His cold presence ran down my spine and I shivered. "Are you so sure?"

I raised my body temperature and pushed back against him. His eyes narrowed at me despite my inability to remove him completely from my mind. Our shadows growled at each other on the wall.

During the session with Rosie, she taught me to build another shield outside the one I already had. Once I had built two new shields, she attempted to push through. At first it was easy to keep her away but then she grew more aggressive. I was shocked at the sudden aggression from the sweet lady, my shields wavering but never falling. My fear had only reinforced the shields more.

"Outstanding!" she said at last, clapping her hands. I was out of breath as I clung to the seat. These sessions always left me so tired and ragged. Though it made me feel better when I saw her dab at her forehead with a handkerchief. "Now, take a quick break before we start the next thing. Get some fresh air, dearie."

I was expecting to be done for the day. When she didn't take her eyes off me I took that as my cue to leave the room. I had just barely closed the door when I heard her say something softly to Alastor. My nerves went through the roof.

Husker stood outside the kitchen door with me. The snow was starting to melt away, revealing little patches of grass here and there. The sun was setting into the ocean, casting a gently orange glow against the house.

"You'll be fine. You've managed through everything else so far," Husker tried to reassure me. My nerves seemed to only worsen with every passing minute. I kept fiddling with my claws and tapping my tail on the ground.

Eventually, Rosie called me in. The chairs had been pulled close again and a pitcher of water sat on a table nearby. Alastor waited patiently in one of the chairs, hands folded properly in his lap. His smile didn't seem genuine as Rosie led me to one of the chairs.

"Now dear, we're going to go through one of your more difficult memories. I want you to practice pulling yourself out of a memory when you're afraid. You'll have to learn to control your emotions to pull yourself out. Do you think you can do that?"

I nodded and swallowed hard. I wondered why Alastor was sitting close to me but then I remembered that he had been the one to pull me out of the dark memory of Striker that fateful day.

"Pick one of your worst memories."

I took a slow, deep breath and closed my eyes. I fell into my memories with my various shields still in place. I was only watching the memory, not partaking in it. I tried to keep my heart from speeding up too much as the memory unfolded.

My hardest fight yet was against an adult. They had a crazed look on their face, a look of fear, desperation, starvation, and a lack of humanity. He acted like an animal as he chased after me in the ring. He broke my wrist and leg before I managed to dig my fingers into his eye sockets and end his life with a punch to the throat.

Something sweet filled my nose but I didn't pay it any attention.

Striker yelled and lectured me as I had my wrist and leg wrapped by the healer. He had a heavy, painful grip on my shoulder as he led me back to my cage. He slammed the cage door shut and stormed out. Not too long after, someone else opened my cage door.

They slammed something into my face, momentarily shocking me. I came to as they strapped a magic-reducing helmet to my head. The dark figure loomed over and started grabbing at me. I screamed for help but he stuffed a gag into my mouth.

"Come out of it, sweetheart." Rosie called.

I tried to relax but the panic was too much. I didn’t recognize this memory. Was it another attack?

I fought against them but my injuries made it nearly impossible. Tears streamed down at my face as I screamed my throat hoarse. I raked my nails down any inch of skin I could find.

"Sweetheart, now. You have to come out."

The corners of the room grew dark until I was staring at nothing but the man's face. I reached for his eyes many times but he kept pushing them away. I choked on the helplessness and fear until everything around me was pitch black.

I was standing now. Someone was calling for me but it was faint, too faint. I looked around at the darkness. I spun around in circles, strangely calm, and stared at nothing. I was just here. Existing, but not. Was I still in my mind? Surely I had to be.

A cold feather brushed against my cheek. I turned but there was no one there. It happened again but on my neck. It spread from there, reaching into my brain and down through my entire body. I was freezing all of a sudden. There was nothing to keep me warm so I wrapped my arms around myself.

Then I sensed three presences. I recognized Husker's first. It was warm and calm, but a hint of panic. Why was he panicking? What was wrong?

Next I recognized Alastor's. He was inside my head unlike Husker who was surrounding my body.

Then I recognized Rosie's presence. Hers was kind but firm. She also seemed to be panicked. Why was everyone panicking? Was something happening?

The black environment turned red as anger filled my chest. I was furious. I don't know what at but I needed to release it. I wanted to claw something, to kill someone. I wanted to slice someone's throat who caused people nothing but harm. They deserved to leave this world and being thrown into Hell to be eaten by the Demons who lived there.

I felt someone pulling on me. My legs slid out from under me and I was lying on my back, still angry. Then the anger slipped from my fingertips, quickly replaced by fear. The man's face appeared out of the red wall and I found myself trapped under him again. I choked on my fear and gag as I fought him. I tried throwing my weight around but he was far too heavy. I felt him bite down on my neck.

Not this. Not this. Not this. Not this. Please! NOT THIS!

I recognized the memory.

I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled it hard. He yelled as I dug my fingers into his eyes like my previous opponent. He grabbed both wrists and slammed them hard into the cage floor. My legs weren't working. Why wouldn't they work?

"Come out of it," I heard Husker yell.

"Sweetheart it's a memory. It's not actually happening," Rosie said.

I cried as the memory continued. I bit down on the man's hand but he just pulled my hands further away from my face. I tried curling in on myself but it did nothing. His other hand moved roughly over my skin as I screamed into the gag.

I felt Alastor's presence come from behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut and dipped into my mindscape. "Alastor!" I yelled as the memory dragged me back through my shields. I felt his presence wrap around my head and saw nothing but red. It felt like a string was being pulled out of my ear as he pushed me into the safety of my shields.

"You're safe. Come out of your head," he instructed.

I closed my eyes, pushing away the forbidden memory, and opened my eyes to the library. All three of them were surrounding me, staring down with panic-stricken faces. Alastor opened his eyes and took his hand from my forehead. His eyebrows were the only thing that told me he was upset.

Husker pulled me up to a sitting position as Rosie practically shoved a glass of water down my throat. I took several moments to catch my breath, the two of them trying to help calm me. I stared at the carpet and tried to think of anything other than that horrid memory. I didn’t know I even had that memory.

"You're back, and you're safe," Husker said, holding out his paw. I took it and let him help me into a chair. I leaned back into the seat and looked around at the dark library. I was back in the house. I was safe. Relatively.

"What happened?" I asked, still out of breath.

"You visited a...terrible memory that you couldn't pull out of," Rosie answered. "I was expecting you to use the same memory as last time. I wasn't expecting that."

"I didn't...that wasn't...that was a memory I had blocked away. I've never...I haven't been able to remember that night in years...so...why could I this time?"

Rosie went quiet and looked over at Alastor. He stood staring out one of the windows with his arms folded behind him. When enough silence had passed, he finally turned to look at me. "We used the same drug that was used on you the night it first happened."

"What?” My voice bounced off the walls. “What drug?“

"You had a small amount that night," he walked over to us, "It's a common drug used by a certain Demon to control their victims." He paused. "We thought you might be ready for another dose, but I can see we were mistaken. We rushed the process."

"Did..." I slowly looked over at Rosie, "did everyone...see it? The memory?"

"I'm afraid so, darling. We had to when we tried to pull you back out."

I lowered my head to stare at the floor. My clawed feet were just as black as before. If I had this side of me my whole life, I could've avoided it. I could've saved myself. Instead, here I was learning mind magic and revealing everything to three random Demons.

My throat tightened and tears started to well in my eyes. I abruptly left the room. I went to my bedroom, locked the door, then into the bathroom and locked that one too. I curled up in the corner of the room between the bathtub and the shower...and broke down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s summary:

Reader attempts mind magic again. When she visits a difficult memory, Alastor holds a memory-controlling-drug up to her nose. This creates more of a challenge for her and ends up sending her into a memory she had blocked away. She barely manages to pull herself out, if it wasn’t for Alastor and the others helping.

[pedges-world]

Afterglow: Phoenix Rising (Javi edition)

This series is not for everyone, so please imbibe accordingly. Pedge is not a registered therapist, but enjoys the many nuances of deconstruction and pleasure. This seemed like a fun, varied way to interpret how the Pedro Boys might react to different scenarios and an interesting literary device to unpack the complexities of our great and not so great "O"s!

Triggers: smut, edging, self-denial, use of toys, attempt at Spanish, crying (there's always crying, let's be honest)...

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the thin sheen on Javi’s forehead, as he bit down on his lower lip with tumult. You would have seen his doe eyes blown wide with lust and wonder, watching you unravel for the last hour+.

You would have clocked his trembling hand as he alternated between fingers and vibrator, licking his digits clean, pausing just long enough to let you catch your breath in exhaustion.

But your eyes weren’t open. You were so far embedded within your own labyrinth, you had ceased to register time, movement or anything other than pleasure. Pleasure. And pleasure. You were wound so tight, you were the seed of the Universe itself. Drawing in on itself, smaller and smaller and smaller until everything ceased to exist.

“Pobrecita….” he pleaded raspily. “Don’t you want to come? It’s time to cum…” he begged, cupping the back of your neck as you writhed beneath his ministrations. 

“Can’t…cum…no…no…” you stuck your tongue out languidly, eyes rolling back in your head. You had babbled, pleaded, begged, squeaked…unraveling like a beautiful gift for yourself, leaving Javi a mess of nerves and hyperventilation.

“Hermosa, it’s….so much…you can’t do this again” he swallowed hard, watching you buck beneath him as he turned the vibrator up yet again.

Your eyes shot open in newfound delight as he hit THE SPOT. Over and over and over. Your face burst into a cheshire grin as you crested, and crested, and crested…and….

Body breaking in half you seized in a tight full body muscle spasm, finally crying out in delighted anguish as your body split into a million molecules of light. Working you through your pleasure, Javi coo’d encouragingly as he finally dropped the toy and passionately grasped you around the waist, stroking your back as you cried.

“Que hermosa mi amor, ¿Por qué te torturas? No puedo respirar…” he sighed, delicately massaging the back of your head and laying you down on the bed gently.

Lost to your euphoric oblivion, you barely registered his absence until he returned with some water and a warm wash cloth. You smiled dopily, enjoying the salty remnants of your well-earned release and stretching, cat-like. You gently blinked out of existence for a while, moaning into your re-emergence and finding Javi watching you dolefully with red-rimmed, chocolate-colored eyes.

“Oh” you sulked, cupping his face with one hand, surprised that your extremities still worked. “What's wrong my love?” you sniffled, bringing your body to alignment with his as your eyes threatened to close with every blink.

“Are you okay?” he asked in hushed tones, bringing his hand to your lower back and pulling you closer still.

“Oh yeeeees my love” you moaned, kissing into the stubble of his beard and humming contentedly, willing your liquid like arms around his neck with abandon. You felt Javi shudder and gasp as he began to cry in your arms. Surprised at his emotion, you gripped him tightly, wrapping your legs around his torso and wriggling your fingers up through his curly, chestnut hair.

“I don’t understand!” he cried, shaking like a small child and nearly cutting off your breathing with the force of his embrace.

“My love!” you squeaked. “What’s happening?” you blearily asked, cupping his face with both hands and kissing salty tear after salty tear.

“Why would you torture yourself like this? I could make you cum so much faster! Mi corazon esta partido en dos…” he lamented, drawing you up in his arms placatingly.

“Darling” you pouted, stroking his face sweetly. “I wish you had told me, we don’t have to do this anymore if it bothers you…” you began, as he shook his head profusely.

“I’m hurting you!” he cried, lower lip wobbling in anguish.

“You are NOT hurting me!” you exclaimed, sitting up precariously, emphatic with your intentions. “No man has EVER been so patient with my desires!” placing your hand over his heart comfortingly.

“Are you sure?” he begged, gazing imploringly into your eyes, looking for any sign of wavering or hidden meaning.

“Absolutely!” you sank back into his arms as he held you for a long time, relaxing a bit with relief. After several minutes he whispered tentatively, “If you could help me understand, maybe I could…enjoy…what you are enjoying…” he ventured.

“Of course” you ruminated, wondering if you could articulate your experience. “When I was younger, sex was so easy, so quick, so…utilitarian” you licked your lips, trying to formulate the complexity of your passions. Javi hummed in response. 

“The passions of youth are feverish and fiery” he mused, nodding his head in agreement.

“Yes, excitingly simple” you continued. “But…with maturity…” you chuckled self-deprecatingly. “With…some seasoning…”…

“Very spicy” Javi rocked you from side to side a bit as you giggled.

“With some seasoning…I’ve been re-introduced to….the complexities of myself”. Javi stilled in sacred listening, barely breathing. “I…burst into flame…like a phoenix rising…And the power. It’s like when iron sharpens iron, but the sword is…myself?” you snorted with temporary chagrin. “With you…she’s beautiful, and powerful, and worth the wait” you pondered, struggling to articulate the enjoyment of the moment. “She takes so much longer to unravel, it’s like a beautiful negotiation of self” you settled on that description, unsure how to convey the nuances.

Javi hummed in approval, resting his chin on the crown of your head and gathering you closer still in his embrace. “So…you are the phoenix who bursts into flame?” he sighed, smiling with newfound understanding.

“Aflame for you, my love” you grinned, looking up at him with adoration. Though, your mouth went immediately slack as you heard the tell tale vibrations of the toy buzz to life again.

“And you like this negotiation of self?” he teased, massaging the toy in languid circles as a sinful moan escaped your lips.

If your eyes had been open you would have seen the smirk transversing his sultry countenance. But they weren’t. Your lids had fluttered shut into the happy, pleasured existence of your own oblivion....

*thanks @samspenandsword for the cool dividers!

@realjensenackles1 @groovy-hippie-chick @maddiemadden @kadifromtheblock @moniek @vickie5446 @befrobeefcal @aotfantasmagorias @inept-the-magnificent @djarins-cyare @lemonwizard @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring @quicax3 @joelalorian @bitchwitch1981 @wordywarriorwrites @hearaball @janaispunk @pedroswife69 @katiexpunk @i-own-loki @vaininsane @morallyinept @yorksgirl @spookyxsam @sawmredfox @mermaidgirl30 @mandolover37 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @strang3love3 @susanpaul111 @tanyaharvey4147 @littlemisspascal @zaniasky @shaunasflannel @anelva @shinyanchorobject @latenightwithmiller 

[dearorpheus]

“Or rather, for I do not mean to diminish the word ‘sexual’, let me say that the erotic extends far beyond what is ordinarily implied by that word. Indeed, during the course of our relationship you will discover that there is nothing that is not erotic—or at least ‘eroticisable’—by the attention you and I will devote to it.  If, for instance, I tell you that you must not under any circumstance turn on the cold water faucet in the bathroom sink, will not use the silver colour of the spigot, […] until you can scarcely refrain from touching it; and you will feel this way, not only when you are in the bathroom but in the furthest corner of your apartment, even on the street, you’ll think of it and have to go home, and enter the darkened room and stand, hand extended, almost touching, so close that you can feel the pull of the electrons on your hairs, those pads of calloused skin at the end of your fingers grow warm from the molecules dancing, pulling, seducing, glowing in the light of the bathroom until you can stand it no longer. You stick out your pinky, a flash goes through you, the cold but lightning hot flash of the obscene, forbidden, overwhelmingly desired object. Dare you pretend that the satisfaction you get from this illicit caress differs in any significant degree from that which you get when your fluids gush to drown my fingers...”

— Jane DeLynn, Leash

am reminded of Tony Tanner’s words in his 1990 intro to Gatsby: “the green light offers Gatsby a suitably inaccessible focus for his yearning, something to give definition to desire while indefinitely deferring consummation, something to stretch his arms towards...”

not directly correlational but... something to muse over.

[maryrebeccawrites]

Does love bloom over time or only fester? Regular text version:

Three Years, Yesterday

You loved me three years, yesterday.

I thought it might be April fools

And not an anniversary.

But I found out that final day,

The one where springtime holds its breath

And preens before the first of May.

Your whispers came through knotted vines,

The grapes all plucked, the roses frayed,

The ivy of the fading kind.

Yet I can almost see it now,

The drive through doubts and summer rain,

Pretending I won’t turn around.

The clouds are smoke, the mountains flame

In valleys that I could have loved,

When they were paired with just your name.

And if I paint that picture clear,

You’d roll your eyes to gods above

Or shed a disbelieving tear.

And I can almost feel it now,

The fingers tangled, only hair,

No catch from hesitation’s crown.

We’d offer each a mirrored grin,

With shock that we could dream to dare

Eternities to fall within.

Eternities to yearn and dream

The family we might have formed,

Not one of blood or worker bees

But water’s most perceptive pull,

The local chapel too impure,

For its cohesive molecules.

Though I can neither see nor feel,

No matter if we want that fate,

The sea’s reflecting only fears.

For won’t it wash us all away?

The grand pianos falling straight

Through spider’s homes and old estates?

And I can clearly see it now,

The questions through the seeping night—

The furrow of our loveworn brows.

Loveworn, timeworn, all the same.

My tired pulse, your fight or flight,

Our worries harbor ancient pain.

I could not risk another snarl

From past or future’s hungry mouth.

It’s far too late an hour to call.

With insects dead through rapid turns,

The vines are only cobwebs now.

I wish that you had found me first.

[chryzuree]

kept in the locket of my rib cage

ALT TITLE: (just like every other night)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: you know how it is with those stolen moments making the most definitive memories despite being the most common of them all…..

———

Their hands were sweating. The air clung close, humid and smelling of loamy earth and wet greenery. Thick grey clouds cloaked the stars and, in the distance, lightning flashed, there and then gone again, like the snap of a Polaroid camera. The sky looked one step from cracking open all over again, a new torrent of water to drown the earth below.

But Jacks and Chrysi sat in the trunk of her car, safe from whatever drizzle would start up once more. The only danger lay in their shoes getting wet—canvas sneakers that would have to be set by the door as soon as they walked into their homes, sure to be damp for the next couple days no matter how efficiently they set them out to dry.

Through the corner of his eye, he studied Chrysi, leaned up against his side. The after-rain smell mixed with the sweet cherry balm from her chapstick, with the clean scent of her hair. And that had already frizzed out, unmanageable curls springing out like fresh flowers.

God, Jacks was doing a really bad job of paying attention to the video Chrysi was trying to show him.

“You’re judging me,” she finally spoke up. 

Jacks’s ears warmed at the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his side, her cheek moving against his shoulder, at the warmth of her seeping into him. It took him a moment to collect himself.

“I’m not judging you.”

Chrysi hummed. “You so are. Liar.”

A fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, but he bit down on it. Equal measure amusement and frustration warred inside him, kept safe in the little locket made for him and Chrysi that he kept safe in the confines of his chest.

“How long have we been friends?” he chided. “You’d know if I were judging you.”

Her shoulder shrugged against his rib cage. Her hand shifted in his, adjusting her grip. “Maybe.”

He didn’t know how to reply. He settled for making a semi-amused scoffing noise. 

It must’ve been enough, because Chrysi shifted against his side and moved her elbow from where it had been digging into his side. Not much space to be had, even with the back seats down.

Her phone released an agonized scream. 

Right, the video. The video. 

Jacks glanced down at the screen again. A woman with bandages wrapped around her head and eyes filled it. 

“Did you start another one?” he accused.

“Shh. I haven’t seen this one.”

Glancing at the time stamp, Jacks hissed. “Eleven minutes?”

“You don’t have to stay.”

Jacks glanced up to the cloud-choked sky again. No light came from the moon, the stars. Only the lamp provided the two of them with visibility. And it was quiet too—as if all the water molecules in the air had gathered together to create a personal bubble made for just the two of them. 

And Chrysi had decided to fill it with horror shorts.

At least she’d allowed him to hold her hand after the second one. 

“I’ll head home when you do,” Jacks said reluctantly. At least then, he would have company most of the way home. He didn’t want to have to call someone just to hear a human voice on the drive back. Missy would probably be asleep by now. Castor would want to know why Jacks had been hanging out with Chrysi on his own. Gillian would count down to curfew in real time, and she was already doing a magnificent job of annoying him with it over text.

As if to punctuate that, his phone buzzed in his pocket, not for the first time that evening. 

Though he knew what it would say, he still pulled it out. The notification read, 20 minutes! 

As he opened it, she sent a secondary text—a digital sticker of a little bear holding a heart. 

Jacks huffed out a low breath. Passive aggressive. 

Chrysi moved against his shoulder. Jacks turned to see her peering at his phone. 

“Cheerful,” she said, a smirk twisting the corner of her lip. She turned her gaze on Jacks, resting her chin atop his shoulder. “Are you going to be grounded?”

“I’ll plead innocent,” Jacks sighed, putting his phone away, “on account of you being a bad influence.”

Chrysi laughed. “Godspeed with that, Jacky. I’ve got your parents wrapped around my little finger.”

“Don’t phrase it like that ever again.”

“They’re my bitches?” she offered

That made Jacks gag, totally involuntarily. “That’s going right back into the never allowed to say ever again category. I never should’ve let it back out.”

Shrugging, Chrysi paused the video. Jacks glanced back to see it frozen on a creature with bulging eyes and pale skin, and he gave an instinctual little jump.

The fuck was this video about?

But then Chrysi turned off her phone and slid it back in her pocket, and whatever fleeting concern and fear Jacks felt reluctantly disappeared with it. 

“I won’t keep you,” she said matter-of-factly. 

The right thing to say, especially when his phone buzzed again and he found his sister had sent 19 now, but Jacks surprised himself with the rush of disappointment he felt. 

He sat immobile for a second, feeling the sweaty palm he had clasped against Chrysi’s rings, the way the trunk pushed him against her, the air heavy with the threat of rain again pushing him back and against Chrysi. 

“Right,” he said, feeling rather disconnected from his own mouth. He tried again. “Right. I should go home.”

It was like he was trying to talk to some other person—someone in the shape of the Jacks he should’ve been, someone that knew that getting grounded for hanging out late with a friend wasn’t worth the infinitesimal time spent with the friend. But he wasn’t that Jacks. He was the Jacks that thought ten minutes longer with Chrysi was worth a whole week of losing his car to his little sister, just so he could feel this cramped trunk and the humid air and the sweaty hands for a little while longer. 

It was Chrysi that pulled away first. 

Hopping from her trunk, she shook out her keys definitively, keychains clattering against each other—all a tangled mess. Not for the first time, Jacks eyed it and wondered just how much damage Chrysi could do if she decided to use her keychain as a weapon.

“Alright, Hollow.” She swatted at his leg like she was trying to chase out a pest. “Get out of my car, else I’ll lock you in my trunk and take you home with me.”

Jacks forced a smile as breezy as he could make it, but when he tried to think of a response, all he could think was Promise? Do you swear? Would you really? So he said nothing at all, and he unfolded himself from her trunk. 

“Drive safe,” he managed to say once Chrysi slammed the trunk door behind him. 

“I always do,” she replied, shooting a crooked smile his way.

Not always, Jacks knew. He’d driven behind her car countless other times.

Whatever expression he had on his face made Chrysi pull a look of exaggerated offense. 

“I do,” she insisted, planting a fist on her hip. Amusement lurked in her eyes, at the corners of her mouth.

It was infectious. He felt his heart trying tug him towards it, the way it was battling to change the curve of his smile to be something more genuine. 

His phone buzzed twice in his pocket. 18, 17. He could feel the minutes falling through the cracks of his fingers, hourglass sand determined to spite him.

He spread his hands and forced himself to let those minutes drain away. “If you say so.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Then she said, “You drive safe too.”

His cue to go.

Pulling his own keys from the lanyard tucked in his pocket, Jacks kept the breezy smile on with great difficulty. “I always do,” he echoed.

Chrysi snorted. With a shake of her head and a wag of her finger, she said, “Liar, liar.” 

Jacks merely shook his head. As if controlling a video game character, he made his body to pivot towards his car. The whole way there, he felt overly awkward, like he’d fumbled an exit from the stage on opening night and he had to commit to it now. 

When he got to his driver side door, he unlocked it on autopilot. 

“Hey!”

Jacks turned to her once more, brow cocked.

Chrysi leaned over the hood of her car. Her keys scratched against the metal. “Who’s backing out first? I don’t want to have a stand-off.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated. Then, softly, deliberately, he said, “You can head out first. You live further out than me.”

She smiled wryly. “By, like, half a minute. But sure. Just know you’ve consigned yourself to waiting until I’ve queued up my music.” 

Jacks shrugged back, rather eloquently. 

With that same crooked grin, Chrysi pulled her hair over her shoulder and slid into her car.

He stared after her a beat longer. It only took triple vibrations from his phone to pull his attention away. 

As he got in the car, he counted down the minutes himself—16, 15, 14—and turned his key in the ignition. It roared to life, the fan already groaning as it worked overtime to cool down the hot, summer-rain evening. His radio turned on automatically, like it always did, and it stumbled through a few notes more of a song Gillian had cued up. 

God, no. 

He reached forward and switched the car radio from CD player to the AUX cord. 

He chose his music by muscle memory, all while studying Chrysi in her car. 

Her process was more in-depth than Jacks’s—putting her water bottle in the cup holder, placing her notebook in the passenger seat, then carefully balancing her bag on top of that, finding the AUX cord and untangling it, plugging it into her phone, scrolling through—and he was intimately familiar with it from all the other nights he’d watched her go through this exact same process. It startled him with just how familiar he’d found it.

How many nights had they had like this? How much of Chrysi had he memorized, in all their time as friends?

—13, 12, 11—

Chrysi finally put her phone down and—Jacks held his breath—she looked up, met his eyes, smiled. 

With a wave, she put her car into reverse and backed out of the spot next to him. 

When he waved back, it was too late. She’d already cleared his car and was turning towards the parking lot exit. 

This, too, echoed with all the other nights—the pattern Jacks hadn’t known they’d fallen into. 

It took him barely ten seconds to follow, but it felt like ages. 

His phone buzzed. 10.

He didn’t bother to check if his sister had sent another sticker to cheerfully proclaim his imminent breaking of curfew.

Jacks trailed behind Chrysi’s car, making out the dim shapes of her sun-bleached stickers against her back window, seeing the dent in the right bumper. A dim, rain-washed streak, driving steadily in front of him. 

How often had he driven home, trailing behind Chrysi, like this? How many times in their lives? He knew it had to have been countless—impossible to remember, no matter how much he tried to think of a way how—but he’d never realized just how far the both of them drove down the same path. Of all ten minutes it took to get home, he followed her for eight of them.

—9, 8, 7—

He watched her drive on ahead, and for the first time, he realized that he felt a stab of disappointment when they pulled up to their last shared stoplight. And for the first time, he realized it was a familiar disappointment, a jab in his sternum that went unnoticed every time he and Chrysi traveled home. 

Chrysi flicked on her left blinker and pulled into the turning lane. 

Jacks slowed to the white crosswalk line, in the lane going straight. 

The red stoplight beamed down, a grimacing light, bloodred against the seats. The crosswalk light blared yellow numbers, visible from here—6, 5, 4—

Jacks turned his head out his driver’s side window. He found Chrysi looking back at him, a bright, uneven smile shining in the stoplight’s glare. 

—3, 2—

She arched her brow when he noticed her and mouthed something.

—1.

Then the light flicked to that same leading green arrow and Chrysi tore her gaze away from Jacks. That smile dropped from her face into a resting, impassive face that Jacks still didn’t know the secrets behind, even after all those years of friendship.

She eased forward, then turned left. 

Just like all the other nights, Jacks sat at his own red light and watched the back of Chrysi’s car drive down their first divergence, farther and farther away from where he waited. He watched until another car followed, and the back of that car filled the space where Chrysi’s had been just moments before. 

Jacks wished that they didn’t live so far apart. 

His light turned green, and with a heavy sigh, Jacks turned back to the road and drove forward, deeper into the night, away from the after-rain evening he’d just experienced with his best friend. 

[illumins]

CHAPTER NINE

Beginning Change

This dream felt like poison, searing beneath her skin, burning through every cell and molecule. She reached out, desperate to escape, but her body remained anchored, trapped in the torment. Her voice, silenced. Sora felt like a caged bird in flames, the roaring fire muting her screams.

Images invaded her mind—some bloody and grotesque, others steeped in sorrow and despair. One portrayed a man in torn, bloodied clothes, a scar snaking across his face from forehead to jaw, yelling futile cries as he struggled against chains. But these terrifying visions dissipated as fear fought to reclaim her consciousness. Her soul felt ablaze, embers igniting along her body.

In an unwanted moment, she was thrust into a vision of a woman, not pleading for her own life but for another's. Sora felt the agony as if it were her own, drowning in tears, suffocating amidst a world awash in red. Brunette hair turned jet black from dried blood, a white gown tattered and soiled. '’Please, spare him. Even in death, I'll surrender my soul to the inferno if you let him live.’ The woman's wails echoed in her own throat, tearing at her being. ‘'NO!’ The final cry echoed, plunging her into darkness.

“NO!”

Sora jolted awake, sheets tossed in disarray, one leg entangled while the other dangled off the bed. Her chest heaved with the same fear that gripped her in the dream. Were they dreams? They felt too real to be mere dreams. Her hand reached from her stomach to her throat, fingers brushing sore spots, traces of night sweats dampening her hair.

A shower might help. Grabbing a discarded towel, she weakly made her way to the bathroom—a modest space with the usual amenities. With trembling hands, Sora removed her sweatpants, feeling the cool air against her skin. Gazing at her reflection, a sense of unease gnawed at her. They're just nightmares. Anyone can have them. Calm down… She turned on the shower, watching the mirror fog up until her reflection became a blur. Before stepping behind the curtain into the warm water, she noticed a spot of bright red on her reflection, trailing from her nose to her lips. A nosebleed? Wiping it away, she stared at the stain on her finger. I've never had nosebleeds. The memory of a conversation from four years ago at the hospital resurfaced, a conversation about potential future health issues.

Sora rejected the frightening thought. It can't be. I knew it was a possibility, but not now… Fearing the worst, she looked away from her reflection, stepping into the warm water to wash away the haunting thoughts.

~

Her shift at the café began in the afternoon, affording Sora more time than usual to assist her grandmother.

The shower had eased the night's tension that weighed heavily on her head and shoulders. As she moved, her limbs trembled at every step, yet with each movement, strength returned. Sitting by her grandmother's bedside, her fingers traced the contours of her face. Nana used to do this for her, sharing the love Sora had lacked. Memories from the past resurfaced.

“I wonder sometimes if I should remember…”

As her grandmother drifted into sleep, Sora's phone buzzed in her pocket. Heading to her room to get dressed, she saw a text from Mark proposing a day out by the lake. Without hesitation, she agreed and prepared for the day.

~

An hour passed since their plan. The thought of seeing Mark shifted her focus from the morning's turmoil to complete bliss. She admired herself in a white flowy romper dress, donning a cardigan for the incoming winter. She texted Areum to take care of her Nana but found herself too busy, so she asked Sicheng for the favor, and he agreed. The assurance that her grandmother would be cared for eased her mind.

As she locked the door, a grey car pulled up. Through the passenger seat window, she saw Mark's bright smile that always melted her. He was clad in all black, exuding charm. With excitement, Sora hurried towards the car, feeling his gaze on her.

“What?” she asked.

Shyly, Mark straightened himself and drove off, “Nothing, you look beautiful in white.”

Sora pursed her lips, fighting the urge to grin widely. Her heart raced, her cheeks flushed, but she kept her composure. Next to her, she heard him chuckle, his attention on the road as he hummed.

“What?” His grin slipped out.

“Nothing, just focus on the road,” Sora said seriously but with a gleam of delight in her eyes.

Mark parked outside the park, a medium-sized lake at its center, inviting for those seeking a leisurely swim. Stepping out into the winter breeze, Sora adjusted her wool cardigan, relishing the frigid air that made her fingers numb yet felt as fresh as mint. In the midst of a season that seemed lifeless, she found herself invigorated. Mark, already halfway in, stood waiting, hands in his pockets, his eyes exuding warmth. Jogging to meet him, Sora took a moment to absorb the surroundings—minimal trees, cut grass, a gravel path, and benches. The usually lively lake lay deserted, its waters shimmering like an ocean of diamonds moved by gentle waves.

Unbeknownst to her, Mark once again found himself captivated by the girl, his gaze lingering on her behind parted lips. He discerned a heaviness behind her cheery smile, visible when they shared moments of silence. Wondering if this was a constant behavior or a recent development, he snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed her catching his stare.

“Is something wrong?” Sora shyly inquired.

Sighing, he glanced at her hands, withdrawing one from his pocket to intertwine with hers. “Let's go, we still have four hours to kill.”

Nodding, she followed, her excitement apparent in every step, perhaps even skipping along the way.

They reached the lake's edge, a gentle descent into the water surrounded by rocks and plants. As they stood there, admiring the glistening view, Sora heard Mark draw in a deep breath. Observing him, she watched as he glowed like the moon, a captivating presence. His black hair took on a dark gold hue from the reflecting lake, his chest rising and falling with every calm breath, eyes closed in contemplation.

“Your eyes will burn if you don't blink,” Mark advised with closed eyes, still gazing toward the water.

Flustered, Sora covered her face, apologizing, “Sorry.”

This time, Mark laughed and looked down at her. “Don't feel bad.”

Despite his assurance, regret crept into her mind. He probably thinks I'm weird. Oh god. Sora mentally facepalmed, but outwardly, she stared into the water, still hiding her face from him.

Suddenly, two arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Instinctively, she held onto the playful boy, looking down at him with confusion and a reddened face. He flashed his signature smile.

“You were too in your thoughts.” Without warning, Mark headed into the cold lake, teasingly starting slow as if to gauge Sora's reaction. Realizing his plan, she began to squirm, the prospect of cold water leaving her frozen in worry.

“Relax, the water isn't as cold as you think.”

“Yeah? Then how come there's no one in it, Mark?”

“Well, we're going in anyway,” he smirked.

“Mark, I swear—” Sora playfully threatened, but he cut her off, now at the water's edge.

“What? Tell me, Miss Sora, what will you do?” he laughed.

For a moment, they locked eyes. She above him, he smiling mischievously. This provoked a chuckle from her, and that was all Mark needed. With her in his arms, he ran into the lake, loud splashes echoing through the quiet park. The moment the water touched her, Sora shuddered and yelped.

“Holy crap!” Instead of resisting his grip, she clung tightly, trying to absorb his warmth.

In return, he held onto her as they both started feeling the sting of the freezing water. “Shit, it's cold,” he said, letting out shivering laughs. When the water reached mid-thigh, Mark decided they had ventured far enough and let her go. Sora moved a couple of feet away, her breaths long and heavy as she tried to control her freezing body.

Damn it, Mark. He continued to watch her with amusement, hugging himself. Sucks to be cold, huh? With swift hands, Sora started splashing water at him, and in return, he retaliated. Exhausted, both from the cold water and the effort, they continued their playful duel.

Unable to endure it any longer, Sora raised her hands in defeat. “Stop! Stop! You win, damn it. I'm too cold and drenched to continue.”

With her hair damp and clinging to her face, Mark heaved in exhaustion, laughing at the pouty girl. He reached out for her arm and pulled her toward him, enveloping her in warmth. Instinctively, she moved her arms between them, shielding themselves from the open, cold air.

The moment lingered, quiet yet filled with tension. Even though he's holding me, he doesn't know how crazy my heart is going now. Resting her forehead on his chest, Sora counted down from a hundred, hoping to calm herself.

He was the first to break the silence. “Sora... can I kiss you?”

Her breathing hitched. If she was cold before, now she was frozen. How do I respond?

“Sora?” He called out to her quietly.This time, she lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, seeing the worry in his eyes. He probably thinks he made me uncomfortable. It took her another second until she knew her answer. I don't have to say anything… Instead, Sora smiled, and with that, she watched as his face transformed from worry to delight. Holding tightly to her, he leaned down and planted the softest kiss, one that melted the cold.

[lipstickstainz]

touches - s.r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But what happens, when he gets comfortable around you? Warnings: fluff, Spencer being cute, getting shot but nothing too explicit and oh, and a bucket full of angst Word Count: 4,4k  A/N: hello friends. I have a part two of this in my drafts if you like! I hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

You had heard a lot about the BAU team before joining them.

About the cases, the trust, the bond. It had always been something that had fascinated you. You had experienced some things with your previous team as well, but the BAU was in a whole different league.

Before you had been moved there, you had already familiarized yourself with the teammates. You didn't want to come unprepared to a team that knew each other inside and out. Also, you were a person who put your foot in your mouth quickly.

You were most impressed by Doctor Spencer Reid. You had heard the most about him. He was a genius, with an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention his eidetic memory. You had even read his doctoral dissertations. While you didn't understand everything, they were incredibly interesting and gave you a little insight into the mind of the spectacular Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you first met, you concentrated on not reaching out to him. You merely raised your hand to greet him, which he returned with a smile, and although he tried to hide it, you knew that this small gesture meant a lot to him.

While the other team members put their hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, you were almost tensely careful not to touch him. If he should want to, he would make the first move.

It happened some time later, as you stood side by side in the office kitchen. While Spencer poured himself a coffee, you poured hot water into your teacup. You asked him for the sugar that was next to him, and instead of sliding it over to you as you had been doing, he held the dispenser out to you. You reached for it and when your fingers brushed his, it went through you like an electric shock. You suddenly felt warm and your heart beat faster, but Spencer didn't seem to notice. He smiled at you before walking back to his seat. You looked after him.

After that incident, you were both a little more relaxed. While you didn't push it, Spencer didn't seem to mind you handing him files or touching each other briefly when you sat next to each other. After an incident on the plane, even the team noticed.

Spencer was on his way to the trash can when you got up to sit with Emily and Hotch to discuss the current case. You squeezed past each other as the plane made an unexpected swerve. You tried to grab onto the seat next to you, but the sway was too sudden. Before you could fall, Spencer grabbed your arm with one hand and your hip with the other and held you tight. He pulled you straight toward him so you wouldn't land face down on the ground. Even when the plane was back on course, he didn't let go. As you tried to regain control of your irregular breathing from the shock, Spencer looked at you closely. You felt his gaze on you, almost burning into your forehead, but neither said a word. As you broke away from each other and each sat down in your seat, you noticed his gaze still on you. When you looked up, he looked away.

Next came your birthday. Even though you didn't want to celebrate and your real plan was to have food delivered and watch your favorite movie for the hundredth time, the team dragged you to a bar. "Pathetic," Derek had called the plan, and you had punched him affectionately in the shoulder, but by the time he put the first drink in your hand, you had all but forgotten his comment. While some of you sat at a table and the rest enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, you sat at the bar. You did love your team, but on your birthday you didn't want to hear about any cases outside of work. Which couldn't be avoided when you were around each other 24/7.

You sipped your drink, secretly cursing Derek for having so much alcohol in it. You scrunched your nose.

"Did you know that alcohol tastes different when you drink it with a straw?" Spencer asked, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When we ingest something, the aroma molecules go up our nose and we can tell from the start whether it's going to taste good or not. Also, the nose detects different flavors than the tongue. So if you drink the drink with the straw so the glass is farther away from your nose, you'll perceive the taste of the drink differently than it is." Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see how red he was getting. When you didn't answer, he laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I was rambling again."

You took another sip of your drink. "Don't apologize, Spencer. I like that you're so smart. And I like that you're comfortable enough to want to share your knowledge with me," you smiled gently at him. He returned your smile.

"I appreciate you not reaching out to me then, by the way," he confessed, nibbling on the label of his beer bottle. "I don't like shaking hands with strangers, and it makes me uncomfortable when I'm expected to but I don't. So, thanks for that."

"It's okay," you said, but he let go of his bottle and turned to you completely.

"You never pushed me to do this. You waited for me to make the first move on this because it means more to me than it does to you. There aren't many who are that respectful and understanding." He got up from his chair, but left the beer bottle on the counter. He held out his arms. "I haven't wished you a happy birthday yet because I didn't want to do it in front of the team. They'd make a big deal out of it." He gestured for you to give him a hug. He actually wanted to hug you.

"Spencer, you don't have to do this," you said, but before you knew it, he had grabbed your hand and pulled you off the chair, right into his arms.

You had often imagined what a hug from Spencer would be like, especially when you saw him hug JJ or Emily after a hard case. But you had imagined it differently.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist and held you so close that you almost couldn't breathe. You felt his long fingers on your skin, despite your T-shirt and you felt his warm breath on your neck and his curls on your temple. Goosebumps spread over your body and you prayed he didn't notice. "Happy birthday," he whispered in your ear and before you knew it, he placed his lips on your cheek before pulling away from you. Smiling, he reached for his beer and sauntered back over to the table, leaving you standing at the bar. With a pounding heart and fire in your veins. And in that moment, you just thought that work colleagues, or even maybe friends, shouldn't feel that way about each other.

After your birthday, it was no longer an issue for Spencer. Under the table, he'd nudge you with his knee if you weren't paying attention for a second, or he'd put his hand on your shoulder when he looked over you at the computer screen. He also didn't mind if you were so exhausted from a case that you fell asleep by his side on the plane, with your head on his shoulder. You didn't realize it, but JJ had pointed out that Spencer always pulled you a little closer then, resting his cheek against the top of your head. For him, the constant touching was no longer an issue.

For you, it was. Every time his skin brushed yours, you felt warm and your heart skipped a beat. Whether it was at dinner, at a briefing, or just walking by. But it was bearable.

It got bad when he touched you longer. On particularly hard cases, he had taken to looking under the table for your hand and squeezing it twice. It was a gesture of friendship and care. If you held each other, nothing could happen to you. On the plane, you always sat next to each other, playing cards or absorbed in your own thoughts. Spencer, however, got into the habit of putting your legs over one of his if you had to fly for a particularly long time. At first, the team gave you strange looks, which made you uncomfortable, but didn't bother Spencer in the least. So you tried not to let on, which was pretty difficult when you were surrounded by profilers. Flames blazed in your veins at those touches, heat tingled under your skin where he touched you, and when he pulled you into his arms on certain occasions, you almost felt dizzy.

This is not how you should feel about your best friend.

"Thales, Miletus, here's your key," Hotch said, tossing Spencer the room key as the team checked into the hotel. He'd resisted at first the nickname Garcia had picked out for you - classically, after the discoverer of magnetism - but since everyone was using it, even the earnest Hotch had given up on it. "Prentiss, JJ, your room is right next to ours." The two women nodded and the four of them walked down the corridor while Derek was kind enough to take the girls' bags.

You couldn't look after them for long, because Spencer had already grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers. "Come on. Our room is waiting."

You had never shared a room. You'd either always had your own, or shared one with Emily or JJ, but never with Spencer. You wouldn't mind so much if you weren't into him. Hopefully there were two beds. On opposite walls. Far away from each other.

When Spencer unlocked the door and you entered, you wanted to sink into the floor. Double bed. One blanket. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for the stay by setting your bag down on a chair and stopping in the middle of the room while your best friend inspected it. He didn't seem to notice that you had only one bed and, more importantly, only one blanket. At least, it didn't bother him.

When you returned to the room that evening, you went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. The water was as cold as you could stand it. It was supposed to cool you down and prepare you for the night. It wasn't every day that you shared a bed with your crush. After combing your hair and changing, you slipped under the covers and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible so you wouldn't notice Spencer's presence next to you when he came out of the bathroom.

Your thoughts cheated on you. What if you snuggled up to each other in your sleep at night? Or you would unconsciously snuggle up to him, but he didn't want you to? Then you'd have to get another room tomorrow. And it would get so awkward that you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Spencer finally as he climbed into bed next to you. Immediately, you felt his warmth. He hadn't taken a cold shower, apparently.

"It's always hard when kids are involved," you answered truthfully. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what was floating around in your mind either.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Hesitantly, you slid closer to him so there was still space between you, but it didn't seem close enough for Spencer. After he turned out the light, he pulled you close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder and with his free hand, he reached for yours and intertwined your fingers again. Your heart stopped. "We can do this, Y/N. We've done it all so far." You heard his heartbeat beneath you, felt his breath on your hair, and the warmth of his body burned into your skin. "Try to get some sleep. We'll know more tomorrow," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you felt Spencer behind you. His chest was pressed against your back, his arm was wrapped tightly around your middle, and he had his face buried in your neck. Immediately goosebumps spread all over your body. You tried to pull away from him a little, but he pulled you even closer. Spencer was still asleep, so he didn't notice how he carefully slid his hand under your shirt and how his long fingers danced over your soft skin. You held your breath, afraid to move or give away your racing heartbeat. At one point he pulled his arm back and turned onto his back before lifting his hand and rubbing his eyes. His hair stood out in all directions and he smiled sleepily. You were getting hot.

"Good morning, Y/N." Good morning indeed.

The case took longer than planned, though of course you can't plan a case. After the third night, you had gotten used to sleeping next to Spencer, but the cuddling worried you. The longer you shared that room, the more complicated your feelings became. It was almost unbearable.

Derek, Emily, Spencer and you found the unsub in a remote car yard. While the latter surveyed the building, Derek and you looked around the yard.

"What's going on between you and Reid, anyway?" he asked curiously. You gave him a meaningful look, but he didn't care. "It's come to all of our attention. You guys are inseparable, he has to touch you all the time, and those looks."

"What looks?" you probed, trying to sound as unsuspecting as possible. This time Derek was looking at you. So he had noticed. And if Derek knew, so did the others. Fucking profilers.

"Y/N," he started, and stopped. When you turned to him, he twisted his mouth into a weak smile. It was a very different Derek who stood before you. Not the go-getter who sometimes made fun of Spencer. He seemed genuinely worried, and that made you nervous. "Friends don't look at friends that way."

A loud bang rang through the air and the conversation was all but forgotten. You took cover and communicated via hand signals. Quietly, you moved forward. It wasn't long before you saw a figure running away behind the cars. "We got him," Derek said into the mic, and together you dashed toward the unsub. He ran toward the woods and disappeared. Derek looked at you and nodded. You split up.

Gun drawn, you ran forward. Leaves crunched beneath you, but you tuned that out. You focused on the birds above you, the shadows of the trees, and the gun in your hand. He had to be here somewhere.

You didn't even startle when you felt cold metal against the back of your head. "Don‘t. Move." You took your fingers off the trigger and raised your arms. "Put the gun down. Vest off." Slowly, you bent down and placed both on the ground. The only thing you could think about was that you would hopefully find them later. "Walk.“ With your hands clasped behind your head, you took one step at a time. Derek was nowhere to be seen. You wished you hadn't split up.

He led you to a rundown cabin in the woods that wasn't marked on any map, which is why you couldn't have known about it. He pushed you inside and closed the door behind him, his gun still pointed at you. "If you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it long ago," you gave out, but he didn't go for it. It was a game of fire. You knew the file and what he was capable of.

It was only a few moments before someone kicked open the door and Derek stormed into the cabin, closely followed by Spencer. "Put the gun down and keep your hands off," Derek yelled. Up until then, you hadn't realized that the he had pulled you close and was holding the barrel of his gun right to your temple You only had eyes for Spencer, who was deliberately not looking at you.

You tried to get his attention, but he wouldn't budge. You raised a hand and moved it toward your shoulder, hoping Spencer understood your message. But he wasn't looking at you.

Look at me, Spencer. Come on. Look. At. Me.

His eyes moved from the unsub to your fingers, tapping a spot in your shoulder. You repeated this until he finally looked you in the eye. Then he shook his head, barely perceptibly. Again you tapped the spot. If Spencer shot through your shoulder, he would hit the perpetrator in the torso, and even if the bullet slowed down through you, it would still do enough damage. And you were willing to take the risk.

But Spencer didn't shoot. And time was running out for you. "I trust you," you said, no sound escaping your lips. He gritted his teeth. "I trust you, Spencer. Do it."

And then he shot.

-

"Welcome back, sunshine," Derek grinned, wrapping you in his muscular arms as you entered the office. "We've all missed you."

It had been three months since you had been shot in the field. Spencer had shot you through the shoulder as planned, and you were right. The perpetrator was shot and the rest of the victims were found. So it was almost a happy ending.

Almost. Of course, you had to listen to a few more things from Hotch on the way to the hospital. You were tired of living and he was disappointed and angry, but incredibly relieved that nothing else had happened to you. You could have been the next victim, too.

"All of you?" you prodded, and Emily, who had joined you, screwed up her face.

"He's not back yet. He extended his vacation," she said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He's not really over it yet."

You hadn't heard from Spencer since the incident. He hadn't visited you at the hospital, called you or been to your home after you were discharged. You were best friends and the fact that you hadn't seen him in three months hurt more than the gunshot wound. The only person Spencer talked to was JJ, but even she couldn't give you any information.

He probably blamed himself, but why? You had wanted him to shoot. It had been your plan. Besides, he had shot so well that you didn't suffer any permanent damage. He shouldn't worry about it.

It was strange to work a case without him. Not having him near you. Not being able to feel his warmth. You tried to reach him, by phone, by letter, but you got no answer. Even though you hadn't spoken in months, he was your best friend and you were starting to get really worried. He had cut off contact with JJ himself.

When you walked into the office one morning, you were almost breathless. Spencer was standing at his desk, leaning against it, and the others were standing around him. But you had no eyes for them. Spencer was back. Your Spencer was back. As you walked toward them, you got a sinking feeling. He looked good. Changed, but good. His hair was a little shorter and he didn't look as pale as usual. He also seemed more confident and self-assured, which unfortunately made him even more attractive.

He didn't see you until you were almost in front of him. He smiled weakly at you before standing up straight. "Y/N," he said, and it felt so good to hear your name come out of his mouth. Immediately, goosebumps spread across your body. You expected him to give you a hug or insist on talking to you in person, because a lot had happened in the time without him, but he didn't. He turned around briefly and pulled something off his office chair. Not something. Someone. "This is my girlfriend, Vicky."

You didn't know what had happened in the last few months. Did you even want to know? Spencer hadn't contacted you in a long time, only to reappear with a girlfriend? You didn't understand the world anymore. The rest of the team must have felt the same way, because as you stood at your regular table in the bar, the couple was the only topic of conversation. In fact, you would have preferred all the murder cases.

"I'll be honest," Penelope said, taking a big gulp of her drink, which took quite a while since she always drank with a straw, "I was hoping you two would get together." She pointed her finger at you and then toward Spencer, who was standing at the bar with Vicky. You saw her run her finger through his hair and had to look away. Didn't she know he didn't like that?

"Hotch and I even bet money on it," Emily confessed, turning back towards the table. Apparently she didn't want to watch them either. "We would have gotten you a nice wedding present from that."

"He looks happy," you said, but you guessed that's not what the others wanted to hear from you. You sat at a table made up mostly of profilers. They knew exactly how you felt about the whole thing.

"Give it a rest," Derek said, putting his arm around your shoulder. Even the overly positive music in the background couldn't lighten your mood. "We all know how you feel about Spencer. And honestly, we thought he would feel the same way about you."

"But he doesn't, so please let it go," you shot back, instantly regretting it. Your friends weren't to blame for the whole situation. It was you. As you dared another look, Vicky pulled Spencer onto the dance floor, which you knew he didn't like either. Didn't she know him at all?

"I don't know what got into him," JJ confessed, sipping her Coke. "Those two don't even fit together." They didn't, but maybe that's why it worked. There was this theory that opposites attract, but you could never have imagined it with Spencer.

When Vicky grabbed Spencer by the tie and pulled him down so she could kiss him, your heart broke. It was different when you just knew two people were doing something. But when you saw it, all hope was lost. Even from a distance, you could see their tongues and you almost threw up.

"That's my sign," you said, pressing a kiss to Penelope's cheek. "See you." They all said goodbye to you and even over that awful music, you could still hear "It must hurt terribly to see him like that" and "I couldn't do that" as you walked.

Outside, the cold night air surprised you. It hit you in the face like a slap, but nothing hurt as much as knowing Spencer was happy without you. He didn’t need you and he didn't want you. That was fine, but that didn't mean you had to go along with it. Since he'd been back, he'd barely spoken to you. On the plane, he had sat at the other end of the room, and he had actually switched rooms at the hotel just so he wouldn't have to be near you. He'd even started shoving files back at you instead of handing them to you, like he'd burn if he touched you.

The lights in Hotch's office were still on when you came into the office. It was just after midnight and you knew he would still be there. When you knocked on his door, he invited you in. "What can I do for you?" He hadn't even had to ask. He knew why you were there. It was written on your forehead. "Are you sure about this? I'll write a recommendation, but only if you really want me to." You nodded silently. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he asked, his usually hard expression softening.

"Yes," you answered curtly. There was nothing to add.

"I'll make some calls. You get a week to pack. I'll call you tomorrow," he said, getting up from his desk. Surprisingly, he pulled you into his arms. "We're all going to miss you terribly, Y/N. And you're welcome here anytime."

It didn't take long for your things to be packed, and it didn't take long for the others to notice the following day. Your desk was empty, the files had been processed, the pictures of you and the team were gone, and your mug with a picture of Spencer and you on it that he had once given you was gone, too.

"Where is she?" asked Emily Derek, who didn't have an answer ready either. They looked around uncertainly and as the rest entered the bullpen, Hotch came out of his office. He looked like he hadn't slept. He walked down the steps and stood in the circle of confused team members. Even Spencer was puzzled.

"Agent Y/L/N left us last night," he began, sounding very composed. The others didn't know how to respond, so they just gave each other confused looks. "She has asked for a transfer and will start there next week. Please refrain from trying to talk her out of it. The transfer has gone through."

It took everyone by great surprise when Spencer dropped his bag and stormed out of the office. He didn't need to explain where he was going. It was obvious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't long before he arrived at your complex and shot up the steps to your apartment. He took two steps at a time. He stopped in front of your door and pounded his fist against the wood, hoping you would open the door for him and explain what you were doing. When nothing happened, he dialed the number again. Again and again, until the voice in the phone said to him, this number was no longer in service.

He ran his hand through his hair before sliding down with his back to the door. He put his head between his knees and cursed himself.

You weren't there anymore.

part two

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Belphegor

7 - That moment when Belphegor showed you magic.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of death and also lesson 16 spoilers

Nights in the Devildom were no different from nights in the human world, except for the abundance of visible stars twinkling in the night sky. Too much light pollution covered the stars in the human world, and you had almost forgotten what they looked like if not for arriving at the Devildom.

“Can’t sleep?” A voice, soft and heavy with sleep, entered the planetarium. It echoed gently in the dimness around you and almost faded under the trickling of the water fountain, the airy words murmuring against your ears.

Belphegor draped a warm, fluffy blanket around you as he settled next to you, wrapping himself with the other end of the blanket. He sat to your right, one of his long legs bent at the knees, and the other stretched out against the marble floor. When he leaned into you, the soft strands of his hair tickled your neck, and the faint smell of chamomile floated around you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” you teased, brushing your thumb against his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ear. They didn’t stay there long, falling back down to cover his eyes again.

Belphie sighed. He turned his head slightly, his purple eyes half-lidded as they met yours.

“Missed you,” he muttered. “I woke up with this gaping feeling in my chest, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I could feel you next to me.” Then he hesitated, his breath hitching as you felt his hand twitch against yours. “Can I… Can I hold your hand?”

You took his hand in yours, weaving your fingers with his. His fingers were freezing, so you rubbed them with your other hand, hoping to warm them up somewhat.

“Of course,” you said, smiling. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Of course,” Belphie repeated. He brought your intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand. “You’re here with me.”

Your cheeks warmed along with your heart, your mind fumbling around the affection consuming you from the inside out. This was the best feeling of love you could ever have the privilege of experiencing—it was something like a stuffy feeling, like layers of cotton had been padded in your chest, and it wasn’t strong to the point where you felt like you could burst into pieces, but something more subtle, something more encompassing, suffusing through every fiber of your being and every molecule of your soul.

You were absolutely immersed in it.

“I have a little trick for you,” Belphie said almost immediately after, pulling away from you so that he was sitting upright. “Since you can’t sleep. Have you heard of tracing?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

He hummed. “That’s not too surprising. Tracing is something children are taught when they are very young, so the RAD professors wouldn’t teach you what it is.” Then, he held out his hand, the one that wasn’t holding yours. “Here, hold your hand out. With your palm up. It’ll make it easier. Tracing is basically what it sounds like. You trace the air with your magic.”

You felt like you understood it but also didn’t at the same time. You could hold your hand out no problem, but everything after that was… hm. Not good.

“Belphie, you’re a bad teacher,” you said, smiling teasingly at him.

He glared half-heartedly at you, eyebrows just barely furrowing, but then he chuckled.

“Sorry, my little sun,” Belphie said, lips curling at the edges into an amused smile. His bangs brushed past his nose as he tilted his head. “I’ll explain properly this time.”

True to his words, he took his time teaching you, explaining each part thoroughly and making sure you understood. You were surprised that he had that much patience, especially since he yawned multiple times throughout his explanation. Although, you couldn’t say that tracing was hard to explain.

“Very good,” Belphie said, his voice drifting into your ears. “Visualize your magic, make it visible, solidify it, and then move it according to your will. When you get used to it, put down your hand. Try tracing by using only your mind.”

It took you a few tries, but it really wasn’t too difficult. Once you managed to trace without having to use your hand as an anchor, the first thing you traced in the air was “Belphegor” surrounded by hearts. If you maintained your focus, your tracing could stay for a few minutes, so you kept adding hearts around his name, the color of your magic lighting up the planetarium.

“Why are you like this?” Belphie sighed, exasperated. He started tracing as well, purple letters appearing next to yours. His magic was lazy but light, appearing in delicate, efficient strokes.

“Like what?”

“So precious.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the letters in front of him, his eyes reflecting the light from his magic. When he still didn’t face you, you returned to adding more hearts around his name—only to see what he was tracing.

It was your name in beautiful calligraphy, and underneath, it was Belphie’s endearment for you—my little sun—in smaller but just as lovely letters. He also incorporated a sun into your name, little lines indicating the sunbeams. Even though he didn’t draw any hearts at all, his adoration for you was still clear as day.

“You’re the precious one here,” you said, pretending that the lump in your throat didn’t exist. You spoke past it, even when your voice came out scratchy in doing so. “Now, it doesn’t matter how many hearts I draw. It won’t beat yours.”

Belphegor laughed, his voice coming out in airy puffs. “Since when did this become a competition? You’ve already beaten me. The moment I fell for you, you’ve already become my everything.” He looked at you softly, the lines around his eyes gentle with love. But you also noticed the dark circles lining underneath them, hidden behind his bangs. “My little sun. You are the light in my world.”

“Then, you’re my moon,” you said, squeezing his hand. “My other half. In the darkness, you are my light.”

“I am your moon,” he agreed. He squeezed your hand back, turning away from you, and rested his forehead against his propped up knee. “Because even the moon gets its light from the sun.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you went back to the letters hovering in the air. You let most of the hearts fade from around Belphegor’s name, but you kept the rest. You wanted to keep some form of your love visible for at least a little longer.

“You know what’s funny?” he suddenly asked.

You drew a little cow in the air, adding Belphie’s horns to it. “What?”

“I used to love human beings,” he started. “They were just so fascinating, and I loved them. But not in the way Lilith loved them. The love I felt for humans was like how humans love flowers. But Lilith didn’t love them like flowers. Lilith picked one human and gave them all of her love, to the point that she went against Celestial laws for them.”

Belphie paused. The water fountain gurgled faintly in the silence. You finished your cow and decided to stop tracing, tilting your head up to look at the planetarium sky instead.

He continued, “I didn’t understand that kind of love. I didn’t understand what kind of feelings could drive her to such lengths for a human. A human that would never live as long as us. When Lucifer told us that she died, all I could think about was that, in some way—I killed her. I led her to her death. It was because I loved humans that she fell in love with one. But because my love was not the same as her love, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand her love, I didn’t understand her reasons, I didn’t understand her.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Because I didn’t understand, I blamed the humans for it. I started hating them, and it was a kind of loathing that ate away at me from the inside. I hated that they took my sister away. I hated that she had to fall in love with one. I hated that I didn’t understand. So, you know what’s funny? It’s funny that it is only now that I understand.”

“Belphie,” you whispered. You couldn’t see his face, but from the shakiness of his voice, you knew that he was in a lot of pain—pain so embedded into him that you didn’t know how to soothe. You adjusted your position so that you could wrap your arm around him, bringing him into a half hug.

“Isn’t it funny?” Belphegor rasped, his body trembling. “Isn’t it funny how I hated humans so much for causing my sister to die, yet now, I am completely, utterly in love with one? And now—and now, I understand exactly how Lilith felt back then. Now, I know why she did what she did. The irony of it all—I hated that I loved humans, but that hate has also led me to you. Lilith, as an angel, fell in love with a human, and I, as a demon, have also fallen in love with one.”

You took in his shaking form, the light heaving of his chest, the balled up fist at his side. You took it all in, and asked, lightly, “Do you regret it?”

Belphie shot up, misty eyes frantically meeting yours as he squeezed your intertwined hands tightly. “Never. I never regretted it. I wouldn’t, and I will never. Loving you is nothing but joy. I love loving you, I love seeing you smile, I love knowing that you are happy. I love that you love me. I love you. I am so happy, knowing that I love you. And I will break every rule in all three realms in a heartbeat, if it means that I can see you smile again.”

“You don’t have to go that far,” you said softly, brushing his bangs to the side so you could see all of him. “Just knowing that you love me is enough. I love you too. For me, loving you is a state of truth. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

A sort of desperation haunted him, lingering in the deep purple of his eyes. He took your free hand, clasping it together with your interwoven hands. When he rested his forehead against them, it almost resembled a prayer of sorts.

“You can’t die,” Belphie pleaded, begging, praying—choking on his words. “You can’t die. Please, I can’t lose you. Please, please—you can’t die. Please, don’t leave me alone. My sun can’t set. I can’t live in a world without your light. Please, you can’t die—”

But you knew, and you knew that he knew too.

That all suns must set.

-------

Masterlist!

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.2

Part one

Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him. 

Warnings: slight fluff, angst

==========================

Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.

“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.

And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.

Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.

A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.

“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.

His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.

“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.

“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.

He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.

“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”

A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”

“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.

“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”

Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”

Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.

“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.

Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.

Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.

“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.

“St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.

“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.

"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"

Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."

Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”

Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.

“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.

Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”

“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”

“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.

“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.

"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”

Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”

“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”

Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”

His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”

“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”

Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.

“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”

“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.

How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?

“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”

“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.

“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.

With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.

A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”

And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.

He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.

And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.

So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.

Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.

He couldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.

He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.

“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.

Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.

She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.

“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.

Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.

PART 3

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Necklace

A/n: I knooooooow I said I'll post it tomorrow but I couldn't wait. Eren is really something so I hope you all enjoy this. Feel free to look ✨disrespectfully✨ I don't know if I'm embarrassed or not by this pls

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Summary: sometimes the backseat of a car is the ideal place to find yourself in, so long as it's with Eren Yeager

Tags/ Warnings: NSFW, 18+, car sex

"Aw fuck!"

The drizzling cold enticed any of the skin that you had exposed, piercing through teeny molecules of flesh with what felt like severely dangerous needles. The loud, panting breaths that escaped both you and your partner merged in sheer fog, yet they clattered with the windows around you, staining the transparent material of glass like heavy curtains.

A mewl like sound reached your ears, ringing through your head for the upteenth time this evening only as if to reward you for your hard work.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

Eren's hand shot off of your head so fast that it felt like he had been burnt only to land to the window next to him. A big hand print was plastered onto the foggy window, letting a few droplets of moisture run onto the rubber frames of the car.

The kitten like lick you placed onto his head, picking up the much dreaded drop of precum sent his head colliding in such force with the head of the backseat that the hard foam inside its industrial cover bounced his head to the front.

A bold hand cupped onto his balls, kneading the smooth skin in a manner that was firm in all the right ways. Eren bit his lip at that, a low grunting moan leaving his throat after scratching onto his vocal chords. Leaning further down you accommodated more of him in your mouth, trapping his shaft on to your pallette with your tongue before letting him off with a loud pop, only to repeat the action again.

Eren couldn't help himself, his digits run through your hair, despite being frozen, locked into place, stroked your scalp tenderly as if he found it in him to move even an inch. But when his lower stomach was churching beyond a sane point he only found it fitting to gather all of his remaining energy to treat you with a kiss.

In a heartbeat, the flats of his palms came to your cheeks tagging towards his face until he managed to open his eyes into yours. Teal orbs that were so beautifully decorated with gray specs started back into yours, hazed with lust to the maximum. You spoke no word, instead, you plopped his member off your hot mouth with a loud pop, revealing your swollen, slick with his own lust lips to him before curling the line of your mouth into a small smirk.

The cold air licked over his shaft, sending shivers across his spine yet you acted as if you knew that it was bound to happen. Carefully you wrapped both of your hands around his member, giving firm squeezes across his length with your right while twirling your left onto his base, eager to trap as much blood as you could into his erection.

"Oh fuck that feels so fucking good."

"Mhm baby"

Eren clenched his teeth as he tugged on your face again, much more forcefully this time and you couldn't help but comply to his unspoken request.

Instantly, your lips were clashed onto his, your teeth colliding from the action but you chose to ignore it as you moved your mouth on his in your own accord. Eren pushed further into the kiss, his tongue darting out towards your bottom lip to order you to open your mouth for him, to which you simply complied without teasing back.

"Fuck!" Eren said for the thousandth time "you're killing me tonight princess!"

In response your thumb circled his slit, collecting all of his slick, gushing precum, playing with how tender or soft you pressed onto him with every circle.

His tongue danced inside your mouth again, exploring the salty spots of taste he had left behind, his nose sniffing as much air as he could managed to make his lungs function halfway decently.

"As much as I like kissing you," you said, pulling back from his lips before delving into them again "I want to fucking devour you right now."

The words spiralled into Eren's brain, sending a whirlpool of desire to his lower abdomen. With wide eyes he nodded, swallowing any remaining saliva into his mouth hard enough to fill the small space of his car with the sound.

"Look at you being such a whore for my cock." He whined.

In reality, he didn't know how he could find it in himself to stand tall to his usual nature of dominance, or rather, how he managed to put any effort into it. His hands eagerly let go of your face and rested between your messy (h/c) locks once again.

Hungrily, you returned to his member, running the flat of your tongue teasingly over his head before licking the rest of his underside. When Eren hissed, you rubbed his tip sloppily over your lips and gathered your sweet saliva in your mouth, deciding that it was time to warm him up once again.

The premative sound of his voice enticed you, causing a strangle series of bubbles to form into your abdomen at the thought of what affect you could have at him. You were so hitched over the fact that you could make him melt and mewl under your touch that it excited you to no end.

As your heart sped up though, your jaw remained restless, opening eagerly to accommodate him once again. Your tongue flattened as you grabbed the base of his member right under his balls, bobbing him slowly into your mouth.

Eren's eyes watered as he watched you, his teeth digging into the chapped flesh of his lips so hard that he thought he could taste the piercing iron taste of blood, but he paid it no mind; how could he? How could he, when he felt so hang up on your total conquer of his body.

After a few thrusts you popped him out of your mouth, a longing haze in your eyes as you fixated them into his. You felt him burning holes into your orbs, your heart spreading up at the sight of him unravelling before you in such way. Your legs almost rubbed together to relieve some of the tention you yourself were feeling.

Eren seemed to notice, despite the vertigo that was written into his rich orbs, because a hand came to slightly squeeze onto your panty clad buttock. Four long digits wiggled there way under the line of your underwear, working vigorously to simply shove the clothe to the side as you finally decided to take a smooth ball into your mouth, giving it a little suck and a simultaneous long lick.

"More" Eren panted. "Take the other one too, don't stop jerking me baby."

While you were pleased with the loud sound Eren let out you wanted to stay victorious over your affect on him before delving into your own pleasure, though Eren begged for the opposite. Finally a frozen finger that had found its way through your folds managed to launch onto your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, leaving you vulnerable to let out a mewl of satisfaction.

With much determination focused on the movements in your hands you began to stroke him in a swirling motion, once again flattening your tongue as you felt him thrusting his hips slightly into your open mouth.

Eren's hand wiggled further against you, pushing your bottom into the air as he laid his palm flat against you. The sweet friction left your hips shaking, urging you to rub yourself just to prompt the slightest increase of pressure from his hand. Eren eagerly gave into your neediness, delving his middle finger just in the opening of your entrance while his thumb came to press onto your clit steadily.

When it happened, you shrieked, your chest heaving as your knees dug into the wide seat of the car with force, immediately sending a smirk of triumph onto Eren's face. Your moans were muffled by his member, the deep grunt you had wanted to let out transforming into a pleasuring vibration that spread all over him.

"Don't stop baby, I'm gonna come!" Eren's breath hitched in his throat as he spoke, his voice barely audible as it struggled to reach your ears.

You pressed on him, skillfully maneuvering the screw of your hands on him as you rubbed just below his tip, sending numerous hisses to come out of his mouth. His grip on your hair tightened while his hand momentarily stopped it's torment over you. Happy that you realised he was focusing on his release, you bobbed your head faster on him, reaching out two fingers to press just underneath his balls.

The pressure on the spot made Eren moan and widen his eyes, an inaudible curse leaving his mouth as he pushed his hips towards you further. With fast movements you stroked him up and down, your own hand colliding with your mouth, merely spreading the slickness of your drool over his whole length.

"Keep going like that and I'm going to come in your mouth."

"Mhm" you chuckled.

"That's it" Eren squirmed "Im gonna-"

Eren's thighs turned into stone, his whole body frozen as a strong ribbon of his release exploded into your mouth in spurts. His breath paced, his heart heaped into his chest, his eyes dilated as his head started feeling lighter that usual.

You got off of him, bringing a soft hand on his thigh to brush upon his hot skin, tenderly caressing pools of skin here and there. You leaned in softly, placing mellow kisses on places where your fingers couldn't caress, eliciting wondrous sounds off of Eren.

Finally, your eyes were fixed on his again, gleaming in unshed specs tears. Even though Eren's eyebrows were raised in agonising pleasure they furrowed dangerously as he kept staring at you. You felt your stomach tighten upon his gaze, a new, intense shock of arousal washing through you.

A needy gaze was all he needed to send him growling like a wild animal against you. Eren pushed past your face, bringing his face impossibly close to your ear. His breath ghosted over the spot, sending ripping shivers on your nape as he dragged his tongue in the tormentous manner across your lobe.

Nevertheless, in a moment where you felt your heart start speaking again you brought your forehead to Eren's forearm, eager to finally allow yourself to catch your breath. Looking around, you noticed how that hand print on the window had been covered with fog once again, your hand giving a small squeeze on Eren's bicep as you rubbed your lips over his silky smooth skin. His thumb rubbed a single soothing circle on your back before giving your butt a small prompting slap and, for a moment, you were sure you heard him chuckle with his own antics

"Time to get your shirt off babe." You heard Eren call as you cooed into his arm further.

You simply smiled knowingly in response. This was definitely going to be a long night.

Taglist: @thethyri @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @berrijam

[its-f4nf4n-again]

Blood Ties for @narutoocshipweek

Sakumo is called away for a mission on the eve of his child’s birth.

Word Count:  2,229 Warnings:  pregnancy, character death

#

Takane is awoken by the clinking of kunai.  In the dismal shadows of her bedroom, she can just make out the outline of her husband. Sakumo looks frenzied, his silver hair reflecting the minimal light of the moon which manages to seep in through the curtains.

“Sakumo, what’s going on?”

His eyes shine when he looks at her, pupils wide and alert.

“I’ve been summoned for a mission.  I have to leave immediately.”

Takane shoots up too quickly and she’s dizzy by the time she’s fully upright.  Sakumo is there in an instant—arms around her shoulders to steady her.  It’s become a common occurrence; the closer she comes to her due date, the more easily she is lightheaded.

“Not so fast, my love.”

Takane shakes her head. She doesn’t care about dizzy spells right now.  All that matters is what he’s just told her.

“You’re leaving.” It’s not so much a question as an accusation.  She places a soothing hand on her belly where her baby is kicking in angry protest at the unusual movement at such an hour.  Sakumo joins her, laying his palm on the protrusion of her stomach and then bending down to give it a quick kiss, murmuring something vaguely reassuring before his lips find Takane’s forehead.  All too quickly, his lips are gone and he returns to his pack to continue sorting through his equipment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I don’t have a choice.”  He snaps open a scroll, eyes scanning the parchment in the dark before he rolls it back up and shoves it into his pack.  “You know if I did there’s nowhere I would be but here.”

Taken stands, worry drawn taut between her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth turned down.  The baby kicks again and she rubs soothing circles over her stomach as she wanders out of the room.  It feels too stifling, the scent of soldier pills and weapons oil too potent.

The air is clearer in the main part of the house, once she makes it down the hallway—pointedly walking past the room intended for their coming baby because she knows the sight of it now will only make her cry.  It’s brighter in the kitchen—moonlight streaming in through the large window over the sink and the sliding doors that lead to the garden, the thin paper translucent enough it glows almost like a lantern.

“Takane.”

When she turns to look at her husband, he’s already got his pack slung over his shoulder and the sight of it—the realization that he is really leaving; that he may not be here when she goes into labor as he promised—pulls a choked, mournful sound from her throat.  She covers her mouth with a hand to try and stifle the noise, but it does nothing to tamper the effect it has on Sakumo.

He moves quicker than any shinobi she’s ever seen, crosses the house in less than half a breath to wrap her in his arms, to tuck her face against his neck where her warm tears dribble beneath the neckline of his uniform to gather in the dip of his collarbone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against her hair, but she shakes her head.

“You don’t know that.”

Takane knows she is being too emotional—that her hormones should not outweigh her duties as a shinobi, even if she is on leave.  But the thought of losing Sakumo now, of giving birth to his child without him present, is overwhelming.  It makes her feel like she is trapped in a water prison, lungs caving in as they try to hold on to the last precious molecules of oxygen remaining to them.

Sakumo smooths her dark hair back and drags his palm over her cheek, the pad of his thumb resting against the beauty mark at the edge of her lip.

“I promise you I will be back in time,” he says, giving her his best reassuring smile.  And though she wants to believe him, she can’t—there is a sharp tug somewhere in her chest that reminds her he could die at any moment.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He pulls away, frowning now himself, and Takane misses his warmth immediately, as she always does. The house is always too cold when he is away—the Hatake Estate, though small by the standards of many of Konoha’s largest clans—is too large for one person to wander the halls alone, even if that person has a second small soul nestled safely within them.

The smell of sulfur and flint draws her attention and Takane turns to find Sakumo licking his thumb as he kneels over a scroll, a smear of blood across the page and a small dog sitting in the middle.

“Takane, meet Pakkun,” he says, flashing his wife a warm smile.

Taken has met several of Sakumo’s ninken before.  But those hounds had been large and fierce, with sharp teeth and intelligent eyes.

The one sitting in her house now is none of those things.  It is small, with a wrinkled face and bored, flat gaze.  It looks more like a trinket won at a festival than a ninja hound.

“Pakkun is the newest member of our pack,” Sakumo says.  He holds a hand out to her and she walks toward him—drawn to him as she has always been, no matter the circumstance.

“He’s a runt,” she says archly.

Sakumo grimaces, opening his mouth to reply—to defend the small creature’s merits, no doubt—but a gruff voice cuts him off.

“I’m not a runt.  I’m a pug.”

Takane scoffs.  “And what good is a pug to a shinobi?”

The little dog growls low in his belly.  Were he in any way intimidating, Takane might have been scared.  Instead, she only rolls her eyes.

“Pakkun, that’s enough.”

The growling stops immediately and Takane chuckles a little, though she stops, too, when Sakumo shoots her a serious look, equally as chastised.

“Sorry,” she and the ninken say in unison.

Sakumo looks up at his wife with an expression that could only be characterized as pure and true affection; love deeper than the Naka River and as blazingly fierce as the Will of Fire itself.  “I’m sorry I have to leave, but I promise I will be back as soon as I can.”  She nods, though the sharp prickle of tears returns to her eyes, her nose suddenly stuffy.  “Give me your hand.”

Takane holds her left hand out and Sakumo takes it between his palms.  When he brings a kunai to her index finger, eyes locked with hers, she understands what he means to do, but still gasps gently when he slices it open.  After she signs the summoning contract, Sakumo presses his lips to her finger tenderly.  When he pulls away, Takane heals herself, her technique casting a soft green glow through the darkness.

“If you need me, you can summon Pakkun and he will find me,” Sakumo says as he pulls his wife into one last embrace before he leaves.  “I will return as quickly as possible.  I will be here when our child is born.”

It’s a promise made by Konoha’s White Fang—not an assertion to take lightly.  Takane is still not sure she believes it as she watches him disappear into the night.  But she knows hope is as important a weapon as a shuriken, and so she holds tightly to it.

Now in her eighth month of pregnancy, Takane can no longer wear her wedding band—the intricately carved jade ring instead hangs on a ribbon she ties around her neck.  As she wanders back toward her bedroom, she pulls the strand from beneath her yukata.  She runs her newly healed fingertip over the carvings as she slides back into bed, but the cool stone surface a poor substitute for the warmth of her husband’s body.

When she feels a slight movement on the mattress, Takane turns to find Pakkun making himself comfortable at her left side, turning in circles against the comforter emblazoned with the Hatake clan crest.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping watch,” Pakkun says, finally settling down.

Takane frowns.  “I signed that contract so I could summon you if you were needed.”  Pakkun’s dark eyes glint in the darkness, but he says nothing.  “So you can go, now,” she says.

“When your pup comes, you’ll be too distracted to remember to summon me,” he says flatly, letting his eyes slide closed.  “It’s better if I stay.”

Takane wants to tell him to leave if for no other reason than on principle.  She is a shinobi of the Leaf and should be strong enough to handle a little solitude.  Instead, she sighs and settles back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as she wills herself not to think of all the exceedingly dangerous situations Sakumo might get himself into before he returns home.

If he returns home.

She wills herself not to cry, cradling her belly with her hands; silently promising her unborn child that whatever happens, she will protect them.  She will love them, even if she has to love them enough for two parents—

The gruff voice of the ninken at her side startles her.  “If you want,” Pakkun says, “you can pet my ears.  They’re very soft.”

Despite her best efforts, Takane laughs.  It’s a ridiculous offer—no amount of soft fur could make up for the absence of her husband at such an important and delicate time.

Still, she reaches out in the dark and finds the pug’s wrinkled face, trailing her fingers over to his ears.  They feel like velvet between her fingers and she falls asleep stroking them gently.

#

Kakashi signs his summoning contract when he is barely six years old.  Immediately after he adds his name to the long line of Hatake men and women, Sakumo wraps a bandage around his barely bleeding  finger and Kakashi reads the other names while he waits for his father to finish.

But while Kakashi expects Sakumo’s name to be the most recent one, the one just above his own, instead what he finds are familiar characters between the lines showing their own names.

Takane Hatake.

The same name scrawled in his father’s inelegant handwriting on the modest shrine in their living room.

Kakashi knows that Takane was his mother.  Even now, he knows he is not supposed to talk about her—that doing so carries with it a dark shadow that pulls itself over Sakumo like a shroud.  But seeing her name there, Kakashi cannot help but wonder about her more acutely than he ever has.

“Okay, Kakashi.  Go ahead and try.”

When Kakashi uses the summoning jutsu for the first time, he is met by a small dog with a dull, bored expression that matches his own.

“Yo,” the dog says, “you must be the pup.”

Kakashi scoffs, indignant. “I’m not a pup, I’m a ninja.  You’re the pup.”

The dog growls until Sakumo scolds him.

“Be nice, Pakkun. This is my son, Kakashi.”  Sakumo turns to Kakashi and offers him a thin, weary smile.  “Pakkun is one of the best ninken I’ve ever worked with.  He…” There is the shroud, though it passes much more quickly than usual. “He even took care of your mother for me once when I had to be away,” Sakumo says quietly.  “I’m sure he’ll take good care of you, too.”

Kakashi doubts that very much, and the dubious look he sends the dog’s way makes that much clear.

Still, when Sakumo disappears on his next mission in the middle of the night, Kakashi makes an excuse to summon Pakkun.  “Scent training,” he says when prompted, “I want you to help me sharpen my sense of smell.”

They train long into the evening, Pakkun scoffing as Kakashi tries to push chakra into his nostrils, to focus the sense of smell until he can detect which room of the house Pakkun has just visited.  He doesn’t get any of them right and he finally has to admit defeat when he starts yawning so wide tears spring to his eyes.

“That’s all for tonight, Pakkun,” he says, “you can go, now.”

Kakashi pads his way to his bedroom, flopping onto his bed heavily.

He had hoped his father might be back by now, but it seems he is meant to spend another night alone in the dark, empty Hatake clan home.

Kakashi feels the pug before he smells him, which is not at all encouraging.  Pakkun settles onto the bed as if it is the most natural place for him to be.

“What are you doing?” Kakashi asks, tone flat and acidic.  “I said you can go.”

Pakkun ignores him, circling a few times before settling down with a huff.

“Your mother used to like to pet my ears when she was nervous,” Pakkun says for no discernible reason, “maybe you’d like it, too.”

Kakashi has half a mind to send the pug away by force, but the mention of his mother is enticing—too much so for him to pass it up.  So instead of dismissing the ninken in a puff of smoke, Kakashi reaches out and lays his fingers on Pakkun’s ears.

They feel like velvet between his fingers and he wonders if Takane might have thought the same.

[snowstark]

Anon with the arts v stem bs for you, could you write a thing where Peter is in your position trying to write an essay when his brain Just Won't Work Right To Do The Words and he asks Tony for help and Tony's like *cracks knuckles* "get on your knees, baby boy, I'm writing this whole thing for you and you're gonna have your mouth stuffed with my cock until I'm done"

my god i saw this at like 7 am and went “shit, yes. i have to write this” before passing the fuck back out until 10. also sorry it’s late, i got carried away 

we say thank you, we say please.

you can also read on ao3!

“Ugh!”

Tony glanced over at yet another one of Peter’s noises of complaint. They had grown in severity and loudness over the past few minutes, and the angry crinkle in Peter’s forehead told him just how frustrated the younger boy was.

“Fuck!”

Tony sniffed a smile, amused. “You doin’ okay, baby?”

“No,” Peter bit back, slamming his forehead onto the desk. “This stupid essay isn’t working out. Why am I even writing an essay? Isn’t the whole point of science to experiment?”

“And reflect on your findings,” Tony corrected with a roll of his eyes. He got up from his seat and came over, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder to peer at the laptop screen. “Lemme see what you have.”

“Be my guest.” Peter tried to get up, but stilled when Tony shoved him back down.

Humming, Tony read over the introduction Peter had managed to craft, then wordlessly reached out and highlighted the whole thing before deleting it.

“Hey!”

“Hm?” Tony smiled at him sweetly.

“Why’d you do that?” Peter seethed with a pout.

“Because it was trash,” Tony replied. “And I know you know that it was.” He held Peter’s gaze until the fire in it died down a bit, and waited until Peter dropped his gaze.

Miserably, the younger boy picked at his nails. “I’m gonna fail this course. I’m not smart enough.”

“Don’t say that.” Tony’s voice was sharp. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again; you hear me?”

Silence, then a petulant look.

Something Tony clicked. He reached out, slid a hand through Peter’s soft curls, and tightened his hand into a fist, pulling hard enough for Peter to hiss through his teeth. “I said, you hear me?”

“Yes,” Peter muttered. “Ow! You’re gonna pull my hair out if you don’t—ow, yes! Yes, Daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Tony eyed Peter for a few more seconds, then let go. “You should start off with the basics. Think of a good hook, but don’t you dare try and make a statement about society or some shit like that. Profs hate it.”

“I can’tttt,” Peter whined. “It just doesn’t work.” He turned to look at Tony with his best puppy eyes. “Maybe you could write it for me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, honey, hilarious. Now you want to commit an academic offense.”

Peter glared. “This entire essay is an offense! To me! And if you don’t help me, I’m going to fail, Tony. Okay? I’m gonna get a big, fat, ugly zero—”

“You sure you want me to help?” Tony interrupted, a wicked, filthy plan suddenly forming in his mind. He nudged Peter out of his seat and sat down, appraising him, mouth already watering in anticipation. “Because you know I don’t do things for free, sweetheart. You’ll need to pay me back somehow, show me how grateful you are.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that massage you’ve been asking for—”

Tony barked out a laugh that silenced him. He let his hands drop to the buttons on his jeans, enjoying the way Peter’s eyes immediately followed the movement. “Oh, no, no, no, baby. That’s not what I’m asking for.” He pressed the palm of his hand to his dick, and looked at Peter with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Peter immediately said. Tony didn’t miss the way he sounded a little more strained now, eyes still fixed on the tent in Tony’s boxers. “I’ll pay you back.”

Tony smirked, then snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. “Get on your knees, baby boy. I’m writing this whole thing for you and you’re gonna have your mouth stuffed with my cock until I’m done.”

Peter dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and looked up at Tony expectantly, licking his lips.

“You know what I love about you, honey?” Tony drawled, sprawling his legs wide open, enjoying the way Peter immediately leaned closer. He pushed a hand through his hair again and leaned close so that they were nose-to-nose.

Peter tried to kiss him, almost instinctively, and Tony laughed before gently pushing him away. “You’re always so”—Tony yanked his head back harshly with the grip on his hair, eliciting a gasp—“fucking”—A sharp slap to his face, making Peter moan—“grateful.” A caress now, to counter the heat blooming in Peter’s cheek. “Isn’t that right?” He ran the pad of his thumb across Peter’s bottom lip.

Peter stared up at him adoringly in response, eyes wide.

The boy was already completely out of it, Tony noted with amusement. So responsive. Beautiful. He let his thumb brush against his flushed cheeks before sitting back and gesturing to the zipper on his pants.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, watching Peter’s eyes flash eagerly. “I undid the button for you, didn’t I? I think you can do the rest by yourself.” He stopped Peter with a hum when the boy reached out with his hands, and he shook his head. “No, baby. With your teeth.”

Peter swallowed, then obediently wriggled forwards and mouthed at the zipper, trying to get a good grip on it with his mouth.

Tony watched him for a few moments before reaching out to pet his hair as silent encouragement. It took Peter a few more seconds before he managed to pull it down, and Tony grinned when the boy immediately nuzzled closer, mouthing at his cock almost hungrily.

Tony pulled him back a bit before holding a hand out in front of Peter. “Spit.” Once Peter obeyed, he took himself in his hand and stroked in long, lazy motions, not taking his eyes off of the boy for a single moment. After a few minutes, Peter began to make impatient little noises at the back of his throat, just as Tony had expected him to.

“Needy thing,” Tony crooned, then smacked Peter’s face with his dick, making the sub jolt. Peter looked up, eyes glazed over, practically whacked into submission now. “Open up. I wanna see you gagging on it, you hear me? Don’t you dare try and slack off.”

Peter nodded in quick little jerks of his head, mouth falling open immediately at the order.

Tony fed his cock into Peter’s mouth inch by inch, wet and warm and ready for him, until Peter had taken him into his mouth nearly completely. He ran a hand through the sub’s curls, then shifted, feeling his cock hit the back of Peter’s throat, and pulled the laptop closer to him. He felt Peter’s cheeks hollow as he tried to swallow in vain around his cock, and Tony cursed quietly under his breath at the spasm of Peter’s throat.

Right. The essay.

He sucked the inside of his cheek, thinking, before beginning to type.

Biophysics is critical to our understanding of the mechanics of the molecules in our lives, and how complex systems and beings function, which, according to—

Tony stopped when Peter’s cheeks hollowed yet again and he looked down, raising an eyebrow. “You need something?”

Peter’s eyes widened and he shook his head as best as he could, then pulled back to wipe the drool on his chin with the back of his hand. “Just—was just tryin’ to swallow, Daddy.” God, he already sounded wrecked, voice rough and throaty.

“What, embarrassed that you were making a mess of yourself?” Tony chuckled, then shoved his hand into Peter’s hair before yanking him back onto his dick. “Stay. There. Your job is to be the filthy, needy thing you are while being grateful for what I’m giving you. Remember what I said about wanting your mouth to be stuffed with it until I’m done? You think I was joking about that?”

A small whine; Tony gave him the benefit of the doubt because he was feeling generous today and assumed it was a ‘no.’

He went back to work after that, and for the next half hour, the only sounds that filled up the room was his typing and the occasional little noise Peter made, whether it be a small exhale from his nose or an attempted swallow of his throat.

He took the time to finish, then ran through it three times to edit it. After the last run, he finally—finally—looked down at Peter, whose eyes were closed, eyelashes occasionally fluttering with each shallow inhale he took through his nose.

Tony rested his hand on Peter’s head, watching him, then murmured, “Good boy. Get me off now, sweetheart. Show Daddy how good you can be.”

Peter was more than eager to obey, and in less than five minutes, Tony was swearing under his breath, hips canting without his permission, and he could barely stutter out a warning before he came down Peter’s throat.

Peter took it like a champ, swallowing every drop and only pulling off when Tony made him. Panting, he looked up at Tony, eyes wide and teary.

Tony brushed a thumb over his cheek for a few moments, then murmured, “Good boy.”

When Peter reached for his leaking, red cock, Tony snapped sharply, “Ah-ah! What’re you doing? You think you deserve to get off by yourself? No, baby, you have to earn that.”

Peter looked up at him through wet eyelashes. “But I—” He gestured vaguely to Tony.

“What, made me come?” Tony rolled his eyes. “No, sweetheart. That was just you thanking me for writing your essay. All you had to do was drool all over my cock and show me how grateful you were for my generosity. Not exactly a hard feat like, say, writing an essay, is it? Not for a greedy little thing like you, at least.”

Peter stared at him, jaw slack and hanging open.

Tony grinned, and it was mean. “This, though...” He reached down and formed a loose ‘o’ with his hand, stroking Peter’s cock from the base to the head in one easy, smooth motion. “We’ll see about this. Get on the bed.”

Peter immediately scrambled to obey, and Tony’s grin grew.

Oh, he was going to make Peter beg, and enjoy every single moment of it.

__________

A few weeks later, Peter came marching up to Tony’s desk, then slapped down a package of paper.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Peter jabbed his index finger at the 98%, written and circled in red, at the top of the first page. “My essay,” he said, proudly, making Tony bite back a laugh.

“A ninety-eight,” Tony mused, picking it up and leafing through it. “Not bad, huh?”

“It’s perfect.” Peter maneuvered himself onto his lap, straddling him and mouthing along his neck.

“Two percent away from perfect.” Tony tossed the paper back onto the desk and let his hands drift down to squeeze Peter’s ass, hard enough for his nails to dig in even through the sweatpants. “Should’ve been a hundred. Must’ve lost a mark or two ‘cause your mouth distracted me.”

“Not my fault I’m so good,” Peter chirped.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, good at being a filthy slut.”

Peter ignored him. “Besides, maybe next time you’ll get that hundred for me.”

Grinning, Tony pulled back to look at Peter’s face, then kissed him, wet and hard and sloppy. Peter’s chest was heaving by the time they pulled apart, and he pushed his thumb through his lips and into his mouth, watching him suck languidly for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, baby boy. You’re right. There’s always next time.”

Because they both knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

[darkpoisonouslove]

The Power of Peace

Summary: After the Coven is gone, Griffin and Valtor can have their life back. With the quiet and stillness driving Griffin's magic out of control, however, she needs Valtor's help to adjust her mind to the life she got back and find her own inner peace. Canon divergence.

CW: mentions of destructive magic, death and murder, dry humping, hair-pulling, explicit language

This was a random idea that I had that I absolutely adore now so I sort of saved it to be my first fic of this year (and it wasn't edited anyway).

Griffin's hair blew in her face carried by the gentle breeze to make her frown. The ticklish sensation irritating her cheek was too weak to let it fail a complex spell.

Her focus was already drawn partly to the surface of her skin where the humidity of Erebhus' air was making itself at home again after the years she'd been gone. Behind her eyelids, though, she could see in the depths of the soil under her palms. The roots of her mom's garden slowly absorbed the minerals and water molecules she was directing their way.

Valtor's hand on her back instantly pulled the corners of her mouth back into a smile that only widened at the touch of his fingers brushing the stray locks of hair out of her face. There was always room for him in her mind, even through the concentration on the energy seeping from her palms. It was a slow process but Valtor's presence left no void in her mind for her magic to strain to fill in a restless explosion. It eased the tension in her arms as she held up her arsenal of magical knowledge from crushing her resting form.

Valtor poked his head over her shoulder, chin a hair away from brushing her bare clavicle. "I'd never seen a sight that could compare to you in the midst of a surprise battle. Not when there is magic bursting from every inch of you letting nothing touch you–us–while your mind is racing in pursuit of victory."

Griffin's arms trembled with residue magic from every one of those battles, spells that had been at her fingertips but she'd never thrown at the enemy when Valtor's power had cleared their path or her calculations had supported another tactical decision. Her throat closed to make sure her heart wouldn't jump past it and out of her mouth. She licked her parted lips to yank back behind her teeth any minuscule confession that might have dropped out with her very breath.

"But this not only compares, it might be better. More thought-provoking," Valtor's fingers dipped under the fabric of her dress teasing at her shoulder blade before he traced them up her spine to the nape of her neck. His thoughts licked at her skin like Erebhus had caught fire, flames claiming the surfaces of every lake and puddle instead of the usual golden sunlight reflecting in the water.

"In what way?" Griffin's breath hitched, her lungs sticking to the pace of her spell.

She'd been waiting for him to crack under the tedium–peace–of her parents' home for weeks. There was nothing around to conquer–or even explore–but swamp and the only magic in the vicinity were the two of them with her mother's permanent magic depletion syndrome from singlehandedly defending their home from potential echoes of Griffin's actions for years. Valtor had claimed every inch of her bedroom and gone no further, leaving her to the question eating her alive. How?

"There is no strain here, no exertion to claim your place and protect it. This is your place and you reign over it fully. Your magic spreads over the entirety of a realm you've made yours. Everything flocks to you like your life force is the root of all life."

Griffin bit back a chuckle. Even with the flow of nutrients her magic shaped, the plants still turned towards him. The moisture of the land wafted in streams from the ground from where his fire pulled it and the winds clashed around him and wrestled with each other as if to prove their strength lest he decided to quiet them. Everything flocked to him, including her as she leaned into his touch.

"You're the ruler of this world and it's impossible to resist you when the land itself bows to your will," Valtor's smugness was palpable against her neck, his teeth pointed at her pulse point. He could pluck her heart out without warning.

There it was. Sweet talk was a weapon peace treaties and amnesty couldn't strip him of. There was ruination on his tongue, a collection of spells in his head that could bring down planets but all it took was a handful of simple words he strung together and she was falling into his arms. Into his arms and on the ground.

Her back hit the soil to the same rhythm her heart was pounding at her ears. She was pinned under him.

Valtor's victorious grin was only a touch less predatory than when he went for the kill. His hand was in her hair ripping out a moan like he'd sent her armor shattering to the ground and his mouth covered hers, sealing her voice in. He wasn't wasting it on the dull landscape around them.

His hand, hooked under her thigh, urged her to wrap a leg around him to reel him in closer as her tongue welcomed him into her mouth. Her spell was broken in favor of his.

The magic lingering under her skin raged for an exit. She could throw him into the nearest tree or let it build with every stroke of his fingers through her hair and over her skin until it released at the thrust of his cock inside her. Upon orgasm at the latest-

Griffin tore away. "Valtor-"

The word bled like a wound between them before his lips closed the gap once again to drown her in his breath and her own power. He tasted of oregano and thyme–a mix she'd grown up with–and the sudden flavor of her roots threw her back through time to before she'd even met him.

A boost from her magic and her stubbornness in her hands and her hips let her flip them over, "Valtor!"

She used the breath her stunt had knocked out of him. Her ruined spell might have sucked the oxygen out of the air, the garden thrown out of the loop mid-photosynthesis. Or it could be a problem with her, with the intruder she'd become in her own home throwing the atmosphere off with her out of control magic.

"My parents are right inside."

She'd already subjected them to more than they'd bargained for. She'd taken away their peace, her mother's magic, herself, only to bring home a piece of the Coven instead of her own heart.

Valtor scowled, hands covering hers where she'd stained his coat. His flames burned away the mud and dust from her mother's garden to strip away every memory of her roots. All that was left was him, the two of them so high up that nothing could touch them.

Their powers sank into each other until there was no way to separate them without unraveling them fully. His pulse passed into her along with the energy wafting off his frame to set her nerve endings ablaze and leave her itching. Her hands dug into the fabric of his coat, into his flesh with the need to sink her claws into something powerful.

"Shifting blame for your straying thoughts onto me? I haven't done anything inappropriate," Valtor's fingers tangled in her hair to contradict his words. He mimicked the motions for a powerful spell based on kinetic energy that turned a given space into a vacuum. Instead, her moans stretched out through the garden.

"Not yet," Griffin slapped his hand away, glaring at the smile he gave her as he switched to tracing her jaw. "Are you forgetting I'm sitting on your hard cock?"

She rutted against him for emphasis only to have him rolling his hips into her in return. His hands clamped down on her thighs the moment she thought of moving before the impulse had even made it into her muscles.

"And are you pretending you're not dying to ride my hard cock? Or take it in your mouth?"

Valtor's hands moved in purposeful patterns down her clothed legs. It was spellwork again. One design was for an earthquake and the other – for a flood. The magic demanded broken bones and blood to work. Magic they'd used.

They'd wielded it to the fall of entire realms. There was nothing they couldn't do together. They were the most powerful force.

Griffin swallowed and forced her lungs to suck in a decent amount of air. "Maybe later. When there are fewer chances of interruptions."

Lying her way out would be foolish with her lips dampened with desire and every cell in her body exuding it. The stars knew she wouldn't survive an interruption.

A wave of Valtor's hand sealed all doors and windows of the house essentially turning it into a pocket dimension. Only magic could travel in and out. Even the strength of her voice wouldn't carry through the seemingly open back door and the windows on the second floor. The only danger left was the distraction of orgasm allowing magic to slip through her fingers and burst into the house like an enemy.

"There," Valtor locked eyes with her. "No interruptions. No scandals. Just the two of us with a whole world at our disposal," he kept pushing. And pulling, drawing her in closer to his body and into his mind.

His hand was tracing an elemental seal under the fabric of her dress between her shoulder blades. Air. It could give her soft, feathery wings that would let them stay hidden in the clouds high above even with their attention on each other. They wouldn't have to spare a thought to anything but their shared pleasure appearing no bigger than a star from the ground. Just a dot–a domain of its own–free of prying eyes.

Griffin seized his wrist and only let it fall out of her grasp once it was over her heart. "We can't."

She shouldn't have considered it. She shouldn't have even wanted it. And he... he had to stop. His magic. His mind. His mouth. Especially his mouth. She'd fallen for it, into it and his teeth marks weren't something she was allowed to be proud of in front of the world. For the sake of their very lives. For the sake of her parents.

"Why not? The only difference between this and a silencing spell over your room is that now we're not five feet and a wall away from your sleeping parents. We have more room to work with and seclusion here." Valtor sat up, pulling her to his chest by the arms she tried to keep between them as an improvised barrier.

The curve of his mouth was like a hook in her heart ready to pluck it out of her chest but he'd never done it. It just stayed there, every pull wracking her with anticipation for the final one that would let him have the beating mess clasped in his hands. Then it'd only feel warm. Only his warmth. No more burning words, and light, and magic. Only his fire making liquid gold of her eyes to cover the entire world.

"The difference is that I left my home as their daughter and came back as something worse." A thief. A murderer. A war criminal. Shameless whore was something avoidable, something she didn't have to be in their minds... and in her own. "You can't blame me for not wanting to parade it around."

She didn't know how to stuff herself back into their baby, into the woman they knew when she was so much... more. A lot of it was bad. But not all. Not all. There was light to Valtor's fire and life to all the death they'd caused. There was love, for herself and for him that she hadn't found in the eternal sunsets on Erebhus. The very same shade of her eyes.

"You are beautiful," Valtor's gaze encased her in ice blue until the contact between them chased away any other burning. The heat enveloping her was only his and no one else's. Certainly not shame marring her skin in distorted red patches. "That isn't something to be questioned just like your magic isn't."

If he hadn't mentioned it, she wouldn't have noticed his spell freeing the house to make it part of this world again. Her distraction served him well, her lips overtaken in a flash and her mouth opening on instinct for him.

He had a firm grasp on her, teeth in her lower lip and a hand in her hair leaving no room to change the angle of the kiss, let alone pull away. His palm splayed on the small of her back, fingertips teasing at her ass while he held her in place for his hips to grind his erection into her. Each motion was a string pulled in her throat to produce a moan, one at a time. Much the same as how the spell he'd interrupted earlier had worked. Save for the lack of noble intent, that was.

Valtor released her mouth when her air started running low but let no more than an inch between them. The furious rising and falling of her chest gave him a good, long feel of her breasts pushed into him.

He sucked on her earlobe before muttering a love confession in an extinct language she vaguely recognized for the pulsing rhythm of each syllable – like the excited beat of a heart. His mouth moved to the spot below her ear and down her neck making her blood rush faster and her pussy throb for his cock to fill it.

"Valtor... this is- inappropriate." Her breathing was all over the place and her hips were moving to follow.

Their shared power was so great that even she couldn't resist it. What chance did anyone else have?

"You knew we'd make our way here, Griffin," Valtor tilted her head back by the hair, her noises going right into the sky like a prayer.

His fingers kept moving through the purple strands with a love spell on them weaving around the target like a tapestry that left the caster in the center of their world. But no magic was coming out of Valtor's body for once. It would be a waste when she couldn't see further than his coat she was clutching in her fists, couldn't hear further than the open-mouthed kisses he had moved to the top of her breasts, couldn't feel further than the bulge in his pants rubbing against her clit through so many layers of clothing.

"At least... have the decency to put back the s-spell," Griffin shuddered.

Her whole world was screeching to a halt except for the muscles moving of their own accord and her sense of magic. It always awoke when Valtor stripped her down to her carnality – hungry like a lone wolf looking for something to eat, something larger than itself to sate its appetite. At times even Valtor's Dragon Fire couldn't feed her, only their joint magic which he instantly gave her. To keep her from fearing starvation or because he'd lost control, she could never quite distinguish his selfishness from the things he did for her.

"You didn't fall for my decency," Valtor's hand cupped her breast now that she was dry humping him without a second thought.

The gentleness of his fingers was only a facade and her muddled mind couldn't keep up with the speed of his game. Not when he'd locked down his powers where she'd have to stuff herself inside him to reach them.

"And not for your," his lips brushed hers with his fingers working her breasts, "merciful," another peck, "heart."

Valtor laughed at that, a little more than a chuckle just to unravel her when he kept holding back. "You love it when I don't have mercy."

His teeth sank into the tender flesh over her heart where he'd pulled down the neckline of her dress. He was all woven from magic and there was more entering her though the red marks he left when her skin broke to let him in. There was nothing to distract her from the desire spilling out of her with every pulse of her heart. Her pussy was clenching but it was her life force flowing into Valtor's mouth that kept him close and directed his every movement – from the rhythm of his hips to the flick of his tongue over his teeth marks.

Griffin pried him away by the hair to the sound of an inhuman growl ripping from his throat.

"Say it!" Every sound had sharp edges cut into it by his breathlessness. It didn't go with the demanding aura he always wore when his lips moved of their own accord to latch on to her again to close the void between them even at the price of the one in their lungs.

"Don't ever have mercy," Griffin cried out.

She had the strength in her thighs to crack more than bones, the power in her hands to spill blood but she didn't have to. They didn't need magic to shake the world. Their desire was a monument grinding the earth beneath them into dust with the rocking of their hips into each other.

"I hate to do this but your wish is my command."

She was so close–not climbing up into the heights of pleasure but flying there–when his hands left her body. His open palms pressed into the ground releasing his desire into it to make it rumble beneath them as if moved by the flood of his energy. All the arousal drained from his body to leave him soft and still between her trembling thighs.

To use magic out of everything to pull her down like that. Stripping her to the bone, to her soul, to her want. This was all her will, not something she couldn't fight. It was theirs and she harbored that love in her heart viciously. She'd killed for it and she'd do it again if anyone dared to reduce her to something lesser.

Valtor grabbed her wrist, her intentions clear as day to him in the gold of her eyes. "Make me hard again and I'll turn this planet from one of the eternal sunset to one of the eternal screaming."

Griffin swallowed the pounding of her heart in her throat, the gripping hunger clawing up her body to take over her tongue and teeth. The power to change the universe was at her fingertips with Valtor's heat wrapping her. She wanted it. She had it. It was begging to be let out.

"You'll corrupt my mother's innocent flowers."

Valtor let her slide out of his lap and bury her hands in the soil again. The magic flowed from her heart into the roots underground – a stream of warmth, of life that had the plants growing before her very eyes with the speed of her heart rate. Making the daffodils and peony tall as trees and reaching into the sky like a bridge to the stars would take no longer than a minute. She didn't need them overshadowing her home, though, only casting shade for the birds and rodents tired of the scorching sun.

Letting go was no problem with the magic lingering on her frame like a mantle. There was no end to it, no shuffling to stuff it back inside her body. Instead she wore it like the second skin that it was. It was hers. It was her.

She only startled at the sound of her father's voice. "They're beautiful."

He was leaning on the frame of the back door. The outpouring of magic had to have alerted him. She'd never used so much before. At least not at home where the current could sweep away her mother's favorite books and her father's tools.

"Do you think mom will like them?" Griffin dropped her hands in her lap as she stared back at her finished work.

The plants weren't just bigger. They'd grown in strength as well, in resilience, in will to live. Nothing could kill them now, even their natural death pushed back in time by her magic.

"I'm sure she'll love them. You've grown a beautiful life."

Griffin returned her father's smile finally filling up the full size of the daughter she'd brought back. With Valtor's hand in her own she could live inside her magic where the world never seemed too small for her.

[avarkriss]

paradise; (with a nasty bite)

✭・.・✫ 

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Female Reader

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ Only 

Word Count: 3.589k

Summary: Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, and one very ticked off Jedi Reader get pollened on what should be a very quick and simple mission 

Song/Title Inspo: Control by Unknown Brain ;; a huge thank you to Elisha (@beskars​) for encouraging/proofing these shenanigans

Warnings: Threesome - F/M/M; Sex Pollen and therefore automatic DubCon; Sass; Force Projection; Force Sensitivity and Mind Reading; I Know That’s Not How The Force Works Don’t At Me; Boys Kissing; Oral Sex (M/M, F/M); Masturbation and Mutual Masturbation; Kissing; Shameless Bisexuality and Smut; Vaginal Fingering; Spit as Lube; Spit Kink; Fucking on Obi’s Cloak Kink; Beach Sex; Double Penetration (Vaginal); Very Light D/S tones, Poor Ani

Image credits: unsplash  

Author’s Note: My first pollen fic!! I do apologize if I miss any grammar/spelling/formatting issues, this was primarily written on my phone in the middle of the woods lmao. I love a good threesome, I hope you to too! Plus we’re getting delivered early because I got home early :) Enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

The heat on Borleias was oppressive.

It was sticky. 

Heavy. 

And you swore to the Force you were inhaling as much water as you were drinking. 

The worst part though? The very worst part was that the beach was so close you could kriffing smell it. 

Cool relief called to you from just a few meters away, the melodic crashing of the waves lulling you into a state of serenity you didn't think was possible in this hellscape - something else to focus on besides the salt crusting on your skin from where your sweat had evaporated.

Until you heard his blasted voice crackling in your comlink, cursing that crisp Coruscanti accent for pulling you out of the only moment of peace you've known since landing in this Force-forsaken jungle. 

The sound was slightly muffled, humidity having crept into the smallest of cracks in the watertight seals on the device. 

"I need you to stay focused," Obi-Wan reprimanded. 

“Of course,” you grumbled, tugging at the neck of your tunic while inwardly groaning at the way the coarseweave stuck to your skin. “Have you placed your beacon yet?” you grumbled, the hilt of your lightsaber slipping in your palm. 

No one saw you fumble it, certainly. No one except for apparently Cody, who you heard choke on a laugh from three meters away. If looks could kill he would have been wounded but he just couldn’t contain himself - you had to be the second clumsiest Jedi in the Order with that thing, the first of course being General Kenobi. 

You waited five more standard minutes before lifting your wrist to your mouth, hissing into your comm. “Well?” 

“You’re so testy in the heat,” Obi-Wan grunted from behind. You startled and nearly dropped your lightsaber again, glowering at him as mirth dared to dance in his eyes. 

“Great. You’re back. I’m going to the beach so I can soak the sweat off,” you snarked, making a concentrated effort to push through the foliage in front of you, desperate for the ocean to cleanse your spirits. 

“Seems that the heat is getting to her, sir,” Cody remarked, watching Obi-Wan gently shake his head before trudging after you. 

When the two men emerged from the forest they found your boots, belt, lightsaber, and pants strewn about the beach in a haphazard line straight to the water where they could see you floating on your back, dimly lit by the moon. 

“Must you leave a mess everywhere you go?" Obi-Wan shouted, bending down to gather your things in a neat pile. 

You rolled your eyes heavily, knowing he couldn't see you in the water. "I'm going to shake Anakin if I don't die here first," you grumbled to yourself, begrudging the day you were assigned to this mission because he had " urgent business on Naboo ." 

Obi-Wan thumped to the ground next to the pile, neatly folding your pants as Cody sat down next to him, removing his helmet. 

"I've read about this planet sir, there's a meteor shower every year," Cody mentioned, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked at the stars along the horizon. 

"I believe you're correct Cody," Obi-Wan mused, taking in the way Cody’s curls seemed to have tightened with the planet’s humidity, basking in his calm while he looked out across the ocean. 

"I can't believe it," Cody gasped, suddenly sitting straight before scrambling to lay on his back. Obi-Wan curiously followed his gaze, tilting his chin skyward to find the shimmering tails of a cluster of shooting stars. 

"It's nice to enjoy this," Cody mumbled, speaking to no one but himself.  

"It is," Obi-Wan agreed, smiling at Cody before calling out to you, beckoning you to the beach before pointing at the stars. 

You slowly removed yourself from the water, coming to stand next to Obi-Wan. You bit back a scoff when you saw the way he had neatly folded and arranged your belongings, crossing your arms as you looked to the sky. 

"As much as I can't stand this planet, being here for the annual meteor shower is pretty amazing," you thought aloud, sand sticking to your toes and ankles. 

Obi-Wan hummed in agreement as he moved to lay down, the top of his head brushing against Cody's. You shrugged and decided to join them, toes towards that cursed jungle as you laid down, your wet hair joining theirs. 

The three of you laid there for a while, relaxing against the warm sand while the planet slowly dropped in temperature, becoming only slightly more bearable. You had no idea how much time had passed when a breeze finally picked up, carrying glittering silver grains in its wake. 

You ran your finger up your arm, examining the sparkles when you realized it was pollen from the jungle. 

"Curious," Obi-Wan said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, slowly sitting up. 

"Obi-Wan," you warned, sitting up yourself as he began to walk up the beach. Cody scrambled and lightly jogged to catch up with him. 

You watched them at the forest line, Obi-Wan carefully studying a lightly colored flower - the source of the pollen, you were sure. He plucked one and returned with it and Cody, sitting down next to you.

"I've never seen such a thing before," you marveled, reaching out your hand to hold the flower. 

It was palm sized, the petals so thin that if there was just one you could have made out the shape of your finger behind it. The edges of the petals were nearly metallic in their argent color, gently rippled and curled. At the center of the flower was a milky white stamen that seemed to glow in the moonlight, studded with the last remnants of silver pollen that hadn't been taken by the wind. 

"We didn't see any of these on our way in," you mentioned, turning the flower in your hand. 

"No," Cody confirmed, extending his hand so he could study the plant. "But there are many flowers that only bloom at night." 

"I think it may be some type of aestus flower," Obi-Wan mentioned casually, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. 

"You can't be -" you started, stopping before you realized you were being ridiculous. The family of aphrodisiac flowers was so valuable they'd be well documented on this planet, known for being exceptionally poor in natural resources. 

“An aestus flower, sir?” Cody questioned, tilting his head as he lifted the flower to eye level. 

“They’re a… a flower known to produce various aphrodisiac effects,” Obi-Wan explained, quickly continuing when he caught sight of Cody’s furrowed brows. “But they’re known to work very quickly, so this may be a distant cousin of sorts.” 

“Regardless, I’m sitting over there,” you threw your thumb to the side, gesturing to a large smooth rock in the sand, “until we’re sure it’s not what you think it is. I could use a few hours of quiet.” 

Obi-Wan nodded his head as you stood, slowly moving himself closer to the tree line. “Just for precaution,” he smiled. 

Cody nodded too and moved a few meters away himself, your close circle turning into a giant awkward triangle on the beach. 

You settled on the stone, feeling the heat of the planet push against your chest once more. 

But as time started to slow and the weight increased, you began to fear that Obi-Wan was, once again, absolutely correct. 

“Just meditate through it,” you whispered to yourself, crossing your legs underneath you while you rested your wrists on your knees, palms facing the sky. "Just breathe." 

You slowly closed your eyes and took the deepest breath you could manage, reaching out to connect with your surroundings. You were searching, looking for something cool, something calming. 

You needed to ground yourself, build an unshakable foundation to ward off the storm you could feel brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

The stone beneath you was too warm and the ocean always took extra concentration, concentration you couldn't spare as you desperately tried to block out the growing heat between your thighs and the gentle groan you heard from somewhere down the beach. 

"Breathe," you spoke to yourself, reaching for the trees. You found them hot, burning from the aestus flowers and resistant to your touch. You sensed something alluring and cold nearby, creeping towards it until you realized it was Obi-Wan, pulling away before you made the mistake of making him your home. 

"Breathe," you spat from between gritted teeth, eyes scrunching with the involuntary flutter from between your legs. You reached into the sand, desperate, aching. But it fell from your grasp slowly, mocking you. Taunting. There was no stability to be found in sand.

There was another ragged moan from down the beach and you ground your teeth down, placing the tips of your fingers against the flat stone, clinging to the steady vibrations between every molecule. 

Heat grew between your thighs as something cool lapped at your back, calling to you like gentle water. 

Relax, little one. 

You couldn't help the growl growing in the back of your throat, letting it escape briefly before swallowing it back down. His voice was honey thick; sticky and warm and pulling you in. 

The groaning from down the beach intensified, joined by stumbling footsteps that climbed away from you, drawn in by Obi-Wan's cooling aura. 

Cody, you panicked, reaching out for him until you realized Obi-Wan had brought him to the safety of harbor first. 

You felt him pull away from you, keeping a connection at the small of your back. You felt like your skin was going to burn off of your bones, thighs slicking as your arousal began to pool. 

Groans turned to whimpers, threatening to break your concentration as you dove deeper and deeper, fighting the pull that threatened to drag you to the surface. 

It was when things finally turned quiet that you straightened your spine, breathing deeply until you felt a familiar flicker somewhere in the corner of your consciousness. 

The sound was different now - wet and messy and your throat felt like it was starting to close until a strangled moan erupted, pulling you out of the shelter you had forged. 

Your protective walls were down and you were exposed, every nerve ending combusting at once until the projection of pleasure slammed into your chest. 

You felt relief for the briefest of moments until it ebbed away, fleeting glimpses of bliss strangling your heart every few seconds until tears began to fall down your cheeks. It was going to make you lose your sanity, bouncing between the burning heat of desire and the sweet relief of satisfaction being sent through you. 

You pulled yourself up and started to walk towards the tree line, vision blurred and gait unsure. You were ready to scream, ripped open and raw and hurting and alone -

"I hate -" you sobbed, falling to your knees at the sight of Obi-Wan on his, Cody’s cock buried in his mouth while he choked on his own relieved cries. 

Your words died on your tongue and your mouth parted as you studied them, beautiful in the moonlight. Cody was bare and had his head thrown back, his hands tangled in Obi-Wan’s auburn hair as he thrust into his mouth. 

You reached between your thighs as you watched - Cody stuttering in his rhythm while Obi-Wan stroked himself, hand moving under his robes. 

Your fingers danced around your aching clit, craving relief that evaded you at every turn. Obi-Wan's projection was constant now, his pleasure mounting with Cody’s. When Cody came the projection pushed you onto your ass, hitting the sand with a gentle thud. You groaned and thrust your fingers into your aching pussy, watching Cody join Obi-Wan on his knees, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Their tongues danced together and your lips tingled with ache, mouth and throat dry while you panted. 

Please , you pleaded, reaching out to tangle yourself with Obi-Wan as Cody kissed him and took his cock in his hand. When Cody began to pump him up and down Obi-Wan pushed so hard against you that you fell onto your back breathless, rapidly thrusting in and out of your heat. 

You couldn't see it when he came but you heard him moan, feeling the pleasure ripple through your tummy and up your chest. You threw your head back into the sand, screaming out in frustration as hot tears simmered on your cheeks, begging for your own release. 

Someone knelt down next to you, their hand on your forehead sending a jolt down your back. You whimpered as you arched under the gentle touch, chasing the connection as the hand pulled away. 

"General," Cody murmured, slipping it under your neck to help you sit up. You pulled your fingers from within yourself and curled into Cody, crying against his shoulder. 

"I - I -," you stammered, struggling to find your words as you continued to clench around nothing, aching to be filled. 

"We know what you need darling," Obi-Wan rumbled, spreading his cloak onto the sand. "We're here now." He was attempting to send a calming rush towards you, finding you unresponsive to it as you kissed across Cody's shoulder. 

Cody’s lips fell to your neck, mouthing at your skin as you grew impossibly hotter in his arms. 

"She needs more Cody," Obi-Wan pointed out, helping to roll you onto his cloak as Cody settled between your legs. "Taste her," he suggested, shrugging off the rest of his robes. 

As soon as Cody's tongue made contact with your soaked folds you let out a wrecked moan, twisting against the cloak until Obi-Wan settled next to you, leaning down to pull your soaked tunic off of you before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

You succumbed to him immediately, letting his tongue push against yours as he licked into your mouth. He still tasted of Cody and you moaned below him, fisting one hand in Cody's hair as the other searched for Obi-Wan's cock, joining his own in stroking himself to relieve the fire slowly consuming you all from the inside out. 

Obi-Wan spread a hand over your breast, slowly tweaking one of your nipples while Cody lapped at your clit. He was groaning into you as his fingers searched out your entrance, index and middle slipping in with ease. 

Your hips arched off the cloak to meet his eager mouth, moans filling the air as Obi-Wan broke away from your mouth to take your nipple between his teeth, leaving a trail of stars blooming across your skin in his wake. 

Obi-Wan, please - 

Your walls were down and he was starting to crumble. 

"Cody," Obi-Wan whispered, running his hand through his hair. When he lifted his head from between your legs his eyes were shining as much as his mouth, slowing his fingers inside of you. "Sit back a moment my darling." 

Cody sat back on his knees and dragged his fingers slowly out of you. You keened at the loss until you saw Obi-Wan lean over to Cody, taking his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the way you tasted on his salty skin. 

Obi-Wan cast his eyes down to you as he palmed at your breasts, pulling off of Cody's fingers when he was sure that they were clean. He came back to your tips, tapping them open with a gentle finger before spitting into your mouth, tasting of you and Cody and something uniquely him. 

After leaving a parting bite on your lower lip he helped you roll onto your stomach, gesturing for Cody to resume his place between your legs as he stroked himself and came around to your mouth. 

Let him fuck me, please - 

Your thoughts were loud in your head as Obi-Wan moaned, giving voice to the desires you couldn't speak. 

As Cody lined himself up to your entrance Obi-Wan found your mouth, each man pushing into you, synchronous with the other. 

Your groans were muffled around Obi-Wan, eyes fluttering closed as relief settled into you, the fire shrinking with every thrust of their cocks. 

Cody had you stretched in the most delicious of ways, moaning and cursing as he thrust into you, one hand pressed against your pussy and the other resting on Obi-Wan's. 

They both started to say your name louder, your body shaking between them, threatening to break if you didn't find release soon. But as Cody timed his thrusts to oppose the press of his finger on your clit and Obi-Wan pulled your hair while hissing from the way you traced him with your tongue, your vision went white and the world finally stopped spinning. 

Your euphoria was short lived, quickly replaced by deep heat between your legs. Cody and Obi-Wan found their release shortly after, spilling inside of you as they each moaned out your name. 

They parted from you for a moment, pausing to kiss each other before coming to your sides, each man laying next to you. 

"It's not stopping soon is it," you panted, looking to Cody and then to Obi-Wan who both shook their heads. You let out a shaking exhale as the pain grew stronger. You couldn't fight it anymore, leaving yourself wide open, thoughts so obvious that even Cody could gather what was on your mind. 

Obi-Wan shared in your sensation and grabbed at your waist, urging you to straddle him. Once you were comfortably seated Obi-Wan set a punishing pace, snapping his hips up into your while he kneaded the flesh of your ass between his fingers. 

Cody watched for a few moments before taking himself in his palm, stroking in time to Obi-Wan's thrusts. His face began to contort with pain when a thought burst through your fog. 

Self-stimulation is ineffective, isn't it? 

You were interweaving yourself with Obi-Wan, clinging to the cool of his force signature as he slowed just a touch, breathing out a shudder confirmation. 

With that you turned towards Cody, gently calling his name as Obi-Wan slowly rocked into you, expression curious. 

"I'm so wet," you moaned, looking him up and down. 

"You are," he confirmed, putting his hand where your body met Obi-Wan's, the other still wrapped tightly around his cock. He teased you both for a few moments, running his fingers across both of you at once. 

"I can take you both together." 

The words rolled off your tongue before you realized you had said them, both men moaning as Cody began to work a finger and then two into your pussy without hesitation. 

"You’re sure?" he grunted, wrapping your hand around his cock as he pushed his fingers deeper, working in tandem with the subtle roll of Obi-Wan's hips. 

"Yes," you cried, voice strained as he pushed in a third. "Can't stand to see either of you in this pain." 

Cody hummed against your skin as he kissed you, helping you adjust to the stretch before pulling away, coming behind you. 

With a firm hand to your back Cody pushed you forward until your chest was nearly flush with Obi-Wan's. You heard him spit against you, rubbing at you with his thumbs before pressing his head against your entrance, easing himself inside. 

You and Obi-Wan moaned from the pressure, stilling as he worked his way in. You swallowed your cries as Obi-Wan bit into your shoulder, hands firm on your hips as he tried to hang onto the last bit of his mental wall. 

That, however, came crashing down as soon as Cody began to move, the force of his pleasure knocking the wind from your chest. When you opened your eyes you could see your tears mixed with his, leaning down to lick them away before he began to work in tandem with Cody - thrusting in as he pulled out. 

They worked against each other and you were seeing stars, becoming wetter and wetter with every orgasm that rushed through your body. At some point you realized that the wetness was their come leaking out of you, both men showing no signs of easing up anytime soon. 

You couldn't be certain how many times any of you came, riding out high after high, changing positions, coming in and on each other as you lost yourselves in the pleasure, desperate to keep the burning pain away. 

At some point though the effects of the pollen had worn off and the three of you collapsed together, sticky and sweet and warm. Time had returned though sense was still absent. 

You and Cody had each curled around Obi-Wan, legs tangled together and arms entwined. Eventually you each slipped into a heavy slumber, shared murmurs of thanks fading away as your eyelids drooped. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Slowly you began to rouse, feeling the heat of the sun beginning to sear your skin, quickly coming to your senses when a high pitched shriek jolted you all awake. 

You startled to find Captain Rex doubled over in laughter as Anakin threw his cloak over the pile of limbs you were wrapped in, head turned away and paler than you could ever recall seeing him. 

"Anakin, aren't you supposed to be on Naboo?" Obi-Wan questioned, slowly sitting up. He was blinking in the sun, memories slowly returning as you and Cody unwrapped yourselves from around him.

"I was until the Council told me they never heard your team check in. They sent me here and I find this," he gestured dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away. 

"Like I needed another reason to hate sand." 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Full Masterlist // Star Wars Masterlist

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Tags - Tumble has a tag limit and we’ve exceeded it (which is so cool I can’t believe that many of you are interesting in reading my work!) so we’ll be switching to comment tags, this should also mean that everyone’s tags will work for once!! 

Tag lists are open: just CLICK HERE and tell me what you want to get tagged in, or send me an ask/DM!