#their smiles water my crops and clear my skin

[venstm]

me, after saying I am not really interested in playing hsr but there’s a gepard mention:

[sexynetra]

I literally gasped out loud, could Marcia look any cuter? (No, the answer is no. She cannot)

[ahsokatanohno]

HERA AND LEIA ARE PALS. AHSOKA AND EZRA AND SABINE REUNITED. AHSOKA IS HOPEFUL AND THRIVING. THREEPIO IS HERE ON BEHALF OF SENATOR AND DEFENSE COORDINATOR LEIA ORGANA. ZEB IS TRAINING RECRUITS. MY HEART IS FULL.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

writing a love letter from one half of your otp to the other is something that can actually be so healing

[elvhendis]

I like to send out anon love too. Cause sending it any other way is  terrifying

So here’s some more anon love

❤️🩷🩵💚🩶

❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜🤎🖤🩶

This is too sweet 🥺

[hayatoseyepatch]

Description: Three words, eight letters, a phrase that is felt more than it is spoken. This is my take on how some of the Wind Breaker characters say "I love you" for the first time. Characters: Hajime Umemiya, Tasuku Tsubakino, Haruka Sakura, & Hayato Suo. Word Count: 2.6k Not proofread, oops. Contains: Fem!Reader x Multiple Charcters (separate). Fluff. Some slight hurt/comfort if you squint.

Author's Note: Fluff? Something other than smut? From me? Wow. We love character development. But this has been on my mind for AGES so I finally am getting it out. I haven't been feeling the greatest either so please enjoy some very self-indulgent fluff. (¯³¯)♡

You and Umemiya had been together for a while. You both adored each other, tender kisses and lingering touches were commonplace in your relationship. You had met Kotoha, and the others at the group home and have been attached to his side for almost a year. He wasn’t sure what was holding him back from saying those three little words. Perhaps it was his past, he had lost those who he had nearest and dearest to his heart. Their end unraveled right before his very eyes. Umemiya had so much love to give, and so many people he loved to give it to.

But often, he found it next to impossible to let the words slip past his lips. Instead, he showed his love in different ways. Bringing Kotoha patrons and supplying her with crops from his garden for her restaurant. A warming smile and a promise that Bofurin’s big brother would keep his found family safe. Always the first to offer a listening ear or a shoulder when needed. But never those words. Three short words, one syllable each. He knew he could say them but something deep down was stopping him. An irrational fear that if he had, the one he said it to would go too.

That was before he met you. Umemiya hid his darkness well. A well-placed smile and a childish affect cleared the thought anyone could ever have that the feelings he buried so deep even could exist within him. One you found easily. The light you had brought into his world shone brighter than any darkness that could ever threaten to shroud him. The warmth that settled in his chest when you looked his way. His laughter more genuine since you had come into his life. He knew from the moment he had met you, the moment he had first lost himself in your eyes, that they were the eyes he wanted to get lost in every day for the rest of his life. So why, even after all this time could he not say he loved you?

You had always joked that you had a grey thumb, unable to grow anything and that you were fortunate enough to have his abilities for gardening. One of the things he loved most about you was the amount of effort you put into his interests. He was coming up to the rooftop, it was late summer and he was excited to see what was ready to harvest. He was surprised to hear your voice, looking around the corner he saw you watering the plants. Just as he had shown you how to. “You're looking beautiful today, growing nice and big and strong.” You sighed, feeling ridiculous, shaking your head. You jumped, nearly out of your skin hearing Umemiya’s giggles. “Sunflower what are you doing?” He said between peals of laughter

“I read online that talking to the plants could help them grow, I don’t know how well it’ll work.” You sigh shaking your head feeling a little silly. However, Umemiya’s heart was soaring, you had taken it upon yourself not only to express interest in something important to him but to go out of your way to care for it even when out of his presence. His eyes softened, cupping your cheek he leaned down to slot his lips against yours. The embrace was gentle, lips molding together as if they were only made to be with the other. He parted from you after a moment, breaths fanning against your lips as he spoke. “I love you, my sunflower.” He smiled against your mouth as he kissed you once more, knowing no matter what came next he would be by your side until he drew his last breath.

Tsubaki had only felt comfortable in his own skin in recent years. Having spent so long conflicted with himself regarding his appearance. He was so fortunate that for those who didn’t support his choice in his appearance, he had so many who were right there by his side, rooting him on. But it wasn’t always like that. For longer than Tsubaki cares to remember he was all alone. Forced to walk his path in constant fear of ridicule. He was teaching himself to fight to protect himself from those who would try and hurt him on the sole premise of being true to himself. Those days felt like a lifetime ago. Because now he had Bofurin, because now he had you.

Tsubaki couldn’t forget the first time you had both met even if he tried. He was just starting to dress more feminine, his hair an awkward shoulder length. Still learning how to apply makeup. There were a few boys from his grade who were taunting him, calling him names, and throwing things in his direction. Normally he would have stood his ground, beating them to a pulp for what they were doing. But Tsubaki was tired, tired of having to defend himself, tired of having to be so strong just to live as he chose to. How he felt most beautiful. He wasn’t that strong by choice, he was strong because he had to be. Because Tsubaki had to be stronger than their ignorance. Tears welled up in his vision at their harsh words, about to get up and defend himself once more.

Before he could get to his feet, however, he heard a voice call out, capturing the attention of his assailants. Stood there was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, delicate features enhanced by the soft cosmetics that had adorned your face. He watched with wide-eyed fascination as you ran up, the closed fist of your manicured hand coming into contact with their leader’s jaw, sending him to the ground upon impact. Tsubaki couldn’t move, he watched, frozen as you gracefully fought the group that had been trying to bring him harm. Tsubaki was strong, and more than capable of handling them on his own, but in that moment he learned that he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to fight his battles alone anymore, because now he had you.

He remembered stumbling over his own name when you had asked for it, cheeks a dark shade of red when you smiled at him. He remembered the way your hand had felt in his grasp for the first time as you dragged him back to your house to get cleaned up. Humming as you wiped the dirt from his cheeks, in a very similar manner as you were doing right now. He lay in your bed, your thighs straddling his waist as you hummed, swiping the brush along his cheek, applying the peachy blush you said paired so well with his complexion. You paused in your humming meeting his eyes that gazed up into yours with adoration, giggling softly. “Welcome back, that was some daze you were in. What’s on your mind gorgeous?”

Tsubaki’s cheeks flushed deeper than the powder that painted his skin. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you sent him a smile, soft and full of tenderness. Tsubaki wasn’t sure he believed in love at first sight, but he knew from the moment he met you that he loved you, and over time that love had only grown. Reaching up a hand, thumb swiping your cheek as he returned your loving gaze. “Just thinking about how much I love you, that’s all beautiful.”

Haruka wasn’t familiar with love. Often times he found it nearly impossible to express his feelings. Before coming here, even something as simple as kindness was a foreign concept to him. Being so often judged upon first glance he never got the opportunity to even try to build relationships. So after a while he had given up trying, That was before he came here. Before he was welcomed in with open arms. Before he found the only place he felt like he truly belonged. But you. You had opened up his world to so much more. You showed him what love could feel like, An emotion he never thought he could ever feel let alone have bestowed upon him.

You were much more open with your love, taking care of him when he got sick after a fight, making sure he was eating and taking care of himself. You had teased him relentlessly when you first met. Adoring the deep flush in his cheeks and the reactions you could pull so easily from him. Eventually, that teasing morphed into affection, which blossomed into love. You still had a habit of teasing him, but it was never ill-mannered always coupled with your beautiful laughter. And if he got to hear that beautiful sound bubbling past your lips, he would deal with the heat that graced his cheeks and the pounding in his chest.

You both had been together for quite some time, well past the point of the outbursts you had first been met with when openly showing your affection. Long past the point where he would feel the urge to run for the hills the second you called him one of the plethora of pet names you had bestowed upon him. But he still struggled to verbalize his feelings for you. He knew you were well aware of his feelings toward you. What he couldn’t express through words he showed through his actions. He was eternally grateful to your seemingly unending patience with him. Being well aware of his past you knew he would say it when he was ready. It wasn’t as if he had never said it before, but those times were when you were fast asleep next to him. His fingers carded through your hair as he gazed upon your relaxed features, whispering those three words in the silence of night. But as you lay here in his arms, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours he knew that he needed you to hear how he felt. Not just feel it. Leaning down he brushes his lips against your own, lips slotting together like two puzzle pieces, perfectly fit to one another.

His eyes are soft with fondness as you pull away from the kiss, head tilting to lean into the touch of your hand. His eyes locked with yours, lidded with adoration. His lips melting against yours, arms encircling your waist. He hums thoughtfully against your lips. His heart felt warm, pulling away he looked into your eyes, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, I sit and I think to myself sometimes ‘god I can never love you more than I do right now’ and you consistently test that theory by making me fall more in love with you every day.” His heart raced in his chest, never the best at expressing his emotions, but in this moment Sakura needed to tell you how he felt. Never one to back down, despite being able to hear his heart racing in his ears as he continued to speak.  “Your smile still makes my heart pound, your laugh still makes my head feel fuzzy, and your kisses still make me feel like I’m floating. I love you so much.”

He gives you a soft smile pulling you close once more to kiss your lips, hand now coming to rest at the back of your neck to keep you in place as his lips meld with yours once more. Before moving here Sakura could confidently say that he had never felt at home anywhere. He was alone, perfectly fine never planting roots, he had believed it would always be that way. What he didn’t realize was that home was more than where you returned to at the end of the day. It would be something he found in you. Because his home was right here, in your arms. His home was you.

Suo hummed to himself, walking through the isles of the florist, perusing the flowers. He had made it a habit from your first date to always have fresh flowers for you, showcasing their beauty that in his eyes was rivaled only by your own. When he had presented you with the first bouquet, you had scrunched up your nose reporting to not understand the purpose of a gift that would eventually die. From that moment he decided he would always have fresh flowers to decorate your space. Showing you that their beauty may be temporary but the flora could hold deeper meaning.

He was fascinated by the symbolism of flowers. But he very specifically took delicate care in every single flower that was showcased in a bouquet he arranged for you. For a man like Suo, someone who never showed a crack in his armor, never showing his true feelings often relied on subtle ways to show his love. The first flower he had selected for the bouquet were violets, their heart-shaped petals reflecting their meaning of everlasting love and devotion. Historically a gift of violets was a declaration to always be true. These flowers were common amongst the arrangements he curated with their placement, a promise to offer you the same. The next flower to join the arrangement followed a similar sentiment. Representing strength and love was the gladiolus. It was once believed that the beauty of the gladiolus could pierce another’s heart with love, the same could be said for the way you had done to him. Their purple hue paired nicely with the violets, the color symbolizing the beauty in the love you shared. The flowers to follow would showcase similar significance. Baby’s breath for undying love, calla lilies for beauty, and pink camellias for longing.

Suo was always deliberate in each flower he chose for you, choosing to convey his emotion through the meaning behind each flower he placed delicately in the arrangement. Smiling to himself, satisfied with the selection he had chosen. Sitting at his table as he placed them in their wrapping, being sure to pluck one from the bunch, placing it in a vase so when it began to wilt he would know it was time to gift you a new arrangement. Once he was satisfied, he set off to your apartment, knocking on the door. His signature smile graced his handsome features as he took you in. “Hello there beautiful, I have something for you.”

You smiled at Suo, taking the flowers from his grasp, and replacing the old arrangement with his assistance. You were very aware of Suo’s knowledge of flora, he would often tell you the meanings they held while out together. So much so that you began to look into it yourself. Taking what you knew of the flowers now to assess the arrangement. Eyes soft as you turned to your boyfriend. Hand curling around the back of his neck to pull him down to your level, lips brushing against his. The both of you melted into the tender kiss, your other hand coming to cup his cheek as his found purchase on your waist. Pulling away, you pressed your forehead against his looking into the rich auburn of his visible eye. “I love you too, Haya.” Your words were met with his gentle laughter. Taking one of your hands in his own, his lips brushing against your knuckles. “I love you, more than words could ever express, my sweet baby.”

Suo smiled looking down at you, knowing each flower he had plucked from your bouquets had been dried and coated. Keeping a memento of how despite your initial feelings on the gift, even flowers that have died could still be enjoyed. Those flowers were placed in a special place, kept safe. One day he planned to have the dried flowers arranged into their own bouquet. One he would present you alongside a ring, a promise to love you until the very last one died, knowing these flowers never would.

Dividers by saradika-graphics. Writing & character banners by me. If you enjoyed it, consider taking a look at my masterlist: here.

[sherlockig]

this smile cleared my skin, watered my crops, cured my depression and gave me life

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #02)

FEB02: A Bit of Banter

You were outside of his window again, wearing the most ridiculous sleep shorts he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. And by ridiculous, he meant downright tantalizing. Sure, they were highlighter pink and had little hearts on the pockets, but they may as well have been transparent. As you bent over to move your potted plants away from his half of the balcony, he could see… everything.

At the plump, delightful join of your shapely legs, the outline of your adorable little pussy lips kept peeking between them, playing hide-and-seek with his unblinking line of sight and making him sincerely doubt his self-control.

You had insisted, of course, that John needed to take ownership of his half of the outside porch. You had lived there for so long that you had acquired a veritable forest of houseplants. He liked it. The greenery was nice. It was such a departure from most of the living spaces he found himself in, and watching you bend over to pick up fallen leaves or check the soil for its water content was a hell of a bonus. 

He knew he shouldn’t bother you. He’d let himself fall into a terrible, almost insatiable crush. Your voice when you talked on the phone, the little songs you only knew three or four lines of in the shower, the smell of your cooking; he had let it consume him, and now he was hooked. John would make any excuse to be near you. You’d told him to just leave the empty pyrex he’d borrowed on the porch table, but he hadn’t. He’d waited, selfishly, until you were outside so he would be able to hand it back in person. Now, his opportunity had come.

The sliding door shuddered in its track as he climbed onto the balcony with you. You turned to look at him, and when you did, he was treated to the rest of your outfit. Your sweater was a little cropped, and it was full of large, crocheted holes so he could see your skin straight through them. You had a pale blue bralette, all lace and bows, covering your full breasts underneath, and he thought he might pass out from the blood loss. But, he controlled his face, and handed you back your baking dish,

“Ah!” You smiled, taking it from him, “Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the cookies.”

“Enjoyed? Ate them in one sitting, more like,” he chuckled, having a seat at the little round table that sat in the middle of the porch, and pulled out his cigar case. 

“I guess you’ll need another batch this weekend, then,” you winked, obviously joking. But, he looked at you and quite seriously said,

“I would pay money, love.”

You blushed, and he enjoyed watching it flood your cheeks. How badly he wanted to kiss them, to feel the soft flesh bend under the pressure of his mouth…

“Sorry about all the plants. I’ve been working on clearing off your side…” You started dragging another pot into your corner.

“Told you it was alright.”

He lit his cigar, and watched you carefully. You had finally moved all the plants out of his side and had pulled out the broom to sweep it off. 

“Can’t have you cleanin’ for me too, love,” he moved to stop you.

“It’s my mess, John. But, I make a pretty decent maid.”

There was a twinkle in his eye when he responded to your comment,

“Mmm. Bet you look pretty good in the outfit,” he laughed when you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold back your own laugh as you swept off the stray soil, “Little feather duster?” He mimicked the dusting motion at you and let the smoke billow out around his beard. 

“You’re going to need to hire a real maid if you keep leaving those ashes all over my table,” you shot back, teasing him. 

He feigned injury, pouting a bit, 

“I’ll buy an ashtray, love, don’t worry. C’mon. Don’t you like a smoke every now and then?”

You shrugged, sitting across from him, resting after your chores,

“Never had one. Not a big cigar like that anyway.”

“Think it’s big, huh?” He cocked a sly smile, knowing he was being rude.

You rolled your eyes, but gave him a soft laugh anyway.

He handed it to you, and you admired the glowing ember at its tip. You had to admit, the scent was wonderfully complex, and you had accidentally trained yourself, like Pavlov’s dog, to respond when you smelled it outside. It meant he was around…

“Don’t inhale into your chest. Just pull it into your mouth, and then let it fall away slowly. It’s meant to be relaxing.”

You tried to follow his directions and he grinned with no small amount of satisfaction.

“It’s nice,” you admitted, handing it back to him. 

“You should let me cook for you. Gotta pay you back for all those cookies somehow,” he offered, staring out into the vanilla sky as the sun tucked itself behind the cloud. 

“Mmm,” you smiled, leaning back in your chair and looking out into the sunset with him, “Not sure if it’s safe. You might be a murderer, you know?”

“I might be…” He took another long drag, and there was something in his tone that gave you pause, but he smirked, so he was clearly joking around. 

“You don’t seem very motivated,” you shrugged, “It’s been two weeks, and I’m still breathing. Or, maybe you’re terrible at it?”

He cut his eyes over to you and burst out laughing. You laughed with him, not exactly knowing what was so funny. But, being with him was intoxicating, and you were having a hard time staying away. Laughing together like this felt like a dream.

John finally caught his breath and nodded,

“That’s true. You could make it easier on me by coming to dinner tomorrow. We could eat out here,” he winked, “For your safety.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, pulling your sweater a little tighter around your shoulders, “That sounds nice.”

“Great,” he took another long, enticing drag of smoke, “It’s a date.”

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[neopuppy]

ok but that idea of enemy jeno nd step father johnny a/b/o sounds hella fire 🔥 i know you'd smash it my fave fics from urs are the abo ones 🔥

👀🤭🐺

—————-

“At your age I was near ready to pop out my first pup,” the sound of your mother’s tongue flicking against the backs of her teeth always makes your chest hurt, it’s one you’ve grown accustomed to following her clear disappointment. “I’m fortunate pack leader allowed me to participate in the mating race last midsummer's moon, although I believe he had more ulterior motives than he’ll ever admit.” She grins to herself, ringing clean the furs you’ve spent all morning rinsing free of dirt at the river bank.

“Omega Sooyeon always told me that my Omega would lead me to my mate..” you mumble quietly to not receive a stern look that could escalate to a slap across your face faster than your next breath.

“That Omega..” she snickers, showing her unreasonable disdain for the pack’s healer. Most of it stemming from things out of even the Moon Goddess’s control. “She lives with her head in the clouds, you don’t see a mating mark on her neck, do you?” She smirks, neck stretched to one side proudly showing off the gash Pack Alpha left, still dark and deep as if his canines had dug a path in mere minutes ago.

“Either way, after discussing our current living situation, Pack Alpha believes it’s best to wed you off now. You’re far beyond ready to bare and raise pups. As the Pack leader's daughter, you need to uphold the pack’s integrity. I can no longer carry pups but there is no reason you should not.”

Your mother isn’t one to take your thoughts into consideration much, if ever. The resilience you’ve shown over years to following the standard Omega lifestyle has only earned various punishments and created distance in your relationship; because how embarrassing is it for the new stunningly beautiful Head Omega to walk arm in arm proudly with their pack’s leader with a fully grown Omega in tail- childless, mateless, and too hard headed to accept suitors.

“Now, take these to your father.” She says, throwing the heavy dried furs atop your shoulders with a nudge of her chin toward the door. “I shall drop the rest off after dinner.” The way her cheeks suck in let you know more than words how she has to hold back from mocking you again, skipping added commentary of how you’d rather be in the fields with Alphas covered in dirt fertilizing crops when you should really be fertilizing your eggs.

It’s not as if she hasn’t recounted enough(your whole life) what your only purpose is. Keeping your hair long, your skin clean and pretty, and your figure fit to the standard of Alphas.

‘We exist to satisfy our Alphas, there is no other purpose for an Omega.’

She shooed you away, reminding you to have hot water boiled and ready for Head Alphas bath tonight; because as useless as you may be, you’re not exempt from helping your mother keep her Alpha happy.

Bear furs weigh down your shoulders trekking across the pack to where Alpha Suh has been working for the day, distracting yourself by smiling and nodding at passerby’s instead of contemplating the possibility of the Pack Leader trying to marry you off.

“Ah, are those my furs?” He stays put, shouting over the loud cutting sound of sawing through logs of thick dark wood. “Smells fresh even from here.”

Pack Alpha dusts off his gloved hands, removing goggles from his sweat stricken skin and tossing them down onto a table together. “I expected your mother to deliver these.” He turns, hoisting the furs from your arms to throw over a chair nearby.

“Are you not happy to see me?” You ask quietly, searching for a cloth to wipe the Alphas chest.

“What makes you say that?” He lifts an eyebrow, wiping the back of his hand across his lips. “I expected her, but I’m much more pleased to see you.”

“I need to head back home to prepare your evening bath. How’s your back doing today Alpha Suh? I can pick up some crushed lavender and arnica extract from healer Sooyeon that might help..”

“What have I told you..” he moves to stand before you, raising the cloth in your grip to his chest, aiding your hand to clean off the drip of sweat rushing down to his navel. “About calling me that?”

“My apologies Alpha..” you continue to clean off residual scraps of wood shed and dirt holed between each divet of muscle melted to his skin by hard labor. “When I’m with my mother all day, I forget..”

“How was she today?” He hums, reaching to stroke your hair away from your face. “I know she does her best to be nice when I’m around, you’ll tell me if she’s been too hard on you when I’m not, yes?”

“Yes, daddy.” Johnny nods, tracing down your jaw to pinch your chin between his fingers. “She mentioned something..”

The Alphas gaze stays focused on you, ensuring his attention is all yours, smoothing his other hand down your arm to land at your waist with a squeeze. “Mother has been insistent that I participate in the mating hunt this upcoming full moon, she said you’ve discussed my unmated status..”

“We have.” He leans closer, pressing your back against a wall. “You know I do my best to keep her off your ass, but she makes a valid point. Even if you’re not my pup by blood, I am responsible for you, you’re to carry on my name in this pack.”

Johnny sighs, lifting your chin to raise your eyes to his. “It’s my fault—it’s your damn mothers fault for carrying your scent back then.. my Alpha couldn’t be stopped.” His grip around your waist tightens, palm sliding to the middle of your back. “Should have been you taking my knot under the watchful eye of the Moon Goddess.”

The Alphas scent sours, wrinkling down his forehead the more he thinks about it. He couldn’t claim your mother had deceived him for carrying your scent on her garments without proof. What’s done is done and when he came down from the aphrodisiac high of wolfsbane to see your mother sprawled on his chest; a mating mark freshly opened, Johnny immediately knew he’d made a mistake.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never.” His teeth snap, pulling you in close for your hands to cup his chest. “I’d never allow for that.” No. Not when you should be his mate instead of her.

“Is she lying? About marrying me off?” You ask, frowning at the thought of having to share small intimate moments with any Alpha other than the one shaking his head above you, swooping down to kiss against your temple.

“For the pack..” he mumbles against your skin, littering kisses down to your jaw. “We have to do this for the pack.”

“Why me?” Tears well up behind your eyes, circling around the Alphas waist to feel closer, seeking comfort from his warm touch. “I want to stay with you forever.”

“And you will,” tilting your head back, he stares into the wet gleam coating your gaze, grazing against your pouted lips. “I have a plan.”

[otto-apocalypse]

Seeing Otto smiling like that melts my heart.His smile cured my depression cleared my skin and watered my crops

[gejo333]

Too Hot To Handle

Miguel x Spider-Woman Reader

18+ Warning!

Summary: It’s unbelievably hot at Spider HQ. You decided to wear something more breathable, which earned the attention of many Spiders. However, your choice of clothing bothers Miguel in more ways than one.

I just wanted to say thank you to all the likes, comments and reblogs. It means the world to me!! 💕💕💕

Hope you enjoy the one-shot😉

WC: 1.4k

____________________________________________

Nueva York’s torturous summer heat blazed across Spider HQ. It was the hottest day of the year, and every spider knew it.

The fabric of your spider suit clung to your already sweaty and hot skin. Usually, the suit was supposed to be breathable. How would you be able to wear this suit all day? It’s not possible. Not with the air conditioner out of commission.

“Lyla.” You breathed out. Even talking was taking up too much of your energy.

“Yes, y/n?” The small figure appeared, clicking away on her phone.

“What’s going on with the air conditioner? When can you get it fixed?”

“It’s been overworked the past week, so it overheated. I can get it fixed in a couple of hours.” She responded; a groan of frustration left your lips.

The thought of being in your suit for five minutes, alone for the next few hours, felt excruciating. You briefly thought about going to nag Miguel about fixing it himself. But you would have to walk across HQ to his office. You lifted your watch, pressing a few buttons to call the grumpy spider.

“What, Y/n?”

“Wow, I’m surprised you answered.”

“Stop wasting my time. I’m busy. What is it?” The irritation in his voice was clear, which only widened your smile.

“Can you fix the air conditioner?”

“Lyla has it handled.”

“It’s too hot to wait. Aren’t you hot under your suit?” You whined.

“No, my suit is breathable. Now stop whining. Goodbye.” He paused for a moment before speaking.

“Miguel I..” The beeping sound indicated he hung up on you.

“Bastard. Fine, I’ll figure out how to cool myself down.” Pressing a few buttons, an orange portal opened up next to you. Before entering, a hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Jess asked.

“I’ll be back. I’m just going to change into something more comfortable.”

…

Getting out of your suit, you hopped into the shower. The ice-cold water sizzled against your warm skin. After the shower and drying off, you grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a spaghetti tank crop top. You looked in the mirror. Your shorts barely cover your cheeks, as you can see them sticking out slightly. Oh well, you thought. I look good, so it shouldn’t matter.

Pressing a few buttons on your watch, you go back through the orange portal to HQ.

…

The ice melted on Gwen’s forehead mere seconds after she put it there. She looked over at Hobie and Pavitr, lying on the floor like her to escape the heat wave.

“I can’t take any more of this heat.” Whined Pavitr.

“Same here, mate.” Replied Hobie.

“How much longer?” Gwen asked.

“Still a couple of hours.” The trio looked at the additional voice. All three went wide-eyed when they saw you. But more specifically, your outfit.

“Damn, Y/n, looking pretty good there,” said Hobie.

“Your sweet Hobie.” Your cheeks reddened slightly from his comment.

“Y/n, do you know when Lyla will have it fixed?” Asked Pavitr.

“Sadly not, but I’m going to march into Miguel’s office and demand he fix it.”

Walking towards Miguel’s office, you saw spider people checking you out while some spiders whistled or threw compliments your way. But you just smiled and continued on your way. You entered his office, walking till you went to the platform where the large figure stood, watching the various screens.

“Miguel! It’s too hot! You need to fix the air conditioner.” You shoot up to the platform with your web, landing a few feet behind him.

“Like I said, Lyla will…fix it.” Miguel turned towards you but paused his comment as he looked at your outfit. His gaze scanned your body from your thighs, the way your hips and ass looked in those jeans, and your hourglass figure to your gorgeous e/c eyes. His gaze made your cheeks flush.

“You changed out of your suit.” He slowly walked towards you.

“Yeah, I was too hot in it. So I changed.” You turned away from him, looking at the orange screens, pretending to look for anomalies. His arms snaked around your waist, his breath hot on your neck. Your breath hitch in your throat as you feel his lips brush against your ear.

“Your outfit is too revealing. No one is allowed to see you with barely any clothes on but me.” He whispered in your ear. You turned around, trapped between him and his desk. His fingers hooked around the rings of your jeans, pulling you against him. Your arms snaked around his neck.

“What, you don’t like that other people see my figure? Last time I checked, I don’t belong to you.” A smirk graced your lips as you knew you pulled a trigger. His possessiveness of you. His dark copper-brown eyes narrowed as he turned you around and bent you over his desk. He leaned over, his lips once again near your ear.

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” His crotch was right against your ass. You let out a groan, feeling his clothed boner against you.

“Maybe I do.” You breathed out.

“Good girl.” He pulled down your shorts, along with your panties. You gasp as you feel one of his fingers enter your wet folds. “Already so wet for me. I’ve barely touched you.”

“It’s from t-the h-heat.” You felt a second finger enter you as he began a steady pace. His fangs grazed the skin of your neck before biting down. A moan escaped from your lips as he bit down. He made sure not to inject his venom as he let go, licking up the drop or two of blood flowing down your neck. The constant thrusting of his fingers started to build the knot in your stomach. You slowly moved your hand to your clit as you began to touch yourself. Miguel snatched your wrist and bent it behind your back.

“Trying to touch yourself, mi amor? Not on my watch.”

“Miggy, please.” He let go of your arm, but instead of your hand, he used his to finish you off.

“Cum for me.” You arched your back a few seconds after his words, finally feeling your climax. You felt him remove his fingers as you turned your head to watch as he slowly put them in his mouth, licking them clean. ‘You taste as amazing as always, y/n.”

His suit disappears, showing his full self as you see his cock pop out. You were always dumbfounded by how he could fit everything inside you. Honestly, you could care less because it felt so good when he shoved inside of you.

“Beg for it.” He growled in your ear as the tip of his member poked at your entrance.

“Please, fuck me.”

“As you wish, Princesa.” He slowly thrusts his member until he is fully inside you. A grunt leaves his mouth as you clench around him. “Fuck, you’re always so tight.” He removes his cock completely before slamming it back in as he thrusts into you rigorously.

“Miguel!” You feel him lean over, his chest against your back. The summer heat, combined with the hot sex, was making the build-up even more pleasurable. He placed kisses along your neck, every so often leaving marks with his fangs.

“If you keep clenching around me like that, I won’t be able to last.”

“I’m going to-ughh!” Words were hard to say as he continued to slam into you. For the second time, you reached your climax.

“ I’m going to put a baby in you. Will you let me put a baby in you, mi amor?”

“Yes! Put a baby in me Miggy.” His claws dug deeper into your waist as he spilled deep inside you. He kissed your shoulder as he removed himself from you. You stand up from your position and turn around.

Miguel sits on his chair, sweating in all his naked glory from the heat after slamming his cock deep into you. Thighs meet thighs as you sit on his lap, guiding his half-hardened cock back inside your cum-leaking pussy. The sight of your sweaty body on top of his. The way the sweat on your breasts glistens perfectly in the light brings his cock back to life. A groan fall from your lips as you feel him come back to his full size inside you. You wrap your arms around his neck as you move your hips.

“I think you need to tell me again who I belong to.”

____________________________________________

Chapter Two of “El Destino” will come out tomorrow!💕💕💕

[yuujiheart]

this chapter fed me, watered my crops, cleared my skin etc etc

My favorite part of this chapter was seeing Yuuji smile again for the first time in ages, and at Sukuna no less! I really love how genuine his smile was, it wasn't a smug smile or a crazed smirk, it was a genuine smile and it's so Yuuji

Yuuji Kaisen is so back :D

First of all thank you anon. I will be using this as an opportunity to talk about it in length... And yeah I agree, yuuji smiling at sukuna was my fav part too. I also talked about it in my post along with how I got completely stumped when I saw that panel.i was speechless.I was literally shivering and couldn't really think for a moment.. I was seeing what I used to imagine..

As someone who loves both of them I always wanted something like this. Especially for sukuna, since I don't think somebody has smiled at him like this without any selfish reason,not to forget he was unwanted from birth...only yuuji is capable of that. it is also funny how yuuji only approached sukuna once he (probably) separated him from gumi ignoring all intentional/ unintentional sukuna's attempts at having convo with him confusing sukuna too lol... That much I want sukuna to have, having an opportunity to be able to connect with people , learn about love through yuuji.

Yuuji's genuine smile to sukuna also makes me wanna think that yuuji is doing that because he knows about sukuna and his loneliness. We always say how sukuna knows yuji but I think yuuji is also like that. Yuuji has also lived with him, maybe he also felt sukuna being lonely and yuji being someone who is trying his best to not die alone, he decided to extend his helping hand to sukuna too. Yuuji is a really kind soul.. He can do this without any burden now that he thinks has saved gumi and possibly stopped merger too. .

Honestly I believe sukuna will not really change but accept that yuuji is right too.... Even thinking about it warms my heart..

AHHHJGJJ, I CAN'T WAIT FOR NEXT CHAPTER, ABOUT THEIR CONVO, SUKUNA'S REACTION TO THIS.. HOW YUUJI WILL HANDLE SUKUNA.

[ingravinoveritas]

Hello, I hope you are doing well!! I am going to add into the growing pile of asks in your inbox, but I need to get this out of my system!! Seeing these new images (and the season 3 announcement) has watered my crops, cleared my skin and all that jazz ✨🌟 both of them look soo happy and soppy and smitten and I really can't stop smiling at those pics... They radiate warmth (and are a far cry from the last pics of MS we got) and the best thing is, the people around them are looking like '😏😏 yes homo 🏳️‍🌈? If it is then good for them, good for them' (I even edited the pics XD)

Would love to hear more of your thoughts on this and I hope you have a nice holiday season (if you celebrate). Cheers 🥂

(Grouping these all together for ease of answering.)

Good lord, my inbox has completely blown up since last night. I can see we've all been greatly affected by the photo(s) of Michael and David at the Donmar, and there is surely much to discuss.

I think I am losing my shit just slightly too, so I am with you, @enchantingdefendorarbiter. What a joyous turn of events--opening night of Macbeth and Michael in (almost) the front row watching David with rapt attention, and someone somehow capturing the exact moment when they lock eyes from across the room in a "movie moment" made into genuine reality.

When I first saw the picture last night, I was so struck by the intimacy of it. Part of me wonders if this is due to the actual space--the Donmar is such a small theatre that lends itself to intimacy just by its nature, with the audience being so close to the stage and the performers. But there is no denying the intimacy that exists between Michael and David themselves--deep friendship, certainly, yes, but after looking at this photo, unquestionably the possibility of more.

As I've said before, I will not ever tell anyone that they have to ship Michael and David. It is absolutely correct for people to look at this picture and see best friends, because they are best friends. But being best friends and falling in love aren't mutually exclusive, nor does the possibility become closed off just because both of them are in other relationships.

So, intimacy. Another thing that intimacy can mean is feeling comfortable enough to show your feelings openly. That was what also struck me about last night, was that this was so public, and yet we got this (non-staged, non-planned) picture of Michael and David looking at each other ostensibly the same way they do when they're alone together. In this instance, maybe they thought no one was paying attention, but more significantly, they don't seem to care either way.

I think we think of "being in love" as this big, grand thing that exists the way it does in the movies. But in real life, being in love isn't just one specific thing, or specifically saying "I am in love with you." Being in love can also be I am looking at you like this right now because I don't know any other way to look at you. And that can be in private, or it can be in the middle of a crowded theatre, proudly letting the world see what you feel without apology.

(I also agree with you, @yami-no-kokoro, that the new pictures of Michael (which to answer your question @angelsandfelines are indeed from last night) are worlds away better than the ones we saw of him at a previous event. I am never not moved by the difference between Michael smiling his 'showbiz' smile versus smiling his real, genuine smile, and I love that that's what we got last night and that he was beaming so brightly because of David.)

To your comment, @phantomstars24, I could very much see that as well. Because last night felt and still feels like it was David and Michael's night. It felt like something took center stage in a new and painfully lovely way. It felt like Michael could go to David's dressing room with flowers and wine, and that they could sit on the couch and snog slowly and sweetly while Michael holds David in his arms and no one would blink a damn eye. And that is truly a beautiful thing.

So yes, those are my additional thoughts on the Macbeth press night. I have to do some traveling today, but I will try my best to answer the other Asks still waiting in my inbox. Thank you all for writing in and sharing your thoughts! x

[singaroundelay]

Because I have nothing but time on my hands and I've watched S3 so many times due to fics, let's take a look here at some lovely pull quotes from that James Lance article, shall we??

Just Trent Crimm. Acting totally normal around his crush.

All he wants is Ted’s approval. And to be noticed and loved in return.

But, what I will say is that I felt that in certainly in season three, no, he doesn’t have a relationship. But he is lightly dating.

Trent’s lightly dating but I wager if a certain American crossed his path again… (Take your daughter and get thee to Kansas, Trent.)

Which, uh, canonically… this means Trent really was thinking about kissing Ted.

Makes a person wonder, since he was in the coach's dugout — and watched Ted catch someone offsides even before the linesman did, just how close did Trent come to kissing Ted?

So, if you ask me...

If you could have heard what happened inside Trent, I think his heart just went and (he mimes an explosion). The plug was pulled in terms of him taking Ted down. 

That was the exact moment his heart went BOOM.

As we have said all along, this man had the biggest crush on Ted.

 ...and then he sheds his journalistic ethics because he wants to be a human more than he wants the profession.And I love that when he did that season two, it’s like he just blows his career up because he wants to look after a lovely human being, i.e. Ted.

Seriously, I’m of the age of having to squint and turn my head to the side in order to see anything remotely queer for my ships. Knowing full well I was willing things into existence that definitely weren't there. It's why even to just have Trent's chat with Colin at the Homomonument felt like such a "win".

But now — to know that every smile and wink and action, especially after "love our chats" was done on purpose? That it was all James' acting choices and his desire to have Trent fall for this American that he was supposed to eviscerate?

As the kids would say: my crops have been watered and my skin is clear.

At this point, I don't care if it's unrequited love on Trent's part. For the first time in my many years of fandom, all my head tilting and squinting wasn't needed.

Because it's fucking canon.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 27

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: themes of self-harm, harm reduction, imperfect recovery, PTSD, tattooing, piercings, themes on nonconsensual tattoos and branding, angst

~

“Come into town with me,” Sam said, looking right at Isaac over the breakfast table.

Isaac’s hand tightened in a fist around his cereal spoon. “Um…” He glanced at Gavin, who sat next to him. Gray had already eaten breakfast hours ago and was out on a walk.

Isaac’s scars stung. He was going to… not use his knife, he wasn’t going to do that after breakfast, he told himself he wasn’t. But his skin itched and he needed to do something. He had been planning on holding an ice cube after breakfast until it disappeared into water, dripping off his fingers.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “What’s in town?”

A faint flush warmed Sam’s cheeks, and a smile tugged at their lips. “Zachariah did some asking around, and it turns out one of the guys who lives in town used to be a tattoo artist, back down south. Zachariah is going in today to, uh… get his tattoo covered up.”

“Oh,” Isaac said softly. He chewed his lip and kept his gaze from flicking to Gavin with sheer will alone. “His…” He motioned at his own shoulder with the spoon in his hand.

Sam nodded solemnly. “His Stormbeck crest, yeah.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “How would they cover that up? It’s… huge. And dark black.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said with a shrug. “But apparently the guy said he could do it. And I wanted to go, to support Zachariah. I figured you might come with me.” Their gaze shifted to Gavin’s. “Both of you?”

“That sounds nice, Isaac,” Gavin said gently, sliding his hand into Isaac’s free one. “But if you, um… need a break after last night—”

“No,” Isaac snapped. The embarrassment of Vera’s gaze and words hadn’t faded, but he was fucking sick of being the one having to be babied. Not after what Gavin had been through. Not after what Gavin had survived – after what he nearly hadn’t survived. Isaac wasn’t going to be the reason Gavin stayed inside, away from the sun and air and grass, because he was fucking embarrassed.

He shuddered and carefully put his spoon down. When he looked up at Gavin and Sam in turn, they were looking up at him in concern – or perhaps something deeper than concern. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he ground his teeth against the shame that prickled where their gazes touched him. His throat worked and he made his shoulders relax.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I hate being this on edge.”

“We know,” Sam responded without hesitation – but without judgement, too.

Isaac offered them a tentative smile. He squeezed Gavin’s fingers and glanced between him and Sam. “I appreciate you being concerned. Both of you. But… I’ll be okay. I think it would be better, actually, if… if you both believe I’ll be okay. And…” He returned his gaze to Gavin’s, and his smile grew warmer. “And we should get you outside as much as possible. Get some color in those cheeks before winter comes.”

Gavin laughed and drew his hand through his short-cropped hair. “Vera did say I look so white now I may as well be a ghost.”

“Damn, Vera,” Isaac muttered.

“She meant it as a joke,” Gavin said, still smiling. “I wasn’t hurt by it.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. But maybe she could wait until I stop seeing you dead in my nightmares before she starts joking about it? He pulled Gavin’s thin hand to his lips and kissed the bony knuckles.

“So… yes?” Sam said, giving them both a thumbs up. “Tattoo guy? Zachariah? Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Isaac said with a nod. “Gavin?”

“You know I’m always interested in going into town,” Gavin said with a grin, and in that moment, Isaac’s heart swelled to bursting. There was Gavin, his old self – perhaps not his old self, but his true self, the way Isaac had seen him in the few months they had had together before Gavin had been taken – radiant and mischievous and sweet. In that wide, contented grin, the pain and fear had fallen away from Gavin’s face, the circles under his eyes faded, and the scars stretched until they were pale again. Isaac’s throat tightened and he drank in the sight of the thing he hadn’t truly believed he would ever see again: Gavin safe, home, and happy.

The intensity of Isaac’s attention made Gavin blush. “What?” he said, his smile growing wider.

“Just… looking at you,” Isaac murmured. His own face flushed and he looked away. “Sorry.” He glanced at Sam. They stared at him, grinning too. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with a chuckle. “It’s really nice to see you two back together, is all.”

Isaac flushed deeper and snatched his spoon up off the table. “Yeah,” he said, and scooped up a bite of cereal. “Let’s finish up breakfast so we can head into town.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to see what Zachariah is gonna get.”

∴

Isaac didn’t know what he found more intriguing: the man’s tattoos, or his piercings. Isaac had seen all kinds of piercings before on the team’s missions – rings all over the ears, in nostrils, in lips, in eyebrows, in nipples – but he had never seen, or at least noticed, anyone who had pieces of metal seemingly embedded in their skin like the tattoo artist did. And he had them all over his face – on his dimples, cheekbones, and above his eyebrows. Isaac couldn’t stop staring.

The man seemed to notice. He gave Isaac a long glance, which had him shifting his gaze down sheepishly. When the man turned his attention to Zachariah, Isaac used the distraction to look at his tattoos.

They covered his skin – or at least, his left forearm and hand, with some stretching up his neck to wind across his jaws as well. His right forearm was almost completely bare, and the half-rolled sleeves of his shirt and pants obscured the rest of him from view. But across his left arm twisted the impossibly complicated shapes of skulls, birds, and geometric shapes, all in a gritty swirl of black and gray and red. The designs shifted with his muscles as slid his hands into his pockets. He stood only a little taller than Sam, and was even more slight in stature.

The shop itself was actually just a glorified shed attached to the feed store, but it looked like it had been completely made over to accommodate an array of tattoo supplies – plus a chair in the center of the large shed that looked like it could be unfolded to be like a bed. A few stools lined the walls as well.

“So,” the man said with a thin shrug. His dark, baggy clothes seemed to hang off him. “You said shoulder, right?”

“Um… that’s, that’s right,” Zachariah said softly. He rolled up his short sleeve and stared at the floor as he revealed his Stormbeck tattoo. Sam reached out and put a hand on his arm.

Isaac’s throat tightened. It’s bigger than I remember.

Still, the man nodded, seemingly unbothered, his eyes moving over the tattoo. He tilted his head. “Any ideas for what you wanted instead?”

“Oh… no,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just whatever works. I know it’s… it’s bad.”

The man snorted. “Definitely not the worst I’ve seen. You ever try to cover one of these up on the face?”

Gavin gasped. “Who the fuck tattoos on the face?” he breathed.

“The Torrs,” the man said with a dry chuckle. “When they’re feeling particularly shitty. A bull in the most god-awful blocky style, right here on the cheek.” He motioned to his own cheek, bare except for a dot of metal. “Or on the neck. Still, I think I’d prefer that over the Stormbecks.”

Gavin went rigid beside Isaac. Isaac could hear his throat click as he swallowed, watched his lips tremble as he opened his mouth and asked, “Why… would you prefer a face tattoo over the Stormbecks?”

With an easy shrug, the tattoo artist pulled up the sleeve on his right arm and exposed the brand over his bicep: the head of a raven, surrounded by vines. By the look of the scar, it was a decade old at least.

“R-right,” Gavin whispered. “Stormbecks brand.”

“Hurts like a bitch, too,” the man said with a chuckle.

“So you were owned by my— by Benjamin Stormbeck?” Gavin croaked. His eyes swam with tears.

“Yup,” the man said. When he didn’t continue, Isaac’s gaze shifted from Gavin and pinned the artist where he stood.

“You know who he is.” Isaac’s mouth was dry. His hand inched toward his gun.

“I suspected,” the man said gently. He shrugged again. “No hard feelings, though. I mean. I heard some of the story, so I know that’s not even your real name anymore. And I heard you were in town. So it wasn’t hard to guess. But like I said. No hard feelings. You think I haven’t done shit? I wasn’t branded for no fuckin’ reason. It was because I got caught selling Stormbeck playthings to a higher bidder. So.”

Gavin went pale. “You sold—”

Isaac fell back a step, pulling Gavin and Sam with him. “Let’s—”

The man raised his hands. “Holy shit, here’s a good first impression. I did it so I could feed my little sister and her kid. And I didn’t exactly enjoy it. And once I escaped, I didn’t start again. Fuck, I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to Zachariah. “Well, I might have entirely fucked this up. Sorry. But I would like to help you out, still.”

Zachariah stood frozen, his eyes darting between the man and Sam. “I… um…”

“Start over, maybe? My name’s Brandon.” Brandon held out a hand and shook Zachariah’s. “Good to meet you, man.”

Zachariah’s hand swallowed Brandon’s, but his was shaking. He squeezed Brandon’s hand in a quick handshake. “You too, Brandon,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“And you guys, too,” Brandon said, his relaxed demeanor slightly giving way. He held out his hand for Gavin to shake.

“Gavin Uriah,” Gavin said, his eyes still downcast.

“Yup,” Brandon said with a nod. He held out his hand to Sam.

“Sam,” they said, their mouth turning down at the corners. They kept their arms folded awkwardly across their chest.

“Sweet.” Brandon didn’t skip a beat. He reached out to shake Isaac’s hand.

“Isaac Moore,” Isaac said flatly. He only barely held himself back from grinding Brandon’s knuckles together in his grip. Instead, he released his hand quickly, so he would be able to reach for his gun if it turned out he needed it.

“Okay, cool,” Brandon said, rubbing his hands together and glancing at the four of them. “It really is my bad for bringing up the plaything… thing. Not exactly something I’m proud of and it’s honestly not something I bring up a lot. If you don’t feel good about moving forward, totally cool. But…” He peered at Zachariah’s tattoo again, taking a step to the side as if to look at it from a different angle. “I think this is totally doable, depending on what you go with.”

Anger and distrust churned in Isaac’s gut. The door called to him, but more than that; this entire town felt absolutely crawling with people he couldn’t – or shouldn’t – trust. Just being in the same room with someone who had sold stolen playthings made him sick to his stomach, and to know that this same man had also brought up the Stormbecks knowing who it was that stood in front of him…

After everything Gavin has been through, after having that history carved into his fucking arm…

“What do you think, Zachariah? It’s up to you,” came Sam’s voice, winding through his distrust – and below the distrust, as there always was, was fear.

Zachariah wrung his hands and looked to each of them in turn. “Um… I would… really like to have it covered,” he said weakly.

“Then let’s stay and have it covered,” Sam said with a nod. They glanced at Isaac, and he felt their gaze like an admonishment.

He forced himself to nod back, forced his shoulders to relax.

“Okay,” Brandon said with a gusty exhale. “Sounds good. Um. I do a lot of my designs freehand as long as they’re simple, but I have the stuff to do a stencil too. So. If you don’t have any ideas, um…” He pulled up a stool and sat down. Everyone else remained standing. Brandon didn’t seem to notice. “What kind of things do you do? What do you enjoy?”

“Um…” Zachariah spread his hands. “I don’t… really know. I uh… I played soccer with my siblings, but that was more for them.”

“Hm. Okay. What else?”

Zachariah glanced at Sam and blushed a furious red. “I like… Sam,” he said, almost too quietly to be heard.

“No go. I don’t do couple’s tattoos.” Brandon waved the idea away. “Used to be bad luck in case you broke up. Now I don’t do it in case one of you dies.”

Isaac let out a sound like he’d been punched.

“Way less likely up here, but a superstition is a superstition,” Brandon said with a shrug. “Let’s think of something else.”

“Um…” Zachariah twisted his hands together. “Finn and Ellis have… a cat that’s really friendly, and I like him…?”

“Mm, could be promising,” Brandon said. “What are the main colors?”

“Oh, he’s all black,” Sam said with a grin.

Brandon leapt up from the stool. “Bingo,” he said, and went to his table of supplies. He paused and glanced back at Zachariah and lifted his eyebrows. “Does that work? Black cat tattoo?”

“You… can really make this work?” Zachariah murmured, glancing to the others hopefully and back to Brandon.

“Sure thing,” Brandon said. He pulled on some gloves and began preparing the tattoo gun. “Only thing to settle is payment.”

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “We don’t have any—”

“Yeah, I know, nobody does,” Brandon said with a good-natured wave of his hand. “But I have a small tree that’s been about to fall over in my yard for a few months. I don’t have a car to pull it over and I don’t have the strength or… frankly, the fuckin’ time to chop it into firewood when it does go. Help me pull it over, then give me like four hours of chopping? Whatever amount of wood that makes?”

“Th-that’s it?” Zachariah said softly. “That’s… all you want?”

“Yeah, dude,” Brandon said with a snort. “Believe me, it’s worth it to me.”

“I can start tomorrow,” Zachariah breathed.

“You’ll start once this is healed,” Brandon laughed. “You don’t want a tattoo this big getting infected. Especially not up here where I don’t have a lot of the stuff I would need to treat it.”

“Thank…” Zachariah swallowed hard and sank into the tattoo chair. “Thank you.”

Brandon turned around and rolled his tray of supplies closer to the tray. “Oh yup, just make yourself comfortable. I already wiped the chair down before you got here.” He gestured to the stools along the wall. “The rest of you want to have a seat?”

“Thanks,” Sam said, and gave Zachariah a reassuring squeeze on his arm. They and Gavin each went to a stool and sat down.

“I’ll stand,” Isaac said coldly.

Brandon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Sit down if you feel woozy.” He poured disinfectant over a cloth and smoothed it over Zachariah’s exposed shoulder. “Did the old tattoo heal okay?”

“Um, yeah,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just a little itching. The Storm— um. They gave me a good tattoo cream for the healing process.”

“At least there’s that,” Brandon said with a one-shoulder shrug, peering at the tattoo again. “Let me just…” He uncapped a black marker and drew a few swooping lines across Zachariah’s shoulder. “There. That’ll be the general idea. Like I said, I can add more detail if you want, but…” He stripped off his gloves and passed Zachariah a mirror. “Take a look. Do you—”

“How did you do that?” Zachariah whispered, eyes wide, staring in awe at the mirror in his hand.

Sam jumped up off their stool. “They me see,” they said, grinning. They stared at the drawing on Zachariah’s shoulder. “I… wow. I didn’t… so you’ll fill in that part and that part?” They held out their left hand to point.

“Okay, now I have to see,” Gavin said as he slid off his stool, too. His eyes widened as he looked at Zachariah’s shoulder. “It’ll be…” He wet his lips. “It’ll be like it was never there.”

Isaac ground his teeth and stepped around Zachariah, unable to contain his curiosity. The drawing was simple, but the lines were clear; once they were filled in, the image of Nata curled on Zachariah’s shoulder would fully cover the black Stormbeck crest that marred it now. Peeks of Zachariah’s skin would even show through to show the cat’s eyes, nose, and whiskers, and his tail curled around Zachariah’s bicep.

“I love it,” Zachariah rasped. “Seriously, I… I love it. Let’s do it.”

Brandon clapped his hands together. “Awesome. Let’s do it.” He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and switched on the tattoo gun, dipping the tip of it into the small pot of jet-black ink beside him. “We’ll take this at your pace, okay? Shouldn’t take too too long, but if you need me to slow down or if you need to just tap out, no problem. We can always go again another time.”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. Tap out?

Zachariah nodded vigorously and pushed out a slow breath. Sam pulled their stool forward and reached out, taking his other hand. Isaac watched in confusion. They’re acting like he’s about to give birth, what—

The needle touched Zachariah’s skin and he let out a hiss.

Isaac fell a step forward, his eyes fixed on the needle in Brandon’s hand. “Does that hurt?” he said, before he could stop himself.

“It’s…” Zachariah’s eyes went wide and he stared up at Isaac. “N-no,” he stammered. “No. It doesn’t. I… it’s not that bad, I promise it’s—”

“But it hurts,” Isaac said weakly. “Right? Like, does it always hurt?” He could feel Sam’s gaze on his face, but he ignored it.

Brandon wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “Depends on the person, and on the body part getting tattooed. And on what’s being done. But yeah, tattooing hurts, man. It’s needles going into your skin at like 10,000 times a second.” He chuckled and glanced up at Isaac. He immediately sobered when he saw the expression on Isaac’s face.

“Do you…” Isaac swallowed dryly. “Do you tattoo over scars?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Brandon said, and turned back to his work. “I work in the North. If I didn’t work with scars, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“I mean… do you…” Isaac’s hand shook as he fumbled for his sleeve. He wordlessly pulled his sleeve up to reveal the scars at his wrist and forearm.

Brandon paused his tattooing and looked at Isaac’s arm. He looked for a long time, so long that Isaac flushed with embarrassment and yanked his sleeve back down. Then, Brandon drew in a deep breath and said, “Of course I do work over those kinds of scars, man. But I can’t tattoo over broken skin. You’re gonna have to stop doing that if you want any work done by me.” Without another word, he turned back to Zachariah. He switched on the machine again and deftly moved it over Zachariah’s skin, wiping, tattooing, wiping, tattooing.

Isaac fell a step back and sank onto the stool next to Gavin. His scars prickled where the air had touched them. Still, as he watched Brandon work, he imagined how it might feel to have a needle slide into his skin 10,000 times per minute leaving ink in its wake, making designs instead of scars. He shivered as Gavin slid his fingertips against his palm and laced their fingers together.

“You doing okay?” Sam said gently.

“Yeah,” Zachariah said with a tight smile. “Really, it’s not bad at all.”

“Damn,” Brandon murmured, as if to himself. “This is gonna be a really cool piece.”

Continued here

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[galpalaven]

in shadow

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (Miz'ri Jhalavar) Word Count: 2500~ Summary: The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. Miz'ri makes sure that Astarion isn't going hungry. Also on AO3!

The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. 

At first, he holds out hope that they will encounter more cultists, or maybe a mostly-alive squirrel here and there. Surely not everything is dead out here, right? There are animals and people alive and well within the moon shield at the Last Light Inn, of course, but drinking from any of them would surely be met with outrage and hostility.

Not everyone is as understanding as his drow, after all.

He doesn’t need to eat, of course. He’s survived far longer than a few days without blood, but he hadn’t realized how used to being full and sated he’d gotten. As a few days becomes a week, he starts trying to readjust to the feeling of emptiness and hunger that had been his constant companion for the last two centuries. The discomfort greets him like an old friend, as his strength starts to wane and his head begins to feel far lighter than it had in weeks. The sharpness of his senses dulls as the hunger settles into his aching muscles, sinking into the marrow of his bones, taking its rightful place in the forefront of his mind.

It feels almost like it had never left, by the time they start heading for the towers.

The trip theoretically should only have taken them a few hours of walking, but the shadows are hungry and they only get hungrier the deeper into the curse they venture, making it slow going as they keep needing to fight off ravenous wraiths and shambling undead. They haven’t made nearly the amount of progress they were hoping by the time they have to make camp, lining the perimeters with lanterns to help ward off the shadows in the hopes that they can get some rest before they venture forth once more.

Aside from the looming threat of death, the red leaves make quite a pretty sight against the light of the fires burning around camp. They almost look like flames themselves, he thinks, watching the firelight dance. He avoids the main campfire tonight, unable to stand the tantalizing smell of cooked meat floating into the air as Gale cooks dinner. 

He’s almost succeeded in mentally detaching himself from his body entirely when a familiar face steps into his line of sight.

Miz’ri smiles when their eyes meet, and he feels his own lips twitch with the urge to mirror that expression.

The darkness of the curse looks right against her dusky grey skin, he thinks idly, watching her run a hand through her silky, starlight hair, hanging loose around her shoulders for once. The pink of her eyes seems extra soft in the firelight, sending a strange, swooping warmth through his stomach as she clears her throat and starts to speak.

“Would you like to come to my tent in a bit?”

Ah.

The combination of emotions that wash over him — like ice water dumped over his scalp and running in chilly rivulets down his spine — confuses him. There’s a part of him that grimaces, thinking of the inevitable disgust and self-loathing that will crop up some time in the middle of the night, but that isn’t the part that confuses him. The part that’s strange is the excitement and warmth that blossoms in his stomach — the tingling anticipation of her lips on his making him nod before he can actually think about his answer.

Her face lights up, and then she disappears again, darting off towards the campfire with a quick, Great, see you in a bit!

Perhaps this would be a good distraction from the yawning void that is his stomach, he reasons as he forces himself to his feet. Perhaps he can lose himself in the taste of her lips and the gentle caress of her hands, in the feeling of those web-like scars on her back.

Maybe this time he’ll be able to forget himself for a few hours.

Despite the doubt that drapes itself over his shoulders like a cloak, he still makes his way over to her tent where it sits near the edge of camp. It’s more of a real tent now than it had been in those early nights, offering more privacy against their merry band of misfits and protection from the elements. Brushing aside the flap that serves as the door reveals a nice little set up of bedroll and fur blankets that she must have shoved into that bag of holding they found not long after they all decided to travel together. The firelight filters through the tent softly, and the coziness of the set up makes it quite easy to pull his shirt over his head, spreading himself out on the soft furs with a quiet sigh.

As he waits, he tries to busy himself with thoughts of the last encounter they had. Of the feeling of her lips on his neck, her fingers in his hair. Of the way she looked at him while she touched him, murmuring questions about his comfort into his skin. She always lets him lead, but even that first night when they’d both been tipsy on wine, she’d paused whenever she felt him hesitating, checking in with him in a way no one ever had.

He must be losing his touch, he thinks, for her to see through his facade so easily. Not that he didn’t enjoy himself at times — even with the lingering feelings of disgust and unease, there were plenty of moments when he managed to let go of those feelings and lose himself in her warmth, in the sweetness of her lips and the heat of her breath on his skin.

He can do this. The memories of pain are a small price to pay for safety. For someone who will protect him no matter what happens. For—

“Sorry for the wait, I was — oh!”

Miz’ri blinks at him, the flap of the tent half held open with one hand while the other clutches a red apple and a bottle of water. 

He affixes his most seductive smirk onto his face, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back enticingly. He can see the flush on her cheeks as she stumbles the rest of the way into the tent, falling to her knees by his hip and letting the tent fall closed behind her. 

Astarion trails his fingers down the center of his chest, watching her swallow thickly as he smirks and says, “Hello, darling. I thought I’d make myself a little more comfortable while I waited. You don’t mind, do you?”

She shakes her head, clearing her throat as she fixes her eyes determinedly on his face. “I — no, of course not, I just — I invited you over because I thought you might be hungry. It’s got to have been a week since the last time you drank, right?”

…wait.

What?

Astarion frowns, pushing himself into a sitting position as if being upright will help him hear her better. That… surely she didn’t invite him over so he could eat, right? That’s not… that doesn’t make sense. 

“I just needed to grab myself a snack and something to drink for afterwards,” she continues, gesturing to the things in her hands. Her eyes look into his imploringly, full of genuine, honest concern. “You must be starving. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

He is — without words, for once. 

All he can do for a moment is gape at her, jaw hanging slack as she shuffles things around laying out a towel over her pillow and setting her snacks aside. He watches her tie her hair up into a bun high on her head, and then unbutton her top, slipping it off so she’s left only in her underthings. It’s not sexual, though, as she tosses the shirt aside and settles onto her back on the bedroll.

He still doesn’t know what to say, even as she gestures vaguely at her neck.

“Go on,” she says, smiling a little, “I’ll let you know when I start to feel woozy.”

Astarion tries to shake off the shock, reaching out to gently trace one of the jagged scars on her neck. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes running over her pretty face, looking for any hesitation or uncertainty.

He finds nothing of the sort.

All his drow does is smile, nodding as she catches his hand in hers and presses a kiss to his fingers. In the low light, his eyes catch on the gentle thrum of her pulse in her neck, and the starving beast in the back of his mind starts to salivate at the sight. His fangs elongate uncomfortably in his mouth, and it takes all of his self control not to lunge at her. 

Instead, he shakes his head slightly and says, “You don’t have to do this. I don’t — I don’t need to —”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. You deserve to eat like everyone else.”

You deserve to eat.

His throat tightens something fierce at that, so much so that he doesn’t trust himself to say anything without his voice breaking. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just lets his touch speak for him, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. She smiles and leans into the touch, and he’s sure the force behind the wave of affection that washes over him at the sight would have knocked him clean off his feet had he been standing. 

Touched and feeling more seen, more respected, than he ever has in his long, miserable life, Astarion does the only thing he can think to do.

He kisses her. 

And gods, the feeling of her kissing him back nearly steals the air from his lungs.

He lingers there for a long moment, trading short, soft kisses that slowly deepen, before he turns his attention elsewhere, kissing his way up her jawline and down her throat. He presses in close, laving open-mouthed kisses to the scars on her throat, a preemptive apology for the act that follows. With one more kiss, Astarion mumbles, “Thank you,” into her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into her neck.

Her blood hits his parched tongue like the sweetest, freshest water. He hasn’t tasted her since that first night he nearly got himself staked trying to bite her in her sleep, and she is every bit as delicious as he remembers. Her blood is smooth and saccharine, reminiscent of the sweetest icewines from the Moonshae Isles, perfect for desserts and quenching even the deepest thirsts. He feels himself groan softly more than he hears it as the taste of her hits him, and he presses in closer, taking a deep drag as she arches under him, leaning into him with a mirroring sigh.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more off-kilter, Miz’ri slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck — not to tug or pull him away, but to caress. Her fingers play with the curls at his nape as he drinks, soft and sweet and full of so much affection that he finds himself melting into her. His body feels warmer than it has in a week as her blood pumps through his veins, and with her fingers running through his hair and her other hand running up his arm to wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer, he feels something dangerous.

Astarion wants to kiss her.

The urge nearly overwhelms him as she pulls him close, and it’s all he can do to hastily lick the wound on her neck closed and kiss his way back to her mouth, uncaring of the mess he’s leaving in the process. 

He has never felt anything as sweet as the feeling of being kissed by his drow, of being kissed by his Miz’ri. She grins into his lips as he kisses her, opening her mouth to welcome him when his tongue sweeps across the curve of her lower lip. The taste of her blood lingers on his tongue, he’s sure, but all she does is pull him closer. His head spins, something heady in the pure acceptance and affection he feels radiating from her with every press of her lips, every gentle touch of her fingers. 

For one long, beautiful moment, Astarion loses himself in the sensation of being seen and accepted, of being known and being loved. His fingers dig into the bedroll beneath her as he presses in as close as he possibly can, kissing her deep and hard, desperate to will her to feel how grateful he is and how — how happy she makes him.

His hand has started to wander down her side towards her trousers when she finally breaks the kiss, gasping and tilting her head away with a giddy laugh. She pushes some of his curls away from his eyes as he looks down at her, grinning with amusement and arching an eyebrow in question. 

“Let’s just kiss tonight,” she says, smoothing her thumb across the high arch of his cheekbone. “You don’t owe me anything for dinner.”

He should have known, looking back, that she had long-since noticed his aversion to sex, and that was why they’d only been intimate twice. In that moment, though, the thought doesn’t cross his mind — all he can do is grin and nod, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

“As you wish, my sweet. Let me know if you change your mind.”

She snorts, giggling as he leans down and nuzzles his lips under her jaw, letting his breath tickle the sensitive skin below her ear. 

They spend the rest of the night trading kisses and talking quietly. At some point, they take to holding hands, fiddling with each others fingers as they tell stories in the dark. She tells him stories about her adventures before all of this, and he — well, they talk about their experiences since the nautiloid, mostly, when it’s his turn to tell something. At some point, he ends up with his face buried in her neck, arm thrown over her middle. They drift off to sleep as she traces little figures against the bare skin of his arm, both of them completely and utterly content.

And when he wakes the next morning, groggy but warm and deliciously sated, it’s hard for him to feel anything other than a nearly giddy sense of happiness, watching her doze in his arms.

Later, he’ll worry about how quickly and deeply he’s fallen for her. He’ll try to backpedal in his own mind — fighting viciously against the idea of giving someone else the ability to hurt him like that. He’ll lose that fight the next time she asks if he wants dinner, the next time he ends up in her arms with her fingers in his hair and his mouth on her throat.

Until then, he’ll lay here with his drow, thinking about how beautiful she is when she sleeps and losing himself in the unfamiliar warmth running through him.