#I’m just very exhausted and bemused

[spottyissleepy]

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.infinitycow.eplay

What

[luveline]

spencer x reader where she kisses his forehead and he’s 🥹🥹

“Spencer, are you dead?” 

Spencer ignores your question by accident. Heavy head in hand, he’s slowly sinking closer and closer to the hotel breakfast table to rest. His neck twinges with the effort it takes to stay up. 

“Spencer,” you say more sharply. 

His eyes track like the air is honey. He settles on your sluggishly while offering no greeting, tiredness pulling at him. “My eyes hurt,” he offers. 

“Make you some tea.” 

“Um, okay.” He’s disappointed when you leave, then dozing, face pressed to his desk as itchy eyes press along lids. It feels as though his eyelashes have turned inward. 

You return with a cup. Spencer grabs it blindly, lifts his head to squint one eye open. “What?” he asks. 

There isn’t tea in the cup. There are tea bags, two of them, wetted and leaking tan beige along the white china of the mug. Distinctly no tea. You must be tired too. 

“They’re for your eyes, Spence. They’ll make your eyes hurt less. The caffeine restricts your blood vessels to calm the inflammation, and the tea itself soothes sore skin.” 

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder. “I read about it in a book of modern home remedies. It really works. Here, can you tip your head back?” 

Spencer is very, very tired, but your voice is nice, your fingertips gentle against his neck, so he tips his head back. He doesn’t know how terrible he looks, having forgotten his untucked shirt, his rumpled sweater vest, his hair sticking up all over the place. 

“Close your eyes,” you murmur. 

Spencer shuts them. 

“It’s cold,” you warn, “but it’ll feel nice.” 

Spencer doesn’t care. He waits for you to move. The tea bags you place on his closed eyes feel cold and at first they sting just a touch, perhaps tea finding its way through his lashes, and he can’t confess to noticing a difference in soreness. 

“Hey… what’s this? It looks like it hurts?” you ask, drawing a short line over the side of the bridge of his nose. There’s an indent there that feels like a bruise.

“I fell asleep at my desk with my glasses on,” he says. “They dug in.” 

“You were up late, I’m guessing. Maybe you should go back to the room.” 

“No, I can’t. I’ll be okay. Thank you for the… tea.” 

Your hand rests tentatively against his cheek. He can’t open his eyes to see what you're feeling, and he doesn’t need to. There’s emotion to be felt in your slow strokes, how your thumb rests along his jaw as your nail scratches to the top of his ear, then behind the shell of it. It’s intimate enough to summon a different kind of tiredness. Exhaustion swapped for content. He could sleep in the curve of your palm all day. 

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m gonna take them off for a second to check the damage.” 

You take them. Your breath draws near. 

A warmth presses to his forehead atop his left eyebrow. Spencer doesn’t know what it is until your nose graces just above it, and your lips part —it’s a kiss. You’re kissing him sweetly, your fingers sewing through his hair. 

He peels his sore eyes open to look at you. You lean back as unhurried as you’d ferried forward, your hand cradling the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask. 

Spencer stares up at you. In that moment, tired, aching, and balmed, he’s completely in love with you. You must see a little of it, your lips parting again in an unnamed emotion. It’s sheer luck that you’re the only one awake with him, because if any of his teammates saw the way he was looking at you they’d never let him forget it. And, he gets to see your reaction. Your partial smile. 

“Did that help?” you ask. 

You must mean the tea. “I feel better.” 

“Yeah? Do you…” Your voice turns to cashmere, a thread of bemusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Would another one be okay?” 

Spencer can only nod as you wrap your arms around him and position your mouth at the soft skin where his hair meets his forehead. When you kiss him again, his eyes flutter shut. 

“You really need some help with your insomnia,” you murmur. 

Spencer wonders if maybe you’d want to be that help. You must have melatonin in your kisses.

[siriuslovebot]

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ➸ 𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: slytherin!reader x sirius enemies to lovers possibly? thanks love!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), enemies to lovers, mean/condescending sirius, lots of teasing and arguing, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, petnames (doll, pet), explicit sex scenes, etc.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: the reader and sirius are always at odds. after earning a detention, they decide to sneak to the kitchens at night and get sidetracked.

𝑨/𝑵: ugh i'm such a slut for enemies to lovers with sirius eeeeek. i had had had to write this! btw sorry for going mia for a few days; work has been exhausting me :( i'm gonna work on some requests tomorrow since i'm off and hopefully that can hold you all over until i have more time. also, to clarify, my smut posts are for 18+ audiences only! i will be blocking minors who interact with my smut posts. as always, this is unedited, so sorry for any errors/typos! hope you enjoy!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 4.7k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

“you bloody prat!” the foul words leave your mouth before you have a chance to stop them, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. immediately, your gaze finds the figure of professor slughorn at the head of the classroom. his eyes are wide, set in a surprised expression as he looks over you.

“miss y/n,” he says, in a rather mild voice for his looming presence.

you flush, skin burning. the entirety of the class watches you, fists clenched around a handful of wormwood as it crumbles. beside you, there’s a self-satisfied smirk on sirius black’s face. he’s got a smear of flobberworm mucous over his sleeve, where he’s just emptied his entire container into your cauldron, effectively rendering your sleeping draught entirely useless.

“i’m sorry, professor,” you say. in an effort to placate him, you glance at sirius and sigh in exasperation. “sirius just– bumped into me, and knocked all of this flobberworm mucous into my cauldron. promise it won’t happen again.” you cut your eyes at the elder black brother, his expression slightly bemused at your sudden change of tone. there’s no need snitching to professor slughorn; you’ll get sirius back, and it’ll be far worse than any detention with the head of your house. 

“very well,” says professor slughorn. he’s taken your bait, and you’re glad for it. “mr. black, i’m sure you won’t mind miss y/n assisting you, since her potion is now–” he peers over your shoulder, having lumbered over to your table. his lips curl up into a grimace “--ruined, yes, quite awfully. sharing is caring, after all.”

sirius grunts as professor slughorn slaps him on the back like an old chum. your features curl up into a sneer, your eyes glowing with retribution. sirius huffs a quiet, “yes, professor.”

he glares at your shit-eating grin as you settle yourself beside him. his own potion doesn’t look much better than yours; he’s clearly been focused on making your life a living hell rather than on his potion-making, and it shows. “this looks shit,” you say, making a face at him.

“‘course it does,” he says, sourly, “dumped all my flobber mucous into your potion, didn’t i?”

“serves you right, you dirty, conniving little–”

sirius cuts you off with a snort, “ugh, y/n, if you want to fuck me so badly just say that.” his sarcastic words send a jolt through you, your stomach bubbling with rage.

“in your dreams, sirius,” you spit, knocking your shoulder into his with enough force to make his stool wobble. professor slughorn is none the wiser, gloating over lily evans’s potion across the room. 

sirius grumbles under his breath, tapping his wand mindlessly against the cauldron in any effort to help his quickly deteriorating potion. after a moment he says, “help me out here, will you? it’s your bloody potion, too.”

“i’d rather die,” you say dramatically, lifting your chin haughtily as you distract yourself by scratching a star into the tabletop with your fingernail. the fury radiating off of him is enough to satisfy you for now; he’s swearing under his breath, dumping odds and ends into the cauldron in a futile attempt to save his mark for the day. you prod the inside of your cheek with your tongue, trying not to smile at his frustration. karma, karma, karma. you can only hope he’ll have to endure extra credit hours in slughorn’s office, listening to all the stories of his talented old students. you couldn’t imagine a more boring saturday night. 

“stupid, fuckin’ thing, what am i doing wrong?” sirius says quietly, startling you with a particularly hard thump of his wand against the cauldron. you glance inside, the mixture having congealed into something nasty and grey. you wrinkle your nose.

“everything, by the looks of it,” you say. you answer his tight-lipped expression with a sickeningly sweet smile and a bat of your eyelashes. you’re sure he’s starting to rethink his choice to ruin your potion this morning. 

“shut up,” he hisses, a particularly foul emphasis on the words. if looks could kill, the daggers he stares into you would be piercing straight through your heart. you almost want to goad him even further, provoke him into a reaction that will be enough to get him in trouble with dumbledore himself, but you know better. you’re very good at playing the long game.

thus begins your blood-thirsty rivalry with sirius black. of course, neither of you were particularly fond of the other in the first place; you supposed it was his hatred of slytherins. he approached you as if you were some scum-of-the-earth, less-than-human creature, solely because of the house you were placed in. funny coming from someone whose little brother shared the same house. from your first interaction, you decided you could be exactly who he envisioned you to be, and you made it your mission to do so. 

at first, the incidents are easily passed off as “accidental.” sirius charming your quills to pelt you in the head, aiming for your eyes. you muttering a particularly difficult to reverse rendition of, “engorgio skullus,” that put him in the hospital wing for a week whilst madam pomfrey tried to shrink his head back to its regular size (though, in your opinion, it wasn’t much bigger than normal.) you began to map your paths through the corridors, purposely avoiding the places in which you knew sirius would be present. he grew very fond of casting non-verbal tripping jinxes, sending you and all of your belongings sprawling through the halls. similarly, when you found him pestering remus in the library, you were quick to employ the oppugno jinx, sending a spattering of books barreling towards him. 

you earned a detention from madam pince for that one, but it was well-worth it when you saw sirius’s battered appearance the next morning. the antics go on and on, until you’re both at odds to the point where the entire school is invested in who’s going to one-up the other depending on the day. you hear james and remus making bets on it as you pass the gryffindors on your way to herbology one day; you can’t help but smirk as remus bets on you. you always knew he was a smart man. 

after a horribly timed jelly-legs jinx from sirius, you wobble into the slytherin common room to get ready for bed. your muscles ache, as your legs collapsed beneath you just as you were at the top of a staircase. toppling down the stones, you were too busy screeching in anger to notice the almost worried look on sirius’s face at his handiwork. he’d even bounded down the stairs, muttering a half apology before you hissed, “flipendo,” and sent him crumbling into the staircase himself. as you passed his crumpled frame, groaning in pain, you were pleased to see a sheepish james handing over another galleon to remus. 

you wince as you finally make it down the passage, stopping for a second to rest your burning limbs. regulus reclines on one of the sofas, feet kicked up as he flicks through an old book. his eyes find yours briefly, flashing with mirth.

“what are you looking at?” you breathe, putting pressure on an especially sore rib. a sharp pain causes you to frown, doubling over for a second.

“y’look like hell,” says regulus.

you roll your eyes. “you know what–” you take a sharp breath at another pain. “--i get enough shit from your git of a brother. don’t you start on me, too.” you point a finger at him, wagging it.

he laughs, dropping the newspaper onto his stomach. he clasps his hands over it, cocking his head as he eyes you carefully. there’s a wicked little grin on his chiseled, handsome face. his intelligent eyes scheme for a moment, thoughts crossing through them to the point where you can practically see the gears turning. 

“what?” you repeat, impatient with his conspicuous contemplation. he’s clearly dying to speak his mind, and you’re sure you won’t make it another two minutes standing in the common room before your legs give out completely. you’re dying to get into bed. 

“i was just thinking,” regulus contemplates, smug as he leans up on his elbows.

“didn’t know you could manage that,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. if nothing else, regulus is as dramatic, if not more, than his brother.

he wrinkles his nose.

“go on,” you urge. “i’m dying to know what you’re thinking, reg.”

he smiles, the curve of his lips meant to be placating in spite of his words. “how long are you and sirius going to play cat-and-mouse before you give up the act and admit you want each other?” 

“i hope you’re joking,” you say flippantly. you turn immediately from his lazing figure, marching towards the girls’ dorms. 

“deny it all you want,” he calls from behind you. “everyone knows!”

you find your dorm, luckily empty, and slam the door behind you. your neck and ears burn, as you suddenly feel quite embarrassed. there’s no way sirius likes you, and you certainly don’t have any feelings for him; other than hate, annoyance, and frustration, that is. yes, you’d like to throttle the eldest of the black brothers, and you’re sure you would get a great deal of pleasure from it. but want, lust, affection? regulus has officially lost his mind.

you seethe as you get ready for bed, a dozen reminders of sirius as you ache all over with each movement. hate certainly brews a certain sort of passion within a person, but you’d march into the forbidden forest wandless, robeless, and blindfolded before you had a single warm thought for sirius black. 

you’re still fuming as you nestle yourself beneath the duvet. and as awful as it is to admit, your last thought before you sink into slumber is of that stupidly handsome, haughty face that you think you hate so much. 

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪

“not like that, you dumb–”

“please, sirius!” you retort, frustrated with the dark-haired young man sitting beside you. he’s genuinely dancing on your last good nerve, offering a snarky comment for your every movement today. “just shut up.”

somehow, you’ve been sat beside him in transfiguration. professor mcgonagall had the ever-so-lovely idea to come up with a new seating chart, placing you and sirius at a table together. you’re moments away from throttling him and being sent to azkaban for murder. 

“i’m trying to help you, here,” he says, shrugging. “do it wrong, then, if y’want. i couldn’t care less.”

“oh, you’re so good at it, are you?” you stare at him, a sour look on your face. today’s lesson was supposed to be easy (according to professor mcgonagall), and you were having an impossibly hard time as it was one of your first lessons on human transfiguration. you had yet to be successful in any of the other human transfiguration lessons, either. sirius’s nagging presence wasn’t doing anything to help. 

“seeing as i’ve been doing it for the last half an hour, i would think so.”

“well, show me, then, you bloody genius,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest. you blink at him, waiting for his enormous display of intelligence.

“so easy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “i mean, ‘s not like you’re turning yourself into a bleeding dragon or something…”

“i’m just growing my hair by magic,” you say, hot under the collar with frustration. “not everyone’s mr. perfect like you.”

sirius rolls his eyes. you watch him for another second, trying not to look impressed as he does exactly that. his dark hair grows longer before your eyes, sweeping down over his collarbones and skirting just above his elbows.

“okay, show-off,” you mutter, turning away with a frown on your face. “an inch is the requirement.”

he chuckles, smug. “‘s all right,” he says, reaching to tug on a strand of your hair, rather harshly. you gasp at the sting, swatting his hand away with a blush on your face. you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “maybe we can do it manually.” he pulls on another strand over your hand.

“sirius,” you whine, grasping his wrist to stop him. your heart thumps wildly at the look on his face, a pleased smile on his lips. he’s apparently enjoying teasing you. maybe a little too much. “that hurts.”

“aw,” he says, his voice mocking as he feigns pity. “poor baby. hurts, does it?” the condescending tone in his voice has a pit growing in your stomach, your heart sinking into it by the second. he dodges your grasp. there’s another pull on your hair. he raises his eyebrows at the whimper that comes from your lips as you shove him.

“can– can you— stop it, you shit,” there’s a flash of hands as you and sirius battle it out, him reaching over to pester you some more as you block him as best as you can. truthfully, you’re embarrassed that him teasing you is stirring your insides, exciting you in a way that is very wrong. plus, you refuse to let regulus be right. you’d rather have a slap-fight with sirius in the middle of class then let him make you crumble at his taunting actions. 

you wince as he jerks your hair again, this time hard enough to make tears prick your eyes. you respond with a sharp SMACK against his forearm, which rings through the room not unlike a gunshot. there’s a split second of complete silence, as mcgonagall is comprehending your misbehaviors.

“miss y/n, mr. black,” she says, voice strict. “ten points from gryffindor, and slytherin. see me after class.” she peers at the two of you over her spectacles, meaning business. you sink into your seat, chastised. sirius nods, pressing his lips together as he settles back into his own place. 

“nice one, dumbass,” he says quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i told you to stop a dozen times.”

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪

“bleeding candelabras... my fingers are going to fall off,” you complain. it’s well past midnight, filch having finally decided that you and sirius had sufficiently completed your detention. after a miserable few hours, crouched in his office polishing the silver, the two of you are finally free to go.

“tell me about it,” sirius yawns, shaking his head. “don’t think m’hands will ever be the same.” he holds his palms out in front of him, wrinkling his nose at the cracked skin. 

“gross,” you peer at his dry hands. “it’s those muggle chemicals he insists on using. much safer to use magic if you ask me.”

sirius chuckles, “poor guy wants us all to know how hard it is to be a suffering squib.”

you laugh despite yourself, then shake your head. “i hope mcgonagall’s not expecting us to go back tomorrow night. don’t think i can miss dinner again.” you clutch at your stomach. “‘m starving.”

“let’s sneak into the kitchens,” sirius suggests.

you look at him as if his head’s fallen off his shoulders. “are you out of your mind?”

“oh, c’mon. james and i have done it plenty of times. the house elves aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“we’re in enough trouble as it is, sirius,” you say firmly.

“suit yourself,” he stretches his arms over his head, turning on his heel. you watch him pad down the hall, his shirt lifted slightly to reveal his lower back as he stretches. you swallow hard, averting your eyes as your hands go a bit clammy. he rolls his neck side-to-side as he lowers his arms. 

you think about it for a second, then you call, “wait–wait for me.” it takes more than a few strides for you to catch up, and then you’re slinking downstairs with him, headed for the kitchens. a midnight snack couldn’t hurt anyone, right?

“knew you couldn’t resist,” he says, voice teasing.

you roll your eyes.

there’s a certain thrill to stalking the castle’s corridors at night. you’re not sure if it's the adrenaline or the repeated image of sirius’s bare skin burned into your mind that has your pulse hammering endlessly. a giddiness employs itself in your stomach, churning as you follow him on the familiar path down to the kitchens; it’s clear that he’s been out after hours plenty of times. he knows the place like the back of his hand, barely batting an eye as he leads you through the corridors. 

“are you sure we won’t be caught?” you whisper, voice hardly audible through the sound of your own heart.

“we’ll be fine,” sirius says, confident. “don’t you trust me?” he quirks a slender eyebrow at you. his grey eyes have a dark cast in the low light, only the shine of a few candles illuminating his features. you shrug, your mouth dry as he grins at you. 

“i–i mean, sure,” you say, half-hearted. his laugh is low, gravelly. accompanied with his tired voice, it’s enough to make you swoon.

“right, then,” he says, “we’re nearly there.”

you’re close to your destination when sirius stops in his tracks. you nearly trip over him, grasping his arm for balance as he stops, listening.

“what?” you tug at his sleeve. “what is it?”

“shut up,” he mutters, seeming much more like his normal self. “someone’s coming.” his eyes scan the corridor ahead of you, then he spins around, shoving you towards a door a few feet away.

“what–where are we?” 

he’s shoving you into a dark room, pulling the door closed very gently behind him. a heavy-sounding lock clicks into place. you push past him, hands finding the door as you place your ear against the heavy wood. you hold your breath as you listen for footsteps outside the door.

the room is very small; your feet shuffle to find somewhere to stand, through piles of junk on the floor. sirius does the same, crowding in behind you to listen along at the door. you try to ignore the heat in your stomach as he presses his body against your back in the small space. it’s the only way he can eavesdrop at the door alongside you. at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

you’re both dead quiet, your hands shaking as you listen. the footsteps echo closer and closer, and stop. you bite down on your lip, trying to pay attention. however, sirius’s lithe frame pressed against you is proving to be a great distraction. you feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes calmly. he’s pressed against you, solid and unmoving. the heat radiating from his body is lighting your skin on fire; sweat prickles your skin. 

“scared?” he whispers, voice barely perceptible.

“no,” you lie. you hope he doesn’t know the true root of your fear; the sinking possibility that he could find out just how much you’re enjoying this. how much you’ve been dying to be this close to him for the last few weeks. 

“liar,” he mutters. he’s still listening. “it’s mcgonagall out there,” he says.

“how can you tell?” you ask. the darkness has heightened your other senses, but you’re not as observant nor perceptive as he is. at least not with him pushing you against the wall like this.

“dunno, the cadence of her footsteps or something. remus can probably explain it better than i can. i just know.”

“you just know,” you say simply.

“mhmm,” he hums in agreement. “i just know a lot of things.”

“like what?”

there’s a second of loaded, thick silence. the air is thick enough that you swear you can feel it wrapping around you, suffocating you.

“like how much you’re enjoying this.”

“what?!” your voice is more of a hiss than a whisper, and he shushes you gently. 

“careful, pet,” he says, “want mcgonagall to find us like this?”

“we’re not doing anything,” you say, embarrassed.

he chuckles darkly. “not yet.”

sirius presses closer to you, his body pinning yours against the door. a gasp escapes you, your mouth hanging open as his hand finds your chin, lifting your face towards his. “such a pretty noise, doll,” he says. you can hardly see him, but you can imagine the look on his face from his tone. his eyes dark, lips quirked in a pleased expression, eyelids hooded. 

“sirius,” you say, though it sounds more pleading than you intended.

“gonna start begging for me already?” there’s that laugh again, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. 

you’re burning up, embarrassed that you’re so needy already. you shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you are, enjoying your least-favorite person pinning you against the wall in an old supply closet. not to mention your professor stalking the hall just outside the door. your head spins. 

“shut up,” you mumble, though you don’t mean it. you squirm, taking a breath as you feel his length pressed against you from behind. he sucks air in through clenched teeth at the feeling. his face dips down to meet yours, his lips catching yours in an open-mouthed kiss. he licks into your mouth, your tongues uniting messily in the middle. there’s a clash of teeth, a grunted noise from him, and strings of saliva as he pulls away for breath before he’s diving back in. you relish in the obscene sensation, the messiest, wettest kiss you’ve ever been privy to. you’re enjoying every second of it, however naughty it may be. 

your stomach flutters, enjoying the sharp dig of his other hand gripping your hip. another soft noise from you, into his mouth. he groans, his long fingers still holding your face in place. he pulls away, lips swollen and chin coated with saliva. he trails wet kisses down your jawline, biting at the tender skin of your neck. you rock back against him, your core throbbing as he muffles a low noise in the back of his throat. 

“fuck,” he slurs, breathing heavily already. “you don’t know how bad i want to fuck that smart fucking mouth…” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear. “shut you up for once…”

you’re throbbing at his words, aching so bad that you’d get on your knees and beg him just to touch you. you’d do it yourself, even, if only he’d talk you through it. but sirius has other plans, clearly as desperate as you are.

“please,” the soft croak of your voice has him grinning at you. you can faintly see the outline of his wolfish smile, his hazy eyes as he looks at you.

“no time right now, pet,” he grinds his hips against you, still fully clothed. his bulge is rock-hard against your ass. he’s grunting softly, running his hands up and down your body. his fingers grasp your breasts, roughly squeezing through the material of your shirt. “wish i could take my time with you… it’ll have to wait.”

“just do something,” you mutter, growing impatient at the ache between your legs. you can feel your panties, soaked and sticking to your center with your arousal. 

“use your manners, you fucking brat,” he snarks, nipping at your earlobe.

you squeak, and he stiffens for a second. his hand slides up, wrapping around your throat. “and shut up. how many times have i got to say it?”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you whisper. the footsteps don’t come any closer. you wonder if mcgonagall is even out there at all, but your mind slips back to sirius as you feel him dragging the waistband of your trousers down. 

“keep that pretty mouth shut, pet, or i’ll shut it for you,” he warns.

you nod. you’ll do anything he says just to have him buried inside of you. you need it so bad, your entire body begging for his touch. you brace yourself, spreading your legs to allow him access as his hand delves between your legs from behind. his fingers drag through your slit, slow, spreading your juices. 

he takes a deep breath, burying his face into your neck. he’s smiling against your skin. “that pretty cunt’s just dripping f’me,” he says softly, the contrast of his filthy words and gentle tone making your head spin. “wish i could make you scream and cry for me…”

you barely register his words, flinching as he prods a finger at your entrance. he swirls it at your swollen hole, enjoying the way you jerk against him, sensitive. you bite down on your bottom lip, hard. your eyes are half-hooded, struggling to stay open as he teases you. he pushes your legs further apart, then his hand is gone. you hear the clink of his belt buckle, feel him adjusting his position behind you.

tears of pleasure prick your eyes as he sinks into you; you want to cry out, the sound threatening to rip from your chest at the slightest movement from him. he feels your whole body tense, his hold on your throat tightening. “not–” he pulls out briefly, before burying his cock to the hilt inside of you again “--a fucking sound.”

you nod, “yes, yes sir,” you breathe, as quietly as you can manage. you take trembling breaths, trying to contain yourself at the mind blowing drag of his swollen cockhead against your walls. his pace is slow, but forceful. 

his every movement is making your body tick closer to release. his thrusts are steady, wet noises squelching through the room as your juices drip down your legs. your legs are weak already, but his body pinning yours against the door is enough to keep you upright as you claw at the wood in front of you. he squeezes your throat just enough to cut off the sounds that you can’t help. his other hand finds your stomach, palm pressing into the flesh to feel the bulge of his cock buried deep inside of you. 

“god–” you breathe, throwing your head back. “can’t take it much longer…”

he makes a noise, half laugh and half moan. his voice is condescending as he says, “gonna come f’me already? pathetic little pet…” his hips rut into yours with increased force; you wince at the sudden sound of soaked slapping skin, the noises cutting through the quiet broom cupboard like a knife.

“s–slow down, sirius,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the feeling becomes overwhelming. you slump against him, head lolling back onto his shoulder. “someone’ll hear us.”

his hips snap into yours, sharper. “won’t hear anything if you’d just listen,” he says, his voice sharp. “how many times do i need to tell you to be quiet?” his fingers snake up from your neck, two of them sliding between your swollen lips. you moan around them, your jaw going slack. 

he’s hitting the perfect spot inside of you, your vision going fuzzy as he forces you to the brink of orgasm. he doesn’t even have to touch your clit, having gotten you so worked up that he can just hammer into your g-spot and drive you over the edge. he hums his approval, dragging his teeth along your collarbone as you dissolve into moans and whimpers around his fingers. you drool around his long digits, teasing the back of your throat. you gag around them, your saliva leaking down his wrist. 

“there’s m’good li’l pet, being so quiet for me,” he praises in that mean voice. you clench forcefully around him, your entire body overtaken by waves of pleasure that send your knees crumpling completely. a gravelly moan comes from him, the repeated tightening of your walls pushing him over the edge. the feeling of him coming inside of you sends renewed waves of ecstasy through your body, your mind going blank as you lose yourself in the feeling. your mind can’t conjure a single thought except him, his hands all over you, his teeth grazing and marking your skin, his cock rearranging your insides. 

“sirius,” you gasp, appreciating the strength of his grip on you as he helps you regain your footing. he plants a kiss against a dark spot on your neck as he holds you upright. there’s a second where the two of you catch your breath, the quiet overwhelming after the overload of emotions you just experienced. he pulls out of you, and you whimper softly at the emptiness. you struggle to adjust your trousers, smartening yourself. 

“i wasn’t too mean, was i?” he brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead.

you smile gently, shaking your head. “you’ve been much meaner, trust me.”

he laughs. “seems like i’ve fucked the attitude out of you.”

“watch yourself, black.”

“right,” he nods, looking a bit flustered at the sharp look on your face. then, he says, “still up for sneaking into the kitchens?

[nyrandrea]

Restless

Summary: As your sleepless nights start to catch up with you, you turn to a certain vampire who might just be able to help.

Also available to read here on A03!

Word Count - 2.7k

Enjoy!

xxx

Sleep had always been something of an illusion to you. 

Each night, as the world succumbed to slumber, you lay in your bedroll, with eyes wide open, gazing at the twinkling stars of the endless night sky. It was as if the world had pressed pause, leaving you to confront the shadows of your own thoughts. Your insomnia was a relentless adversary, a cruel warden that held you captive in the prison of wakefulness. 

The nights stretched on endlessly, and as the hours ticked by, your exhaustion grew more profound.  

Your mind raced with thoughts, a relentless carousel of worries, hopes, and regrets. You would toss and turn, your body tangled in the sheets, seeking elusive comfort. Come morning, the birds seemed to mock you, a constant reminder of the passage of time that slipped away while you lay wide awake.

By the time everyone else was up and refreshed from a good night’s sleep, you were still lying flat on your back, your bloodshot eyes stinging as you stared up at the pale morning sky. 

“Darling, it’s time to get up,” Astarion said, standing above you with hands on hips, his expression somewhat bemused. “Honestly, you’re so lazy, just like Gale.” 

He muttered that last part, glaring towards the wizard’s tent as a rumbling snore emanated from it and echoed throughout the camp. The vampire suddenly smirked, and you rolled your head to follow his gaze, only to see Karlach sneaking towards the tent with her hands out, ready to pounce. 

The snoring was cut short with a high-pitched scream, followed by a roar of laughter, and a lot of cursing on Gale’s part. 

“Good, at least that’s one of you up,” Astarion said, turning back towards you. “Now, are you going to follow suit? Or am I going to have to stoop to Karlach’s tactics? Brash as they are.” 

“Hey! My tactics are quite refined, thank you very much,” Karlach rebuked, stabbing a thumb in Gale’s direction, the poor man stumbling to find his cloak. “Got him up, didn’t I?” 

“That you did, darling.” 

“I’m up,” you muttered hoarsely, wincing as you slowly pushed yourself up off the ground, your body feeling about a hundred years old. “I’m up.” 

“Oh dear,” Astarion grimaced. “Looks like someone didn’t get their beauty sleep last night, hm?” 

His tone was light but there was an almost... concerned note to it, as if he was prodding. You felt a pang in your chest; he only spoke the truth; your eyes, once bright and expressive, now bore the heavy bags and dark circles of sleep deprivation. Your skin had dulled and paled considerably over the past few weeks, and your hair was dishevelled and unkempt.  

You almost certainly looked as bad as you felt. 

Part of you wanted to blame the group: Astarion for nearly sucking you dry of your blood, Karlach for being so damn loud all the time, Gale for making demands of you every ten minutes, Lae’zel for very nearly causing fights everywhere she went with her brashness, Shadowheart for her condescending demeanour and Wyll for craving validation from you every time you had a chat with him. The only sane person here seemed to be Halsin, and even he was starting to grate on your nerves for just looking so damn well-rested and perky.

The other part of you wanted to cry, to apologise for being such a failure and run away into the woods to never be seen or heard from again and just succumb to whatever fate the mind-flayer parasite had in store for you. 

Instead, you forced a smile, and lied.  

“Just had a nightmare, is all.” 

“Hm,” Astarion hummed, a simmering concern etched into the lines of his face. In that moment you felt a soft push in your mind, and the tadpole behind your eye squirmed as if responding to something. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions, a palpable tension that seemed to hang between you both.  

It was only when you winced that the vampire averted his gaze, and the unseen force retreated from your mind. 

“Terribly sorry,” Astarion said as you rubbed your head. “It would seem that my worm wanted to talk with yours; perhaps it was... concerned. Ooh, do you think that they’re best friends?” 

“I doubt it,” you muttered, a little annoyed at his giddiness. “Maybe tell yours to mind its own business next time.” 

“Of course, apologies again,” he said with that smooth voice and puppy-dog eyes of his, it was enough to make your irritation melt away. “But should a nightmare ever arise in that darling head of yours again, just know that you can seek me out.” 

You blinked, a little surprised at the open invitation. You couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine; it was always hard to tell with him. The only times you had ever been intimate was whenever he sought you out for a bit of casual fun. He seemed confused as to why you never wanted to initiate, but you tried to explain that while you enjoyed your time together, you never wanted to invade his privacy as you respected that camp time was everyone’s chance for a bit of peace and were entitled to such.  

This only seemed to confuse him further. 

Still, this had to be a big step for him, to ask you to his tent -his sanctuary- and you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. 

“I-I will,” you stutter. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, my dear,” Astarion smiled. “Now, shall we see what chaos today brings for us? It’s been far too long since we’ve had to kill anyone.” 

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “We killed that group of bandits only yesterday.” 

He returned the gesture with a sly smirk. “Exactly.” 

During the day, you continued your journey with a fragile facade of normalcy, sipping on coffee like it was the elixir of life, desperately trying to stay awake. Your interactions with others were tinged with a weary detachment, as if you were viewing the world through a foggy pane of glass.  

Emotions played hide-and-seek within your very soul. Frustration lurked just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. An innocent quip or question would trigger an unexpected wellspring of tears, followed by nervous laughter, leaving everyone in the group perplexed. You merely brushed it off as the tadpole messing with your head, but even that raised a few eyebrows as nobody else was acting up—it was a good thing you were persuasive. 

You tried to avoid battles wherever and whenever you could, opting to take the longer roads or attempting to sweet-talk your way out of a sticky situation. However, some fights were unavoidable, and this was when your sleep deprivation was really put on show for everyone to see; your movements were sluggish, enemies were able to get more hits on you and you had to be helped back up to your feet on more than one occasion.  

The others insisted on setting up camp a little earlier than usual so you could rest and, despite your trying to tell them that you were fine and wanted to keep going because these tadpoles weren’t going to remove themselves anytime soon, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

So, here you were again, on your back, staring up at the stars. Another night of having an existential crisis while everyone else slumbered on peacefully. Rinse and repeat. 

You had tried everything to conquer your insomnia. Experimented with herbal teas, soothing music, you had even consulted a sleep specialist back in Baldur’s Gate who prescribed a cocktail of medications. But the battle persisted, night after night. 

Sitting up and rubbing your dry, stinging eyes, you decided to try something else. 

As you crept through the camp, you were careful not to wake anyone else up as you approached Astarion’s tent, tentatively peeking in through the flap before reprimanding yourself; even though he had invited you, boundaries were important, you couldn’t just go barging in. So, you gently knocked on one of the wooden beams that supported the tent. 

“Astarion...?” You softly whispered, waiting for a response. 

Only silence followed. 

You knocked again, wincing slightly at the louder noise you made. For a moment you thought about abandoning this whole silly idea and going back to staring into space for the next eight hours, but desperation made you persistent. 

Mercifully, you heard a faint shuffle come from inside the tent. 

“Come in,” Astarion’s husky, muffled voice answered. 

Nervously, you slipped inside, and a wave of warmth immediately washed over your face as you were greeted with the sight of a bare-chested Astarion sitting cross-legged on his bedroll. You were grateful he at least had pants on, otherwise you would have been out of there like a shot. 

A mischievous smile spread across his face as he watched you squirm uncomfortably. “Whatever is the matter, darling?” His lips formed a perfect pout. “Come to ask me for a little cuddle to chase the bad dreams away?” 

Your nostrils flared as you glowered down at him while he smirked smugly back up, because of course he would tease you about something like this. You should have known that he wasn’t going to take you seriously. 

“Forget it,” you said, making a sharp turn to re-open the tent flap. “I-I never should have come here, I’ll just... leave you be.”  

You missed the flash of panic on his face as he quickly got to his knees to reach out and grab your wrist before you could make it out.  

“Wait!” He said, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, come back in, please?” 

You slowly turned your head. 

“I promise not to tease you.” 

Begrudgingly, you allowed him to take your hand and escort you back inside, guiding you to sit down beside him on the floor. 

“You’re having trouble sleeping again, I presume?” 

Nodding your head, you squeezed the bridge of your nose and sighed, trying to swallow down the overwhelming urge to break down in front of him and cry in pure frustration.  

“I... I’ve been struggling with insomnia for a while now.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Well now, that’s a revelation.” 

You had half a mind to slap him. 

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “No teasing, of course, but come on darling, it was pretty obvious from the start.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your gaze cast downward, wondering why you even came here in the first place if he was just going to insult you. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, softly caressing your jaw to angle your face towards him. “Very beautiful indeed.” 

Your heart thumped wildly as the tip of your nose brushed his, and you would have crumpled into his well-tuned act of seduction if it were not for one burning question suddenly on your mind. 

“How do you do it?"

“I- do what?”  

“Elves don’t sleep, right?” You said, blinking curiously. “How do you... not sleep?” 

“We uh... meditate, darling. Wait, how do you not know this?” he asked, pulling back with his eyebrow raised. “You must have seen me doing it at some stage or another.” 

“...I always just thought you pretended to sleep,” you hummed in thought. “Now that I think about it, the way you lay down was always kind of strange looking.” 

He snorted a laugh at your brutal honesty, and feeling a jab of guilt, you tried to back-track on your word vomit. 

“Sorry! Um… no offence?” 

"None taken, darling,” he said, waving a nonchalant hand. “I can see why my eloquent poses would look strange to you, but for elves, meditation is a common practice. Helps us to… calm down; be in the moment, as it were.” 

A comfortable silence fell between you.

“Could you show me?”  

Astarion gave you a questionable look. “You want me to show you how to meditate?” 

You nod vigorously and cross your legs with your arms resting on your knees to show that you’re serious. It takes you a moment to figure out which fingers were supposed to touch together but you get there eventually.  

With a bemused smile, the vampire shrugs. “Alright, I've had stranger requests.” 

You wanted to question that but put a pin in it for another time. 

"Are you ready?" Astarion asked. You nod, your heart fluttering with both anticipation and trust. “Now, clear your head.” 

You give him a dry look. 

He rolls his eyes back. “Yes, admittedly a little hard, what with the little residents living up there but just... trust me, alright? Close your eyes.” 

You complied, and Astarion began to guide you, his words soft and rhythmic, like a gentle lullaby. "Breathe in deeply," he said, his own breath aligning with yours. "Feel the air fill your lungs, expanding your chest, and exhale slowly, try to let go of any tension." 

You followed his instructions, your breath matching his like a perfectly choreographed dance. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a growing sense of calm washing over. 

"Thoughts may arise, like passing clouds," Astarion murmured. "Acknowledge them but let them drift away. Return your focus to your breath.” 

You found yourself navigating the currents of your thoughts with newfound ease, like a sailor guiding a boat through calm waters. The more you let go, the more profound your sense of inner stillness grew. You felt the weight of your worries begin to dissolve. The burdens of your leadership, of the mind-flayer tadpoles and the problems that came with it seemed to retreat into the distance, leaving you with a newfound clarity. 

"Good," Astarion whispered. "Now, focus on your body. Notice any tension, any discomfort. Let it go with each breath. Feel your body becoming lighter, more at ease." 

Minutes passed like hours, and the tent seemed to fill with an ethereal stillness. You and Astarion remained connected through your breath, it was as if time itself had become irrelevant, and you were both suspended in a moment of pure existence. 

You could feel the tension in your shoulders and neck melting away. It was as if the cares of the world were simply slipping through your fingers. 

Slipping... 

Slipping...  

“...Darling? Are you-? Oh.” 

Astarion’s eyes widen, and he winces a little when your head falls into his shoulder. He catches you gently by the arms, so you don’t slip and go face-first into his lap; it was a delicious thought but for another time, when you were conscious and ready.  

But right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with you. He certainly knows he can’t hold you like this all night; it would be uncomfortable for both of you. His eyebrows crease as he frowns while he tries to slowly lower you to the ground. 

To absolutely no avail; unconsciously you end up pulling him in closer. 

“Oh, for Gods's sake,” the vampire huffs incredulously. “What am I, some sort of glorified teddy bear?” 

Half-asleep and still nestled into Astarion’s chest, you mumble something incoherent in response, your breath warm against his skin. You snuggle even closer, your head burrowing into the crook of his neck. 

For a moment, Astarion felt a flicker of irritation, his desire for a good night's rest warring with his affection for you. He yearned to stretch out, to find the perfect position that would allow him the bliss of undisturbed meditation. But as he looked down at the peaceful expression on your face, all traces of weariness and anxiety erased, he just couldn't bring himself to disturb you. 

Reluctantly, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer still. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the slow, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The warmth of your body against his own gradually seeped through the cracks in his defences, and his irritation gave way to an overwhelming tenderness. 

In that moment, he realised that the inconvenience of being your living pillow was a small price to pay for the privilege of holding you close, of being the one you sought comfort in. As you drifted further into slumber, Astarion closed his eyes and surrendered to the serenity of the night, the gentle weight of your devotion for each other enveloping you both, anchoring him in the moment and reminding him of the beauty in life's simple, sweet sacrifices. 

xxx 

Yyyyyeah I know this one has the same beats as 'Everything's Fine' but what can I say? I'm a sucker for begrudgingly soft Astarion ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Let me know what y'all think!

Links to my other Astarion works

'Everything's Fine'

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

[moonstruckme]

hiiii !!! i hope ur having a good day :) i was wondering if u would like writing smth with tasm peter or remus x reader where reader has some specific exams that r very important for her (peter/remus doesnt have them) and shes just so anxious about it and has a lot of academic anxiety overall and isnt good at talking about it and peter or remus just comforts her and stuff? sorry if u dont like it tho u dont have to do it !! :)

Thanks for requesting ml!

cw: academic anxiety

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Peter’s not sure if you’ve realized how dark it is outside. He comes back from dinner with his Aunt May to find you in the exact same spot he left you, the bright light from your laptop beaming onto your face and making your features look severe and ghoulish. It’s the only light in the apartment. 

“Hey,” you say dimly. 

“Hey.” Peter stoops over the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and smooching your cheek. He squints into the glaring white of the practice questions on your screen. “How’s it going?” 

You hum, noncommittal. 

“Mm.” Peter squeezes your shoulders sympathetically, then gets up to grab the leftovers he’s brought from May’s. “Did you get something to eat?” 

“Yeah,” you say distantly, clicking something. 

“Really?” He turns to look around. There’s no evidence of cooking, no takeout containers on the coffee table, no dishes in the sink. It’s not that Peter doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t. “What’d you have?” 

“Sounds great, babe.” 

He blinks. “Huh? I asked what you ate.” 

“Yeah,” you scroll a bit, clicking to the next page, “I’m sure May loved that.” 

A laugh startles out of him, and that’s what gets your attention. You look up, bemused. 

“Sweetheart.” Peter looks at you meaningfully, a smile still tempting his lips. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” 

You shake your head. “No. Why?” 

“Because I brought you leftovers,” he says, going to the microwave and popping them in. “But when I asked a second ago, you said yes.” 

“Oh.” Peter punches a minute into the microwave, and when the buzzing starts he looks over at you. You’re looking a bit embarrassed, but your gaze is already migrating back towards your laptop. “Sorry, I’m not great at splitting my focus.” 

“That’s okay.” He crosses the room to you, sitting on the coffee table so your knees are bracketed by his. “You’ve been studying for a long time today, huh?” 

Really, you’ve been studying for an ungodly amount of time every day for the past few weeks. It had started manageable, an hour a day to help prepare for this big exam you’ve got coming up, but as the date of the test grew closer Peter could sense you becoming almost frantic. You steadily increased your study time in what seems to him like a fruitless quest to become one hundred percent prepared by the time of the exam. These last few days, you’ve hardly let your laptop out of your sight. He’s convinced you must be dreaming of practice questions. 

You nod, looking exhausted. Peter reaches forward to rub a thumb under your eye. It’s tinged slightly red, and he’s willing to bet it burns from staring at your screen for so long. 

“You ready for a break?” he asks. 

You nod with a sigh, shutting your laptop screen. The microwave beeps, and Peter sets a hand on your leg to tell you to stay sitting while he gets it. The plate is warm in his hands. You inhale the steam as he passes it to you, eyes shutting contentedly. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe May did her brussel sprouts and I didn’t even show.” 

“She missed you,” Peter admits, “but she got that you had to study.” 

“Thanks,” you tell him, situating the plate on your lap and skewering a brussel sprout onto your fork. 

The first few bites go down greedily, but soon you slow your pace. Peter sits while you eat in silence. This reticence is unusual for you, but he knows there’s any number of things it could be attributed to; hunger or exhaustion are at the top of that list. Still, there’s a look in your eyes that tells him you’ve gone somewhere else. 

“Hey,” he says, and you turn. “You wanna talk about it?” 

You give him a puzzled look, hand coming up to cover your full mouth. “About what?” 

“About the test,” Peter replies patiently. He sets a hand on your shoulder, rubbing at your tensed muscles. “You’re flipping out, pretty girl.” 

You scoff, but it’s weak and you know it. “I am not flipping out,” you say.

Peter could point to about a dozen things which indicate that you’re wrong, but he’s not trying to argue with you. “It’s okay if you are,” he says instead, wincing when his thumb digs into a sensitive knot in your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry. Just, I know this is a big deal for you.” 

“It is a big deal,” you agree, looking down at your plate as you chase another brussel sprout, “but I’m fine. It’s normal to get nervous about big exams.” 

“Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean you have to deal with it,” he tells you. 

You don’t respond, maintaining your quiet even after Peter sees you swallow. He squints, ducking his head to look you in the eye. It’s obvious by the way you avoid him that you hear the faults in your own logic. You start to worry you lip. 

“I’m not trying to criticize you,” he says gently, thumbing it from between your teeth. “I just want you to tell me what you need. Do you want to talk about it? Or we could talk about something else, or watch a movie or something.” He juts further into your eyeline, and this time you look back at him. His thumb drops down to your chin. “Let me help, bub.” 

You look suddenly cracked open. More vulnerable than he’s seen you in awhile, and for a second Peter worries you might cry. “Can we watch a movie?” you ask. 

“Yeah.” Relief makes the word breathy. He punctuates it with a kiss to your forehead. “That sounds great. You wanna cuddle too?” 

You nod and eat some more of your dinner. “I might fall asleep,” you warn.

Peter grins. He always teases you for falling asleep during movies, but secretly he loves it. There’s something intrinsically peaceful about holding you against him, warm and heavy, while he watches, only to fill you in on what had happened to every character when you wake up and start asking questions. 

“I think you’ve earned it,” he says. 

You shrug like you don’t disagree, and set to finishing off your brussel sprouts while Peter gets up to make popcorn. You do fall asleep, not even ten minutes into the movie. Peter pulls you closer to him and watches the rest with his cheek resting atop your head

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

When All the Work is Finished (Part 1: PayuRain)

Summary: What's the best way to unwind after weeks of hard work? Rain and Sky skip the monthly races to finish some homework, but when Prapai and Payu go back to their respective homes, they find something very unexpected.

Part 2 (PrapaiSky)

For my fanfic library, visit @rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing.

To read on Archive of Our Own, click here.

Part 1 (PayuRain)

“Rain, do you need help?”

“I’m fi- hey!” Rain was red-faced and exhausted as he staggered into Payu’s house one evening, weighed down by several packages.

Saifah ignored what the little man was going to say, taking several boxes off the top of Rain’s pile, enough that the boy could finally see what was ahead of him.

Rain groaned as he stumbled to a table and deposited the two boxes he was left, his arms trembling with exhaustion. He stretched his arms in front of him, felt something pop loudly in his shoulder, and smiled.

Saifah set his own boxes down and leaned on the pile, watching Rain with a bemused look. “You have a car. How far did you carry all of this?”

“I did it for the exercise.” Rain dodged the question. It was true that he had left his car at Payu’s when he went out to pick up the packages. But the problem was-

“What did you do to the car?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Rain insisted, then caved to Saifah’s raised eyebrow, “The engine light came on yesterday.”

The race had come at the worst possible time this month. Payu was spending most days- and weekends- at the office, and before that Rain had been consumed by exams and projects. He hadn’t seen Payu conscious in three weeks. Combine that with all the last minute checks Payu ran on bikes the night before a race, and a guilty Rain couldn’t possibly add to Payu’s load. When he finally slipped into bed at three in the morning, he’d been pale.

After so long apart, it was normal that they would play with each other’s bodies at least a little, but Payu only pulled Rain tight to his chest and was asleep within seconds.

Of course, Rain wasn’t the only one who knew the kind of pressure Payu had been under. Saifah only sighed, “Good call then. I’ll take a look tomorrow. Do you need a ride to the race?”

Rain was a fixture at the event, where he liked to wander with Sky or watch Payu run about and work.

But this time, Rain shook his head, “Sky is coming over to help me with an extra credit project.”

“I’ll leave the gate unlocked then. We had to do a surprise break replacement earlier and it threw the schedule off. I’m only here to grab a change of clothes.” Saifah straightened up and checked the clock. The sun was still setting, glittering just above the guest house roof. There was still a lot to do before the race that night. 

Normally, Saifah would chat with Rain a bit, maybe tease his brother’s little boyfriend until his face turned bright red. But tonight was already off to a stressful start, so he just waved a farewell to Rain and left him in the foyer. 

Rain pulled out his phone and pretended to be busy until he heard the gate clang and peeked out to make sure Saifah’s car was gone. Then, Rain walked over to the gate and quickly locked it.

Unless he reappeared suddenly- which wasn’t unusual for Saifah- Rain might have finally managed to trick one of the brothers with a lie. For his part, Sky would also tell Prapai that he was going to Payu’s later to work on the extra credit project.

The two friends had finished and handed in their projects days ago, but…

When Rain asked Sky to help him in this lie a week ago, Sky had thought about it for a long time as his ears turned pink and a blush came across his cheeks. And he’d gone with Rain to- well… Sky had his own order to pick up, and his own incentive to lie and ditch the race.

Prapai was out of town on business until recently. Sky needed a night with Prapai as much as Rain did with Payu.

Doubt nagged at the back of Rain’s mind as he returned to the house to ferry the packages upstairs. It was going to take time to get everything ready, that was why he needed a time when Payu was going to be away, but…

I didn’t know there would be a problem with one of the bikes.

Rain was still pretty hopeless when it came to cars, but he’d studied while Payu worked in the past, and he remembered when Prapai brought his beloved red Ducati in for a brake change months ago. It took a few hours- maybe not much time in all, but the day of a race was when Payu usually allowed himself a rare nap to prepare himself for the long night.

He slept deeply and soundly in Rain’s arms until long after the sun rose, but if today proved to be stressful as well…

This will make him happy.

He’ll hate this.

It’ll help refresh him.

He’ll be too exhausted.

Rain brought the boxes upstairs one by one. His footsteps were heavy, his mood was getting darker and darker. By the time he was done, he was no closer to deciding what to do than he’d been when Saifah first mentioned the brakes.

It was then that his phone chimed with Payu’s special ringtone.

[Your boyfriend is working so hard, don’t you have any pity for me?]

Rain smiled as he read Payu’s message. 

If he was in the mood to be pouty, then things couldn’t be too bad, right? 

Rain opened his camera roll and selected a photo from back when he and Sky genuinely were working on their extra credit projects- one showing the majority of the model assembled, only a few hours of work left to do. Rain saved the photo in case he needed to sell his lie- in this one, his bare leg was stretched out into the frame. Innocuous when he sent it to Sky, but for Payu…

His phone pinged again, this time with an audio message. Rain smiled and turned up the volume.

[“If you bait me like this, I won’t take responsibility for what happens later.”] A low growl from Payu.

Rain always knew Payu liked to play with his legs when they had sex, kissing and biting while Rain moaned beneath him. But it was only recently that he realized just how much Payu liked them. A naked leg sticking out from beneath the blankets could make Payu’s eyes darken with want.

Rain slipped into the downstairs bathroom, out of sight of the walls of windows, and quickly removed his pants to take another photograph of his unmarked thigh and send it to Payu as a provocation.

Alright… Play it is.

---

---

Darkness filled the house- but not the kind of darkness that would alarm anyone. It was a gentle darkness, broken by the occasional table lamp. The inhabitants were asleep, the light meant to guide a weary soul up to bed.

Rain spent hours preparing it all. The darkness he waited in was whole and unbroken, even if the room was brightly lit. 

P’Payu will hate this.

P’Payu will love it.

He’s just going to pat me on the head, say he’s sorry, and I’ll have made him feel like crap. He’s already tired, he’ll feel like he disappointed me too.

He’s… he’s going to be… happy?

He won’t even come home. Remember how P’Saifah promised to fix my car? It’s because he knows P’Payu is too busy.

The sound of a car door closing made Rain jump. It was faint, but he’d been listening so carefully. His mind whirled- he’d just convinced himself Payu wasn’t coming home, so who could be here? Saifah? Saifah wouldn’t dare come into Payu’s room at nearly four in the morning when the door was closed… right?

Maybe Rain was mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t a car door, or it was a neighbor who-

The opening and closing of the door downstairs was not something Rain could mistake. His ears strained for even the slightest sound, and it wasn’t long before he heard weary footsteps. They were a bit slow, a bit too forceful, but Rain knew the sound of Payu’s feet on the stairs. Knew it as clearly as his voice.

His heart pounded so loudly that for a moment, Rain imagined he couldn’t even hear the steps anymore.

He listened in silence with baited breath as the footsteps became muffled on the rug outside the door.

The sound of the knob turning.

The kiss of cool air across Rain’s skin.

Payu’s surprise was marked by a soft but sharp inhale. Time froze for Rain as he balled his fists, trying to hide the trembling.

When Payu found his breath again, he remained frozen in place, unable to accept what his eyes were showing him.

Rain bit his lip, imagining the expression on his face.

Payu- who loved to do the most lewd things to Rain, and yet always controlled what happened. The charismatic and Dominant Payu… had the wind knocked out of him by his little boyfriend’s wanton display.

The first box Rain opened contained a hinged silver hoop, almost large enough to fit around both of Rain’s thumbs simultaneously. It was the object he was most nervous about- one that wrapped almost painfully tight around where his penis and testicles connected. If the salesperson was to be believed, it would make it almost impossible for him to release, no matter how badly he wanted to. At the same time, it would make him harder and more sensitive than even he usually was.

It wasn’t the tightness that scared Rain, it was the thought of going insane, trapped on the edge of cumming until Payu flipped the little latch on the side and let him free. Depending on Payu’s mood, that could take… hours.

Second came two tiny silver clamps that were tightened onto the pink buds of his chest and connected by chains of varying lengths- depending on what Payu would like Rain to do. For this display, Rain had used the smallest chain, which had three small loops in the middle for a series of weights that were set in a small box beside Rain’s form.

The third package contained something Rain knew Payu would love- a harness for his face that could either hold a ball gag or- what was dangling around Rain’s neck now- a rounded silicone mouthguard. Payu would be free to push the guard up so that Rain’s teeth rested on a special channel and his mouth was locked open for Payu to use as much as he wanted.

If the third package was something Payu would especially love, the fourth was something special for Rain- a vibrating plug that was sitting deep in his entrance- the control sitting beside the weights for his nipple clamps.

Only three pieces remained after Rain inserted the plug (and, to be honest, played with it a little.. Just to be extra sure it worked): the first was the tight black blindfold that Rain now wore. It was sculpted to his eyes, slightly raised at the center, and allowed not even a sliver of light through. He honestly didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed even now, which is why he could only imagine Payu’s face.

The next (and heaviest) parcel contained a firm message to Payu in case everything else was too subtle-- Rain wanted no say in what Payu did to him. A loop of padded black leather wrapped around each of Rain’s legs just above the knee and connected via metal chains to matching cuffs around Rain’s elbows, forcing his legs apart and his arms back as he knelt for Payu now, but on the bed, he would remain splayed and unable to move on his own. Leaving him utterly at Payu’s mercy.

As for the final box- it had a few smaller dildos, some flavored tubes of lube that Payu might enjoy, and a basic set of restraints that Rain had run under the mattress of the bed and laid out neatly- each with their own wrist and ankle cuffs, should Payu decide he wanted his boy tied up there.

Rain had been saving up for… quite some time.

It was such a lewd display that a piece of Rain’s mind worried Payu might just turn around and walk away. Or, more shattering, apologize and help him out of the various contraptions.

Rain had never dared ask Payu to play with toys in bed, and now he’d bought… quite a few. Would Payu like it? Or did it go against the kind of sex he liked- Rain submitting to him in body without anything else needed?

Doubt filled Rain’s heart as the silence stretched on. He shifted slightly, drawing an uncomfortable spasm from the vibrator in his rear. He was on the floor in front of the bed, but he couldn’t feel any footsteps to tell him if Payu left or remained. There was no sound of breathing. Even the cool air from the hall seemed to die away.

His stomach twisted and he shifted again, trying to close his legs and maybe preserve some decency. The silence only grew louder. He began to tremble and felt tears gathering at the corner of his eye, so ashamed that even though his mouth was free, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Payu to… to just forget the whole thing and help him get out of the cuffs.

“I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

A strong hand grasped Rain’s throat as Payu’s mouth crushed against his. Rain couldn’t do anything but part his lips and accept the vicious force of Payu’s kiss. It was hot and hard and brutally hungry. Payu held Rain’s head and neck tightly as he made the small man accept the tongue that probed deeply in his mouth.

Rain wasn’t braced for the ferocity with which Payu crashed against him, and he shifted back in a way that knocked at the plug in his ass, causing Rain to cry out against the pain.

The hands released Rain’s neck to feel his shoulders, ankles, the ring around his member- Payu found the ridge of the plug and knew what had probably caused the yelp.

Something brushed against the blindfold- Payu’s fingertips. He felt the dampness at the edges where tears were caught in the fabric. Payu often teased Rain to the point of crying in desperation, but he knew from Rain’s paleness that these weren’t tears of desire. Bound as he was, without eyes to read, Payu could still tell what Rain was thinking.

“You have no idea what it feels like, seeing you dressed up for me,” Payu hissed against Rain’s ear. He placed a knee on either side of Rain’s bent leg and ground himself against Rain’s thigh so the boy could feel how hard he was in his jeans. “You have no idea how perfect you look.”

“I don’t- Mmmph!”

Payu didn’t let Rain object. He slid the ring up into the boy’s mouth, pinning it open.

Rain’s body jerked and he cried out as Payu’s fingers traced the aching rim of his rear where the skin was stretched around the vibrator. Clearly, he found the controller on his own- Rain let out a desperate and uncontrolled moan as it began to vibrate softly inside him.

When he thought Payu was going to reject him, it was cold and unbearable. Now, with the heat of Payu’s kiss, it felt… amazing. The ring around Rain’s little tendon became even tighter as he hardened.

There was a low curse, and Payu’s warmth vanished, followed quickly by the sound of clothing hitting the ground.

“Idiot,” Payu hissed in his ear. Rain heard something scrape against the floor. Payu had picked something up. Desperate to distract himself from the tingling feeling in his rear, Rain tried to think of what it might be. His answer came when Payu set something cold and round on Rain’s thigh.

“Why didn’t you use this?”

It was one of several containers of lube that Rain had set aside.

“I wanted you to pick.”

Payu had felt the dryness around Rain’s hole and realized… the boy must have used his own spit to force the plug in, not one of the new bottles of lube. And he must have been waiting for at least ten minutes already (twenty, actually. Rain couldn’t feel his legs from kneeling so long). 

Payu opened the cap on the lube and slid the bottle across Rain’s skin. He brushed the base delicately around his tied balls, and let the coolness press against the stretch of skin between them and the swollen, red entrance. Just as Rain began to whimper again, the bottle disappeared.

Something cold, thick, and wet dripped down Rain’s member as Payu pushed him back, back, back. Until Rain had to adjust his feet so that he could lay on his back, his legs parted, hands pinned beneath him, and fully on display for Payu.

He jumped at first, then sighed as the cold helped dull the pain. It was different from the lube he normally used, but with his mouth pinned open, it was difficult for Rain to get enough air through just his nose to try and smell which flavor Payu had used.

Sweat beaded on Rain’s skin and he broke out in goosebumps as the cold of the lube gradually warmed, then began to tingle.

One bottle wasn’t scented. It was smaller than the others, something Rain wasn’t sure about, but the boss at the shop threw in free, since Rain ordered so much. A lube that they said would make Rain more sensitive.

Powerful fingers pressed against the metal knot, then rubbed the liquid onto the stretched flesh. Rain closed his eyes (not that it mattered) and shivered as Payu began to pull and twist at the vibrating metal inside him.

It felt so big now- how had Rain ever managed to force it in? Payu paused a few times to retrieve the sample of lube and add more of the liquid, dutifully massaging the tight ring to convince it to open.

“Relax.”

It was the only warning Rain received before Payu took hold of the plug and pulled. Rain’s back arched and he shouted out around the mouthpiece as Payu began to slide it in and out at a steady rhythm- the vibration in it growing stronger.

“Nghnn!” Rain screamed as the plug was twisted so that it pressed hard against his p-spot, the pressure and shudder warming the lube that now filled his insides too. He shook his head side to side, writhing as Payu’s hand pressed hard against his stomach, until he could feel the metal inside Rain’s body shifting and moving.

Pain was crashing into pleasure, turning into a creature Rain didn’t know how to fight. He felt himself draw up, but the metal ring holding him closed prevented more than a few thin drops of precum from escaping his little snake. 

It was agony- but the kind that made drool fill his mouth. Rain’s entire body was shaking as he tried to finish. He felt himself clenching around the plug so hard that Payu finally yanked it out, in case Rain hurt himself. Cool air mixed with the teasing heat of the lube as Rain’s entrance gaped, begging for an erection to tighten around.

Payu devoured Rain’s skin as the spasm passed, then creating more as he licked and sucked at Rain’s trapped length.

“Ah… ah! Ah!!” Rain could only yell, his mouth pinned open and his body too overwhelmed to do more than grind himself shamelessly against Payu’s face, sobbing and moaning without release.

Payu only sucked harder and harder, basking in the desperation of his boyfriend as the little one fought so hard against the restraints he himself bought.

Trapped in darkness, unable to beg for what he needed, and without the ability to climax, Rain was now in some kind of wonderful hell. His insides were melting under the heat of the lube Payu poured around his entrance, and the mouth around his tendon felt better than he could imagine.

If Payu spoke, his voice was drowned out by the high pitched moans and whimpers that escaped from Rain’s mouth. The tears that drenched the blindfold now were filled with desperation and need. Rain began to roll his hips in a way that drove Payu insane when Rain was astride him, trying to make him desperate. It wasn’t impossible for Rain to cum with the hard metal around him, but he’d need Payu inside him.

Then Payu suddenly stopped moving, and climbed away. Rain’s whole body was on fire and he screamed in frustration. Something hard and heavy set down beside his ears. Without warning, he felt pressure on the opening of the muzzle as something began to push in.

Even lost in a growing haze of desperation, Rain couldn’t believe his luck. Payu was lowering his burning erection into the little man’s throat. Rain tipped his head back and relaxed his throat, breathing through his nose as his mouth was filled more and more.

He couldn’t stroke the shaft as it eased in, close his lips around that wonderful, thick length, or taste the saltiness of Payu’s precum with his tongue. All Rain could do was lay there and let himself be used as nothing more than a hole for Payu’s pleasure.

If it was even possible, Rain thought he felt himself getting harder.

Payu knew Rain was in the mood to be taken roughly. He gave the blind, bound man only one gentle thrust before he began to pump his hips and fuck the hot, tight throat in earnest. Rain felt something wet and warm wrap around his own cock as he tried to time his breathing to Payu’s movement. 

Payu’s teeth gently scraped against his most sensitive skin and Rain shouted around the length thrusting into his throat. The sensation on his tormented little snake was on the dangerous edge of tolerable- territory further from pleasure than Rain usually ventured. With the angle of the assault on his throat and the way his mouth was pinned open, the sound that came out was more sultry than intended.

Not an objection, but an invitation for another scrape of sharp teeth along his curving length.

A desperate groan escaped from Payu as his hips pumped into Rain. It reverberated around the base of Rain’s cock and drove bolts of pleasure straight through him. Whatever was left of Rain’s mind braced for the absolute agony that was pleasure without release.

His body tightened and he struggled to inhale. Payu was too big for his poor throat and Rain couldn’t breathe fast enough through his nose. As his mind filled with a desperate fog, Payu abruptly changed the teasing on his cock, opting to seal his mouth around it and nearly swallow the head. At the same time he reached down and began forcing the buzzing plug back into Rain’s hole with a smooth, unrelenting force.

Something blasted through Rain’s mind, shattering him completely as his hips bucked up to meet Payu’s mouth and release was ripped through him in spite of the metal ring. Every eruption of cum into Payu’s mouth brought a violent and viciously painful pleasure. Rain’s eyes rolled up into his head. His entire body seized up, shaking at the fire that ripped screams from his throat in spite of Payu still in his mouth.

If it weren’t for the guard on the gag holding him open, Rain wouldn’t have been able to stop his teeth from biting down hard on Payu’s most sensitive part.

Rain began to shudder and thrash beneath Payu as something even more powerful ravaged his body. His legs tried to kick, his hole constricted harder than he knew was possible around the plug that Payu still forced in and out of him, and that now-burning lube made him feel like his entire lower body was one raw, hungry nerve. Rain screamed again and a moment later was drowning in thick, salty musk as Payu cried out and released into him.

Fire and lightning danced beneath his skin. He wasn’t sure when he took the deep, shaking breath. Rain had no idea when he even swallowed the release that Payu’s bucking hips forced down his throat. Bright lights flashed in Rain’s blinded vision. His body was shaking uncontrollably.

Rain didn’t try to think too much- he wasn’t even sure he could anymore.

The sound that came from him was half-mad and weak. A shuddering, shivering whine.

His body was rolled over so that Rain was pinned on his stomach, but he didn’t have it in him to care. Cold air kissed his cheeks as Payu undid the clasp of the gag. A light touch pulled it away, but he felt a growing wetness around his cheek- Payu’s release, or his own drool pouring out from his open mouth. 

The blindfold stayed in place.

A sudden, intense spasm at his hips reminded Rain that the plug was still inside him, no longer vibrating. It shifted and moved, grinding against his most sensitive spot. The throbbing heat of the lube made his sensitive hole ache, and the hot mouth kissing his shoulders quickly turned the post-climax shivering into fresh trembles of desire. 

Payu fucked him with the plug, but it was the deep, desperate moan that Payu breathed against his ear that made Rain harden once again.

Rain wished his little snake stayed dead. He couldn’t move, could barely manage more than the softest of whimpers as- with a sudden wrenching motion- Payu yanked the vibrator from him at last. As metal slid over the liquid inside him, Rain shuddered. Were he free, he might have released again.

His toes curled and he whimpered once more.

Without the plug he felt empty, painfully so. His ass gaped where it had been stretched to the maximum. Rain could feel it twitching- opening and closing. Begging for something else to fill it.

He didn’t want it. He just wanted to be left alone.

No, wait. That was the opposite of what Rain wanted. He wanted to be filled, used, and fucked until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

Rain was both desperate for and somehow dreading what he knew would come soon. Payu would bury himself inside Rain, their bodies fitting together as if made for one another. His mind couldn’t decide what it wanted. His body wasn’t sure which it needed- to be filled, or left alone?

That was why Rain bought the muzzle with the ball, and Payu knew it.

He left Rain twitching on the floor for a moment and returned to brush gently against Rain’s mouth. “Rain?”

His voice was hoarse, but soft and sweet. Rain offered the smallest of nods. With great care, Payu lifted his head and fit the new muzzle on, sealing off Rain’s mouth. Rain tried to swallow around the ache in his throat, but the memory of Payu taking his mouth without mercy made him shiver in anticipation.

The spread of Rain’s legs, thanks to the binds connecting them to his upper arms, meant his ass was raised and on full display for Payu. His hubby knelt beside him and didn’t hesitate for even a moment to bury his entire length inside with a single sharp thrust.

As much as the plug prepared him, Rain wasn’t ready for the sheer size and heat of Payu slamming into him. He screamed against the gag, then groaned loudly as Payu set a torturous rhythm. Pull out slowly, slam in hard, stir his hips to force the shaft to grind against Rain’s insides, then slowly pull out once more.

Payu’s hand slid up from Rain’s hip. For a moment, the delirious man thought he intended to take hold of the little one’s tendon and stroke in time with his thrusts. He’d forgotten about the other toy.

There was a sudden, vicious sting in the pink raisins of his chest. Payu had a tight hold of the chain. Now, every time he slammed into Rain, the force sent the chain swinging and delivered sharp twists to Rain’s nipples. He was almost overwhelmingly sensitive on a normal day. Between the still-tingling sensation of the lubrication and the pulsing of his vice-caught cock, he had no hope at all. 

The screams and cries of Rain into the ball at his mouth drove Payu crazy. His slow and patient movements became faster and rougher. The thrusts shortened, but became wildly fierce as Rain tightened and screamed. He was calling out something, but even Rain wasn’t sure what it was. Not Payu’s name. Whatever it was, Rain was chanting it on a loop, over and over again as the gag prevented him from forming clear sounds.

Rain might not have been able to understand, but Payu could guess.

Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

Rain was yelling that thing that drove his hubby crazy as Payu crashed against him. Heat erupted deep inside as Payu released without warning. He pumped his hips, driving the cum further into the little one. Rain rarely went a day without being filled by Payu, but three weeks had passed since their last time together, and his groans were vicious and hungry at both the sensation and the fact that Payu wasn’t getting soft.

Rain’s cock was nearly purple and dripped with desperate need. It twitched pathetically as Payu’s grasp bruised Rain’s hips and the air filled with the intoxicating musk of sex. Even Payu was gasping for air. His normally iron composition was breaking. He dropped against Rain’s back as the final ropes of cum erupted into Rain’s body, his voice ragged and groaning with every breath.

But he still didn’t stop thrusting his hips. Forcing himself to keep moving, keep torturing the boy beneath him who was trapped in his little vice and shaking so hard that he no longer had the strength to let it out against the force pinning him.

“I want you to watch this,” Payu’s voice was low and commanding again. He undid the blindfold.

Rain’s eyes had rolled up into his head. He was shivering and flush, his face shiny with the drool or release that had dripped from his lips. Still inside him, Payu bent down and left featherlight kisses along Rain’s jaw and neck. As he sucked at Rain’s Adam’s apple, the other managed to regain enough of his faculties to look down.

Payu noticed in an instant and he rose from Rain’s back. A darkness filled his eyes that both frightened and thrilled Rain, he felt himself clench around Payu’s cock. 

Something was on the floor beside the two men- something Rain had set on the table with the lube when he set all this up.

The question in his eyes was clear enough.

“I’ve been thinking of doing this to you for a long time. I just didn’t know you were thinking of it too.”

An almost impossibly long cock made of ridged silicone, about half as thick as Payu’s own member.

Rain’s eyes went wide as Payu grabbed the tube once more and coated in the silicone in more of that lubricant that was already driving him (and probably Payu as well, buried in Rain as he was) insane. Rain’s tendon twitched and white liquid dripped from the head. He was terrified of the dark lust in Payu’s eyes, and yet already fantasizing about what it would feel like to have something so long- a couple inches longer than Payu himself- buried inside his body.

Payu’s free hand undid the latch holding the cuffs on Rain’s ankles and wrists together. Rain was still bound at the wrists, but the worst of the tension was off his shoulders, and Payu could flip Rain onto his back, his legs free to drape on either side of Payu’s. 

But Payu didn’t insert the silicone cock into his hole. He pushed his own back in with a long, slow thrust, then held the false one beside him.

Rain finally understood what Payu was wanting to try- and it wasn’t something Rain had ever imagined.

He closed his eyes in acceptance and fear and braced himself. Payu grabbed his hair roughly and pulled until Rain opened his eyes wide. He shook with fear as Payu pushed the silicone against the side of his own cock, using his length as a helpful guide as he forced the second shaft into his boyfriend.

 Rain screamed against the gag and thrashed his legs- but if it was in pleasure or pain, even Rain couldn’t tell. Payu had to release his head, and Rain hit it against the floor a few times as he thrashed, until Payu paused long enough to grab his discarded shirt and shoved it behind him to act as a pillow.

While he was bent over Rain, Payu raised an eyebrow in question, his dangerous eyes filled with barely contained lust. Rain loved to be taken roughly by Payu, but the older one always kept it just at the safe edge of his tolerance. This was something further than they’d ever done before.

Payu was offering to remove the second cock and retreat back within the realm of what Rain was alright with.

By then, all Rain could think about was his torturous need for release, however he could get it. He pushed his hips down as best he could, screaming into the gag as another few centimeters slid inside and forced him open. His back arched, which only made him feel even more painfully full.

Payu wrapped his palm around the base of the dildo and bit his lip hard as he shoved it in. The motion was fluid and unyielding, and Payu didn’t stop until it was fully seated. No matter what sounds Rain made.

Rain’s eyes bulged and he stopped breathing for a few seconds at the depth and pressure of the second cock. His toes were splayed, his cock dribbling, and he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. What fractured pieces of his mind that Rain had managed to pull together after his release were long gone. He couldn’t feel anything beyond the two long rods shoved so forcefully into his poor little hole.

He stirred with a gasping cry as Payu tipped him onto his side and straddled his leg, setting himself even deeper. Payu pulled the cuff entirely from the foot around Rain’s raised leg and hugged it tight to his chest to use for leverage. His free hand went to the chain still between Rain’s nipples, which he grabbed as if it were a convenient handle.

Payu began to thrust.

The pressure inside Rain was incredible. The two cocks sat on either side of his p-spot, and when Payu moved it felt as if it were being sawed between them. A kind of pleasure Rain didn’t even know existed burned through his body and made him let loose a primal, near animalistic scream into the gag. A scream so loud that, were it not for the object muffling him, it would surely have been heard throughout the entire house- and maybe even by neighbors outside.

Rain was by no means quiet when Payu fucked him- or if he tried to be, Payu took it as a challenge- but this was a new kind of sound entirely.

Something moist and soft traveled the length of Rain’s foot. He managed to turn his eyes only far enough to see Payu’s tongue complete its journey. Payu loved to kiss Rain while he fucked the boy. Deprived of lips to crush and bite, he concentrated on the sensitive skin between Rain’s toes.

Payu never stopped fucking him around the ridged cock, not even as he took three toes into his mouth and began to bob his head just as he’d done when he made Rain cum through the binding. He set the motion of his head counter to those of the thrusts and sharp yanks on the chain that connected Rain’s nipples.

Purple and swollen, Rain needed release so badly that it overrode all of the pain his lover was inflicting on him. He needed to touch his cock, to stroke it and force it to erupt in spite of the impediment he put around it. Rain’s hands were still trapped, so all he could do was scratch at his own back and scream over and over again as Payu gasped, threw his head back, and once again hot pressure exploded inside Rain’s body.

He was being filled with rope after rope of hot cum- something that usually made him finish in an instant.

But there was no relief. He didn’t have the strength to defy the metal binding.

Payu released his foot and leg. His ears were red and he was panting, but weariness lined his entire body. He was spent.

Payu pulled his withering length from inside Rain with a vulgar pop . He eyed the white cream that dripped out along the silicone. Even without the object of Rain’s desire still inside him he was shaking, nearly vibrating as he twitched and pulsed.

It took some time to undo the restraints on Rain’s wrists. His arms collapsed to his sides, utterly useless. Payu removed the cuffs from his arms and legs, then the gag.

His hand reached for the metal band tight around Rain’s cock. That was when the boy’s raspy whisper stopped him, “Don’t… take it…” he couldn’t form the words. Not after everything his mouth and throat had been through.

The meaning came through well enough as he tipped up the knuckles of a violently shaking hand, barely managing to touch the silicone hilt of the cock that still filled him. The one Payu planned to fuck him with and grant a final release.

But Rain wanted it out without achieving his own release. Payu obeyed, sliding the object slowly from inside Rain. The boy gave little response to even indicate he could feel that it was gone.

Payu’s hand returned to the metal clasp around Rain’s balls and the other nodded. Rain had moved his heavy fingers up to his chest to clasp the chain between his nipples.

When Payu flipped the small catch that released the metal, his other hand helped Rain yank down hard on the chain, ripping the clasps away from his nipples and sending a vicious and violent bolt of pain through his body. Another titanic scream tore from his broken throat as his cock was finally freed and tried to release- but the pain from his swollen red nipples slammed into the cresting wave and shattered it.

The need to cum was painful and raw. His cock was dripping onto his abdomen in a steady stream now. Rain wanted to cum so badly that he started crying in Payu’s arms.

Payu didn’t move a single muscle as Rain fought his battle. He just stared at him, confused and unsure of what his role should be. When the throbbing had eased, Rain twitched, trying to pull Payu down on top of him. The two men held each other, and Payu claimed Rain’s mouth with a deep, hot kiss.

His bites were gentler than they normally would be, the kiss not as aggressive and claiming. He gently rubbed Rain’s sore nipples, and massaged the bruises on his wrists from where he’d fought the cuffs too hard. After a moment, Payu offered a hot palm to rest against the bruised and aching base of Rain’s cock where the metal had set.

“Tell me what you want,” he broke the kiss to whisper to Rain after what felt to both like an eternity. The other member was still throbbing and purple, pinned at the very edge of release. He’d only had one true climax early on, whereas Payu managed three . And the lone orgasm was made more difficult, and intense, by the agony Rain endured with that clamp.

Rain couldn’t speak. He rolled his hips, hissing at the soreness that was rapidly settling in. It would have to be quick.

As he so often did, Payu understood without needing to be told. He rolled on top of Rain more fully and covered the boy’s mouth with his own. There was no biting this time as they kissed. Payu’s hair formed a curtain against Rain’s cheek as he stroked Rain’s tongue with his and wrapped a large hand around both his and Rain’s cocks.

Rain wanted to cum one final time not bound, but in Payu’s gentle embrace, with the heat of him alongside Rain’s desperation. For his part, Payu’s pace was slow and measured as he stroked the two together- though his own tendon wasn’t getting fully hard again any time soon.

When Rain’s breathing grew strained, he released his lips to nibble and suck at Rain’s ear. Payu rolled his hips, rubbing himself until- with a seizing gasp- Rain erupted across their stomachs and chests. Though quiet, the force of the release was hard enough to reach his neck, and his entire body shook so violently that he felt no different from the vibrator Payu had inside him earlier.

Payu pulled Rain up to sit in his lap as the boy’s body went limp and his eyes rolled up into his head. He brushed the strands of Rain’s sweat-soaked hair away from his face and licked the release from Rain’s throat and chest with gentle devotion. Rain stirred slightly in Payu’s arms as he worked, and he let out a thin and painful moan of thanks.

It would be a wonder if Rain’s voice recovered even in a week.

When Rain seemed somewhat awake, Payu carried them both into the shower, where he sat on the floor holding Rain’s shaking body as hot water rinsed them both. The only sign of life in the limp body was a flinch and a sob as Payu’s long fingers so gently scooped some of the release from inside his hole. 

Payu toweled Rain dry afterwards and laid him gently in bed while Payu picked up the toys on the floor, cleaned the messy ones, and returned with a small bottle of gel to soothe Rain’s entrance somewhat. It wouldn’t spare him from a sore day, but it would make things a little easier. 

Rain stirred as Payu’s fingertip pushed some of the gel inside. Rain felt as if Payu and the toy were both still inside him, he was aching in places he’d never ached before, and the growing stiffness in his groove was so deep that it felt as if he had been split in two. 

“I don’t think I can walk,” his voice was so hoarse that Rain choked on the unexpected pain. Payu flashed a savage grin as he brought a glass of water over.

“After a rest, I’ll do what it takes to make sure you can’t.”

“Promise?” Rain smiled, but his eyes didn’t open again. He rolled onto Payu’s chest as the other settled into bed, assuming his position in Payu’s arms.

Payu wrapped himself around Rain, intertwining his legs through the other’s. He held him tight, safe, and close, “I promise. I have next week off.”

Payu kissed the top of Rain’s head gently and turned off the bedside lamp so that they could drift off to sleep the day away as dawn broke outside.

He had questions- so many questions about where Rain found his new haul of toys and what possessed him to try them all out at once, but that could wait for another day. This was the perfect end to a hard couple weeks of work. A heaven Payu couldn’t believe was within reach when he first opened the door and saw his submissive little Rain tied up on the floor, obediently waiting for his daddy to come home.

Payu breathed a laugh and ruffled Rain’s wet hair, squeezing him even tighter as they both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.

---

---

Part 2 (PrapaiSky)

[zeebee3]

Dramione Month Day 6: Legilimens

Draco/Hermione

NSFW

Continuation of Day 5.

---

She broke the kiss a moment later.

“You really want this? It’s not just because I’m here and you’re—”

He cut her off with another slanting kiss, putting as much into it as he could. When he drew back, she was panting. 

“I’m only here and hard because of you,” he murmured. “Or did you think I needed a refresher on Interrogative and Defensive Mind Magicks?”

She blinked up at him. “Well…they’re very useful…it’s always good to hone skills.”

“I’m a natural Occlumens,” he reminded her. “And the skill transfers the other way, too.”

Her hands slid from his shoulders down to rest over his chest. Little hands, but strong. His heart pounded below her palms.

“So then…why did you come along?”

“You asked me if I’d be willing to attend the conference. I am.”

It was clear the answer surprised her, but then she huffed an incredulous laugh. 

“You came all the way to Zürich for a conference on a subject you’re naturally adept in just to, what, placate me?”

He shrugged a casual shoulder. “It’s quite a nice city. Incredible architecture. Amazing views.”

He dared to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fully unobstructing his currently perfect view. When she huffed again, he couldn’t hold his smirk, gazing down at her with open affection. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she accused lightly. “Had you never considered just telling me how you felt?”

Countless times. A nearly unending thread of conversation in his head, scenarios built and summarily dismantled when reality tapped politely against his skull. The concept of confession was not new to him, but it still felt unfamiliar.

“All the time,” he murmured.

When she wet her bottom lip, he wondered if she could taste him still.  

“I’m sorry but I’m finding it a bit hard to believe that. You’ve always been so aloof. I’m a very perceptive person but until tonight, I had no idea you thought of me as anything but a mildly irksome colleague.”

“Mildly? You drive me mad.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve never once…you’re always so reserved.”

Restrained, he wanted to correct, but she was close enough. 

“I have been, yes.”

The validation settled her slightly, shoulders dropping down. Total relaxation would be even better, so he inhaled deeply and offered himself up.

“I have all the data to back up my claim right here, if you’d like to practice honing your skills?”

“What, you mean…?” Her eyes flicked to his forehead, then back. “Really?”

Blame it on the lingering delirium of her kiss, or the pounding of his heart, or the unrelenting interest straining toward her, but in that moment, inviting her into his head seemed like the most logical solution to a very easy-to-solve problem. Let her see what he felt for her, and then she’d know and he could do something about it.

“Mmhmm.” He stroked the hinge of her jaw with his thumb, then let his fingers slide down the side of her neck to rest on her shoulder. “Get your wand. Have a look.”

It was, evidently, an easy choice for her, too. 

He’d been at the end of her wand tip before, many times, but in this instance, his only concern was for her. What would she think once she knew? He braced himself. 

“Legilimens,” she incanted, eyes locked on his, and then she was inside his head, and he let her see. 

Her striking amber eyes were first, as they always were, featured in flashes of memories: seeing them deep and thoughtful, sparkling with delight, narrowed in annoyance. 

And then her lips — he did his best to skate through those thoughts as quickly as her Legilimency allowed, pulling forward specific examples instead of his increasingly depraved ramblings. 

Across the refectory, sipping tea then shooting him a bemused smile over the rim. Leading a debriefing, commanding the room easily. Hunched over her desk, wand in her curls, exhausted but breathtaking. And all the associated feelings those moment had elicited in him: butterflies, hot arousal, yearning. 

And then he offered her specifics. A glimpse down her blouse, and the fantasies it had fueled for weeks, a rush of images that had never existed but were so clear, so often imagined, that they may as well have. 

And then a very real memory, offered to her as final proof for everything he’d claimed: a view down his abdomen, watching as he pinned the toy to the mattress, thick cock burying into it over and over as his thumb rubbed lazily, soothingly at the silicone clit. Whispered words, low and agonized, heralding the end. “What a good fucking girl, Hermione.”

She left his mind with a shudder. 

He was leaking all over himself, pants damp with his want after having re-lived so many moments he usually parceled out, but his attention was riveted on her. 

“See,” he managed, voice rough. “All the time.”

“I’m…” Her eyes were slightly glazed, cheeks flushed. “Overwhelmed. Oh gods. That’s…so much.”

He grimaced. “I tried to stem some of the images but you kept—”

She barked a laugh, tight and wild. “You, Malfoy. It can’t be—oh gods there’s no way—”

Desire shot through him, mixing potently with pride and affection. Holding her eye, he gently, carefully, gripped her wrist and slid her hand from his chest down his abdomen, stopping the buckle of his belt. 

“Go ahead. Find out.”

A small rotation within his hold, and then her palm was cupping him, eyes widening as she mapped him. 

“Oh…Godric.” Lips parted, eyes dropping — he preened. “Fuck, you’re…”

She found the tip and squeezed it lightly, seeing the pleasure in his face, then stroked him all the way up to the base. He had to bite his lip to stem the pathetic noise burning in his throat at her confident touch. 

“Can I see you?” she asked, the question tinged with wonderment. 

“Fuck. Absolutely.” He went to undo his belt but she got there first, batting his hands away and working the leather through the silver buckle. 

Her eyes only broke from his when the zipper snagged at the bulge, looking down to work over the obstacle begging to be set free. As soon as his fly was undone, she pulled at the waistband of his black briefs and dipped her hand inside. He sucked in a breath when her knuckles skimmed his pelvis and then hissed it out when she found his cock. 

“Oh…” The word faded as her lips parted, eyes rounding, and then she was tugging at the waistband, baring him to the room. “...fuck.”

It was silly to be proud of something he’d had no role in obtaining, but the feeling surged in his chest all the same. 

“You can touch,” he whispered, “if you like.”

She didn’t hesitate, her hand smoothing up his length in a single, devastating glide that made his next blink labored and sluggish. The number of times he’d imagined this very act–

The little crease between her brows was back, hinting at a busy mind. He wanted so desperately to know what she was thinking, except that she was still stroking his cock, and he’d been hard for her for years, and coping with the situation was getting dicey, let alone unpacking it in real-time. 

Maybe she’d get him off and then he’d be able to think fully; he’d make it up to her twenty times over. Or maybe he should pull her hand off and make it up to her first. Yes. That was the better route.

He was about to do just that when she squeezed until her middle finger and thumb touched, eyes flicking up to his when he grunted at the constriction. Oh…fucking hell. 

“This is…” She let go of him to grip her wrist, and a little sound of despair escaped when her fingers touched easily. “Jesus fuck, Draco.”

He wanted her hand back on him; was nearly dizzy with want and from standing for so long on only two of his available legs. 

“I told you. I don’t fit the standard size.”

“No, you most certainly do not.” She reached for him again, squeezing then stroking. “Right. Get on the bed. Straightaway.”

While her enthusiasm was intensely gratifying, he caught her elbow and pulled her to him. “Kiss me again?”

“I’m going to kiss you lots,” she assured him, but went up to press her lips to his obligingly. He leaned into it, turning it long and languid, savoring her. 

“I’m about to be nearly incoherent,” he explained softly, pecking another compulsive kiss to her lips. “Wanted one more to remember.”

She scoffed, amused and pleased. “Ridiculous man.”

“Want back inside my head?” he offered dryly. “I’m pathetically into you. There’s a massive chance this is going to kill me.”

She hummed a warm, alluring sound, and finally succeeded in tugging him to the bed, letting go to climb up and settle onto her back. “It certainly seems so. Trousers off; shirt too.”

From her place on the bed, she watched as he hurriedly undressed, tossing his shirt to the side and then kicking off his trousers, leaving everything in a rumpled mess. When she sat up to pull her own shirt off, he had to wrap his fingers at his base. 

“You should be on top,” he said, trying to keep a level head as she revealed dusky nipples, the well of her navel, a tidy strip of curls. “You’ll…uh, you’ll have more control over the depth and pace.”

She shook her head obstinately, tossing her knickers aside and then bringing her knees up, feet wide. “I don’t want the control — I want to feel you on top of me, breaking me open.”

He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the double-punch of her words and body. “Don’t—Merlin fucking hell, Granger. Fuck.”

“I trust you,” she promised. “You showed me what you want. And I want you to have it. If you don’t believe me, then come have a look for yourself.”

It wasn't an idle invitation, he knew, and so he took it, needing to be sure. A wand wasn’t necessary for him; neither was opening his eyes or his mouth. He just felt for her behind his lids and whispered the word to himself, slow and curling. Legilimens.

She’d been ready for him; had the image front and center for his consumption. He devoured it. 

A view down her abdomen, muscles tensing, legs wide, the toy in her hand glistening with every retreat, every thrust forward met with a burst of pleasure. Thick. Almost as thick as her wrist. 

”It’ll fit,” she whispered, in his mind and out loud. “See? I’m so good at taking it.”

The reality of his present circumstances hit a moment later. He was inside her mind; she’d let him in and wanted him to know—

He was on the bed a moment later, crawling over her, pushing her thighs wider to fit himself between them, scrambling to get out of her mind before he fully lost control. He had just enough coherence left to look down, wanting to memorize the sight of himself resting over her pelvis, when she instantly foiled any plans at retention by dropping a hand and pressing his length solidly against her. He felt the soft heat of her belly, the raw need conveyed in her touch, and groaned, oozing precum into her navel.

“Gods,” he whined, hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Please, can I–?”

She encircled him, pushing him lower. “Absolutely, yes.” 

He took over, as she’d requested, but despite the memory she’d shown him, knew she needed preparation. Lips pressed to her throat, and then her collarbones as he supported himself on a forearm beside her head and sank a finger deep. She rocked up against his wrist, keening again, and grabbed for him, fingers raking into his hair. 

One was easy, two were snug, three were a stretch. 

He panted against her breast then withdrew his fingers to work them over her clit, licking his way up to her mouth, muffling her moans. 

She nipped at his lip, sucked it, then broke off to pant, “Inside.”

It was overwhelming. To stroke himself and feel her arousal coat him; to push against the source of it and be slowly welcomed in. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back as he eased himself inside, the way made easier once she’d taken the broad head. 

Her breath left her in a gasp as he reached under her lower back to lift, adjusting the angle until he could sink in to the hilt. It was better than even his most careful fantasies, the ones that he sat with for days, stitching together until it felt real enough that when he fucked his toy, it truly felt like her.

It hadn’t though – not even close. Where the silicone gave way, she hugged. Where it dried, she was soaked and getting wetter. And when he reached between them to thumb at her clit, she stuttered out his name.

It was the response to his call that he’d yearned for; he kissed it off her tongue, then called it forth again and again until her nails were biting into his skin and the end was reaching for him with two, tight fists. 

“You feel–” There weren't any words. “You’re so–Is this–?”

“So good,” she panted. “Gods, you feel so much better.”

He didn’t need to ask than what, not when his own toy would now be relegated to second place; to the bin. But despite all his fervent practice with it, it seemed the toy had been insufficient stamina training when he was inundated with her. The barrage of sensation – her scent, her touch, her sounds, her pleasure – was breaking him down until he was careening to the edge, doing whatever he could to pull her over with him. 

“Is it enough?” He worked his thumb over her clit, palm warm and heavy above where he could feel – fuck – feel himself thrusting inside. “What can I do?”

“Just don’t stop,” she moaned.

Well. Then he was about to fail her. 

If only he could get his tongue between her legs without needing to move–

He dropped his forehead to hers and offered her a thought, rich in detail, saturated with desire: the slow, steady suction of a mouth, the wet curl of a tongue strumming; relentless, endless pressure.

“Draco,” she whined. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Her body closed down around him, arms and legs and inner walls until she was shaking and, blissfully, miraculously, coming. The constriction was like nothing he’d ever felt, the pulses strong and coaxing until he was stammering out her name, orgasm wracking through him and into her, mind and body. 

When coherence slowly returned, he eased out of her mind but let his hips rest heavily against hers, luxuriating in the little aftershocks. Her arms were slack around his shoulders, mouth ajar against his, catching her breath.

“Holy shit,” she panted. “Jesus, that was–holy shit.”

“Should have asked,” he mumbled, giving her a lazy kiss before slipping sideways to nuzzle into the crook of her neck. “The mind thing. And the coming inside thing.”

“Both were…” She huffed a laugh, sliding an arm up his back to card through his hair. “Gods.”

“Good.” He exhaled, exhausted and the most sated of his life. “Good.”

“Better than good.” Her fingers swirled through his hair idly. “You ought to be up there leading the seminar.”

He huffed a laugh against her curls. “Ah, yes. How to Make a Witch Come with Thoughts. Lesson one: be pathetically desperate for her, and uninhibited with letting her see it.” He raised his head to slant a grin down at her. “Think it’d be well attended?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Her responding smile was cheeky, the edge of her lip caught in her teeth. “Should I practice the first lesson, and you can give me pointers?”

She kissed his cheek then encouraged him over onto his back, following him over to sit over his hips. “Okay, Draco. Lesson one. Ready?” 

Mouth dry, he nodded. Her eyes were fond as they held his, the amber as warm and inviting as her soft word.

“Legilimens.”

(fin)

[vodika-vibes]

Hi, Vod'ika. How is it going? Are you still accepting requests? If the answer is yes, can you write some comfort to Hunter with the prompt “I promised I'd stay with you until the end of the line, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.” Seeing Hunter so down in the new season made my heart hurt. He has been struggling with negative feelings for a long time, I believe that since the time he was unable to convince Crosshair to return. In my mind he feels guilt, he feels like he failed as a leader, so maybe the reader can bring him some comfort at this moment. ♥️

Not To Me

Summary: You're worried about Hunter, but he's being stubborn.

Pairing: Pre Hunter x F!Reader

Word Count: 1308

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol abuse

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted!

You frown as you watch Hunter out of the corner of your eyes, though you’re very careful to make sure that you keep working. The last thing you want to do is make Hunter worry about you worrying about him.

He’s…not doing well.

Though you seem to be the only person who notices it. 

You set the bottle in front of the patron you’re talking to, and then return behind the bar to start cleaning glasses. 

Hunter’s been a regular here for ages, and you like to think that you’re friends. Or at least, friendly enough.

And, as much as you want more, you are content to wait until he’s ready to consider a relationship.

You toss a lemon rind into the trash with a small frown on your face. Hunter’s been coming nightly for the last couple of weeks, and you’re concerned. You’ve watched as, day after day, he looks more and more haggard. More and more tired. 

And you worry.

You’re not unused to seeing people drink their problems away. You’ve seen more than one person that you considered a friend chance in horrific ways due to alcohol abuse, and you’re beginning to fear that Hunter is heading down that same path.

For a moment, you glance away from the glasses you’re washing to glance at Hunter, and you watch as he pulls his bandana off and pushes his hand through his hair, exhaustion so heavy around him that you can almost feel it from where you’re standing.

He’s still nursing his drink, the third one he’s ordered since he arrived, but you can’t sit here and watch this anymore. You can’t.

Quickly you pour a mug of caf from the machine under the counter, and you cross the bar to set the mug in front of him. He blinks at the steaming liquid, and then he looks up at you, his hair hanging in his face as he hasn’t put his bandana back in place yet.

“I didn’t order a caf?” Hunter asks, bemused and bewildered in equal measures.

“Oh, I know. It just…it looked like you needed it.” You say with a bright smile, “May I join you?”

Slowly he leans back so he’s sitting properly rather than half slumped over the table, “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

That’s not a no, so you slide into the booth across from him, “I’m tired of having drunk men pawing at me, so I’m taking a break.” You push the caf closer to him, “Here, drink it. It’s good~” You tempt.

Hunter sighs but abandons his whiskey and wraps his hands around the mug. “Is there a reason you’re giving me caf?” 

“Can’t I just give you caf because I want to?” You ask lightly as you reach across the table and take the glass of whiskey away from him. Hunter watches you with his sharp eyes, and you wilt. The jig is up. “Alright, alright. I’m worried about you, Hunter.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hunter-”

“It’s not your job to worry about me.” Hunter interrupts. 

“Someone has to!” You say sharply, “Hunter, you used to come in, maybe, once a week for a single glass. But for the last three weeks you’ve been coming in nightly for multiple drinks.”

“Maybe I just enjoy the ambiance.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, “No one enjoys the ambiance of this bar.”

“Look, I’m fine-”

“You’re not! Hunter, please.” You lean across the table and carefully wrap your hands around his, silently sending up a prayer that he won’t react badly, “I’ve been surrounded by alcoholics my entire life. I’ve watched as alcohol ruined families and destroyed people I once called friends. I don’t want that for you.”

He stares at you, something almost like defeat crossing his face, “Are you kicking me out?”

“No. Of course not. I am, however, cutting you off.”

“Fine. I’ll go somewhere else then.”

“Hunter, please stop being difficult. I’m trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You obviously need it.” You tighten your hands around his, “Look, I’m not a soldier or a doctor. I can’t fight or heal or make your life better in any way other than this. But, I’m not going away. I refuse to leave you.”

Hunter stares at you, slightly startled, and you flash a weak smile, “I’m with you until the end of the line, so to speak.”

Hunter sighs, and carefully extracts his hands from yours, before he drops some credits on the table, “I’m fine. But thanks anyway.” And then he’s gone, and you sigh softly.

You hope he heard you, even if he wasn’t ready to accept it.

There’s a shout from across the room, and you slide out of the booth. Time to go back to work.

It’s been three months since you’ve seen Hunter, and you’re still worried about him. Worried and hurt that he would cut off your friendship over something as unimportant as alcohol, but you suppose that’s life.

In any event, you have the day off, so you’re spending the day in your apartment catching up on your favorite trash TV.

You’re halfway through a marathon (Mariella just found out that her evil twin sister pretended to be her to marry her fiance-) when there’s a knock on the door.

“Just a second!” You call, as you swing your legs off the couch and set your bottle of flavored water and popcorn on the table, making sure you pause the show, and then you hurry over to the door.

You press the button to open the door, and any words that you might have said die on your tongue as soon as you see who’s standing there.

Hunter.

Hunter looks twice as haggard as the last time you saw him, with dark circles under his eyes that almost look like bruises, and it doesn’t look like he’s brushed his hair in a week.

“...Hunter?” You reach out and lightly touch his cheek, “Are you okay?”

He takes half a step towards you and then slowly drops his forehead to your shoulder, and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, “...no. Not really.”

“...well, that’s okay.” You gently guide him into your home, and settle him on the couch, before you kneel in front of him and start removing his armor. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs so heavily that you want to cry, “No. Not really.”

You set his armor to the side, “Okay. How about a shower? And some food?”

“I don’t want to be alone right now.” He admits quietly.

You sit back on your heels, your mind racing, “Okay. Okay, so a bath then. And I can sit on the edge of the tub and be there with you.” Your face heats at his look, “I’m not trying to be weird, I promise. Just…you look so tired Hunter. I’d like to make sure you don’t drown-”

He reaches out and pulls you into a tight hug, pulling you onto his lap, and he buries his face in your neck. “I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles.

You gently card your fingers through his hair, carefully working the knots out with your fingers, “I promised I'd stay with you until the end of the line, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.” You whisper to him. 

“You deserve better than some failure of a clone.” Hunter says against the skin of your neck.

“Hey, none of that.” You lightly kiss the side of his head, “I chose this. I chose you. Just…let me take care of you.”

“It’ll be awful work.” He warns.

“Not to me. Not if it is you. Not ever.”

And slowly, as you hold him, some of the tension drains from his body. And, for the first time, you start to think that he’ll be okay.

[certifiedtrashmouth]

Oh gosh I don’t wanna repeat someone and I’m not sure about Xmas traditions but what about ridiculous stocking stuffers w Eddie? Fluff/humor.

oh, god. this one also got out of hand. started in light-hearted fun and ended in fluff that had me screaming into my pillow. i'm sorry for the length.

good for one kiss (eddie munson x reader)

warnings: none really. mentions of penis??? (eddie makes a joke about his dick and there's mention of a blowjob but no description lol), mentions of cigarettes, idiots in love. best friends to lovers.

“What am I supposed to do with a single piece of gum?” 

“What am I supposed to do with a single cigarette?” 

“Smoke it, idiot.”

“It’s broken, idiot.” 

“Oh.” 

You and Eddie sit cross-legged across from each other on his bed on Christmas Eve, partaking in your annual gift exchange. But there was a catch; each year, you exchanged stockings, only gifting each other what you could fit in the glorified, fleece-lined socks. There had only been two exceptions to the rule of the years - the year you’d gifted Eddie his first professional-grade amp and he’d bawled like a baby (once he’d dried his tears, he’d threatened you and Wayne both endlessly about ever letting the story leave the room. The two of you had exchanged a look, though, knowing neither of you would ever let him live it down.) and the year Eddie had bought you your first acoustic six-string with the promise of lessons from him (it was onyx black and shined with promise as Eddie explained the two of you needed to use paint markers to decorate it). 

It was going on five years of the tradition that had stemmed from both of you never being able to afford much for each other, but still wanting to show you care nevertheless. And as the years had gone on, the gifts had slowly found their rhythm. There was always a perfect mixture of cliche throwaway gifts, gag gifts, and gifts so sentimental that some tears were sure to be shed by one of the parties. 

“I didn’t think it would break,” you scrunch your nose slightly as Eddie holds up the cigarette, limp from the crack in the middle of it. 

“What did you expect, just throwing it in here like that?” Eddie laughs, not bothered in the slightest. He had a pack of Camels snug in the pocket of his leather jacket slung over his desk chair. It was the thought that counted, after all. 

“I expected it to be absolutely fucking invincible for how expensive the pack was,” you whine, and he can’t help but watch you with bemusement, “I spent my last dollar from my tips on that damn pack.” 

The mention of that softens the look in Eddie’s eyes. He knew the two of you struggled to come up with enough money to even keep up this tradition; he had hardly seen you due to how many spare shifts you’d been picking up at Benny’s the last few weeks. 

You catch the look, immediately straighten up, “No, no, no. Don’t even go there, Munson. I can see you going there. Come back to me, idiot.” 

Idiot. The term of endearment you’d coined for him since you’d first met in sophomore year of high school. He’d heard it in a dozen different tones - elated, annoyed, exhausted - but not a single one held an ounce of genuine negativity towards him. You made idiot sound like my love. 

He wasn’t your lover, though. He kicked himself in the shins every morning over it, always telling himself that today was the day and I’m going to tell her how I feel finally. 

Spoiler alert. He never did. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he offers up his own loving nickname for you, “I just know you’ve been busting your ass at Benny’s-” 

“Yes, I have, because I want to spoil you for the holidays. I don’t regret a single second of it. Even when those creepy old men tried to shove the dollar bills in my shirt rather than just hand them to me.”

You both laugh at the memory. It hadn’t been very funny when it happened, leading to you calling Eddie crying and him coming to your rescue, but enough time had passed to see the humor in it all. 

The rest of the gift exchange goes as expected for the most part. The gag gifts pull the appropriate amount of laughter, and the more genuine gifts pull a softness out of each other that nearly had each of your eyes’ pupils forming hearts. 

Eddie fawns over a pack of pics you’d had customized with Corroded Coffin’s logo, and you react just as bluntly as expected when you pull a long red candle from your stocking, looking up to Eddie blankly. 

“For when I finally sacrifice you in the woods,” he explains with a cheesy grin, “Gotta have candles if we’re going to worship Satan, sweetheart.” 

“Ha-ha,” you dead pan, tilting your head slightly as you keep a straight face, completely unimpressed, “You’re hilarious, Munson.” 

“Hey, I could have made a sex joke,” he throws up his hands in a defensive manner, shrugging his shoulders and looking to the ground in faux shyness. 

“Yeah, yeah - you could have made a sex joke,” you mumble as you shove the candle to the side, a smile still escaping the corners of your mouth. 

“As a matter of fact, I still can. Don’t think I didn’t notice the fact that you replaced my stocking this year, darling, and that it’s noticeably larger. Finally big enough to fit over my massive dic-” 

“You’re disgusting,” you interrupt, grabbing the candle and now whacking one of his knees with it, making him fall victim to an uncontrollable giggling fit, “Have you ever been told that? Let me be the first to tell you - you’re absolutely vile, Edward Munson.” 

You don’t mean it, and he knows you don’t. You’re both laughing too much over it. 

You’re starting to get to the bottom of the stockings now. You each have an odd arrangement of candy that had been included in each respective stocking - Eddie is socking on a blue jolly rancher, being sure to make annoying slurping noises to get a rise out of you, as you nibble on a miniature candy cane. There’s only one gift left in your stocking, a small box that you only reach for once you rewrap the candy cane in the plastic wrap it’d come in that you’d saved to avoid getting sticky fingers. 

“What’s this?” you ask, pulling it out and letting the empty stocking fall into your lap. 

Eddie looks up from where he was preoccupied with attempting to open another jolly rancher. His eyes light up from the present in your palm, “Oh, only saving the best one for last, sweet thing.” 

You look at him questioningly, but begin to slide your finger under the delicate edge of the small box regardless. It takes concentration to pry open the box without tearing it, but you do, you gasp. 

In a bed of cotton, there’s a necklace. 

It looks like a copy of Eddie’s signature pick necklace. But instead of the dark swirling black between clouds of burgundy red, it shines with pearlescent opal white and ruby red, glimmering on a silver chain as if it were made of jewels. 

When you gently lift it from the box, it’s clear it’s not a real pick. It’s heavier - Hell, it might actually be made of gemstones. 

“Eddie-” you gasp, cutting yourself off, mesmerized by the beauty. 

He’s nearly shaking with delight, “It’s a locket. Look, open it.” 

You see what he means immediately, realizing that the weight was from the thickness of the faux pick. There’s a subtle seam, with a silver lock on the side that clicks gently when you press on it. The locket swings open, and inside is a snug photo of you and Eddie. You can pinpoint exactly when the photo was taken; it was at your birthday party two years ago, both of you laughing with cake icing on the tips of your nose. The photo is in dramatic black and white, but you can still picture how obnoxiously red your cheeks were with Eddie’s arm slung around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you two lost it over God knows what. 

You feel yourself beginning to tear up, completely stunned, “I- Oh my God, Eddie. I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start with how I’m the best friend ever,” he cheekily grins, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you let out a breathless laugh. 

“It’s…God, it’s beautiful. This- This is too much, Eddie. I can’t imagine how expensive-”

“Nope,” he cuts you off quickly, waving his hands frantically, refusing to listen to your lecture. He didn’t care if it had cost him everything he owned, down to the clothes on his back - it was worth it to see that look on your face. “Don’t even start, sweetheart. One of Wayne’s friends at the plant has a wife who makes jewelry for a living. We got the family discount because she thought the idea was so dang adorable,” his voice pitches to mock the mystery woman, and it makes you tearily laugh some more. 

You look back down at the open locker, finger tracing over the opposite side from the photo. 

E. It’s engraved in cursive. As if you’d ever forget the initial of the boy in the photo - the boy in front of you. 

“You really had to choose the photo that made me look like a dork, didn’t you?” you softly tease under your breath, staring at the memory in unfiltered fondness. 

“Someone’s got to keep you humble,” he retorts. 

You ignore his comment, standing quickly and holding the necklace out to him, “Help me put it on?” 

He doesn’t hesitate to leap off the bed to your side, taking the chain gingerly before you turn and face your back to him. His movements are careful and deliberate as he brushes your hair off to the side, cold fingers skimming over your skin and sending shivers down your spine before he loops the necklace around the front of your chest. You can feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp for a few moments before finding success. 

“Aha! Perfect,” he claps as you spin around, grinning giddily at the weight that sits naturally between your collarbones. It gives you a sense of security, a sense of comfort, a sense of home. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you earnestly say, voice crumbling with emotions as your smile shines and you lift a hand to pinch the necklace between two fingers. The locket is smooth as you rub over it, “I love it.” 

His face reflects your happiness right back before you suddenly throw yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. He returns it immediately, squeezing you back just as strongly. You both melt into the hug, comfortable as you eventually beginning to just-barely-sway in the middle of Eddie’s room, chests pressed together as hearts beat in sync. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair before placing a chaste kiss on your temple. 

“Merry Christmas, Eds.” 

You finally pull away, both of you returning to your original positions on the bed. Gifts are scattered around you, mixing with candy and wrappers, as Eddie pulls up his stocking and begins to shake it upside down. 

“There’s not any more gifts, Eddie, you already opened them-” you cut yourself off, the smile that had your cheeks aching still fading when a piece of paper flutters from his stocking. 

Oh no. 

“No more gifts, you say?” he smirks in your direction, picking up the folded note, “What’s this, then?” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’d forgotten about that. When you’d been wrapping Eddie’s gifts the night before, Robin had joined you to keep you company. The two of you had broken into a few bottles of wine around the house when you had a bright idea (at least, at the time it seemed bright. Now, it was the dumbest idea you’d ever had. Ever.). Coupons for Eddie, ranging from redemption for kisses to redemption for more… explicit acts. To be fair, Robin had egged you on, knowing of your hopeless crush of two years on your best friend. You’d folded each ‘coupon’ and sealed them with kisses from red lipstick the two of you had dug out of your desk drawers. You’d chickened out when the buzz from the wine faded, and pulled all of the ridiculous notes out before properly filling the stocking with his actual gifts. 

Or at least, you thought you’d gotten all of the notes out. Clearly, you hadn’t. 

“Don’t open that!” you blurt out, lurching forward and attempting to snatch the paper from Eddie. It only makes his smirk grow, hand shooting out away from you, glancing wildly between you and the kiss-stained paper. 

“Now you’ve really got me curious,” he mocks, pulling a face at you as he brings the paper back to his face, beginning to unfold it. 

“No, Eddie, seriously, don’t read it. Please. It was so stupid, I- Robin and I were drinking, and I just…” you trail off in your explanation as he completely disregards you and his eyes trail over your scribbled words. 

You didn’t even know which one had been left behind. You could only hope it was one of the less vulgar ones. 

“Is this a joke?” he asks softly. You’re shocked - you’d expected merciless teasing. Not whatever look was currently in his eyes. 

“What?” you ask, trying to peer over to see what the paper said. Depending on which dumb coupon it was, your answer would change, “I- Sort of. Maybe. No. I don’t know.” 

You begin to wring your hands in your lap, waiting for him to respond. You felt so nauseated you considered escaping to the bathroom. Maybe you could die of embarrassment in the Munson men’s bathtub. 

But then you remember it’s the Munson men’s bathtub, and decide the better fate may lay here, Eddie glancing up at you with moving curiosity, eyebrows furrowed. 

Your cheeks burn crimson as you wish for the Earth to swallow you whole. 

“Yes or no? Is it a joke?” he asks again, a stern tone that manages to not come across angry. 

Your stomach and chest twist in sync, “No. It isn’t a joke.” 

Suddenly, Eddie is taking the note and thrusting it towards you, eyes blown wide and chest heaving. 

“Then I’d like to redeem it now, please.” 

You don’t realize it, but the room had started spinning the moment Eddie had read what was written down. It felt like a dream - a dream he’d indulged in with no hopes of it ever coming true for an embarrassingly long amount of time now. 

Your hands shake as you reach out to take the note from him, and you look down to see just how much drunk you had screwed you over in this moment. 

In your messy handwriting, it reads: Coupon for Eddie Munson - good for one (1) kiss. To be redeemed at Eddie’s discretion. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn't a vulgar one, before the reality of what Eddie had just requested hits you.  

“Did you just- did you just say you want to redeem it now?” 

Eddie nods, a determined look crossing his face, “Yes, please.” 

You both stare at each other for a moment, letting the emotions in the air sink in. It takes a moment before you both break out into withheld, shy smiles. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Before you can overthink it, you’re both leaning forward, Eddie’s hands cupping your cheeks as his lips meet yours tenderly. It’s just a peck, nothing more, but it sends your heart into cardiac arrest. You can still taste the jolly ranchers on his lips, and he tastes the sweet mint of the candy cane on yours. 

You both pull back slightly, his hands not leaving your face, knees pressing together. Your eyes had fluttered close, and you don’t have the guts to open them quite yet and face the consequences of what had just happened between the two of you. 

“I like you,” you admit quietly, your entire body tensing as you await rejection.

It doesn’t come. Instead, you’re met with the sound of Eddie’s gentle voice, “I like you, too.” 

Your eyes finally spring open to already find him staring at you with adoration. “You do?” 

“Of course I do, sweetheart. I let you touch my first sweetheart. I only give that privilege to the prettiest of girls,” he laughs, eyes flickering to your lips but still keeping his distance. 

“You’ve only let me have that privilege.” 

“Exactly.” 

He finally closes the distance again, lips slotting against yours as if they’re meant to be. Something clicks in the Universe, something that says that this is right and meant to happen. Two years of silent and hopeless pining, only to find out both your feelings were returned. It leaves the two of you delirious as you both deepen the kiss. Somehow, Eddie ends up scooting up his bed until his back meets the wall where his headboard would be if he had one, you straddling his lap. It’s all still so innocent; just the two of you, soft and sickly sweet kisses as you hold one another as if you expect the other to vanish. 

“Merry Christmas, Eds,” you repeat your earlier statement and reach up to his gifted locket on instinct now. It feels right. You and him this close, you and him kissing, the photo of you resting against your chest where it belongs. 

“Best Christmas ever,” he chuckles before he captures you in another kiss. 

He’s right. It’s safe to say the two of you struggle to ever top that Christmas. You make it a running joke to always include coupons in his stocking from that year on. Each year, the coupons get better, sometimes raunchy and sometimes just downright adorable. 

Good for one cuddle. 

Good for one blowjob (don’t waste it).

Good for one surprise date night. 

They’re always fairly clever, and each year, he thinks you get closer to topping that first note. 

But it’s not until years down the road, when the two of you sit across from each other in your now shared living room, in some big city you now call home, that he knows that he had finally topped that year. The look on your face when you dig into the bottom of your stocking, finding the small box that contains the diamond ring he’d been saving up for ever since that first kiss, tells him everything he needs to know. 

It’s still pretty nice when he hears you squeal yes out loud, though.

[infiniteeight8]

For your mpreg peompt could you do one for when they revealed this to others?

After considerable discussion, Stephen and Tony ultimately decide to tell their closest friends about the baby all at the same time instead of piecemeal. Under the circumstances, there are going to be a lot of questions, mostly the same questions, and answering them over and over again just sounds exhausting. 

Which is how they end up sitting side by side on the penthouse couch with Rhodey, Wong, Pepper, Christine, and Happy gathered around. Despite the fact that they’d called the meeting, it feels uncomfortably like an intervention. The worried and suspicious looks on everyone’s faces when they take in the others present doesn’t help with that. “Look, this is a good announcement, I promise,” Tony says. “We just didn’t want to have to repeat it a bunch of times.”

“You say that,” Rhodey said dryly, “but—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The room is very effectively silenced by Stephen’s bald statement.

Wong is the first to recover. “The twenty-seventh dimension?” he asks Stephen. 

“Yes,” Stephen says. “And I did take precautions, but…” He trails off and shrugged.

“Who knew dimensional travel had so much in common with safe sex?” Happy offers, bemused, and everyone breaks down laughing.

Tony feels the tension easing out of his own shoulders. Stephen relaxes, too, smiling at Tony and taking his hand. “As you probably gathered,” Stephen says when the laughter dies down, “this wasn’t planned, but we are happy about it.”

“And it’s safe?” Christine asks, her smile fading slightly. “I mean, I don’t know anything about magic, but pregnancy is very hard even on bodies that are designed for it…”

“The magic provides some safeguards,” Stephen says, “but I would be grateful if you could consult with Wong.” He shoots the other sorcerer a look.

“Of course.” Wong nods to Christine.

“I can’t wait to see you as a dad,” Rhodey tells Tony, grinning. “So much karma coming home to roost. So much.”

Tony laughs. “Come on, you don’t think Uncle Rhodey is going to catch some of that?”

Pepper is the one who catches Tony’s eye and says, softly, “Congratulations, Tony.”

He beams at her, and then he turns and beams at Stephen. The inquisition will still come, they both know it, but for now, they have the best friends.

[crowfeatherquill]

To Aid and Be Aided, Pt. 2

Link to Pt. 1

--

That shocks Astarion fully back into his body -- possibly for the first time since they’d entered Szarr Palace.

“Go to-- excuse me?” Tathlyn shrinks away from Astarion’s sudden ire, but Astarion can’t find it within him to reign it back in. He’ll ask forgiveness later. For now, “Is that all you think this is? That you’re some…some disposable resource to be drained and discarded as soon as you’re no longer of use? To be-- consumed?”

Cazador’s voice echoes over his own as he says the word and it kills any trace of hunger that might have lingered, leaving only the cold nausea of dread in its wake.

“Well. Not discarded, I’d hope,” Tathlyn says and the rueful humor in his tone makes Astarion wish an eternity of violence on whoever did this to him, “I believe I’d be what the druids call a renewable resource. If properly cared for.”

Astarion rises part-way out of the water, flooding the stone and washing away most of the blood still lingering there. Tathlyn seems taken aback by this and Astarion uses the opportunity to take his face firmly in his hands and demand eye contact.

“Tathlyn. Darling. Heart of my heart, you are not a resource. Renewable or otherwise. No more than I am.” 

Tathlyn tries to flinch away from the implication and Astarion holds him fast. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to manage this if he doesn’t do it now.

“I love you. I adore you and I’m…I’m grateful. That you’d be willing to do that for me after everything else I’ve put you through today. But you are not my mother or my sire, and I am very much capable of feeding myself.”

Tathlyn simply stares at him, looking somewhat in awe. It breaks his heart a little to think that a statement which seems so obvious to him should come as any sort of a surprise to Tathlyn.

“Now,” he continues, pushing past the quiver of emotion in his voice, “You are going to get in this bath -- with or without me, your choice -- and you are going to let me fix…this.”

Tathlyn’s expression shifts from awe to bemused indulgence with a slight twitch of one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth.

“Am I, now?”

“Yes,” Astarion replies, more firmly than he feels he should be able to get away with, “You are. Because…you wanted to know what I really wanted. And I’m telling you it’s this.”

Tathlyn’s brow takes on an uncertain tilt, but he leans his face into Astarion’s hands and closes his eyes briefly.

“Alright.” He is just as soft when giving in as he is when he insists. Every time Astarion thinks he can’t possibly love this man any more, Tathlyn finds new ways to defy expectations.

The way he removes his clothes is unceremonious and to the point. And with each article he sheds, it becomes more obvious that he has not actually paused to do more than the bare minimum since they returned from the crypt. Bruises bloom across his torso, some of them bad enough to imply cracked ribs, and though the gash on his arm seems to be the only one actively bleeding, there are several more scrapes and cuts that need tending. His hair is streaked with red and only roughly secured out of his face. His face, which, now that Astarion is really looking, is beyond exhausted. He looks as though he’s managed to miss several nights of sleep in the last twenty-four hours alone.

The whole thing makes Astarion ache for him, and sets his resolve tenfold. If no one else out there is going to bother taking care of him after everything he’s done for all of them, Astarion damn sure will. It’s the least he can do.

Once he’s stripped down to the skin, Tathlyn sinks into the water with a wince and a sigh. He leaves a respectful distance between himself and Astarion, which Astarion quickly closes, taking Tathlyn’s injured arm in soft, unhurried hands and beginning the process of washing the wound clean -- thoroughly clean. Tathlyn, to his credit, does not flinch, despite the way it must hurt.

When he’s finished, he lays Tathlyn’s arm gently on the side of the bath, out of the water, to be bandaged later, and moves on. He tends one injury at a time, with a singular focus, as the water grows cloudy again around them.

“Darling…” he ventures, “Have- have you stopped at all since we got back?”

“Took my armor off,” Tathlyn almost-mumbles, his usual enunciation sapped along with his flagging energy, “But, uh. No. Not really. Had to…make sure Halsin and Karlach were alright. And you. ���Specially you.”

Astarion frowns and brushes the cleaning cloth over a raw scrape on Tathlyn’s jaw that he’d initially mistaken for a patch of dried blood. Tathlyn seems content to lounge, eyes closed, mostly still apart from the occasional involuntary wince.

“And…no one bothered to help you, did they?”

It’s a purposefully leading question, and not particularly subtle at that, and it doesn’t take long for Tathlyn to catch on to precisely where it’s meant to lead. He takes a slow, measured breath and levers himself forward, more upright. His exhale is equally measured, if constricted in pain. Astarion’s hand goes to his chest as if to stop him -- put him back to reclining where at least he’d seemed comfortable -- but Tathlyn just takes him by the wrist and presses through until he’s leaning forward, the two of them nearly touching foreheads.

With his free hand, Tathlyn takes Astarion by the chin, running his thumb over Astarion’s lower lip.

“Before you start, you should know I didn’t ask them to,” he says, and though it’s apparent he knows it was foolish, he seems more intent on diverting Astarion’s indignation. “No need to go crusading for justice on my behalf. This,” he indicates his own battered body, “is no one’s fault but mine.”

Astarion can’t help a derisive click of his tongue against his teeth as he pulls his chin away from Tathlyn’s grip -- though the hand Tathlyn has trapped against his chest stays where it is.

“It should’ve been obvious,” he gripes, “You shouldn’t have to ask -- you’re injured.”

Tathlyn has the unmitigated gall to laugh. Astarion seethes at the way the sound makes him fall in love all over again. How dare he be so disarming while Astarion is trying to maintain a perfectly reasonable level of scorn.

“I am also a grown man,” Tathlyn points out, fondness softening the edge of every word, “You said something to that effect just a bit ago. Something like…you’re not my mother and I can look after myself?”

Astarion tries to glower at him, but Tathlyn only shifts the hand he’d pulled away from to the nape of his neck and brings their foreheads back together, toying with Astarion’s hair until he shuts his eyes and lets out a forced breath of resignation.

“I’ll be alright, love,” he insists, “And anyway. Tell me you’re not enjoying bossing me around. At least a little?”

“As if I would ever admit it. I’d never get another chance.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Astarion elects to ignore the things that thought does to his insides, pulling away from Tathlyn’s grip instead to survey the state of the water.

“We’ll need to clear this again,” he says, aiming for a businesslike tone and getting mostly ill-concealed fluster. “There’s still your hair to deal with and I refuse to try washing it in this murk.”

Tathlyn raises a brow and releases his grip on Astarion’s wrist.

“If there’s something you’d like me to do, you’re going to need to be a little more direct than that.”

Astarion is not really capable of flushing anymore, but his expression betrays that if he could be, he would be.

“Of all the times for cheek, now? Really.”

Tathlyn attempts an innocent shrug and fumbles into a cringe of pain partway through. Astarion starts back toward him and realizes he doesn’t know precisely where he can touch that will help rather than make things worse. The thought leaves his hands hovering, nervy and unsettled, until Tathlyn bats at the air in what he supposes is meant to be a gesture of dismission.

“S’alright. I’m okay. Promise.” He seems to second guess the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, and then, after a moment of re-assessment, “Nothing’s broken, at least. Pretty sure about that.”

“Then sit still, damn you. No more of this teasing, not if it’s going to hurt you.”

“Yes, nurse.”

Tathlyn’s expression should vex him, Astarion is quite sure, but somehow he can’t manage to stay upset with him for more than a moment. He turns his attention to getting the water clean -- a feat of magical engineering he might even be impressed by under less distressing circumstances -- and, perhaps a little reluctantly, pulls himself out of the bath to sit at the edge.

The air is cool against his skin -- not unpleasantly so, but enough that he can see why there are dressing gowns set aside in easy reach. Tathlyn is looking up at him with that curious furrow in his brow again.

“It’ll be easier with me up here,” he explains, “And behind you. If you don’t mind.”

Tathlyn hums, a sound on the crossroads of understanding and consent, and Astarion settles at his back, picking through the various soaps, oils, and perfumes as he goes. 

The first thing is to pluck at the leather tie Tathlyn uses to hold his hair back until he’s able to get it to fall loose. It always takes him a little by surprise just how long Tathlyn’s hair is -- he so often wears it tied back that Astarion forgets. It’s a sorry sight as it cascades into the water -- dull, sweat-mussed, and somewhat tangled -- but this, of all the things he’s done, feels like familiar territory.

He coaxes Tathlyn’s head back so he can wet his hair all the way to the scalp, and begins the laborious process of working out the knots, dirt, and blood. He watches as he works, as Tathlyn seems to drift in and out of focus, evidently soothed the point of lethargy under Astarion’s careful attention.

“You know,” he says, in a precious moment of lucidity, “The Matrons used to do this. With each other, mostly, although sometimes trusted servants got to help.”

Astarion’s hands go still in Tathlyn’s hair but he restrains the comments that come to mind the quickest. Instead, he simply prompts, “Go on…?”

“It always seemed…like the kind of thing you only ever did for someone important,” Tathlyn elaborates, though Astarion is still not entirely sure what to make of where he’s going with this, “It was a privilege. To get to bathe somebody else. To be bathed was an even bigger one. It’s…nice. I guess. To feel special like that. With you. Not a servant.”

Astarion laughs softly and bends down to kiss Tathlyn’s forehead at the hairline.

“You are special to me, my sweet. Even if it seems I have to remind you every now and again.”

Eventually, Tathlyn’s hair returns to its usual color, and Astarion helps him adjust his posture so he can recline against Astarion’s legs while Astarion takes the now-clean strands into a towel he’s spread over his lap. He doubts Tathlyn will be awake long enough to let it dry completely, so he does what he can while he has the opportunity -- gets as much of the water out as he can reasonably manage and works it into a loose braid to keep it out of Tathlyn’s face.

As he works, Tathlyn goes more and more slack against his legs, so that by the time Astarion has well and truly finished with his hair and goes to move, he finds he’s pinned by what must be most of Tathlyn’s weight. He sighs -- more affectionate than he can really manage to be exasperated -- and brushes his knuckles across Tathlyn’s cheek and jaw, hoping to rouse him as gently as he can.

“Alright, you,” he says, “I think if we stay in this damp any longer we’ll start growing mold.”

Tathlyn shifts, but instead of leaning forward like Astarion expects him to, he presses stubbornly back against Astarion’s legs, pinning him more firmly in place.

“You said stay still,” he says, in the most wheedling tone Astarion has ever heard him use, “So I got comfortable. Now you want me to move?”

“I don’t suppose it would entice you at all to know that you’ll likely be more comfortable in a bed?” Astarion pushes back against Tathlyn with his knees, trying in vain to apply enough pressure to shift him without hurting him. “You know -- like the ones we paid for upstairs? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but they’re quite nice.”

“Seems cold,” Tathlyn responds, “I’ll stay here if it’s all the same to you.”

Astarion lets out another forced breath -- this one a bit more irritated than the last -- and gives one last fruitless shove against Tathlyn’s back before giving up entirely.

“And how would you know whether it’s going to be cold? You’re hardly even awake.”

“You’re cold,” Tathlyn insists, “Since you got out.”

“I am for all intents and purposes a corpse, darling. We’re not exactly known for retaining heat. And besides, that’s what the dressing gowns are for -- now are you going to get up on your own or shall I arrange for you to be lifted? Because I should warn you -- I’m not going to be able to do it, and the only person I can think of who could and isn’t currently recovering from a nasty bout of ‘dead-a-few-hours-ago’ is Lae’zel. And something tells me you’d rather I didn’t call her in here.”

“Hmmm. You make a very compelling argument,” Tathlyn concedes. Mercifully, he shifts his weight forward, freeing Astarion’s legs from his devious trap. “Could maybe use a little help, but I’ll try my best not to drag you in.”

It’s an awkward process, what with Astarion not being particularly strong, but between the two of them, they manage to get Tathlyn standing more or less on his own while Astarion finds what he judges to be the most comfortable of the selection of robes. He returns loosely draped in one that’s lightweight and a deep midnight blue -- more for modesty than any real insulation -- and offers the thicker one to Tathlyn.

While Tathlyn goes through the somewhat-stiffened motions of wrapping himself in the robe, Astarion stoops to pick through the injury kit they’d abandoned by the side of the bath for bandages -- the one thing there is left to do, now that Tathlyn is clean and mostly dry.

He holds his hand out, expecting Tathlyn to extend his injured arm and let him finish tending the wound, but instead finds himself taken by the arm and pulled into a tight embrace. Tathlyn’s body radiates warmth and he rubs one hand over Astarion’s back as if he’s attempting to encourage circulation. Astarion has to fight not to melt and forget the bandages entirely.

“Darling,” he clears his throat, pointedly, “This is lovely but I can’t actually get at your arm while we’re like this.”

“Leave it. It’ll heal.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. I am decidedly unwilling to let you stain those perfectly good linens. Now give it here. It won’t take long.”

They part -- though Tathlyn stays as close as Astarion will let him -- just long enough for Astarion to bandage Tathlyn’s arm securely, before Tathlyn pulls him back in and brings his head to rest on Astarion’s shoulder. Astarion presses a gentle kiss into the crook of Tathlyn’s neck and tries not to inhale too deeply.

“Y’know…offer’s still open, if you’re hungry,” Tathlyn says, as though that isn’t the furthest thing from Astarion’s mind at the moment.

“I think it’s about time we got you off your feet, hm?” he prompts in lieu of an answer, “You’ve had a very long day. We can leave that for tomorrow.”

Astarion’s words are quiet, coaxing, and not particularly subtle, but they seem to be enough to put the matter to bed at least for the time being. Tathlyn nods mutely into Astarion’s shoulder.

Their quarters are quiet when they enter -- many of their companions having retired to bed, and those who haven’t having settled into whatever evening routines they’ve begun to establish during their stay. Astarion and Tathlyn fall into bed together, as has been their habit for some time now, and though Astarion still has far too much to think about to find rest yet, Tathlyn sags against him as soon as they’re off their feet.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, the words mostly breath for Tathlyn’s ears alone, “Feeling any better, at least?”

“Mm,” Tathlyn adjusts his posture slightly more towards horizontal, and tugs Astarion with him, “Much, actually. Just…tired.”

“I’d expect nothing less, darling. You’ve been through so much.”

Tathlyn’s brow furrows and he shifts, slightly. Opens one eye.

“You too, though,” he says, tone taking on an edge of insistence, “You alright?”

Astarion pauses to think before he answers. Tathlyn’s weight rests comfortably against his side, still giving off vital, living warmth, and keeping him from drifting off beyond the confines of his own body again. The lingering phantom feeling of Cazador’s blood on his skin has faded entirely. Some pain remains on the periphery of his awareness, and the hunger still lurks, as it always does, but these things are not new, and not urgent. They can be addressed some other time.

“I am, I think,” he says, with as much finality as he can muster, “Or at the very least I’m on my way. Consider your duties fulfilled for the moment.”

Tathlyn yawns and settles deeper into his slump.

“Never stop taking care of you,” he mumbles, “But…that’s alright. For now.”

Astarion occupies himself running his fingers across Tathlyn’s back until he feels his lover’s breathing even out and deepen in rest. Tomorrow, all the crises of the oncoming apocalypse of the Absolute will surely crash back in on them, and Tathlyn will chase off after the next impossible errand -- and more than likely drag him along whether he cares what they’re doing or not. Odds are they’ll end the day just as battered and exhausted as they did today, if perhaps less distraught. But that’s to deal with after dawn. For now, none of it matters. They simply rest.

[luveline]

Maybe colt comforting reader when things for her film aren’t going right 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Colt comes to your rescue (clumsily) when you have a hard day. fem!reader, 1k words

Very minor plot spoilers for The Fall Guy (2024) if any

“I think he’s mad at you.” 

You pause where you’d been scrubbing your eyes with your hands, though you don’t look at him. Colt Seavers seems to follow you everywhere you go, and consequently plays witness to your many breakdowns. “Thanks, Colt. That’s astute.” 

“Are you mad at me? Why are you mad at me? It’s been ten seconds,” he complains. He has a unique talent for sounding flirty and needy at once. 

“No, Colt. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.” 

Colt is grinning when you meet his eyes. He has blood, fake or real undetermined, drying in the scruff of his facial hair. You gesture to yourself in a slow circle in the approximate area, to which Colt smiles again. 

“You look perfect,” he says confidently. 

“You have blood in your beard.” 

“Oh, right.” 

You sigh heavily, taking the few paces back to a stack of safety mattresses for a quick break. You’ll get up and help whoever needs helping as soon as you can feel your toes. Colt stays where he is, squinting against the sun, strands of blonde ends kissing his tan forehead. The summer shoots are good for him, he always looks so beachy. You’re exhausted all the time. 

As he notices. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“‘Cos I was sleeping badly and then I got this new mattress that has four hybrid layers, there’s a foam layer, and then there’s titanium springs,” —he sees your distant expression and his own flickers— “anyways, you could try it if you want. Test it out with me. Or– Not with me. With me if you want. We’d have fun. But not with me if you don’t want to.” 

You’d laugh if you had the energy. “Do you wanna sit down?” you ask. 

“God, yes, please.” 

He has another talent for being insanely handsome no matter the day. You look like you’ve been badly rewarmed before serving, where he looks like he rolled out of bed with a smile. He’s smiling at you now, the foolish kind that’ll fluster you if you let him do it for too long. “Stop,” you say quietly. 

“You’re doing amazing.” 

“Thank you. You’re the only person who thinks so, unfortunately.” 

You smile at him weakly. Worried you look pathetic, you turn your face to your lap and clasp your fingers together. 

“That’s not true. Mayview is old-fashioned, that’s all, he was around when they were still killing horses on TV.” 

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“But it’s the modern era. He doesn’t get to make you feel like shit, or I’ll make him feel like shit.” He pretends to charge a sucker punch. 

You lean forward a touch, not quite hugging your knees but tempted to fold in on yourself nonetheless, the heat of the sun a memory on your neck as the evening begins and cloud cover floods in. 

The safety mattresses beneath you squeak and shush against each other. Your weight and Colt’s slides together slowly. He might be pushing himself a little with his boot, but you pretend not to notice as his hand comes to rest between your shoulders. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” you mumble. 

As soon as you’ve said it you’re hoping he can’t hear you, but he does. He might have injured pretty much anything that can be fractured, sprained, or just plain broken, but he has stellar hearing. “You do everything right. You do!” he says, quietly and passionately at once, “They don’t realise it, but you’re the glue keeping this whole thing together.” 

“What are you?” you ask, bemused.

His hand is warm on your shoulder, unafraid where he hesitates to answer, “I don’t know. The test dummy? The guy who gets set on fire a lot?” 

“How is that?” 

“Warm,” he says, beaming, his face so unexpectedly close that you can see the glucose shining in the blood on his cheek. Fake blood. “You wanna try it? I’m sure I could convince the guys.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

His voice turns silky. “Good, I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.” 

“Let me?” 

“You could get hurt.”

You give in, melted maybe by his warm tones, or exhausted by a day of playing mom for a director who can barely tell his left from his right. Your face presses to his shoulder and your spine sags under his hand, prompting Colt to pull you flush against his side. He always waits for your signals for stuff like this, no matter how desperate he might confess to being. “Can you make them all leave me alone?” you mumble into his jacket, the fabric rough against your nose. 

“Obviously I can, but… We could run away.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. You can rub sunblock on my back, I can hold the umbrella over your head while you read.” 

“They have stands for that sort of stuff. Or you can shove it in the sand, you know.”

“I wanna do something nice for you,” he interrupts, the sound of a smile in his voice as he gives you a friendly jostle. “That’s the point.” 

“You’re plenty nice, Colt.” 

And he is. He saw you were upset and he came jogging upto you valiantly, and your side-armed cuddle is really pushing the pep back into your life. You take a few deep breaths under the weight of his arm before turning to him, brave, ready to go back to work if it means he’s gonna drive you home tonight. “Thank you for caring.” You kiss his cheek, careful of the fake blood. “You’re super nice.” 

You miss the heat of him the second you stand, but there really is work to do. 

“I’m super nice?” he calls. “How nice is super? Nice enough to get another one of those, or what? Are they by the metre?” 

You bite back a smile. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” He must catch someone’s eye. “She can’t hear me. It’s cool. We like each other.” 

Nobody saves face quite like Colt. 

[noorthehood]

Until You • 04

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Ch. 01 Here

Ch. 02 Here

Ch. 03 Here

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

........………………………….…………………......................

“Eight thousand fifty six…Eight thousand fifty seven…Eight thousand fifty eight…”

The voice reverberates from the screen on Miguel’s left, each count punctuated by the sound of a ball hitting a ceiling. He closes his eyes, trying to get the tension in his back to dissipate as he takes a deep breath, hands resting flat on the desk he’s leaning onto.

“She’s been going at it since she woke up.” Miguel finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue, eyes still shut in an attempt to ease the strain.

Jessica crosses her arms and glances at the screen, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I’m sure she’ll tire herself out eventually,” she offers, trying to sound optimistic.

“That’s what I said too.” He looks at her from over his shoulder. “Three hours ago.”

Her eyes widened.

“She lost count around the three thousand mark and decided to just start over again.” Miguel explains, a mix of disbelief and resignation in his tone. “Looks like she's determined to reach ten thousand, for reasons only she knows.”

He lowers his voice.

“She’s aware I can hear her, Jess. It’s psychological warfare.”

“Well,” Jessica mumbles, shaking her head in bemusement. “At least you only have two thousand to go.”

Approaching the screen with cautious curiosity, Jessica’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she takes in the bizarre sight before her. The live feed revealed a plain, minimally furnished room, where the young woman lay flat on the floor, engrossed in her repetitive task. With each count, she throws a small ball up towards the ceiling, only to catch it and start the cycle anew. But that was not the only thing that caught Jessica’s attention.

“Is that—”

“Paint? Yeah.” Miguel responded with a sarcastic smile, running his hands down his face, exhaustion etched on his features. “Lyla said we should give her something to pass the time with. Quickly backfired, as you can see.”

Jessica's gaze shifts back to the live feed, where every wall of the room aside from the windows were covered in a riot of colors. Abstract shapes and bold splashes of paint adorned every inch, creating a chaotic tapestry of creativity—or chaos, rather. The room, once plain and bare, had transformed into a vibrant canvas, as if a feral toddler had been let loose with tubes of acrylic paint.

“And…how long did you say she’s been in there?” She asks as the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the ceiling continues.

“Few days. Three, four maybe.” Miguel responds before Lyla promptly interjects with a correction.

“Seven, actually. Seven too many.”

Jessica’s jaw drops, and she immediately turns to face Miguel with an incredulous frown.

“Seven days? You’ve been keeping her in that room for a whole week?” She exclaims in disbelief. “No wonder the girl’s lost her mind! Are you insane?”

“It’s not like we’re keeping her hostage, Jess, she has nowhere else to go—”

“Is her door locked?”

He stays silent for a moment, then sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Then you might as well call her your prisoner.” She scoffs.

“It’s for her own safety. I have to monitor her status while figuring out a way to get her and the other one back to wherever they came from.” Miguel continues. “I’m not doing this for the fun of it, I’m trying to help them."

Jessica adjusts her goggles and places a hand on her hip as he settles on a nearby chair. That man truly had a strange way to go about things.

“How’s the other one?” She asks with a sigh.

Miguel shakes his head.

“Still comatose. But at least she’s quiet.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on the live feed from the room where the young woman continued her repetitive task.

"You know, I've been trying to figure out what happened," He begins, his voice tinged with frustration. "I've studied the data, analyzed the machine—”

“Carmen.” Lyla chimes in.

“Yes, thank you Lyla—analyzed Carmen, reviewed all footage... But I’ve got nothing."

Jessica nodded, her gaze focused on Miguel as he continued.

"And their resistance to the glitches, even without wearing the gizmo— that’s what’s most baffling to me." Miguel explains, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Everything we knew about the interdimensional travel process suggests that without that bracelet, they should have been affected by the dimensional inconsistencies."

"But they haven’t," Jessica mused, her brows furrowing in thought. "So, what does that mean?"

Miguel slightly shrugged, his exhaustion evident in his posture. "I wish I knew. It's like they defy the rules, the very laws of the multiverse. I've never seen anything like it."

He leans forward, his gaze fixed on the screen displaying the woman in the paint-covered room.

"I've considered every possibility, every hypothesis," Miguel continued. "But nothing seems to explain their resistance to the glitches, or why the go-home machine fails to send her—and only her— back."

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words as he stands up to face her.

“I’m at a dead-end, Jess. Seriously.” Miguel admits in a voice marked with a touch of hopelessness, like a confession of his limitations. “I need your help.”

Jessica uncrosses her arms, her expression softening as she takes in the sincerity in his plea. She knows him well enough to understand that for him to ask for help, he must be truly at his wit's end.

"What the hell do you think I can do that you haven’t been able to figure out? You’re the scientist here,” A hint of skepticism laces her words.

“I’m just a biologist, Jess. There’s only so much I can do.” Miguel retorts. “I need you to ask around, talk to people. You know that’s not my forte.”

“That I know.” Jessica sighs again as she looks up at him.

It was unlike him to show vulnerability, much less ask for help . The man was a logistician, driven by pragmatism, often making decisions based on calculated outcomes rather than emotions. His actions could sometimes lack rationality, but deep down, Jessica knew that feelings were not his strong suit. He had cultivated a reputation for prioritizing the greater good, even if it meant making difficult sacrifices—the type of man who would surrender one individual if it meant saving ten others. But something about the woman on the screen seemed to stir an uncharacteristic side of him, disrupting his usual clarity.

Was he worried ?

“Listen. I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m busy enough as is with the wedding prep and the whole Spider-Woman thing.” She preemptively raises a finger as he opens his mouth to keep him from interrupting. “ But …I’ll see what I can do. I just can’t guarantee how long it’ll take.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Miguel's lips, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. "Thanks, Jess. I knew I could count on you."

She raises an eyebrow playfully as she tinkers on her gizmo, preparing to go back on the field. "Don't get too sentimental on me, now. I'm only doing this to keep you from bringing the mood down on missions with your…domestic problems."

He chuckles lightly. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

As if on cue, an interdimensional portal materializes in the middle of the spacious lab. Jess swiftly mounts her bike, her movements a testament to her expertise. With a flick of her foot, she kicks up the kickstand using the back of her heel, and the engine purrs to life.

"In return," she shouts over the cacophony of the revving engine and the ongoing interdimensional racket, "do me a favor and let that poor girl get some fresh air, alright? She's not a puzzle to be solved or a lab rat…just a woman with poor luck." Her words carry a touch of concern. "I know you mean well, but we don't want her developing Stockholm syndrome, yeah? This is supposed to be the good guys HQ, not Alcatraz ."

Miguel reluctantly nods. She has a point.

“Oh, and Miguel?” Jess puts her bike in gear and revs her engine.

He raises an eyebrow and flinches at the loud noise. “What?”

She smiles.

“Looks like she just lost count again.”

........………………………….…………………......................

A.N: A slightly shorter chapter to kick off the weekend!

Just laying some groundwork, I promise we'll be getting a lot more Miguel/YN interactions from now on.

Let me know how we feel about this update pacing (shorter chapters/faster updates or longer chapters/not-as-fast updates?)

See ya soon for more! As usual faster updates on Ao3!

Ch. 05

[theficpusher]

Fight me? by lunarheslwt | nr | 1747 'Fight me,' the high voice quipped from under the mountain of pillows, and Harry let out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut immediately because what was he doing?? The anesthesia must still be wearing off. Harry walked up to the patient again, bemused, and tugged at the pillow, but the person had a surprisingly strong grip on them. Again, with more annoyance in his tone, he said, 'fight me.' Or, Harry is a nurse, to a slightly loopy and sassy Louis.

Green Jello | T | 2341 In Liam’s defense, he’d mostly been joking. Louis didn’t see it that way, of course, but he wasn’t sure anyone else would either, had their best friend dared them to jump into the ocean in the middle of December “for the vine,” and they’d ended up in the hospital with a nasty case of pneumonia and a very high chance of being stuck there through Christmas. *** Louis is stuck in the hospital for the holidays. The only spot of hope is his unfairly pretty nurse.

sunbeams by ohsailor | nr | 2492 Harry is the new neighbour suffering from insomnia. Louis is the night nurse across the hall trying to find ways to help him sleep. They find one that works.

One Way Out by nialleritdidnthappen | G | 5060 Niall was almost surprised that anxiety hadn’t gripped him the moment he got home, that he wasn’t sitting vigilant by the phone, willing on sheer, idiotic hope for the burner number to pop up. The physical demands of the night had taken their toll, so much so that he simply focused on breathing deeply, every exhale clearing his lungs as well as his mind, emptying it of everything but the silent mantra: All you can do is wait.

beat the darkness by turnyourankle | T | 7754 Harry is a volunteer nurse stationed in Cairo; Louis is one of the patients in his ward.

Night Shift by banaanipoika | E | 8899 Louis is into his nurse and suspects the feeling may be mutual. He’s not afraid to take it further and push their relationship beyond the bounds of professionalism, but Harry has been erring on the side of caution. One night, twelve hours into what’s turned out to be a sixteen hour double-shift, stressed, lonely, and delirious with exhaustion, Harry gives in and shows Louis just how unprofessional he can be.

You Gotta Swim, Swim For Your Life [Series] by jaerie | E | 25242 Harry never thought he would find himself battling cancer. Louis never thought he would find himself so attached to one of his patients.

Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) by bluegreenish | E | 28000 Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back. or, the one where, after two years, paediatrician Harry returns to Silver Street Hospital and with it to paediatric nurse Louis' life.

Fractured by thisonegoes | E | 33022 “Can you tell me your name?” A nurse. A nurse's voice. His penlight flashes in front of Zayn's eyes, first his right, then his left. A quick back and forth. To test him. To see if he’s still here. He blinks it away. It’s too bright, stop it, I’m here, am I dying? Hospital AU.

[kloppinthekop]

So many! Hard to choose one to ask about hmmm but let’s go with Cheeky (Domitrent) 😁

Oh Kris, good choice. 😉 This was actually the very first Domitrent fic I started, way back in September I think? But then I got writer’s block, tried to get over writer’s block by starting an AU that became Dream Come True instead, and then never returned to this one. And since I probably won’t ever finish it… I’ll post an extra long excerpt of it for you! 💕

(Sticking it behind a cut just so I don’t overwhelm anyone coming across this on their dash.)

⋆꙳✧༄ Cheeky

Dom is close with everyone. He loves the team - they are all like family already. He knows Ibou from before at Leipzig, so naturally he had gravitated toward him in the beginning of pre-season training, but now he is friends with all the others too.

He’s particularly close with one new teammate in particular.

“Trent! Bro! What are you doing?!” Dominik throws his arms out in frustration. “I’m right here, bro!”

Trent finally glances his way, staring in that intense way of his. He always looks when he’s in a competitive mood… which is always. Dom frowns at him – more of a pout than a frown, actually – before resuming his run forward, taking him into the path of the Scouser, who is now within arm’s reach. If Dom just stretched out his fingertips…

But Trent has already broken into a sprint in the other direction, before crossing the ball back into Dominik’s feet. It’s a perfect pass, and really, Dom isn’t even surprised anymore. Without second thought, he tucks the ball into the back of the net.

The whistle blows, and his five-a-side team all raise their hands in triumph, satisfied but mostly exhausted by their victory in the summer heat. Dom is less out of breath than some of the others… but then Trent settles into stride next to him. Dom puts an arm around his shoulders, and is out of breath for a different reason now when he feels the other man lean into the touch.

“Good game, that.”

Dominik snorts. “Would be better if you passed to me more.”

“Bro. I always pass to you.”

Dom gives him a bemused side-eye.

“Well, you or Mo.” Trent concedes. “Mo always scores. Do you?”

Dom pretends to be hurt by this statement, clutching at his chest. “I always score, bro. Ask Neymar.” Trent squints, acting like he hasn’t already Googled the incident Dom is referring to. This gets him a light shove, Dom pushing his body further into Trent’s side. “I never miss.”

“Yeah, yeah, bigshot.” Trent smells good up close, even though they’ve had a tough training session. “You do your job, I do mine. Stop bein’ cheeky.”

Dom smiles. Secretly he knows Trent likes his teasing. Doesn’t mind it one bit.

´ + . ✵ . ` ´ ★

Dom hears that word about five more times before he asks what it means.

“What is this word… Cheeky?”

Trent and Curtis both laugh, while Dominik’s eyebrows furrow slightly, confused.

“Nah, lad, it’s a good thing,” Curtis says, eyes crinkling in that lighthearted way of his. “Deffo a good thing,” he adds, before slapping Dom on the back and returning to his reps.

Dominik turns to Trent, putting on a face that his teammates call the “puppy dog look.”

“Yeah, no, it’s a good thing. I dunno, it’s like, cheeky humor? Like someone who can banter and get away with it. Like Robbo- except Robbo’s like, beyond cheeky, really. Maybe more like Kostas?”

Dom nods. “Ah, yes. Okay, I see. Cheeky.”

The upper left corner of Trent’s mouth turns up just slightly, and Dom can’t help but smile in return.

“So Kostas is Greek scouser, yes? Does ‘cheeky’ make one...” Dom searches his brain for the English word. “...Honorary scouser?”

Trent’s face breaks out into a full grin at this point. “Suppose there’s a lot of overlap, yeah.” He wipes a bead of sweat off his brow. “You know, you could be. You already have the number 8.” Trent flicks the sweat at Dom, who ducks out of the way. Trent laughs at that. “You can be an honorary Scouser when you score your first hat-trick for the club.” Trent has a twinkle in his eye, and Dom isn’t sure if he is being ‘bantered’ or not.

Just at that moment, Curtis pops back up in the background. “Yeah boi! Then all the fans are gonna call you szo-BOSS-zlai!”

Dom looks at Trent, who shakes his head and tries not to laugh.

It’s kind of cute.

Dominik grins and grabs Trent by the shoulders, pulling him back into his chest before pushing him forwards.

“Stop messing about and get back to work, children!” Virgil shouts. Cody looks at them and parrots back, “Yeah, children!”

Dom and Trent don’t help their cause by breaking out into giggles, but they get back to work. They stick by each other’s sides for the entire session.

[end excerpt]

[theworldisquietheretooquiet]

If you’re still taking prompts, snow for Maedhros?

Thank you! Decided to go with Celebrimbor distracting his uncle :)

722 words

Maedhros sighs and rubs at his temples. He flips through the pile of papers heaped on his desk in the futile hope it may have diminished by itself. It has not.

He stretches and cracks his cramped fingers, then grudgingly returns to his current task: a very long report from Caranthir about the positives and negatives of trading for glass with the Falathrim versus the Mithrim Sindar.

Whoomph!

He looks up in surprise as the silence of his study is disturbed by the sound of something hitting his window. He frowns and glances out, half expecting to see a partially frozen bird who’s flown too far north. But the snow-covered inner courtyard of Himring is as bleak and empty as ever.

Shaking his head in bemusement, he sits back down and tries to remember where he was in Caranthir’s lengthy explanation of different methods for colouring glass.

Whoomph!

He stands up quickly and this time he presses his face to the window, scanning the courtyard in confusion.

He is just about ready to go to the healers so they can check out his ears when he considers looking down. There, still not quite tall enough to reach the windowsill, is Tyelpe.

His nephew is pressed flat against the wall, an enormous grin splitting his face, and in his hands, he is rolling and moulding a snowball.

Maedhros begins to chuckle to himself. Of course, he should have known; he remembers Curufin and the twins playing a similar trick once, a very long time ago.

He leaves his study and makes his way to the door to the courtyard. The two guards posted there are murmuring to each other and peering out at Celebrimbor.

“My Lord!” One says, hurriedly, noticing him approaching. “We apologise for you finding us so distracted. It is only we are worried about Lord Curufin’s young son. It is very cold today, and he strangely keeps picking up the snow!”

Maedhros suppresses a smile. “I think it has been rather too long since any of us witnessed a child at play, we have quite forgotten what it looks like. Your concern is appreciated, but do not worry, I will go and set a good example for him.” He cannot help winking at his startled guards as he walks outside.

When he is still ten metres from Celebrimbor, who has not yet noticed him, he bends down and picks up a fistful of snow. It is icier than the fluffy stuff of Aman, and it is harder to shape with one hand, but he does not care because when it hits his nephew directly on the back of the head, Tyelpe’s answering shriek and delighted smile are incomparable.

“Uncle! What a coincidence seeing you here. I was simply taking a walk in the grounds of your um, beautiful fortress. I’m not sure why you would throw snow at me!”

“Ah, Tyelpe, you should know better than to challenge the calculating and shrewd Lord of Himring.” He is now level with both his nephew and the windowsill, and swiftly sweeps the layer of snow there off and onto Celebrimbor.

Tyelpe squeals and darts away from him and Maedhros laughs.

Celebrimbor catches his breath and shakes as much of the snow as he can out of the back of his furs. “Uncle, that was cowardly! If you want a fair fight, we must go round to the stables. We can set up bases at the opposing ends!”

Maedhros opens his mouth to explain how much work he must get through and then stops. His nephew’s eyes are pleading with excitement and joy, and he imagines how red faced in annoyance Curufin will be when he returns his son to him sopping wet and exhausted. He thinks about the letter after Caranthir’s; it is from the wife of a Captain who fell in a surprise orc raid.

Maedhros turns and begins to stride for the stables. “Come along then,” he calls. “If you do not hurry, I will have got all the best snow.”

Tyelpe catches him up giggling. “That’s silly, Uncle. What do you mean the best snow? It’s all the same!”

Maedhros only sighs and shakes his head mysteriously, and Celebrimbor runs off ahead of him, stopping every ten metres or so to study the snow with serious, wondering eyes.