#ah tagging my old enemy

[veiledbyart]

VGen Commission Sale!

With me having opened VGen commissions a little while ago, I'm now working towards getting verified over there!

So with that in mind, I've decided to hold a commission sale until the end of October!

Until then, all my commissions on VGen will be 20% off! And if you give me a follow over there, that discount gets raised to 25% off!

If you've been considering to commission me, now is your time~!

[autistic-katara]

if i have blocked you or you have blocked me we are enemies, no matter whether we argued for hours or never spoke but found it annoying that the other’s posts were clogging our dash.

[thekinslayed]

Sweet Disposition

summary | Gwayne is welcomed to King's Landing by his beloved niece.

pairing | gwayne hightower x niece!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), oral (f), just the tip, cum eating, reader has blue eyes and red hair, gwayne is a classist (and is in love with the niece that looks like him lol), incest, lotsa rubbing, lotsa yappin'

song rec | Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap

wordcount | 3.2k

note | welcome to the stage, gwayne hightower!!! i just had to, u guys. i’m not too sure how the age gap’s looking since idrk how old gwayne is, but do assume they did stuff the first time when the reader was of age :)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Ah, sweetling!”

You squealed at the sight of him, rising from your seat by the window to rush over to the door. Your uncle grunted in surprise as you jumped into his arms, chuckling amusedly in your embrace. You had waited all day for him. Worry began to fester in your gut when there was no sign of him as the day grew dark. Mother said they must’ve gotten held back by the impending storm that was painting the blue sky a desolate gray. However, the gods have granted you your wish. Soon enough, a flurry of green flashed through the gates of King’s Landing, and Gwayne Hightower made his way to find you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, pouting at him. His chest rumbled against yours in another chuckle, the rich sound of his amusement a lively song.

“My deepest apologies, princess. Some trouble down in the Kingsroad had us going a longer way. No worry now, I am here,” he explained, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “Brother dearest keeping you locked in here?”

You scoffed, pulling away from your uncle. His bright blues wandered around the expanse of your chambers, observing the various Valyrian tapestries decorating your walls. He admired you, as you trailed your hands over the cushions of the settee. Pure Targaryen, all except for the vibrant red of your curls. That was all Hightower, much to his delight.

“More so mother than Aegon, he doesn’t give two shits about me. Either way, it’s always him and mother huddled together in those council meetings. And Aemond, when he’s not off to gods know where. War feels pretty boring if you ask me,” you responded, earning a raise of the eyebrow from the redhead. 

“It won’t be boring once thousands of men die for your cause, princess, all so you could stay here and sit prettily while we fight for you.” He remained standing as you plopped down onto the plush chaise, reaching for a cherry from the plate of fruit situated on the side table.

It was tart, bursting with its dark juices as you sunk your teeth into its plump flesh. Gwayne watched as you wrapped your lips around the round fruit. It tainted your lips a luscious red, utterly delectable.

Your brows furrowed in offense, while a frown turned your pretty lips downward. “Are you saying I’m useless? If only I were given the chance, I could fly off on my dragon and burn more than half the enemy’s army before you could even engage,” you said, to which Gwayne replied with an understanding nod. 

“I know you would, darling, but we cannot have you harmed. You are too precious to be sent off to battle, take it from me,” your uncle replied, placating. You huffed, grumbling under your breath, making Gwayne bite back an amused smirk. Throwing away the cherry’s pit, you grabbed a strawberry this time, wrapping your fingers around its leaves to deliver it in one bite. Your cheeks had hollowed as you sucked on its juices, provocating… inviting. This had wiped the amusement off the elder Hightower’s face, making him clear his throat and shift where he stood, A smirk of your own rose on your lips at this success.

“How does Daeron fare?” you asked nonchalantly. Gwayne shrugged, waving a hand dismissively as he continued his exploration of your apartments. It was quite spacious, though the smallest out of the entire royal family, but it was comfortable enough. It was situated at the far end of the hall, farther away from prying eyes and curious ears.

“You know him, itching to fly back at a moment’s notice,” your uncle informed, to which you nodded in understanding. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time in King’s Landing, only in recent years. When the youngest was sent off to Oldtown to squire, you were tasked with accompanying him as his eldest sister. You were ten and five then, only returning after six years when your grandsire decided it was high time for you to be married off. In your time away from the capital, you had missed much, evidently enough. The war had put any courtship or marriage proposals on pause, which aggravated you. If only you had known, you would have spent your days back in Oldtown happily. With Daeron and your dragons. With Gwayne.

“Not curious as to how I’ve been, little red?” he mused. You smirked at him, tilting your head to the side in feigned curiosity. 

“How are you then, uncle? Missing your little squire?” you queried, teasing. Gwayne narrowed his eyes at you, which you mimicked. You were no stranger to your uncle’s tastes. Being away from the careful watch of your grandsire allowed him much freedom to do as he liked, especially when the old codgers were asleep. It was why you hadn’t seen much of him in your first years in Oldtown. The elder Hightower used to barely show an interest in his sister’s children, kept occupied by the pursuit of his merriment. He remained detached from you, up until you accidentally came across some unknown servant stumbling out of his chambers late one night, doublet unbuttoned and breeches unlaced. It sparked your curiosity, had ignited a carnal hunger deep within you. He had opened your eyes to such proclivities, had broken away the conservative mold your faith had locked you in. 

Gwayne feigned a sarcastic laugh, walking around you to your window. “Funny.”

One could see the vastness of the horizon past the Bay from this view. The breeze a salty, refreshing prickle. It held little of the nose-scrunching stench of Flea Bottom. You craned your head to watch your uncle face the wind. His hair had gotten longer, you noted. It looked better. “Though I am a bit peeved to travel all this way to not be welcomed by my whole family, but I suppose our new Hand has been keeping your mother company,” he said, a bite of bitterness in his tone.

You stood from your seat, approaching to stand by his side. The greens of your garments matched perfectly, and so did the reds of your tresses. You were always happy to look more Hightower than Targaryen, though your blood always ran hot, much like a dragon’s.

“Jealous much? Perhaps you could ask to join them,” you teased, bumping your elbow into his playfully. Gwayne merely rolled his eyes at your implication. The sight of the Dornishman leaning too close to his sister had confirmed the rising suspicions his father had made him aware of. How convenient it was for him to be made Hand too, granted a position that brought him closer to Alicent’s level. And to share her bed at night. How exhilarating it must be to a man like Ser Criston.

“I’d rather indulge with someone that stirred something in my loins without stepping on my shoulders for leverage in this society, thank you very much.”

“Anyone in mind?”

Gwayne turned to meet your gaze. The blues of your orbs were much like his, icy and deep. He could see the freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose from the proximity, could spend all day to count each one of them. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, as fast as a blink, before pursing.

He regarded you with a gaze so familiar, yet tantalizing enough to warm the meat underneath your skin. The hairs on the back of your head stood tall in attention, prickly underneath his stare. He turned his body to face yours, and you followed suit. Gwayne could almost feel the heat exuding from you, the dragon that you were, from this distance. Almost. 

You watched him watch you. The momentary flicker of his eyes to your lips was not overlooked, igniting a spark of excitement deep in your chest. Your feet took a step closer to him, nearly closing the gap. Gwayne mimicked you, taking a step of his own. The air between the two of you grew thick, almost dizzying with tension, but neither of you made the move. This was a familiar game with your uncle. It always left you thirsting for more, had made you an addict. It had you almost sneaking off on your dragon back to Oldtown just for a taste. 

“When are you to set off then?” you asked, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You felt his fingertip begin to trace the outline of your curves, though you paid them no mind. 

“Well, it was supposed to be on the morrow, but this storm hasn’t worked out in our favor. In two days’ time, perhaps.” He had flattened his hand on the small of your back now, pulling you in subtly. You planted your hands on his chest, caressing the firm planes hidden underneath his doublet. His breath was hot on your face, bringing about a flush on your cheeks. 

“So soon?” you pouted. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

A heavy sigh escaped Gwayne’s lips. The skin on his neck was pale as he tilted his head back, littered with a light dusting of freckles. He was close to tipping over, you could feel it.

“War waits for no one, I’m afraid,” he muttered. You hummed in agreement, taking a bolder step by wrapping your arms around his neck. He tutted in warning, to which you only responded with an innocent bat of your lashes.

“We should make most of our time then,” you suggested, preening up at him suggestively. Your uncle bit his lip, pondering, deciding whether it was time for him to succumb to the magnetic pull of his body to yours. 

“Princess.” A warning.

“Uncle.” An invitation.

Gwayne pressed his lips to yours, sweet like cherry. You moaned in delight, a budding warmth in your chest bursting at the feel of his kiss. It was hungry, urgent, tainted with the promise of making up for the time you had spent away from each other’s warmth. Roaming hands found your rear, squeezing the plump flesh through your skirts. Your uncle’s wandering lips traveled their way downward, trailing to settle on the length of your neck. A whine echoed through your chambers as he bit on your neck, before smoothing over with his tongue. Something was starting to poke your hip, and your hand descended to cup it, earning a grunt from the redheaded man before you. 

A breath was hitched into his throat when you dropped to your knees, making quick work to untie his breeches. The heady scent of his cock was familiar, albeit he was unwashed, and it almost felt like coming home. Gwayne was your home. You wasted no time to press kisses to reddening tip, licking a stripe down the underside of his length before taking him whole. Your desperation was evident in your movements, head bobbing up and down fervently while you kept your eyes on him. Above you, the knight could only grunt, running a hand through his ginger tresses to keep himself grounded.

“How is it you’ve gotten better at this in my absence, hm? Had done your own practice?” he groaned, placing a guiding hand on the back of your head. You hummed around his length, the vibrations of your cavern making his cock jump. A hand replaced your mouth when you pulled away, stroking at a uniform pace as you looked up at him.

“One of Aegon’s friends said I certainly do it quite well. I have you to thank for the knowledge, I suppose,” you bragged, smirking when his blues visibly darkened at your words. He pulled you up back to your feet, leading you back to lean against a sidetable before claiming your lips once more. He was unbothered by the taste of himself on your tongue, nor by the spit painting both your cheeks in this messy exchange. You took hold of one of his hands to guide up your skirt, past your smallclothes, and settling on your mound. 

Gods, you were soaked. You had been the moment you felt his warmth, had pressed your nose into the familiar scent of his flesh. 

His fingertips trailed down your slit to collect your essence, before taking it into his mouth for a taste. You watched, hypnotized as his lips wrapped around his fingers. Your skirts were then bunched up to your hips, your smallclothes falling to the floor once you untied the ribbons that held them together. The figurines on your table rattled as the wood accommodated your weight when you had shifted to lean further. You beckoned him closer by wrapping your leg around his trim waist, and an arm around his shoulders. It was almost like you readied to dance as he took hold of your waist, an embrace so rehearsed, so familiar. The underside of his cock pressed against your weeping cunny, and with the sway of his hips, the sweet song of your whines filled Gwayne’s ears. His cockhead snagged against your pearl when he pushed his hips at a perfect angle, making you both moan. 

Calloused hands took hold of your thighs, dimpling the soft flesh under his hold. You gripped the edge of the table to ground yourself, throwing your head back as your uncle rubbed against you deliciously. He knew how much you liked this, well aware of how much power he held over you when he teased you with the promise of his claiming of your maidenhead. It stoked a fire deep within your loins, though today, it was not enough to burn you under.

“Gwayne…” you whined. “More… I need more!”

His red tresses swayed as he shook his head in refusal. His eyes were trained on the sight of your essence coating his cock, angling his hips to press against your pearl more. “I can’t… not yet, my love, you know this.”

You gripped his shoulders in frustration, urging him to look at you with your hands cupping his jaw. Your lips displayed your desperation as you kissed him. You have always asked little from him, naught but for one thing. 

“This could be the last time we ever see each other. Please, uncle,” you pleaded, burying your head into his neck as you sobbed. 

Your uncle had shown you much, had taught you much. However, there was one thing that was not for him to take. He dared not sully his niece, his beloved sister’s eldest girl. That kind of depravity is for Targaryens, and Gwayne thought himself a dignified man, honorable. Yet as you bit your lip temptingly at him, your brows furrowed adorably, the tight noose of virtue continued to loosen.

He grabbed hold of his cock, directing it to your slit. Gwayne kept his hand on the lower half of length to restrain himself, lest he lost all control. His tip breached your walls, reaching only far enough to feel your heat. “Just this much, and I promise when I return we will have so much more,” he panted into your ear. His thrusts were shallow, though some threatened to reach deeper, farther into your warmth. He alternated between rubbing and breaching, an assaulting tease to your senses. 

You moaned his name like a prayer. Devoted pleading. Your grip on the back of his neck was grounding, keeping his head from floating to the heavens to be here with you. You were all over him, from your hands in his hair, your lips on his jaw down to your juices that coated his cock. 

It was too late for him, he realized. To try and outrun a dragon’s fire was a futile attempt, and all he could do was welcome it with resignation. How ever could he deny himself this bliss? How could he deny you?

He came as his cockhead snagged on your folds once more, painting your mound with his pearly seed. Barely catching his breath, your hand on his shoulder ordered him to his knees. Like a devotee, the Hightower kneeled before you, descending his mouth onto your cunny. His own spend was salty as it coated his tongue, mixed with the sticky sweet nectar of your maiden core. The sight of his reds in between your thighs was a heavenly sight, and you could only pray to have him like this until the end of your days.

You were nearing your precipice, evident by the grinding of your hips against his face. With a thumb on your pearl and his tongue dipping in and out of your cunt, you came with a cry. Your uncle slurped up your release like a man starved, groaning against your mound.

When he had returned to his feet, Gwayne’s lips glistened with your essence. Breathless, you bit back a smile, but as his own flushed lips widened, a giggle bubbled from your chest. Your uncle chuckled, planting a small kiss to your forehead before taking you into his arms.

“How I’ve missed you, little red.”

“Why does it have a skirt?” 

You poked the ornate metal decorating the horse, confused at such attire. It even had a matching mask on its head, and you wondered if the poor thing could even see. 

“Tis armor. To ensure my royal steed is kept safe and no harm comes to it, and by extension, me, gods willing,” Gwayne explained, busied by the preparations of the move. Your uncle leaned closer to your ear, the distance between you tethering on violating propriety. “So I may find my way back to you.”

He was clad in his armor, silver steel paired by velvet Hightower green. He looked exquisite. If you were a lesser woman, there was no telling what you would have done right then and there, in the middle of the Keep’s courtyard. You regarded him with a dark gaze, uncaring of hiding your desire despite your mother and the Hand standing only a few paces away. 

Your chest was heavy with dread. A worrying nagging in your head growing harder to ignore. Their journey was sure to be hard, and who knows what else they were to face other than harsh terrain. What if there were dragons? What were he to do to defend himself from such fire? You would beg your brother to let you fly with them, but the fucker barely spared a second of his day for you. 

The prospect of losing Gwayne was daunting enough to drive you mad, yet there was little you could do. He could see it in your face, could feel the fear emanating from your anxious form as you watched him prepare. “Will you be careful?” you asked quietly. 

He gave you a downturned smile, heart swelling. “I will, little red, I promise,” he replied. His vow did little to quench your apprehension, evident in the way you looked at anywhere but him. The knight took hold of your elbow, giving you a comforting squeeze. “And when I return, we could tell your mother,” he vowed.

Your orbs were bright in surprise as you looked up at him, making Gwayne smile. The passing of a stableboy reminded you of your surroundings, making you huddle closer to him. “You don’t jest?” you whispered.

“Never about you,” he responded, sincerity clear in his voice. He took hold of your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. “I shall win the king his army, and ask for his blessing. Until then, wait for me, my sweetling.”

The ground thumped as the knights marched out of the city’s gates. They made for a menacing sight, a symbol for the war that was starting to brew. As you stood with your mother, you uttered a silent prayer. You hoped the gods would hear you now, would let Gwayne find his way back to you.

[cumplanecrash]

Just over 500 words of the deaged!SQQ concept that stole my soul yesterday while i was trying to work. Not quite feeling the vocal tic(s) here but I didn't wanna write baby talk. I'm thinking Binghe is about 16 15here, and Shizun has been made about 4.

✨ ETA: fic continues in my Shizun Babies AU tag ✨

Honestly, Shen Qingqiu had been thinking immediately before everything went to shit, My disciples know what they're doing; they don't need me.

And then the demon in question flung a spell with a frankly alarming amount of qi powering it at Luo Binghe, and of course Shen Qingqiu was the closest person to be able to help deflect, sticky thing that his Binghe was, and really, he'd intended to throw up a shield as soon as he got into position, but the spell was moving so much more quickly than anything else the demon had done so far, and, and, and --

Shen Qingqiu hit the ground. He felt Luo Binghe immediately leap over his position and sling two sword glares in the same movement, not a Qing Jing form but damn impressive. At least two more disciples took position surrounding where Shen Qingqiu was incapacitated -- covered in a blanket, maybe? He thought Ming Fan was the one breaking formation to get in close, based on the wordless yell and rapid footsteps, as all his disciples on this trip redoubled their efforts to take the creature down, hurling vincentives that Shen Qingqiu is sure he's never heard anyone utter since he died, cough cough. Shen Qingqiu knew his disciples would need guidance, the demon was apparently far more powerful than they'd given it credit for, but first he needed to see what the damage was, and if he would be in the way.

His head popped out of its covering triumphantly, just in time to see the demon be bisected vertically by a sword glare from the group next to him -- Binghe or Yingying, based on the warm tone -- and from behind by Ming Fan's sword.

Ah, well. He had just been thinking what good hands he was in.

"A-Yuan thinks this might be a very good lesson in not letting your guard down around an enemy, even if you think you have their measure," a childish lisp announced from his approximate location. Huh. He'd been trying to say 'this master' but that is not what came out of his mouth. "Also, A-Yuan thinks that spell was a very nasty trick, and is afraid to look down."

From the general direction of down, an open palm smacked him in the rough vicinity of his face.

Shen Qingqiu -- Shen Yuan, he must suppose-- looked down.

The face he saw bore a striking resemblance to the one he had seen in the mirror every day since he'd died, and, he suspected, an even more striking resemblance to the one he currently wore.

"Noisy," complained the Original Goods, because honestly, who the hell else could it be? The child -- if Shen Yuan had to guess, perhaps they were four or five years old, presuming he was just as deaged as the boy in his arms -- was naked except for the Peak Lord appropriate robes they were both loosely draped in, and was burrowing further into Shen Yuan's chest. "Xiao Jiu is trying to sleep."

Next

[megwritesriddles]

Reflected Desire ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 2 - Mirror Sex. Michael is staying at Robichuax Academy, awaiting the Seven Wonders test. He takes a liking to one of the witches to pass the time and is determined to get her alone, no matter where that might be.

Tags: Mirror sex, P in V, Unprotected sex, Mildly dubious consent, Mild red flags, Praise kink, Biting, Marking, Bathroom sex, Out of character Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, Reader is a witch, SoftDom!Michael (sorta?), Antichrist!Michael (alluded to), No plot.

Word count: 2k

all fandom masterlist | ahs masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: I haven't watched Apocalypse in so long so a million apologies that this is definitely out of character!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The halls of Robichaux Academy had never been tenser. Michael Langdon was staying in the academy, waiting to take the Seven Wonders test. A snake in your midst. He mostly kept to himself and his fellow warlocks but he had seemed to have taken an odd liking to you. He would flash you charming smiles as you passed him in the halls, make a point to sit beside you at dinner, pull out your chair for you and make a show of being the perfect gentleman. Despite him being considered the enemy, you could tell many of the witches felt deeply jealous at the attention he was lavishing on you. Michael, for all his flaws, was an extraordinarily handsome man, it was almost unnatural how flawless he looked. Sometimes, his perfect smiles almost unnerved you, made you feel that there was something almost wrong with him. However, then his eyes would land on you, almost softening slightly and you were swept away by his looks once more. You couldn’t understand the attention he paid you. None of the other warlocks had batted a single eye at you. Someone like Madison seemed much more deserving of this attention, but he was giving it to you, and you could hardly complain.

His temporary room in the academy was on the same corridor as yours, you passed him often on the way in and out. He would smile and try his best to ensnare you into conversation, but often you were busy, heading to classes or to bed. You could see his displeasure all over his face whenever you would make your excuses, but he remained measured and polite, suggesting he catch you some other time. Tonight, you left your room, toothbrush clutched in hand, heading for one of the shared bathrooms. He emerged almost instantly after you had, making you wonder if he’d been listening out for your door to open. He approaches from behind, snaking a hand across your back and onto your hip, using his grip to turn you to face him. He smiles charmingly as you flush a little.

“Good evening, my darling,” he purrs, tugging you a little closer. He’s never been quite this forward before, you find you don’t hate it. 

“Good evening, Michael,” you smile back shyly. He’s still dressed in his pristine Hawthorne School uniform, though he’s ditched the tie and the outer layers, still in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You’re just wearing some old loungewear, an oversized sweater that hangs slightly off of your shoulder and a pair of sweats. It makes you feel shyer than normal, the contrast of how the two of you must look together, but he just smiles pleasantly.

“What are you up to?” he muses, toying slightly with the hem of your sweater. You lift your toothbrush to his gaze.

“Heading to brush my teeth… wash my face… that sort of stuff,” you shrug, averting your eyes to one of the paintings on the wall by the staircase. He hums in acknowledgement, his finger dipping slightly under your sweater, brushing innocently against the skin of your side.

“I suppose that means you’re once again too busy for a chat,” he mutters with a resigned tone, but he’s smiling in a way that tells you he isn’t feeling all that down at all. You open your mouth to answer, but he interjects. “Unless I join you,” he muses with a grin. 

“Join me?”

“Yes, actually that’s a fine idea… let's go, shall we?” he chuckles, guiding you by a hand on your waist toward one of the bathrooms. You follow silently, feeling a little bewildered. The two of you enter the bathroom, he flicks on the lights with a finger and clicks the lock, making you tense a little. He just smiles, coming to stand behind you as you wet your toothbrush at the sink. You look up, meeting his eye in the mirror, before quickly averting your gaze again. He looks unbelievably smug, like he’s got you where he wants you and you realise with a start as his arms snake around your waist, that he has. His fingers gather up your hair, pushing it gently over one of your shoulders, baring one side of your neck to him. His breaths are warm as they wash over your neck, he presses himself against you, watching you in the mirror. You continue silently brushing your teeth, staring down into the sink as his nose nudges at the underside of your ear. “You smell lovely,” he hums, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting so long to get you alone,” he presses his lips softly to the skin of your neck. You blush deeply, dipping down for a moment to spit your toothpaste froth out. He seems completely undeterred, holding you even closer as you straighten back up. You gasp, your eyes widening as you feel something hard against your lower back. He chuckles deeply. “Do you feel what you do to me?” You nod without words and he smirks. He peppers more soft kisses up and down your neck, making his way down to your bare shoulder and back up again. Through the reflection of the mirror, you watch his lips latch onto your neck, sucking gently. His eyes open to meet yours as he leaves a tangible mark on you, evidence that you’d let him this close without so much as a protest. 

“What are you doing?” you question finally, but it’s already too late. Withdrawing from you slightly, he presses soothing kisses to the newly forming bruise on your neck. It’s clear he’s ignoring your question, enjoying the look on your face as you watch him, taking in the size of the mark he’s left.

“Want another, my darling? They look perfect on you, don’t they?” he purrs, nuzzling at your skin. Your eyes skim your neck in the reflection, watching as he leaves several smaller marks on your skin. His hands venture just beneath your sweater once again, skimming the skin above your waistband. He looks completely engrossed in you and you can’t help but feel his admiration of your body pooling in your stomach. “Can I take this off of you?” he murmurs. You hesitate, watching him in the mirror. He looks up to meet your eye, grinning smugly as he notices your breath hitching. He pushes your sweater up slightly, a reminder of his question.

“Yeah,” you breathe. He’s tugging the sweater over your head in a fraction of a second, discarding it onto the sink counter. You avert your eyes from the mirror as your topless form comes into view, feeling weird to be looking at yourself like this. His hands snake worshipfully up over your stomach to cup your breasts. You make a tiny noise of pleasure as he does this and he grunts in response. He’s watching you reflection as he kneads at your soft flesh, continuing to shower your neck with kisses.

“Been wanting this more than you understand,” he mumbles against your ear. “Been thinking of you every moment since I got here,” he brushes his fingers over your nipples gently, making you gasp. “I’ve never felt so needy in my life,” One arm remains around you, cupping and kneading your breast, the other snakes down and starts to push down your sweats. The waistband is loose so they fall down to your thighs with minimal effort, he helps them the rest of the way down. “Step out,” he whispers gently, you do as you’re told and step out of them. He kicks them aside and presses his rock hard arousal against your rear, letting out a little hiss. His hands leave you just long enough for him to yank off his own clothes, seemingly with little regard for whether the garments survive this encounter. He presses back against you, working his thumbs into the sides of your panties. “Will you let me have you, my angel?” he exhales shakily, teasing his fingers against the lace edge of your panties, waiting for your permission. His angel, the words echo in your mind, they feel both enticing and decidedly dangerous in some way.

“Have me,” you whisper back, meeting his eyes in the mirror. His eyes look almost blackened with lust, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. He sighs in relief, bending you slightly against the sink counter, you prop yourself up on your hands as he presses desperate kisses between your shoulder blades, tugging your panties down slowly. Your face is dangerously close to your reflection and you try your best to avoid your own eye as he positions himself behind you, arms wrapping around you securely.

“Thank you, my angel,” he coos, pressing against your entrance gently and grunting softly at the feeling. His hands hold you in place as your body tries to twitch away at the sudden sensation. He shushes you gently as he begins to press forward into you, your back arches and your lips fall open in an elongated moan. His eyes are glued on your reflection as your face twists in pleasure, your body welcoming him in like a treasured guest. “Perfect,” he sighs. “You look and feel perfect,” he begins to rock his hips gently, watching your eyelids flutter and your teeth bite at your lower lip. “Look at you,” he murmurs, taking ahold of your chin and turning your head so you meet the eye of your reflection. “Look how well you’re taking me,” he grunts as his actions speed up, his hand moving down to your hip to keep you in place as he thrusts. You blush at the sight of yourself, looking utterly sinful. You’re flushed all down your neck, your skin glimmering with perspiration, your pupils blown. You jolt forward with each of his thrusts, glancing up at his intense expression in the mirror as he watches you like you’re a gift from heaven. He grips your hips tighter. “My perfect angel,” he growls, pulling you back against him at an increasingly rapid pace. You throw your head back for a moment and you feel his hand on the back of your head, tangling in your hair, angling your head back down. “Keep your eyes on you,”

“Michael…” you whine, half in embarrassment, half in pleasure. He just speeds up, pressing his chest to your back, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You watch each other's faces in the reflection, both twisted in ecstasy. He grunts louder and louder, his thrusts growing harsher as he approaches his peak. His hands grip you hard, leaving fingertip indents. You whine and cry in pleasure as he ravishes you, you see tears of pleasure forming in your eyes in the mirror and feel utterly pathetic, though unable to do anything about it. He leans forward to kiss at your cheek, muttering sweet praises against your skin that send your mind reeling.

“Come for me, my angel, show me how you’re feeling, you’re doing so well,” he coaxes in your ear. Suddenly, as if something has possessed you, you scream out, your whole body arching and shaking. You sob loudly as you come around his cock, making him fall apart in tandem. He bites down on your shoulder, growling and shivering furiously as he empties into you. You collapse forward, your cheek pressing against the cool surface of the mirror, giving your overheated face some much needed relief. You pant, trying to blink away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes. He withdraws from you, but continues to hold you against his chest, kissing all over your shoulders. After a moment of composing himself he chuckles breathlessly against your ear. “I think the entire academy just heard you fraternising with the enemy,” he taunts, nipping at your ear.

“Oh God…” you hang your head, his lips follow you, pressing against your lips for the first time. You kiss back despite yourself, desperate now for his touch.

“I’m your God now, my sinful little angel,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

xoxoxo

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

So we’ve been talking about tropes these last couple of days thanks to @abstractelysium super fun tag game. And although I did my three, since then I’ve been thinking about what is probably my favourite trope, although I never thought of it as one. But then I started thinking of more examples, and there are a lot of them, and also thinking that we have so many tropes about how they meet and fall in love, this is just another one. And if this has already been pointed out as a trope or has a name and I somehow missed it please correct me. And I guess some of these can also be put into other tropes, like enemies to lovers or friends to lovers, but to me, at their core, they start at that small gesture of kindness.

Because he was kind.

If someone comes up with a better name for this I'm open to suggestions. I suck at titles. There are more examples of this so I'm choosing the ones I think exemplify this more for me and also trying to get shows from different places. I guess this trope is pretty self explanatory, and although there is no shortage of kind boys in bl, I'm focusing on the cases where there was a past moment, where one of them was kind to the other and it planted a seed. Regardless of what happened after.

Takara no Vidro

Takara consoling Taishin when he was sad because his bird died was what started it all. He was shown kindness from a stranger and would follow him everywhere after that.

Cherry Magic

This applies to all versions of this show. Adachi showed kindness to Kurosawa and allowed him to be weak and so the epic crush would begin.

We Best Love

Despite the enemies to lovers thing, Gao Shi De's crush started because Shu Yi showed him kindness when they were kids. 

About Youth

This could apply to both couples on this show. With the main couple kindness is the whole reason Qhang falls for Ye Guang. And then he falls right back pretty much for the same reason. And Ray falls for Ah Jian because of what he did for him that day. Everyone is just really kind in this show, ok?

Love Mate

He tied his shoes (I also love this btw) and gave him his lost card and wished him luck. Haram was lost right there.

Dangerous Romance

The umbrella that started it all.

Old Fashion Cupcake

This one is on both sides. First because of the talk Nozue gives Togawa after the interview and then Nozue can't help but fall right back after Togawa was so kind to take him by giving him a crash course staying young. I do love them so...

I Became the Lead in a BL Drama

"To be able to love or like something so much is wonderful. That's why I can't wait to play this role." And, just like that, a perfectly normal obsession crush began. I miss them. Can't wait to see them again.

Only Boo

Was there anything Kang didn't do for Moo? Starting with the toothbrush and then continuing to feed him so he wouldn't starve. I adore these boys.

I'm gonna stop for now and maybe do a bigger list at some point. But if everyone can think of other examples please tell me. I'm gonna add this trope to my spreadsheet, so I need all the shows!!!

[fiddleyoumust]

Let’s talk about queerness and High School Frenemy. There’s a large portion of BL fandom that refuses to engage with the show, and while that rubs me the wrong way, I do understand it. If you only wish to consume queer media, it’s easy to dismiss HSF since it is not explicitly queer. It’s also a show that on a surface level, looks like classic queerbaiting. And before I get a bunch of HSF fans in the tags or comments, I am a huge fan of this show. It is possibly the best thing I’ve watched all year. But on a surface level, it is doing the literal definition of queerbaiting even if I personally do not think it is. 

As a person who is OLD and came of age in the 90s, I do want to talk about this show from a queer perspective. I grew up in a time when queer characters were not abundant. If they did show up in media, it was newsworthy. These characters were always support characters and seldom had love interests or explored what it was like to be queer. None of them looked like me or made me feel seen or represented. Heteronormativity was the standard, as it is today, but back then, a queer kid seldom encountered anything that made them question that heteronormativity. 

HSF, and Shin and Saint specifically, resonate with me more than most queer media I’ve consumed, and I’ve consumed a lot. The intense, obsessive love that Shin and Saint have for each other under the guise of friendship IS my story. For me, it was a wild girl named Jennifer, who I was attached to the hip with from 6th grade until our early twenties. I loved her. I was obsessed with her. I was probably in love with her, but it never occurred to me until years after we’d stopped speaking that what I felt for her was more than friendship. The heteronormative brainworms are real, and they infected me until my late 20s when I suddenly had a revelation about myself. 

Hindsight is 20/20. Suddenly, my obsession with Charlize Theron in Two Days In The Valley, Helen Hunt in Twister (1996), and Kate Winslet in Titanic made so much sense. My relationship with Jennifer was also at the forefront of my mind. Ah, I thought. That’s what that was.

HSF is a show about friendship, a show about community, a show about the ways adults fail their children, a show about class and poverty. It is also a show about unrealized queerness. The director, Fon, told that story purposefully through music, lighting, and dialogue, she told a story about two boys who can’t live without each other, but don’t have the knowledge, the vocabulary, or the self-awareness to understand what they are to each other.

In every choice Fon made, she dangled queerness without explicitly naming it. I would call it queerbaiting in any other media,  but for me, she made one other choice that I believe is purposeful and elevates this show into the queer category for me. She completely stripped the show of heteronormativity. There are no couples. None. We never see Chatjen’s parents. Any parents we do see are single - Ken’s father, Shin’s mother, Saint’s father, Cable’s mother.

In any other media, the male and female homeroom teachers with clashing teaching styles would  be an enemies-to-lovers side plot. Here, they grow into supportive co-workers and friends who become better versions of themselves to help the children in their class. In any other media, there would be talk of crushes among the teenagers. Here, we see them grapple with the pressures of academia, abusive or absentee parents, bullying, drugs, and the hopelessness of poverty. In fact, the only mention of sexuality or romance at all comes from Eve, a girl who befriends Airy, a girl from their rival school, and confesses that she had a crush on her when she was younger. Nothing comes of this revelation, even though we see Airy become curious and seek out Eve’s company prior to this revelation, and we see how pleased Airy is about Eve’s confession. But this is a show about unrealized queerness and even Eve and Airy, two girls who understand what they are feeling for one another, still can’t bring themselves to name it.

The lack of heterosexuality creates a void that is filled by Shin and Saint’s relationship. It’s purposeful, and Director Fon uses other friendships in the show to highlight the ways Shin and Saint are not the same. Knot, Nate, and Ken are extremely close friends. They, too, have a “no one left behind” friendship pact. They fight for each other and get hurt for each other and very obviously love each other. Chatjen and Shin’s friendship is also very deep. Chatjen considers Shin his best friend. He hero worships him a bit and sees him as his protector and savior. Yet, anyone watching can understand the ways the producers use music, lighting, costuming, and dialogue to elevate Shin and Saint’s relationship above all the other ones. 

High School Frenemy is queer. Shin and Saint are purposefully queer coded in a world devoid of heterosexuality. You are seeing what you are supposed to see, and it's a hill I’ll die on. If you were on the fence about this show, I can not recommend it enough. It’s great and will leave you feeling warm and happy and loved. If you only consume explicitly queer media, I still encourage you to watch it. Sometimes, our queerness eludes us. Sometimes it’s hidden under other words like “friendship” because we haven’t learned the right words for it yet. I enjoyed watching a show that reminded me of my youth and gave me a glimpse of the girl I used to be. She was still queer even if she didn't know it yet.

[miabebe]

Reverse Trope Series - Too Many Beds (Teaser)

You shared 25 years of your life with Seunghceol, what was another 4 nights right?

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x reader

Word Count - 488 for the teaser ( The full fic is around 11k, give or take? It was supposed to be below 2K, I fucked up)

Genre - Enemies to lovers? Frenemies to lovers? Lovers to lovers? Idk man, these two are idiots and I love making them pine hehe

Warnings - none for the teaser, maybe an reference to Seungcheol's dick

Estimated posting date - 6th July, 5pm KST (I don't have a taglist but I am happy to tag if anyone wants? Just drop comment or send an ask/message :)

Edit - It's out! Read here :)

“Absolutely not.” 

“No way in hell.” 

Seungcheol glared at you as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“I’m not sharing a room with him.” 

“I don’t wish to even breathe in her vicinity.” 

“Then maybe I should do mankind a service by being around you more.”

“The only way you can help mankind is by shutting your mouth.” Seungcheol leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You’re not pretty enough for all the stupidity that comes out of it.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Rich coming from you. If I had a face like yours, I’d sue my parents.” 

“Aw, fifth graders can insult better than you sweetheart.” 

“That was a fact darling.”

“Ah” The two of you turned to the receptionist, finally remembering her presence as her confused eyes flickered between you and Seungcheol. “So the two of you are dating?” 

Looking at her incredulously and with unadulterated disgust, the two of you immediately took a step back. 

“No!” 

“No!” 

“I’d rather stub my pinky toe on furniture everyday that date her-” 

“And I’d rather choke on my own spit everyday than date him-”

“Oh baby, I knew you were a desperate one. How about I give you something to better to choke on-”

“Honey, are you sure? I heard you can stack fruit loops on that puny thing-” 

“Enough!” The old woman behind the counter got to her feet, putting her hands on her hips, the never-ending squabbling finally getting to her. “If either of you say another word, I will personally put you both in the tiniest broom closet I can find and trust me, the ones in this lodge are devastatingly small.” 

You immediately shut up, dreading that idea more than anything. Seungcheol too became uncharacteristically and thankfully, quiet.

“Now, as far as your room is concerned, your company booked only one room, number-” She glanced at the paper in her hand and pulled out a pair of keys from the drawer. “- 68. If you can bear each other for 4 nights, well and good, get moving. If not, then take your things and get out of here. Good luck finding another lodge in this miserable weather.” 

And as though on cue, a bright light, followed by a loud thunder flooded the room, taking aback all three of its inhabitants. From the corner of your eye you saw Seungcheol visibly gulp, well aware of his fear of thunder.

Seungcheol too heard the way you sniffled, knowing that your rhinitis would only get worse with the humidity rising outside.

Sighing with the realization that there was no way out of this, both of you reached for the keys at the same time, making the old woman snatch it faster than the damn lightning to avoid yet another fight from breaking out.

Ringing for the bellboy, she handed him the keys before he took your suitcase and Seungcheol’s bag in one hand each, leading the way to your despair of the night. 

[medievalharlot]

Our Last Night 彡 Geto Suguru x f!reader

masterlist - taglist

Pairing: Geto Suguru x f!reader

Synopsis: You couldn’t believe what Gojo told you on the phone until Geto showed up at your door. When he confirmed the truth, all you could think about was that this would be your last night together

Wordcount: 3,5k

Tags: Smut 18+ minor DNI!, angsty smut, p in v smut, smut with plot, mentions of abuse and violence, slight enemies to lovers, doomed lovers, unprotected sex (wrap your willies)

A/N: I AM BACK!! I totally fucked up my exam but that is fine! I thought it would be nice to write for another fandom for once, and of course I had write for my pookie Suguru. This idea has been on my mind forever, it’s losely based on All I Ask - Adele. I just wanna give him a hug and take care of him :(. AH I am so glad I finally got to write angst, please let me know if you want more! ENJOY!

big ol' thanks to @izealia for beta-reading this for me, love you darling

When Gojo called you to tell you the news, you didn’t want to believe he could do something like that. That Geto would be capable of killing anyone, let alone an entire village. The idea shakes you to your core. Gojo sounded just as shocked as you but mostly angry. Angry at Geto, angry at the world. The thought alone is making your head spin while you walk to your apartment. Once you got your groceries home, you would search for Geto. All you could think about was seeing him. Yell at him, ask him why, ask him if he was going mad. Anything to get a reaction, because right now he was not picking up his phone. How many times had you called him? Maybe twenty times already? But he had not picked up his phone any of those times. With your grocery bags in your hands you rushed to get home, to try to process this information.

You weren’t the most talented sorcerer, your cursed technique was quite boring. A simple levitating technique that could be used on objects and people if they weighed below a 100kg. Your family had close ties to the Gojo-clan. The women in your family had so-called ‘blessed wombs’. Generation after generation they had bore powerful sorcerers. It’s how you got to know Satoru. You had many sisters, one of them was arranged to marry him once they were old enough. The two of you met at a formal dinner and hit it off right away. Satoru was the one that had encouraged you to attend Jujutsu High. The only reason you got in was because of your analytical skills, they have proven to be more than useful when you started going on missions. It was nice knowing Satoru was there for you at school as well, even if he was a year above you. It was nice, until you met Geto.

The two of you did not hit it off well. He hated the way you stuck to Satoru as if you were a small child and he enjoyed passive aggressively telling you that whenever you were alone with him. You and Geto bickered constantly until the two of you had to go on a mission together. During the mission you found out about the downside of his technique. For him to be able to summon curses, he must first consume them. You couldn’t imagine the taste of them, and you could see the repulsed look in his eyes as he swallowed the orb down. After that, you mainly just avoided him and Satoru. You preferred being on your own if it meant that the two of them got to be silly and laugh together.

It made Geto feel guilty. Eventually, he approached you to offer help with a subject you had been struggling with. Satoru might be smart, but he did not have the time to sit there and explain it to you. He had mentioned it once to Geto about how you had been failing your test. Feeling bad about how he basically took your only friend, he decided to help you. When you sat down together, it turned out you got along great. Study sessions turned into hangouts, insults turned into friendly banter and Geto turned into Suguru.

That summer you fell in love for the first time. You felt like a little girl with the way he made you feel, not that you would ever admit it. Satoru could tell and never let you live it down, but secretly he was rooting for the two of you to finally get together. He had told you he was getting sick of the two of you ‘eye-fucking’ every time you hung out. You couldn’t help yourself, you were falling head first and there was nothing that could stop you. The way he smiled, the way he talked, his beautiful hair and the way he would ruffle your hair when you met up. Everything about him made your stomach do somersaults. One soft summer night you had been brave, emboldened by the alcohol in the system you had kissed him. Neither one of you spoke of that night after Suguru had brought you home.

You softly curse yourself as you rush to your apartment. You should have known, you could have done something for him. Something was off ever since Riko had been killed. Despite how desperately he tried to act like he was fine, you could tell he was not. His features looked sunken in and it was clear he was not present in any conversation. That it could take such a dark turn was not what you had expected though. Suguru had always been a mannered guy, to do something so irrational was out of character.

When you grabbed your keys you noticed the door was already unlocked. Had you forgotten to lock it? Silently, you stepped inside. There were footsteps, somebody had broken into your home. You opened your door and stood face to face with him. Suguru. He had two girls with him, the three of them looking dusty. Ash covering their clothes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words couldn’t come out.

Suguru heard you drop your grocery bags. He turns around, looking at you. There is a tired and dull look on his face. “I had nowhere else to turn too.” The girls cower behind him when they notice you as well. “We need a place to sleep.” He says, looking at you with those kind but exhausted eyes.

“Are you here to kill me?” You whisper softly. There was no fear in your eyes. If this was the way you were going to die, then you were fine with that.

He shakes his head, taking a step closer. “Can we stay?” The atmosphere was tense, like something could explode any minute. Suguru turned his head towards the girls, then back at you again. “Just for tonight. I promise.” He asks you. “Please.”

How could you turn him away when he asked you so nicely. You took a glance at the girls, they looked tired, starved and beat. You frown, turning back to Suguru. With a hesitant tone to your voice you nod. “Fine, I have a spare room they can sleep in.” You grab your grocery bags again, bringing them to your kitchen. “They look like they could use a bath and a meal.”

After they had dinner and you bathed them, Geto tucked them into bed. The bed was slightly too small, but it would do for the night. You stood in the doorframe watching him bid the girls, Mimiko and Nanako were their names, goodnight. There was a sense of normalcy to it, like this is what it could be like. It made you wonder if under different circumstances this domestic display of caring for kids, your kids, would have happened as well. If only they were different..

He took his time, making sure they were comfortable. When he finally left the room he let out a sigh. The both of you didn’t say anything for a moment, you just looked at each other. You brush a particle of ash off his white shirt. “You’re dirty.” Neither of you could raise your voice louder than a mere whisper. “You need a bath.”

“I know.” His eyes follow your hands, looking down at the grime on his clothes.

You walk past him to your bathroom, turning on the hot water to fill up the tub. With gentle hands you helped him out of clothes. Even if you had loved him and lusted after him for months now, the air was not sexual when he undressed. Your hands ran across his strong arms, his muscled back. It was not that you could finally see how much weight he had lost, his ribs were visible when he lifted his shirt over his head.

Suguru looked exhausted when he finally sat down in the water. With a certain hesitation you sit down behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He pulls his hand out of the water, placing it on top of yours.

“Why?” You ask him, there was no context needed. He knew what you were asking about.

“Why should we bear the responsibility of protecting the weak, when they are the source of the problem anyway?” He did not look at you as he talked. “Why should we run an endless marathon when at the end of the line we are left with our friends dead. Why not eradicate the source.”

You knew he was talking about Haibara. A few weeks ago he died on a mission fighting a grade 1 curse. You didn't know Suguru had such a hard time processing his death.

You grab a cup, filling it with water and pouring it over his hair. The wet strands stuck to his shoulders. “But why did you kill all those innocent people?”

When you asked him that, he leaned away from your touch to look at you. There was an angry look in his eyes. “ They were far from innocent. They tortured those little girls, they kept them unfed in a cage.” Malice laced his voice, it scared you. “They abused them for something that was natural to them.” He turned back around, allowing you to run your fingers through his black locks again.

You grabbed a bottle of shampoo, pouring a generous amount on your palm and lathering it into foam. His answer left a bitter taste in your mouth, it made you not want to question further. The room was silent for a moment as you washed his hair. The rest of the bath was in silence, you dared not interrogate further about the girls that were currently asleep in your guest room. You decided to leave Suguru alone to dry himself off, leaving him with your fluffiest towels to get the job done.

Patiently, you waited for him to finish up in your bathroom. Your mind was going 100 miles per hour, you did not know what to think anymore. You paced back and forth, it was a habit you developed whenever you were stressed or nervous. He knew that.

“Knock it off.” He spoke, entering the room clad in only a towel around his waist. His hair was still slightly damp. With a few paces he stood in front of you, you couldn’t look at him. The realisation dawned on you what he was planning on doing a few minutes ago. He cups your face, tilting it slightly so you were looking at him. “Will you come with me?” His voice was nothing more than a soft whisper, revealing the vulnerability in it.

Tears stung in your eyes as you stared back at him. Oh how you wanted to come with him, to leave this mess behind and live your life with him. But you couldn’t, you weren’t a murderer. You couldn’t kill the entirety of the non-sorcerer society. Squinting your eyes close, you shake your eyes. “You can’t..” You started. “You can’t ask that of me Suguru.”

“I know.” He mumbled, he knew you were most likely going to say no. Suguru never saw himself as a savior, it was his obligation to protect the weak as a sorcerer, but he could not keep running in this endless cycle just to end up dead without even being close to finding a solution to the problem. You, on the other hand. You were good, you had always been. Even if he was distant towards you at first, you had your heart in the right place. His ideal was impossible to achieve, he was fully aware of that. But to him, this was the best way to protect the so-called weak. Eradicate or make them adept.

As it also hit him that this would be his last night with you, he pulled you into a hug. A silent, firm and warm hug. You couldn’t help but feel the tears stream down your face. If this world would have been perfect, you could stay like this forever. But the world wasn’t perfect, and you were about to lose the man you loved the most.

You did not want him to pull away, but he did. His dark eyes met yours once more. Then, he leaned in to kiss you. Without any hesitation you kissed him back, chasing the familiarity of his lips. His thumb rubbed your cheek, slowly pushing you towards the bed.

You let him lead you there, both of you needed this. A final moment of closeness. When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, you break the kiss. He looked down at you, an unsure look in his eyes. “I need us to be more than friends, just for tonight.” It was like he was pleading at this point. He needed to have you close, to share a memory of pure love.

Then everything went down in a whirlwind. You jumped forward to connect your lips once more, unbuttoning your blouse in a rush. His hands quickly found the back of your bra, unclasping it to make it fall to the ground. You needed to get your clothes off, it was almost like they were on fire. Quickly, you tugged your jeans off. Suguru’s hands were already massaging your breast, he didn’t even notice the towel slipping off his hips. Not that it would’ve stayed on much longer with how hard his boner was getting.

He sat down on the bed, pulling you in between his legs. Softly, he kissed your stomach as if he wanted to savor your taste. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to feel him inside you. “I want you.” You mumbled as you looked down at him, his mouth was still latched to your breast. Without even getting a reply, you crawled onto his lap. His hard cock sitting against your pelvis, you could feel your cunt drool at the thought of finally doing what you had been thinking about all those lonely nights.

“Are you sure?” He had pulled away from your breasts, looking at you again. You nodded, you haven’t been this sure about something before in your life. His strong hands helped you lift your hips, lining his tip with your entrance. A sigh of relief left your lips when you finally felt him stretch you out.

Suguru rested his head against your shoulder, pulling you into a hug. The two of you stayed there for a moment, just revelling in each other's comfort. You needed as much of your skin to touch his skin, the fact that he would be gone the next morning still present in your mind. Gently, you rocked your hips, coaching a moan out of Suguru’s lips.

There weren’t many words needed, just soft moans and whines. Neither of you wanted to talk, in fear of acknowledging what you both knew. This was your last night together. The next time you were going to see each other was on opposite sides. The chance that you were going to have to fight each other was real, and neither one of you wanted to think about that.

The pace was slow, the kissing was messy and the sex was sweaty. You could feel he was close, his dick twitching inside you. Suguru picked you up while still inside you and laid you down on the bed. You wrapped your legs around him and pulled his head against your chest. He wasn’t the only one that was getting close, with the friction you created while grinding down on him you were just as close to an orgasm as he was. Just a few more thrusts.

Suguru picked up the pace slightly, but it was still messy and sloppy. Just what you needed. “It’s okay.” He noticed the way you were clenching. “I’m close too.” He mumbled, his thrusts slowing down. With a final pound against your clit, you came. Your orgasms spurred him on to chase his own. While you were still coming down from your own, he cummed. A choked groan leaving his lips as he spilled inside you.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, panting and heaving. Suguru collapsed onto your chest, holding you close. He placed a kiss between your breasts. “I love you.” The tone in his voice was sincere. “I truly do.” His future was uncertain, he didn’t know where he was going to stay with his girls tomorrow and if he even was going to live past next week. But one thing was certain to him. He loved you, he loved you so deeply that he needed to let you go. You deserved to be happy with someone that was just as good as you were. He couldn’t ask of you to join his side, but his heart would always belong to you.

You placed a hand on his hair, petting it slightly. “Don’t say that.” You whisper with tears in your eyes. In another world you could’ve told him the truth. You loved him so much that you weren’t sure if you were going to get over this heartbreak. Deep down you wanted to yell at him, plead him to turn himself in and confess his guilt. Anything for it to remain possible that he could stay by your side. But you knew he had made up his mind, and you made up yours. The universe never intended for the two of you to be together.

That night was the quietest of nights. You couldn’t sleep, all you did was stare at the ceiling or stare at Suguru’s sleeping figure. You didn’t want to wake up to an empty bed. It was around 4 AM when you finally fell into slumber. When you woke up, he was already gone. Your heart ached dully. He had made his side of the bed, always a gentleman.

With heavy feet you got up and walked to your kitchen. The bed of the girls had been made as well. It made you smile, he was always so considerate towards you. You turned on the kettle, you needed a cup of coffee after tonight. Anything but the realisation that he was gone. As the coffee brewed you noticed the letter on the table. Hesitantly you brushed your fingers over the handwriting, feeling the ink on the paper as you read.

To my dearest friend, my love,

By the time you read this letter we have already left. I am glad you found sleep after all, I could hear you toss and turn all night. I don’t know where we will go, but I will figure it out. I promised you we were only staying for a night, so I wouldn’t want to burden you further. You are always welcome in our home, wherever we might end up. Even if you told me not to say it, I truly love you so much. I will continue to love you. Until the sun sets in the east, and comes up in the west. Until the rivers dry up and the sun falls from the sky. I love you. In another life we would have been together, but luck doesn’t work that way. I wish you all the best in your life. Until the next one.

All my love,

Suguru

[fastbrother]

Desperate (M, 1.3k words)

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Tags: From Sex to Love, Grumpy Harry, Reclusive Harry, Slutty Draco (non-derogatory), unhealthy coping mechanisms, middle-aged Drarry

Author's note: Wrote this for @kamaela's birthday. Thank you for always being so kind and encouraging! 💕

* * *

For eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy starting Hogwarts, the only interesting question about school was who was going to come in second in his year. Imagine his surprise.

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Some days, it feels like he’s slept with everybody worth sleeping with. Other days—well.

* * *

When he was young, Draco Malfoy thought he liked women. He slept with a handful of girls, all very proper and sweet.

Then the war came, and he was in it, and he was tortured by the Dark Lord himself, which rewired his brain somehow, because after the war Draco Malfoy did not like women anymore. Nor anything proper. Or sweet.

Draco Malfoy liked to be fucked like he’d be murdered next.

* * *

Harry Potter is a big old grump. He lives in what should have been Draco’s house by birthright, nurses a terrifying beard currently in the process of turning grey, and only ever goes out in Muggle London, like the uncivilised brute Draco knows he really is. Draco dreams of being fucked by Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, the slayer of Dark Lords. And whatever rude people say, Draco’s a man who works for his dreams.

* * *

“Harry Potter. Out and about. What a surprise.”

Potter barely spares a glance for poor Draco. His eyes are glued to the Muggle TV above the bar, in the process of broadcasting some beastly excuse for movement that the Muggles call sports. There are five empty glasses in front of him, and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“Fuck right off, Malfoy.”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” Draco says, and sits on the barstool next to Harry. “You go, if my presence bothers you so.”

“I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

“Beautiful. Have you taken to writing poetry, by any chance?”

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Potter says, slowly turning those grotesquely green eyes towards him. “You look like someone who makes enemies in every room he walks into. How come you’re still alive?”

“I have my ways.”

“Aha,” Potter says, emptying his sixth glass of whiskey, eyes back on the TV. “I’ve heard about your ways.”

“Would you like some first-hand experience with them?”

Potter lets out a chuckle, a loud and brutish sound.

“Have you been following me?”

“Hardly. I’ve been coming here every night for six months. Ask Robert.”

“Who’s Robert?”

“I’m Robert,” the barman says, pouring Potter’s seventh drink.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Robert,” Potter says, and raises his drink. “So. Has he?”

“Yes.”

Potter turns to Draco. Offers a vicious smile that makes Draco’s body tingle in all the right places.

“I used to come here all the time. Before the Prophet published a photo of me. Six months ago.”

Draco shrugs. “Can’t a boy try his luck?”

Potter leans forward and pulls Draco’s stool closer to him.

“You’re no boy. You’re a slut.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco moans, biting his lip. “I am. I’m a bad, bad slut.”

* * *

Harry Potter fucks like he goes to war. There’s no fear there, no second guessing. Draco could die now, bent over a dirty sink in a dingy Muggle bar, and he’d be happy. He should die, actually, because what else is there to experience? He has peaked, and life can only be a disappointment from this point on.

“Please,” he begs when all is done. “Again.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Potter says, pulling up his pants. “But there are people queuing outside.”

“I’ll get rid of them. I’ll kill them. Nobody will miss them too much, I’m sure.”

“How about this,” Potter says, fixing his hair back in a ponytail. “You keep coming here every night for another six months, and maybe I’ll drop by again.”

“Don’t play with me, Potter. You know I will.”

“Oh, I know.”

* * *

Draco expects Potter to torture him for at least a couple of weeks, but he strolls into that cursed Muggle pub the next day. He’s wearing jeans and a ripped t-shirt. Truly living up to his reputation of decorated ex-Auror and beloved hero, this one.

“My, my,” he says, sitting next to Draco and gesturing to Robert for a drink. “What a good pet.”

“Aha,” Draco says, draping himself all over Potter’s offensively attractive attire.

“Let me get a drink in me first,” Potter says, struggling to keep Draco at arm’s length.

“If you wanted a drink, you could have gone to another pub.”

* * *

Robert bans them eventually. Draco’s about to Obliviate him but Potter solves the issue by inviting him to his house.

“You mean, my house,” Draco corrects him.

Potter doesn’t seem impressed. “How about we call it a night, then.”

“Fine. I relinquish all rights to that home. You can have it forever. You can have the Manor, too, if you want.”

Potter laughs, and grabs Draco’s arm. “I love how desperate you are.”

“Oh, I’m desperate, alright.”

Five minutes later, Draco’s thirst is finally quenched when Potter bends him over a Black encrusted dining room table. Draco discovers he has quite the taste for family intrusions.

“In front of my great-grandmother’s portrait next, please,” he begs. Potter, the charitable soul he is, complies. Predictably, his great-grandmother calls Potter Muggle-loving filth.

“He is, granny,” Draco moans, face squished against some dusty yet tasteful wallpaper. “He’s the filthiest person that’s ever lived.”

* * *

“Are you some form of house pest? A Black family curse? Why can’t I get rid of you?” Potter says when Draco shows up on his doorstep, carrying a bottle of wine and appetisers as any man of the world would.

“Get rid of me, then,” Draco says, and walks in.

* * *

Potter is on an agenda to steal Draco’s elves and have them clean his shithole of a house. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why he’s taken to drinking with them.

“Stop entertaining the staff. You should be entertaining the Master. And there’s no smoking in the sunroom.”

“There is, now,” Potter says, lighting up a second cigarette with his wand. “There’s a new Master around here.”

“Master Potter,” the elves say in unison, drunk on the Butterbeer Draco keeps for his nephew.

* * *

It’s all fun and games until Draco catches feelings.

“I’m sick,” he tells anybody who cares to listen, and also those who don’t. “Je suis gravement malade.”

“Pull down the shades,” he tells the house elves from under the heavy duvet. “Owl the Healer.”

“Maybe Master Malfoy should tell Master Potter how he feels.”

“Clothes! Somebody bring clothes!”

* * *

“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve fallen ill.”

Draco peeks at Potter from under his duvet.

“It’s true. I’m dying.”

The bed jounces when Potter sits down next to him. He puts a hand on Draco’s un-feverish forehead.

“It sure looks like it.”

“I just want you to know, I lied about the Manor. I’m leaving everything to my elves.”

Potter’s hand moves down Draco’s face.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“You have?” Draco says, his illness intensifying.

“Yes.”

“I thought I was a curse you couldn’t get rid of.”

“You are. You’ve been slacking on the job lately.

Something sharp rattles in Draco’s chest. He moves away from Potter’s touch, and hides under the duvet.

“Hey,” Potter says, leaning until his hand finds Draco’s waist through the thick material. “What happened?”

Silence.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Slowly, Draco shakes his head under the duvet.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Draco nods.

Draco hears ruffling and squeaking, and then Potter gets under the duvet. He’s hot, like a cat.

“Where did all your eloquence go?” Potter says, gathering him in his arms. “What happened to all your fancy words?”

Draco buries his head in Potter’s chest. Takes a deep breath.

“I turn stupid when I’m in love. It’s a debilitating illness.”

“You’re a debilitating illness,” Potter says, and kisses his forehead. “And I’m chronically ill.”

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— SEMPITERNAL

SUMMARY : part II of gimme half. vanilla is a basic flavour. but sometimes it’s just the right thing for mornings like this.  

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), p in v, smut, unprotected sex, fluff

WORD COUNT : 2.2k

A/N : bring me the horizon song title. ah, the second day of January, getting closer to Dean’s bday, it will be the best day of my life or the worst. I have ocd (so does my mom) so idk what’s normal lmao Xxxx

It must have all been a dream. 

She would never go to her neighbour’s house. Not when they were supposed to hate each other. Not when it was freezing cold. Not at night. Not close to Christmas…

He was very pretty though, in her dreams. Still, so pretty. Irresistible. Hot. Frustrating. Adorable. A million lovely things. It felt very real. So real. 

His lips. All pink, warm, soft, and sweet. His hands. Rough, warm, calloused, and skilful. His skin. Freckled, covered in scars, tattooed, hot. God… she wanted that in reality, too. To feel it against every inch of her skin once more. She especially wanted what’s between his legs. 

Were her sheets always this cold? This thin and… not downy at all? 

If she could return to her dream. That would be nice. Making friends with her enemy, Dean… Well, making love is more what it was. Very rough, desperate, hot love. 

She grumbled sleepily, lifting the sheet up her body. Trying to get her arms warm, to stop the cold from getting through the openings. Something stopped her, something hard behind her, and she didn’t want to wake up. 

And wait… why was the window in the opposite direction? 

She rubbed her bleary eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room, the beige and white bed sheets that were definitely not hers. The pictures and posters on the walls were unfamiliar…

She sat up on the bed slowly and twisted her body cautiously to peek at whoever was sleeping beside her. 

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped slightly. 

Dean. 

She shut her mouth and smiled, trying not to laugh at the events that occurred the night before. They were definitely not a dream. For her bravery, she deserved a treat. Maybe six.

He really did look pretty. 

Those muscular arms holding his pillow, skin freckled and lightly tanned. The sheets clung tightly to his hips, that tiny, narrow waist of his. So jealous. And… oh, God, he wasn’t wearing anything. 

His lips were parted slightly, pink and swollen from sleep, maybe from all the kissing they were doing the previous night. He had the prettiest lashes, so long, thick, curled naturally. What even was he? Those gorgeous freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. His messy hair looked so soft. 

Peaceful. Relaxed. 

The sunlight made him look even more divine. Honey and gold, a verdant forest, a soft flower in a meadow. Springtime in the winter. That was Dean.

She looked around his room, she was completely naked. Some warm clothes and fluffy socks to keep the cold at bay would be nice. 

She opened his drawer to look for some socks, sliding the top drawer out. She blinked at the contents inside. A vibrating cock ring stood out from the other things inside, in rose pink. She chuckled. There were a few candy wrappers, jolly ranchers, unused condoms in the front, a steel gun over books. Cute. There were old movie tickets, a Bob Seger cassette tape, Crime and Punishment, Persuasion, The Lord of the Rings, and 11/22/63. He’s so hot.

She closed it quietly and opened the second one. One half had perfectly folded, plain black t-shirts and the other half had only white t-shirts. She pulled out a black shirt from the top and put it on carefully. She took a deep breath of the scent of the softener that remained and sighed. Yum.

She opened the third and final one. Finally socks. They were neatly organised, folded, tightly fitting in rows and columns. Blue penguin socks caught her attention, but so did the pink ones with otters, the purple ones with avocados, and the green ones with giraffes. Could he get any more endearing?

She picked the boring black ones at the back. What if the fun socks were special to him? 

She got out of his bed, walking quietly across his very cute bedroom, and into the bathroom. His very clean bathroom. 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Thank God for the shower she took with Dean last night. No raccoon face from her eyeliner this morning. But she was definitely sore. Good sore. 

He’s so… hospitable. And a billion other things, too many lovely things to list. She laughed quietly to herself, turning the water on in the sink to wash her face. 

Maybe she shouldn’t get too ahead of herself with these thoughts and feelings. Last night was fast, blurry, heated, and emotional. Things could change, she knew that better than anyone. Morning clarity. After sex clarity? Who knows.  

It would be impossible not to have marks over her body after the night they had. She turned the water off, gently shook her hands in the sink, and used the shirt to pat her face dry. Curiously, she kept the shirt up, and stared down at her body. 

There were bruises on her hips the shape of his fingers. And Reddish-purplish marks on her breasts, sternum, and stomach, even higher up on her collarbone. There were bite marks on her shoulders that stung to touch-

“Sorry about those,” Dean’s raspy morning voice made her jump. She dropped the shirt and crossed her arms over her chest, smiling timidly at Dean. She didn’t know why. After the hot night they had together, being seen naked the next morning should be the last thing to make her this flustered. 

“I’m not getting in the way of your secret escape, am I?” He changed the subject, teasingly smirking at her. He pushed himself off the doorframe. Unfortunately, he was wearing a soft grey robe tied loosely around his waist, some grey slippers, and his hair was a cute-slash-sexy mess. 

“No…” she replied softly, running her fingers through her somewhat messy hair. It still felt wet… maybe she should have stopped Dean from throwing her into his bed after their shower, but he seemed more than thrilled to bury his face between her legs. God, that stubble on his jaw felt amazing between her sensitive thighs. 

“Good,” he mumbled tiredly, smiling down at her. 

He was irresistible. She could already feel heat forming between her legs, wetness seeping from her entrance, and her heart pound quickly in the casket of bones the closer he got. 

Maybe it was those pretty green eyes of his, the burning fire in his gaze simmering deep within the golden specks. He checked her out from head to toe slowly, shamelessly, devouringly. Why would he have any shame after the night they had?

Her body reacted to him embarrassingly fast. Like two atoms, she ached to be fused together with him. Being in his presence just felt right. It felt fiery, more now than last night, more than when he was asleep. When he was asleep, he was more than adorable, but now… She wanted him on her again. 

Her skin burned like acid rain had dripped down over her body, but it was just his hungry eyes. It was the memory of his mouth, his tongue, his lips, and his teeth. All marking her, making her his own.

Her lungs ached for slower, deeper breaths as he sucked the oxygen from the room with that deep, husky voice of his. He left her breathless, with those soft eyes and tender smile.

All he did was put toothpaste on the brush he gave her last night. He smiled when he gave it to her, his fingers brushed against hers, like jumpstarting the dead battery of a car. 

She tried to hide the sharp inhale when she took the toothbrush from him by biting her lip. He seemed to like her reaction, a smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to and neither did she. 

She watched him do the same to his own toothbrush and slowly, wordlessly, he started to brush his teeth. 

“Cute cock ring,” she told him casually, and began brushing her own teeth. He almost spit out the toothpaste and saliva when he laughed, a very beautiful laugh that made her insides warm and melty like cheese in a burger, or butter on pancakes, or whipped cream on waffles. 

She was hungry. 

“You looked through my stuff,” he stated, a mouthful of toothpaste still in his mouth. He continued to brush his teeth, staring at her the whole time rather than looking into the mirror. His eyes were sparkling, and not just because of the cold winter sunlight. 

“I was cold,” she shrugged, then spit out what she had left before continuing to brush. He spit everything out at last, regarding her with a smirk. 

“Guess I shoulda been a better host.” Dean finished brushing his teeth and she did soon after as well, waiting for him to finish freshening up from the doorframe.

“You more than made up for it last night,” she grinned, catching the smirk on his face, the sudden dreaminess that washed over his green eyes. Her insides twisted excitedly and he finally looked at her with those soft verdurous eyes.

“Are you still cold?” He teased when he finished, reaching for her waist and gently tugging her forward, and away from the doorway. She shook her head ‘no’ and smiled up at him. “Too bad,” he hummed, biting his lip. “You chose boring socks,” he pouted, then leaned down to kiss her. 

She smiled against his lips. The kiss somehow felt more… warm than last night, and… well, like the birth of a star. Warmth bloomed in her chest, like a flower kissed by sunlight in the morning. It was like being reborn, like breathing the cleanest air.

“I was trying to be considerate,” she mumbled when he pulled away from her lips. He tilted his head with a confused smile, and moved her backwards, leading her back to his bed.

“Considerate?” Dean slowly lifted the shirt, his fingertips teasing her warm skin as he slid it up her body. 

“Read my mind,” she whispered, throwing the clean shirt on his desk when it was around her wrists above her head. 

“I don’t read minds,” he grinned down at her, pecking her lips. She hummed softly, amused just because he made her smile, and untied his robe. He humoured her anyway, staring at her as she climbed onto the bed, her soft hands moving up his torso slowly exploring, memorising, worshipping. “You… are so cute,” he teased, leaning forward to kiss her again. 

She pressed her lips against his, moaning quietly against his mouth. She pushed the robe off his shoulders and he threw it over the small, sage-coloured sofa he had placed by the window that was opened to her house. 

“That’s not reading my mind.” She buried her fingers in his hair and began crawling backwards, her warm tongue tracing his plump lips. He cursed softly against her mouth, kissing her back with as much force, and climbed up the bed with her.

“I told you,” he panted, lowering his body over hers once her head fell onto the pillows, “I don't read minds.” She pulled Dean down, closer to her, arms circled around his neck, legs parted for his hips to fit perfectly in between.

“I think you see through me,” she whispered, lapping at the red mark positioned on his pulse, making him moan softly. She couldn’t believe she felt insecure about it at first, but now, it was hot that he could read her, that he could figure her out in seconds. For however long he's been hunting, she had no doubt he was much more clever than he led on. 

“You think wearing a pair of what might be my favourite socks will make me… sad?” He tried, barely moving away from her mouth. She snickered upon releasing how ridiculous it sounded out loud, she nodded anyway.

“I’d be upset,” she shrugged, sliding her hands down his back, his taut muscles shifting beneath her hands. 

“Exactly why I said you’re cute,” he told her softly, rocking his hips against hers. She shook her head in denial, dragging her lips back up to his. His cock slid through her soaked folds, teasingly nudging her entrance, tortuously rubbing her clit. “You hungry?” He asked, leaning on one arm placed by her head.

“Dirty intent with that question?” She teased, nibbling his bottom lip. He laughed deeply, pressing his cock into her, slowly pushing in. 

“Wanted to make ya breakfast,” he huffed, moaning with her when he pulled out gently and pushed back into her warmth. “So… breakfast?” His hand travelled freely down her sides, tenderly brushing against the bruises on her skin. 

“Only if you’ll make me breakfast often,” she played quietly. With a husky moan, he slid his hands back up her sides, thumbing her sensitive nipples. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, smiling at her words, the tightening of her walls around him taking him to the brink of delectable release and delirious insanity.

“Only if you’re mine,” he rasped, taking her wrist to slide his hand into hers, pressing it into the pillow, and above her head. 

“Yes,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, slipping her other hand into his hair. He lifted his face to stare into her sincere gaze, brought his freehand between their bodies to rub circles on her clit. 

“To breakfast or being mine?” Dean inquired, rolling his hips swiftly into her. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him close, and drawing his lips closer with her hand clutching the short hair behind his head.

“Yes,” she murmured, drawing a soft laugh from him as she pressed a deep kiss to his warm lips.

➥ summer’s stellar gaze

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortots-world @evznackles @ohnosy @juicyballsworld

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

dean’s 45th birthday celebration masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[rhey-007]

Anger Harms Beauty

Lance Stroll x Alonso!reader

• | social media au / enemies to lovers

Summary: Your father setting you up for a horrible date with Lance, changed your both's indifference to a mutual hate. But when your inappropriate photos get leaked out the Canadian is first to defend and help you.

Warnings/Tags: female reader, fluff, mentions of revealing photos, toxic reader and Lance, mutual hate, enemies to lovers

A/N: I'm recently head over heels with Lance so you can expect more fics with him 🧍‍♀️ I also have a personal beef with his Vegas beard it's too much, the Brazil one was just perfect TwT

INSTAGRAM

lance_stroll just followed y/n._.alonso

y/n._.alonso just followed lance_stroll

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n._.alonso and 50,678 others

tagged: astonmartinf1, fernandoalo_oficial

•lance_stroll: Great weekend in Montreal! Thank you all! 💞

•fernandoalo_oficial: P3 and P7! We're rocking it!

•user1: can't believe Lance was P7...

•astonmartinf1: great performance from both drivers! Congrats! 👏🥳🎉

•y/n._.alonso: SHAVE OFF THAT GROSS DILL 🤢 you look older than my father and he's almost 50!

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: I'm not that old... :(

→ •y/n._.alonso: Lo siento papa 💞 (I'm sorry dad)

→ •lance_stroll: shave your armpits and then we can talk

→ •user2: Lance is savage 😮

→ •user3: that's more mean than savage

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll and 45,923 others

•y/n._.alonso: 🥰🤤🍴

•fernandoalo_oficial: my baby should open a restaurant!!! 💞🤤

•user4: ah to be y/n and eat such delicious food whenever I want and still have a body of a goddess... TwT

•lance_stroll: you're gonna be fat if you eat all that

→ •y/n._.alonso: says a guy who eats the trashiest food ever

→ •lance_stroll: at least I work out and don't slump in bed 24/7

•bluebellhorner: best food I ate in like forever! 😍

→ •y/n._.alonso: thank you honey! 💞💞💞

•user5: I want to try it so bad 😭

INSTAGRAM

liked by y/n._.alonso, estebanocon and 763,213 others

•lance_stroll: just bought this beauty and I can't get over how amazing it is! 😍

•estebanocon: good for you buddy! The best car you own for sure! 💪

•logansargeant: what a pretty beast! when's my turn for a ride?

→ •lance_stroll: whenever you'd like :)

•y/n._.alonso: you should buy yourself a new face not a car

→ •lance_stroll: some's jealous daddy won't buy them one 🤭

→ •y/n._.alonso: I can buy it myself I don't need daddy's money... Not like someone 🤭👉👈

→ •user6: •lance_stroll you got shot with your own weapon! XD

•user7: I want this car so much 😩

→ •user8: maybe one day... 🥲

INSTAGRAM

liked by bluebellhorner, fernandoalo_oficial and 567,365 others

tagged: •yourbestie

•y/n._.alonso: gym day with my girlie •yourbestie 💪🥊

•user9: I want that body yadi 😭

→ •user10: we all want that body yadi 🥲

•lance_stroll: oh look who started to go to the gym, wonder why... 🤔

→ •y/n._.alonso: shut up, you wouldn't even take my dad in a fight

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: don't even bring me into that...

→ •user11: the father has had enough 😂

→ •user12: he's done with both of them

→ •user13: why do they keep fighting under every post???

•yourbestie: I'm not going to the gym with you anymore... I can't walk now... 🥲

→ •y/n._.alonso: love you too hihi 🤭💞

INSTAGRAM

liked by bluebellhorner, fernandoalo_oficial and 687,345 others

tagged: yourbestie

•y/n._.alonso: looking for a new boo 🤭💍

•yourbestie: great weekend so far! Can't wait for the rest! 😘

•user13: petition for y/n and bestie to adopt me as their new friend 🧍‍♀️🙋‍♀️

→ •user14: me too!

→ •logansargeant: I want too!

→ •user13: nu-uh, you would spy for Lance >:(

→ •logansargeant: 😔

•lance_stroll: You're not gonna find anyone there, too high level for you

→ •y/n._.alonso: you're ona a waaaay lower level than me 🙃

→ •lance_stroll: you wish

→ •y/n._.alonso: no. I know it 💅

TWITTER

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

INSTAGRAM

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial and 789,324 others

tagged: lance_stroll

•y/n._.alonso: this guy... I can't 😭💞

Never thought he'll become the closest person for me in those hard times. He appeared in my apartment the same day those photos leaked out, arms stuffed with food, flower bouquets and a huuuge teddy bear plushie (I still have no idea how he managed to bring all those things upstairs in one go), ready to comfort me as long as I'd need it. •lance_stroll I'm sorry I was such a bitch, I love you 💞

And I withdraw my words that •fernandoalo_oficial has the worst taste in men. He knew way better than me from the start and I regret not giving Lance a second chance at the very beginning just as he suggested me to. I'm sorry dad, love you too 💞

•lance_stroll: I forgive you fatty ❤

→ •y/n._.alonso: don't even start or it'll end too soon -_-

→ •lance_stroll: sorry mami ❤

→ •user15: that is so cute I can't 😭💞

→ •user16: THEY ARE TOO CUTE KSXNDNBDJEJ

•fernandoalo_oficial: of course I was right 🧍‍♀️💅

→ •y/n._.alonso: Eres el mejor papa 💞 (you're the best dad)

→ •lance_stroll: •fernandoalo_oficial can I call you papa too now? :3

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: nope 🤨🧐

→ •lance_stroll: :(

•estebanocon: fucking finally! 🎉

→ •logansargeant: YEEES 💥💪 YOU GUYS SLAY

→ •yourbestie: stop...

•yourbestie: •lance_stroll our beef ain't ending here >:(

→ •lance_stroll: •y/n._.alonso❗ she's is threatening me again❗❗❗

→ •y/n._.alonso: don't even start... 🫥

→ •user17: AGAIN??? •yourbestie GURL WHAT DID YOU DO???

→ •yourbestie: 🤭💞

→ •user18: I bet she tried killing him more than once 😂

INSTAGRAM

[lgbtsana]

LOST IN TRANSLATION

- sim jaeyun / jake one-shot

GENRE: Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Deaf Jake, College Life.

PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob

Jake is a 21 year-old deaf, junior university student, who has trauma from bullying over the fact he can't hear. Y/N is a 20 year-old, freshman university student, who just wants to make friends. She approaches Jake without knowing he's deaf, and he begins to dislike her when she couldn't understand why he was pointing to his ears. Y/N learned through Heeseung that Jake was deaf. Why not learn sign language? Will she be able to befriend Jake or will he dislike her until he graduates?

The alarm in her room, blaring, filling the room with its ever so annoying noises. Y/N's hand slams on the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock desperately, trying to turn it off.

“Just turn off already!” she exclaimed, sitting up and turning it off. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, “Finally…” her voice trails.

“Fuck! I'm late!” She hurries to change her clothes and get to her university, Decelis Academy.

While she was almost always late, she had good grades. Her GPA is what got her accepted. So, learning things felt like a breeze to Y/N.

Arriving to her class, she immediately got scolded by the professor. “Late again, Ms. Seo” Professor Jay remarked, annoyed at the tardiness. But, just glad she made it.

While, Professor Jay seems harsh. He actually is laid back and kind. Always making sure everyone is done with their work, and able to turn it in. The students appreciated it, this allowed them to understand the material better.

“Sorry, Professor Jay…” her voice trailed, “I was up late studying.”

A sigh left the professor's lips, “Sit down, at least you're late with a decent reason.”

A slight smile met her lips, “Thank you, Professor Jay!” she spoke excitedly, walking to her desk chair and taking a seat.

Being a Freshman gave Y/N some advantages, she was able to get off with being tardy, blaming it on ‘studying’ when she already knew the material.

Though, she had some challenges with making friends. They always walk away from her, saying that she was “Too weird.”

It irked Y/N, but she let it go.

After her class ended, she noticed a taller boy in the hallway. Realizing this was a chance to make a friend, she skipped over excitedly and spoke, “Excuse me? Would you like to be friends?”

Silence.

“Ah, ignored again…” she sighed as the boy turned around and jolted in surprise. His jolt made her jump as well, but she was still confused. Why didn't he answer her?

She said the same lines she just spoke, and he tilted his head. Bringing out his phone and typing, before showing her, “I'm deaf.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, finally understanding the situation. She still wasn't sure how to communicate with him, and he got annoyed. Huffing and walking away.

Y/N reached her hand out as she frowned. Another chance down the drain.

The night of, she looked up videos to learn sign language. She realized that, to communicate better, she could learn sign language.

Y/N stayed up all night learning sign language. Practicing signs to perfect her understanding.

The next day, she walked up proudly to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and was visibly annoyed by her presence. “My name is Y/N, what is yours?” she smiled as she signed to him. His eyes widening in shock, no one having done this for him before.

“Jake.” was all he signed before quickly walking away.

“Jake, huh…” Y/N murmured, turning on her heel and making her way to Heeseung.

“Hey!” her hands clasped his shoulders roughly, making him jolt. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, “I'm doing an assignment, what's up?”

“Do you know who Jake is?”

“Jake? Yeah, he's the deaf student. Keeps to himself.” Heeseung quickly replied.

“Making more friends is hard, Seungie…” she whispered, visibly upset.

“What happened? Wait- Did you try to talk to Jake?”

“Yeah! But I learned sign language after that to fix things, I think that made him hate me more…”

A fit of laughter began as Heeseung couldn't hold it in anymore.

“Hey! It's not funny, asshole!” she hit his back lightly, making sure not to hurt him.

“It kinda is.” Heeseung spoke plainly.

“No!”

“Yeah!” He laughed heartily.

“I'll get Sunoo to talk to him, he knows sign language.”

“You will? Thank you!” she hugged her closest, and only, friend.

“Yeah, yeah. Now let me do my assignment, in peace.”

Y/N nodded and left the room.

Heeseung was able to get Sunoo to convince Jake to talk to Y/N. It was a long process, but they were able to do it.

Jake and Y/N meet up at the park, signing to each other, Y/N made sure to get every sign correct.

Jake noticed her concentration on making sure she was signing correctly. A chuckle left his lips, watching her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What's so funny?” she signed to him.

“Your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate,” he signed back, “It's kinda funny.”

Y/N pouted, “No fair! I'm trying not to mess up and make you hate me…” she signed and frowned at the end.

Jake's eyes widened, he didn't particularly hate her, he was more weary of her.

“I got bullied for being deaf when I was younger,” he signed, explaining his childhood thoroughly.

At the end, Y/N understood why he was weary. But, he finally knew she wasn't like that.

Christmas came around in a flash, people around campus going home to visit family. Yet, some decided to stay in their dorms. Keeping time to themselves.

Jake texted Y/N that he was going to visit family and came to her dorm room to give her a hug. “Until we meet again!” he signed, making it dramatic as possible. Y/N laughed, “Yeah, yeah, get going drama king!” she signed back, before putting her hands on his back to push him.

He pulled out his phone and texted her, “See you later!”

She looked up from her phone and smiled. Mouthing slowly, “Bye.”

Holidays ended, and Y/N was waiting at the train station for Jake to arrive. She wanted to surprise him when he came back.

As the train came to a stop, the door slowly opened and people from inside came flooding out. Y/N was focused on finding Jake, her eyes searching through the crowd until their eyes met.

Her face lit up as a smile came to her lips. She noticed Jake mouthing, “Can I hug you?”

She gave him a nod as confirmation, and he walked over to her, pushing through the crowd and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

Y/N's eyes widened as Jake pulled away, “Kiss?” she signed, “I thought it was a hug?”

Jake covered his mouth to laugh, before signing, “I mouthed, ‘’Can I kiss you?”

Y/N shrugged, “Either works!” she signed with a smile. Before giving him a tight hug, pulling away and signing, “Welcome back.”

While flowers take time to blossom fully, so does love. It takes time to learn a language, it takes time for feelings to grow. Love takes time.

[just-some-random-blogger]

First I wanna say I absolutely adore your writing! <3

I was wondering if you could write a Daemon x Reader where the reader is a noble Northern lady who is like a shieldmaiden and they fight together at Stepstones. They kind of become friends and the reader constantly teases Daemon about how he has never seen anything about life in his Prince-ly upbringing and she knows more than him even though he is older (though it is the start of the battle of stepstones so he is canonically like 25 but still he is like 3-4 years older than her). But then while they are talking and drinking she accidentally blurts out that she is still a maiden and now it is time for Daemon to tease her. Then boom, smut happens.

Mine For The Night

"It's not something to fuss over, really," Daemon mutters, thumb on my lips, breath laced with wine, "and wouldn't it better I take your maidenhead than some old man you'll never desire?"

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, mentions/depictions of drinking/drunkenness, smut (drunk sex, loss of virginity, piv, breeding kink, choking, scratching, biting?), sleazy!daemon, typos, etc.

A/N: rah its been a while since a daemon req so lemme crack this egg

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa

The onlooking crowd cheers when I dodge the man who charged into me. The bumbling brute batters into a table of men who aren't fortunate enough to be as quick as I am. The collision is heavy and loud. The ruffian, who was dim enough to pick a fight with me, spills all the drinks on the table on impact. It inspires the sat men to stand and to hurtle him against the wall, where he then passes out.

Daemon watches this play out with the rest of the patrons in the tavern, arms crossed, chest buzzing in amusement.

"That'll teach ya to mind yer manners," a man from our company barks before sharing a laugh with the rest of the men.

My inebriety is washed off with my exhaustion. I wobble back to my table, glaring at the men there, "you lot could stand to help?"

Daemon chuckles, but someone else answers, "well, our lady proved the point beautifully."

I roll my eyes, "men are good for nothing," I grab my things and head out of the tavern.

"Oh, don't be like that, lady love!" one of the men call, "I'm sure one of us can show you how good it can be to have a man!"

They share a laugh with each other and I roll my eyes.

The moment, I'm outside, I burp and head back to our camp. I whip my head to the side when I realize someone came outside with me.

"The slurs of drunken cunts," Daemon grins, walking beside me with his hands behind his back.

I shake my head and keep walking, "you're a cunt yourself, since you sat and watched."

"There's something rather bewitching seeing you get covered in ale and blood," he mutters through a lopsided smile.

"Mmm, I pray you be bewitched all the way back to your tent and leave me be," I glare at him before walking faster.

He makes a tutting sound and grabs my arm, preventing me from moving any father. The prince shakes his head and brushes his hand down my shoulder, "my drunken fool has forgotten her promise to me."

I scowl at him, "who are you calling fool?" I shove him back. It doesn't work very effectively. Curses. I hiss, "I made no promise to you. Unhand me."

Daemon chuckles, both his hands now on my arms, "ah, you're right. Twas I that promised you this," he rubs his hands up to my temples and swipes his thumbs on my brows, "the head of our enemy's dimwitted commander for a night you'd not forget."

My breath catches in my throat when the silver haired man leans closer. He mutters, "or did you think my words on the battlefield were weightless, Northern girl?"

"I am not interested in your words, nor doing such lascivious things with you," I push him off by his chest.

Daemon lets me walk away, and he laughs as I do so. "I did not think your memory would be so poor after such cheap wine touched your lips."

I hear him follow after me.

"Shall I recite how you confessed your desires to bed a man before you died?"

"And I am alive, am I not?"

"You'll only truly, once you've had me throw your legs over my shoulders and-"

"WHATEVER I SPOKE TO YOU-" I snap, turning around and pointing a finger at him, "about my sinful desires-"

Daemon chuckles.

"-in moments of weakness, be it when I was drunk or desperate in the middle of a fight, do away with it, devil."

He laughs louder at that.

"I have no intention of sullying myself, all because you-"

"My," he drags out and yanks be by the arm, "my lady is acting suddenly so ladylike."

I narrow my eyes at him, "I have always been ladylike because I am a lady!" I wrangle out of my his grip.

I whine when he grips my shoulders tightly. My stomach drops at the way he whispers in his mother tongue against my ear. Though I do not know what he says, I renders me frozen in my spot.

The prince relishes in this. His hands find my cheeks again. He leans in close, so close I can smell what he had been drinking. "It's not something to fuss over, really," Daemon mutters, thumb on my lips, breath laced with wine, "and wouldn't it better I take your maidenhead than some old man you'll never desire?"

Whatever I flaring retort I had is put out by the moistness of his lips.

I had never been kissed before. The sensation makes my insides roll and it's surprisingly so pleasant to be kissed by such a man as Daemon.

He chuckles, "oh, apologies," he brushes my hair back, "wasn't your maidenhood already broken ages ago on the account of your horseback riding?"

My heart races when his one hand slips into my clothes, on to my bare chest. His other hand comes to my waist. He sighs contentedly when I do not repel him after pulling me close to kiss me once more. I actually kiss him back this time.

"No one's gonna know," he mutters, "just us and the gods."

We're a mess of heavy breathing when we reach my tent. Daemon wastes no time in ripping me out of my clothing. It doesn't take long for it to be just him and I in a sea of discarded fabrics.

My skin reaches out to him with goosebumps when his hot huffs hit my neck. My movements are intrinsic; I reach out to him just as he kneads my body. His hips nestle between my bare thighs. A whine escapes me when he begins to rub against me.

"Relax," he mutters, "it won't hurt. You'll enjoy it."

I sigh as he begins to trail kisses down my neck. I slowly feel myself melt into his touch. He continues meshing his hips into mine until a tingle builds in my belly and my toes curl in response. I feel a slickness build between my thighs. I claw my nails into his back and he hisses in response. My legs tighten around him. He groans, muttering something in his native tongue.

I gasp when he tugs me by my hair and speaks hotly against my ear, "you're making it hard for me to be gentle with you."

I claim his lips with my teeth, making him groan. I scratch my fingers up his nape and pull on his hair in a more gentle and needing manner, "I can take it."

Daemon lets out an amused garbled noise then claws my legs apart as he shifts above me. I throw my head back and squeal the moment shoves in my weeping cunny and he proceeds to thrust at a vigorous pace. He huffs through his nostrils as his thick, heavy member bullies into me. He pins me in place by clamping his hands at the back of my thigh and folding my legs like he meant to make me half my size.

"Oh," he lets out a prolonged sigh, "if they could see you now," he heaves, "powerless against me, reduced into a mewling little girl, taking it like a bitch in heat." He chuckles, lifting himself up to watch how he had me whining and rolling my eyes back.

He releases one thigh then pushes my jaw back; my voice and neck strain because of it. He goes wild over the sight and sound of my frantic breathing. He slightly squeezes my jaw, "no one's gonna know you lost your maidenhead to me."

I feel my lungs deflate when he puts more pressure on my airways.

"Mmm," he hums through the sound of slapping skin, "but everyone's gonna know I pumped my seed into you when your babe comes out looking like me."

I suck in a sharp breath when he releases my throat.

"Let's see how you fare once you're heavy with my child."

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Requesting Aid 2

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @i-am-a-dragon34 @ms--lobotomy @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @felinisnoctis @bispecsual @whorety-k @bleedingichorhearts @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @jaghatai-khock

Author's note: Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Anrir. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric & Ash'val. Thank you to @c-u-c-koo-4-40k for collaboration on writing this behemoth of an arc... and it's only still at the start and letting me borrow Khopesh. Lol.

Kerubiel had given so much, pushed himself in Every aspect of his training. Aspirant to Neophyte to Scout, watching his lessers die off one by one. Asserting (comforting) himself that He was Better. That He would survive (Praying himself near sleepless that he would survive). 

That their passing was a Mercy to them because they wouldn't survive what he could- Because he would be the Best. He exceeded expectations, and when he didn't he took his beatings, scraped himself up, and kept fighting! Showed just as much promise in Every Mission and Every Training. Pushing himself to the limit of his enhanced body, Every! Single! Day! (Because anything less would mean he'd not be worth keeping.) 

And Yet!

...

“Why wasn't I enough…?” Kerubiel asks, muffling his sobbing into Olly's shoulder. 

“...” Olly doesn't know how to respond. “I don't know.” He eventually says, but he knows he could say something better, and is aggravated with himself that he can't think of it. 

“You were always enough.” 

Both Primaris whip their heads back to see the old Dragon Approaching once again. Soon, Ash'val stands before them. 

“You…you heard?” Kerubiel asks, feeling an embarrassed blush come over him. 

The Salamander nods. “Salamanders may not Prefer Gothic but most of us can speak it.” He explains. “Also my Gothic may be pre-heresy but the language really hasn't changed that much in your time it seems.”

Olly responds with a slight embarrassed “Ah…alright then.”

“But back to the point. You two were Always enough.” Ash'val insists. 

The Scouts look away, clearly not believing him, so the old Dragon decides to try a different angle. 

“Have you heard the tale of when our Gene father Vulcan, long may he Live, rejoined our Legion?”

“...” “I know Vulcan was described to us as one of the Holy Primarchs of the Imperium.” Olly replies while Keru stays silent. “But wait…are you saying, you've actually Met a Primarch!? In person!?” The Ultramarine gasps. 

Ash'val nods. “In the obsidian flesh, here, sit with me and I will tell you.”

Both Primaris do as the old dragon says and he begins the tale. “We Salamanders had been devastated by a long conflict. Our numbers were depleted, our casualties counted in the thousands. What ships we could spare were sent with civilians and what supplies came back never seemed to be enough. We were at our end, but then…he came.” Ash'val's recollection takes on a legendary sort of awe. “He, and the forces he handpicked and armed, cut down our Xenos foe. The enemy we faced for months was burnt to ash in what felt like hours. And at the end, when the battlefield was finally quiet, we of the old Guard faced what we were certain was our replacement.”

“You feared that you would be…discarded?” Olly asks. Kerubiel remains silent, he…he had never heard such insecurities from a First Born. 

Ash'val nodded. “What more could be expected? We held our own, but clearly our betters outmatched us in every way. So…we bowed. To honor our father, and the brothers who would take our place at his side…but do you know what he did?”

The Primaris shook their heads. 

“He demanded we get up, that we stand proud because we had…given so much and saved so many…that We should not bow. Then He…he bowed to Us.”

Olly almost felt a gasp escape him. A Primarch! Bowing low to mere Space Marines!? If his own Gene Father was to bow to him he'd…he'd…

Well he doesn't know what he'd do but the very idea makes him feel like he's about to pass out. 

“And then he Took us in his arms and said we would ALL be his sons! LIKE THIS!” Ash'val says joyfully, and surprises the two Primaris by swooping them into a tight hug! 

“Woah!” “Hey now!”

Salamander strength is really no joke considering Ash'val successfully lifts Both of them in armor, even if only for a moment. He continues once he places them both down. 

“And ever since then, we Salamanders have Always accepted our new recruits with open arms. Terran, First Born, Transfers from other Legions, and the Primaris.” Ash'val explains. “Which is what I wish happened for you, and your brothers…”

Kerubiel bites his lip, “It…wasn't your fault.” He eventually says. 

“Perhaps,” Ash'val responds. “But clearly, more care will need to be taken with integrating Primaris that arrive here. They should feel welcomed, and that whatever abuse they faced in their pasts will not be tolerated by the Alliance, least of all in a territory under My protection. ”

Kerubiel and Olly both feel…stunned. But Ash'val simply claps them both on the shoulders. “The dragon rises on a New Day! Now, let's continue as we were! 50 laps! I'll give you a ten second head start. You both better keep up with this old drake or you'll both be in for barracks cleaning duty!”

“Yes sir!” “Sir yes sir!” Kerubiel pulls out his hydration ration and chugs it properly before getting a move on with Olly. 

Ash'val watches the boys fondly, but his expression does shift as he glances back down at his vox. 

‘Dark Angel Apothecary retained at Clinic. Possible involvement with attempted kidnapping of the Primaris known as Kerubiel. Administering truth drugs as soon as Anesthesia reaches appropriate level.’

Ash’val is glad that he’s able to watch over a pair of the Primaris Marines- especially one of the ones that had been almost-kidnapped. Would be thieves were going to be punished. If the younger cousins do not want to be taken, then they won’t be.

Ash'val grimaces, and seems he will need to remind the other Astarte leaders of this world what happens when you intrude upon a Dragon's nest. 

“10 seconds up! You'll be left in the dust if you don't pick up the pace, old man!” Kerubiel shouts, now much more like himself. 

Ash'val's grimace melts instantly into a challenging grin. “OH-HO-HO! I'll make you eat those words scout!” He replies, doing as promised and picking up a run after his charges. 

Kerubiel had a fierce, but a small smile on his face as he continued to run- making sure to pace himself. He and Olly were running, keeping ahead of Ash’val- for now at least. Primaris Marines are faster than most First Borns.

The more he learns about the boy’s story the more he understands why they are reluctant to reach out to their older brothers- and superior officers. The reluctance to put themselves into the hands of those who, in their time and era have proven themselves unworthy of their trust and obedience.

Still the more Ash’val learns of M42, one thought keeps going through his head is this ‘What the fuck? Why? What is wrong with M42?’

…

“And then the boys came back to reality, and we called the others to tell them.” Lullaby explains to Nanael and Atlas as they show the new arrivals the full image that Claude and Jophiel's vision had produced. 

“...” Neither of the new Primaris speak for a moment, but eventually Nanael produces one… 

“I see…” That doesn't have any curses or promises of violence he Desperately wants to include. Nanael's expression is serious, and even slightly disgusted. His wings are reminiscent of Jophiel's when he'd first seen Lullaby's … interesting looking warp presence. 

“But…What does it mean?!” Lullaby asks plaintively, “Why are they Doing this, Why do they Want to do this?! He's done nothing to them!” They feel another painful spike in their emotions and their psychery, and force it back down so it doesn't cause trouble. They still feel tears pricking at their eyes, and they wipe them away quickly. Not the time for weakness. 

“It will be Alright.” Atlas assures Lullaby. “We've already received double confirmation that Kerubiel is safe with Ash'val and Olly.”

“And Khopesh will be back before you know it. Though he may have to check in with Anrir first.” Claude supplies, giving Lullaby a gentle side hug.  

Lullaby nods. “I know. I just don't understand why…anything with this.” They say tiredly pinching the bridge of their nose. “And I Hate that.”

Nanael's expression takes on a different intense look. He and Cedric will have bastards to Hunt down soon enough. After all- harm given, is harm to be repaid. If those Dark Angels were planning on doing that to Kerubiel. Or whichever other Primaris they got a hold of, well, self defense, even a more active version of it so that those bastards don’t hurt him, or others is understandable. 

And if a portion of the Dark Angels was planning on brutally killing one of his brothers for curiosity. Well then, he’ll make them drown in their own blood. They were going to kill someone he Cherishes. Or may even go after another Primaris, should it prove too difficult to get Keru. 

Threats must be dealt with, and well, there was something in the codex about that, Ruthlessness is mercy upon one’s self. Yeah. Nanael knows he’s not fully of the Lamenter variant of the Son of Sanguinius, what else he is, he doesn’t know, Nor particularly care to find out.

“Jophie, Claude, if we point out the figures do you think you can recall more about their appearances?” Atlas posits. 

Jophiel and Claude look to each other and to Atlas, “Perhaps? I’d like to try to see if I can get more clarity if you do have pictures.”

“It can’t hurt to try.” Claude says. 

“I'll grab the paper and colored pencils!” Lullaby announces. “If we can do a Perp Sketch it could help Kerubiel and Khopesh avoid them. Especially if any of the Dark Angels had scars or other recognizable features.” They say, voicing their understanding of what Atlas was getting at. “And it will help others find them so they can be stopped…”

“They can be stopped…right?” Lullaby asks hesitantly. “Like they intended to kidnap Kerubiel, and even if This crime technically didn't happen I mean…there's got to be Something we can do right?” Lullaby asks. 

Atlas puts a comforting hand on the baselines shoulder. “We will make sure our friends do not come to harm. You have my word.”

Lullaby smiles. They know there's only so far a promise can go, but the words soothe them regardless. 

Squeak Squeak! A chirping bat call ringtone sounds on Lullabys phone and they scramble it out in a flurry. “Khopesh?! Can you hear me sweetness?”

“I am well, dear one! I am just letting you know I have Arrived back at Stone Flame but I must report to Anrir first.” Khopesh explains. 

Lullaby’s entire frame immediately uncoils most of its tension. “Thank Goodness. Also…”

“Yes my Love?” 

“I'm really happy to hear your voice.”

“Awww!”

“But! Once you're back in my arms you're also going to Tell Me Exactly how you got involved with this Dark Angel debacle.” Lullaby says without leaving room for argument. 

Nanael raises an eyebrow. “You mean he didn't brag to you about biting off a Dark Angel's arm when they tried to take Kerubiel?”

“HE DID WHAT?!” 

“NANAEL DON'T TELL THEM THAT! HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!?”

“Cedric heard it through Zariel I believe.” Nanael smirked. “It was for a good reason, but still I Think you should have informed your partner appropriately, brother cousin.”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

“You are getting it the next time we train, little brother cousin!” Khopesh responds through the phone to the still smirking Nanael. 

“You are coming straight back Here after you see Anrir.” Lullaby says strictly. “And you are going to help us construct the sketches of the Dark Angels so you and Kerubiel can avoid coming within 10 Miles of them until they're dealt with!”

“Yes Lullaby.” Khopesh sighs. “However, I Did have a good reason.”

“Yes, and I won't say it wasn't deserved.” Lullaby responds. “But next time just Punch the offending bastard's jaw off! DO NOT! Leave behind teeth marks, and crap tons of mouth DNA for them to find you with!”

“That!...That is fair.” Khopesh allows. “Even better, next time I will make it look like an accident. No witnesses.” He growls slyly. 

Lullaby let's out an amused huff. “Again, not saying they wouldn't deserve it…especially if they’re involved with these bastards.” Lullaby responds, shooting a dirty look at the vision image. 

Ziztz! The light above Lullaby's head flickers for a moment before they pull themselves back again. Atlas doesn't know about…that side of them, yet. 

And if anymore Marines learn about their abilities they're fairly certain Anrir will turn Grey. His hair, they mean, his skin is already pretty much that color. 

“I'm sorry our art day has been impacted in this way.” Jophiel apologizes to Lullaby and Claude as the group seats itself and prepares to make the perpetrator sketches. 

Claude smiles. “I would rather this happen, then we go forward not knowing.”

Lullaby nods, and continues to pass the colored pencils, and paper so Jophiel and Claude can draw the images of their potential enemies. Nanael and Atlas continue to examine the vision image to determine how many unique figures are present, and thus how many Dark Angels they'll need to identify. 

And thus how many graves will need to be dug.

…

“How is our Patient fairing?” Anrir asks his fellow Apothecaries. 

“Vitals are stable, we'll be ready to on-board the Sodium Thiopental in about two minutes.” Hura replies. 

“Dosage is ready when you are Apothecary Hura.” Cedric replies, having just drawn up the syringe. 

“Excellent.” Hura replies before shifting his attention to his vox. “Apothecary Zariel, how are our Other guests fairing?”

‘Sour and surly, but being complacent otherwise… for now.’ Zariel responds. ‘Best to hurry this along if possible though. No telling when they'll decide to burst in and steal back their apothecary.”

“Understood, Cedric,” Hura announces. “Get the Sodium Thiopental on board.” 

“Injecting now.” Cedric replies, double checking his syringe for air bubbles before pressing the mind altering drug into the Dark Angel's IV. 

“Mrph-mm…” The Dark Angel twitches and begins to stir, but when his eyes open they are unfocused and glassy. Perfect. 

Anrir leans over the table, “Can you hear me?” The Nightlord asks in flawless Gothic.

“Yes,” The Apothecary answers, with little to no emotion in his voice. 

Anrir nods. “Good, first of all, Who are you?”

“I am Apothecary Brother Sargent Noctis Aramais, of the Dark Angels,” He replied flatly.

“What is your current mission?” Hura asks.

“To capture alive and as intact as possible a Primaris Space Marine,” Noctis Aramias replies.

“Why have you been sent to capture a Primaris Space Marine alive?” Cedric asks, one of his hands clenching into a fist before unclenching his hands.

“The orders have come from our Chapter Master, Sammath Togroth.”

The tension in the room shifts, and Cedric finds himself stunned for a moment. A Chapter Master had ordered this? That…that would complicate things. 

If Anrir finds that information strange he does not show it. He simply continues the line of questioning. “Why does your Chapter Master want a Primaris?”

“The Chapter Master wants to see how strong and what the differences are between a Firstborn Space Marine and a Primaris Space Marine.”

“And how would this be determined?” Hura presses.

“First examine, open the body cavity and study the biological mechanics…”

“But that isn't all, is it?” Anrir prompts. “What about anesthesia?”

“No…no anesthesia. Only…hypno drugs, Chapter Master Togroth, wants…the Primaris awake. To measure stress response…Cut and take till there's...nothing left. Record findings till the Primaris expires…Collect and store usable organs as normal.” The Apothecary drones on.

Cedric feels his hearts pick up and a hot searing knife of rage cuts through him. He has to firmly hold himself back from latching his hands around the Fucking Bastards NECK and wringing it till his eyes pop out and it Snaps in his hands. 

What Cedric doesn't realize is that Anrir is not far behind him, after all if this is what they planned to do to a random Primaris, who's to say what they'd do to Khopesh who had actually offended them. But the old Nightlord is much better at keeping his emotions unseen. 

“What happened when you attempted to take the Primaris known as Kerubiel?” Anrir prompts. 

“Scout disobeyed, was antsy but…almost had him…just had to…apply the hypno drug but then-” A small amount of panicked lucidity comes back to the Dark Angel, but not enough to wake him fully. “Wretched monster with a grinning scarred mouth…lept from the trees, Teeth sinking into my Arm. Snapped it off. Get him off! GET HIM OFF KILL HIM BROTHERS! RIP HIS ARMS OFF AND WATCH HIM BLEED OU-”

Shink! Anrir jabs another dose of knock out juice right into the near thrashing Dark Angels neck, not gently at all. But the Apothecary does go limp a moment later. 

“I've heard Enough.” The elder Night lord surmises. “The amnesitics will ensure he does not recall Any of this. As for the Other issues at hand…”

“A band of rogues is one thing, but if his words are true, then we are dealing with a Far Worse conspiracy.” Hura adds. 

“No Primaris is safe…” Cedric mumbles, his tone belying the sheer overwhelmed Panic he feels. “Even if I can keep those who are already Here informed…Any new arrivals could be- They could be taken. I can't…”

“Cedric?” Hura asks, seeing the emotional outburst coming. 

“THRONE DAMMIT ALL!” Cedric snarls slamming and tossing the tray of used surgical items into a wall. (Thankfully avoiding the other medical equipment.)

“CEDRIC!?” 

“I SWORE! I-SWORE! That I wouldn't-!” Cedric feels an angry sob threaten to break through. “That I wouldn't, Let them be hurt again!” 

Both elders look on, they know a meltdown like this will need to run it's course. 

“And NOW I learn…that a fucking CHAPTER MASTER, wants to cut open one of my brother's like a fucking science experiment!?” Cedric continues to rant. “WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?”

“Is this a bad time?” 

Cedric whips his head around to the door opposite to the one that lead back to the waiting area with the other Fucking Dark Angels, only to see a familiar dark eyed face staring back…

Carrying a bunch of grocery bags. 

“Khopesh, good to see you have returned.” Anrir greets his son, the relief just barely detectable in his tone. 

“But do Not step any closer, this Is meant to be a sterile zone.” Hura adds quickly. 

Khopesh snorts but does as he's told. “That's rich coming from you Death Guard. Anrir would you like me to drop these off at your quarters instead?” Khopesh lifts the bags filled with cleaning supplies, and Anrir nods. 

“In a moment. First of all…” And with surprising smoothness and speed the old Nightlord wrenches the still Very drugged Apothecary up into a sitting position so Khopesh can see his face. “Do you recognize this one?”

“Ah…yep,” Khopesh affirms, smiling in that unsettling way. “His bones made the most Satisfying crunch when I tore into them. But wait… if He's here, does that mean…?”

Cedric nods. “The other Dark Angels are through the opposite door.” He says stiffly. “You Cannot under any circumstances let them see you! Do you understand!?” 

“Cedric,” Hura calms the Black Templar from going into another spiral. “I suggest you leave the way you came, and avoid the more…public areas of the base until you receive word that our Guests have departed.”

Khopesh nods. “No worries! The only other place I need to go is the art rooms. Lullaby has asked me to come see the vision images, so that I may, ’go no closer than 10 miles to the Dark Angels until they are dealt with.’” Khopesh shakes his head a little, but he still smiles. “How am I meant to hunt them if I cannot get Close to them?”

Cedric chews his lip in response. Anrir and Hura don't respond either, and this makes Khopesh curious. 

“Hey, I'm not hunt stealing if that's what you're worried about. Kerubiel did say if these were the brainwashing type of first borns, that he'd Like me to take care of them and make it …why are you all looking so dour?” 

“Because a retinue of grabby Dark Angels are only the tip of the spear that is our problem, my son.” Anrir responds, approaching Khopesh. “The one wielding that spear is someone of higher importance, someone who will not be so easily snuffed out given his position.”

Khopesh leans in, listening intently.

“If the words of this…patient are accurate, it is the very Chapter Master of the Dark Angels, Sammath Togroth, that has given the order. An order which then spurred the events that caused You to become involved.” Anrir announces solemnly. “I'm afraid I will have to deny you your right to hunt in this case my son. We cannot move forward until we better understand how to approach our enemy.”

Khopesh's frame deflates, but surprisingly he doesn't whine or argue. “You truly believe that is all we can do? All I can do?”

Anrir smiles wryly. “I Know you are capable of much more. But I will not risk losing you to some bastard who thinks himself a man of science, when he is truly a mere sadist. And a wasteful one at that.”

Those in the room turn their attention back to the sleeping Dark Angel, each of their minds mulling over their options. That is until a ping comes over Hura's vox. 

The Death Guard reads, and an interesting smile begins to pull at the corners of his mouth. 

“What is it?” Cedric asks. 

“It is Ash'val, he is on his way to drop off the Primaris with their fellows, and wants to know what We have found.” Hura hums, and casts a look at Anrir.

Anrir's wicked smile cracks across his face, and Khopesh copies his mentor. “You've got an idea, haven't you father?”

A chuckle from the old Nightlord almost makes Cedric's stomach twist in knots and ice run up his spine. “Send the recordings we have obtained to Ash'val. Spare no detail. And make sure he sees the vision image. We want to share Everything we have found.”

Cedric feels the realization dawn. “...You're planning on siccing Ash'val on Sammath? Will that work?”

Anrir hums. “Those who think they are above justice will always try to prove their delusion my boy. What Ash'val can do that we cannot, is ensure our prey Knows there will be consequences if his paws wander too close to the Dragon's den.”

“In other words,” Khopesh supplies, “High level prey needs a high level hunter. Use a Chapter Master to Beat a Chapter Master.”

Anrir nods astutely. “Quite right. This evidence can also push him to open an investigation, which will also give Sammath pause. I'm sure he'd prefer his reputation remain untarnished, lest he bring the anger of the alliance to his doorstep.”

“So…he will be warned? Is that it?” Cedric asks incredulously. 

“For the time being.” Anrir replies dryly. “After all, we're not able to play with our prey Directly given the circumstances. We'll have to play politics first.” Anrir sighs. “Loathsome business, but if we play our cards right, we can indeed entrap our prey.”

Hura puts a comforting hand on Cedric's shoulder. “Protecting your brothers and ousting Sammath will have to be a long game, my apprentice. But take comfort that it is not one you will be playing alone.”

Cedric mulls over his next words, unsure what to say next. “I know…you are right. But I still don't like it.”

“That's bureaucracy for ya!” Khopesh chortles. “The most tedious of necessary evils, as my Lullaby says anyway! Speaking of which!” He says turning on his heel. “I've got bags to drop off and my Lullaby and other Little Brother-Cousins to see. I'll catch up with you all later~! And Cedric,”

The Black Templar perks up, and listens. 

“When you eventually get to rip those Bastards’ spines out, save a few for me, kay?” The Nightlord asks cheekily. 

Cedric, despite his worry, finds himself smiling at the Nightlord's humor. “You have my word, Brother Cousin.”

Khopesh giggle-cackles at that. “Perfect!! Kay Byyyyyyyy!” And with that the Nightlord departs the way he came. 

Cedric will link up with the other Primaris Marines, and see what they have managed to glean from the vision. As well as inform them that they have to wait on finding grave sites for the Dark Angels who had tried to steal Kerubiel, and those who had issued the order. 

The others won't be pleased about the evil necessity of bureaucracy… Well maybe Atlas Or Olly would appreciate it somewhat. But Nanael is going to be a tough one to talk down, same with Thressl. The Space wolf and the Dark Angel have rather bonded with each other hard. 

However, they will be rather pleased that Captain Ash’val will be sent to *remind* the Dark Angel Chapter Master about the Alliance between not just Chaos and Loyalist. But also between Loyalist chapters and why trying to pull some twisted shit to sate curiosity is a bad thing and that reprisals and consequences will occur should such a thing happen.

Captain Ash’val receives another message. He reads it and nods. He was just finishing The last lap with Oleandros and Kerubiel.

“Alright, come with me.” Ash'val says assertively, “training is over For now.”

The two Primaris were indeed challenged by the old Drake in their run, and they pant when they come to a stop. Where they have strength, Ash'val has experience and stamina built from years on the battlefields of the Imperium. 

“Alright- But where are we going?” Kerubiel asks. 

“To the Second Floor Art Rooms, I am going to make sure you are escorted to your fellow Primaris safely.” Ash'val clarifies, knowing it is best to be as honest with Kerubiel as possible. “We also Cannot go the direct way as certain…Guests are currently in the clinic.”

“Guests?” Kerubiel questions the emphasis put on the word. “Wait…you don't mean?”

Ash'val nods seriously. 

Kerubiel's face drains of color. “Oh…no. No no NO!” 

“Keru…” Olly puts a hand on Keru's shoulder. 

“I will Not allow them to harm you.” Ash'val swears. “If they tried I would Crush them underfoot. However, that conflict could cause collateral damage, so I would prefer to avoid that.”

Olly nods in understanding. “Right, of course.”

“Why are they even Here!?” Keru hisses, they shouldn't have any idea where he resides. 

Ash'val, despite himself, cracks a smile. “Well because their Apothecary was afflicted with a certain…malady, that he was unable to repair himself.” Then his expression shifts to one more serious than before. “Although, now that you've mentioned it, perhaps they hoped to do some reconnaissance by bringing the Apothecary Here for treatment.”

“UuuuuuAurrgh! Dammit!” Kerbiel snarls. 

“Keru…please,” Olly pleads. 

Kerubiel whips his gaze to meet Olly’s and…he softens. He forces himself to breathe. “I'm…I am alright. And I believe you, Captain.” He says, pulling himself back into order, and even stands at attention. “What is our next plan of action?”

Ash'val nods. “We will take the back way to the second floor, and meet with the other Primaris. Apparently two of your fellows received a vision, which had something to do with your run in with the Dark Angels currently stinking up our Clinic.” He explains. “You will be delivered to your fellow Primaris, and we will examine the image your brothers have drawn of the vision. Then we will plan our next move from there.” Ash'val concludes, picking up his pace again and leading the way. “Let's move out!”

“Sir yes Sir!” Both Primaris say in unison as they follow the Salamander.

…

The Art Room door opens with a creak and Lullaby whips their head up immediately. The other Primaris take notice, and stand as if to intercept a threat. 

“At ease Scouts, it is only me,” A familiar Salamander enters the room. “And I have brought your brothers.” Ash'val gestures as the two other Primaris follow his path. 

“Keru! Olly!” Lullaby books it over and immediately starts checking them for injuries, though most of their questions are aimed at Kerubiel given what they've seen. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did any other Dark Angels see you?”

“Ack! I'm fine…why is it always hugs and touching with you?” Kerubiel grumbles but doesn't push Lullaby away. 

“Ash'val led us safely, we were not spotted.” Olly replies, smiling as he's fussed over.

“And what's this about a Vision?” The Dark Angel Primaris asks. 

Lullaby bites their lip and glances back to the table. “You better go see for yourself.” 

Nanael nods affirming that statement. “Indeed, this is something you Need to see.”

Olly and Kerubiel do as instructed. Leaving Lullaby and Ash'val for a moment. “Thank You, Captain” They say, sincerely. “For getting them here safely.”

Ash'val hums. “No thanks necessary, it is my duty. And my duty here is nowhere near its end.” He replies. “I also want to see this vision image.”

Lullaby nods. “Of course, but if I may ask…have you heard from or seen Khopesh? I know he's back on base…I'm probably just worrying too much.”

“I know that Khopesh is going to arrive back here soon. Anrir informed me that he's finished his delivery of requested items.” Ash'val says kindly to the concerned human, then turns attention to the Primaris and joins them.

And indeed the sight before him on the page makes his mouth twist in disgust, but he tamps it down. “How many hostiles are we potentially dealing with?” He asks. 

“We have counted at Least seven to possibly ten unique individuals in the vision, not including Kerubiel of course.” Atlas responds. 

“And we have done our best to draw individual sketches of each.” Jophiel adds.

“No vision is perfectly clear, so these are our recollections as best we could manage.” Claude says 

Ash'val nods. “I will need copies of these. And the originals will be archived for evidence.” He declares. “And None of you should approach any wandering or unfamiliar Dark Angels until this is resolved.”

“Why?”

Ash'val's attention turns to Kerubiel, who has been painfully silent ever since he laid eyes on the vision image. 

The Dark Angel Primaris's eyes are full of fire. “It was me they wanted, why do All of us need to take precaution?”

Honesty. He must be Honest for these Scouts’ safety. “Because we have reason to believe this goes deeper than a rogue group engaging in kidnapping and torture.” Ash'val responds, and then pulls up the audio logs from Anrir. 

The room goes silent as the ‘interview’ plays. Lullaby is the only one who doesn't understand because it's primarily in Gothic but again they parse certain words. 

Cut…Examine…Take…Expires…KILL, BLEED! RIP!

And they can see the horror and disgust and Rage the others feel as the message goes on. 

They'd even say they can almost Feel it. Nanael's expression actually makes it feel like cold blood it racing up their spine, it's just that chilling. 

“None of us are safe.” Claude murmurs. 

“Are you saying…they're going to try to do This,” Lullaby asks, gesturing to the image. “To someone else?”

Atlas nods grimly. “If they can capture a Primaris, be it any of us or a new arrival, I have no doubt this is what they have planned.”

*ZzztZtztz* The light flickers overhead again, as Lullaby's breathing and heart rate pick up. “They can't…” They say, trying desperately to hold in their spiraling emotions. 

“Lullaby…” Claude says worryingly, but the baseline doesn't hear him, not really. 

They're going to take them away. They're going to steal your loved ones in the night and rip them inside out…

They're going to hurt your family. 

The psychers in the room sense the shift. But before they can think of a way to diffuse the tension (And keep Lullaby from blowing their secret in front of Atlas.) Lullaby speaks again with an honestly frightening finality behind their words. 

“I Won't Let Them…”

“They Are a Nasty bunch aren't they?” The sound of a door opening and another familiar voice cuts through the tense air which seems to knock the baseline from their trance. 

“Khopesh? Khopesh!” They cry, running to their tall dark scarred love. They practically jump into his arms and kiss him, finally relieved. “You weren't seen or followed, right? They didn't hurt you?” The baseline asks, gently running their hands over his face. 

Khopesh responds by…purring. He Loves the feeling of his Lullaby's warm hands. “Rrrrrrrr, I am whole and well. But I Do find myself Drastically low on kisses.”

“...I just kissed you bat-winged Dork!” Lullaby retorts with an incredulous laugh. 

“Mmm no, Ghosk is the one with Bat Wings. Oh No! My Lullaby has forgotten me! I will have to just keep holding and Kissing you till you remember!” Khopesh cackles, as he starts peppering Lullaby's face.

“Ack! Be serious!” Lullaby can't help but giggle due to their ticklishness. 

Meanwhile the others in the room watch with varying degrees of Aw to Ew. 

“They truly are an odd pair aren't they?” Atlas hums. 

“They're a bit…overexcitable.” Nanael shrugs.

“Khopesh is over-excitable, period. It makes sense he'd find someone like that.” Jophiel responds. 

Olly nods. “They do have a tendency to amp each other up. Not a negative per se just…observing.”

Ash'val doesn't reply, simply smiles at the Scouts' reactions as they are rather funny. 

Lullaby does pull themselves together to firmly but kindly say. “But for real, there's something Awful that…didn't happen but Could still happen??” Lullaby sighs, clearly frustrated and anxious. 

Khopesh looks to the rest of the room, before bringing himself over to look at the vision image and- “Curze shit Damn that is VILE, Brilliant but VILE.” He growls. “And So fucking Wasteful to use it on anything less than the Worst of bastards. Definitely should have made those fucking Scout snatchers swallow their own fingers! Or used that severed hand to dig out their intestines or-”

“Khopesh,” Claude chimes in politely, but insistently. 

“Ahem! Ah right…” He hums awkwardly at getting too into retribution planning…again. 

No one in the room necessarily disagrees with his statements, but they do need to focus on Defense for the time being. 

“As I said. Unfamiliar or wandering Dark Angels are to be Avoided at all costs, and travel is Never to be undertaken without a Battle Buddy, even for short distances. That includes you little one.” Ash'val says to Lullaby, “They're looking for a Primaris and the Nightlord who slighted them. And there is no feasible way to separate your scent from his.” He explains. 

A more angry rumble starts in Khopesh's chest. He wraps a protective arm around his mate's shoulders. “If they even Try to lay a hand on you, I'll make them Wish for the mercy of the grave. Might take some inspiration from their own playbook…”

“...I know you would. But for now we should focus on not letting ourselves be ambushed.” Lullaby replies solemnly, and squeezes Khopesh's hand to calm him. 

“Indeed. I also need to discuss something with Anrir and Hura. Cedric should be coming around soon.” Ash'val states. 

“Do you know where Thressl is?” Olly asks. “He's been… Quiet. Recently.”

“Thressl is on Patrol.” Ash'val Replies. “He should be back in three days.”

“Thank You sir.” Olly replies with a polite nod.

Ash'val nods back and heads to the Apothecarium where the five problems are. You wouldn't know it by his stoic face or his measured stride but he is furious, absolutely seething but he's also not a fool. The words of a drugged Dark Angel and the vision are...not enough for a Conviction. They need something more.

But these items are enough to convince him to take extra care around those Dark Angels and the Chapter Master especially. Added security and sending out a warning to be wary, as well as starting an investigation on the down low.

For now he promises to commit himself to helping the Primaris feel more of a belonging. 

But first, he'll have to schedule a certain…visit. He manages to get to the room where Anrir, Cedric, Hura and Zariel are. 

“When the Dark Angel awakens, I will accompany you in seeing him and his squad off the premises.” Ash'val addresses the Apothecaries leaving no room for argument. 

“We were going to request your help in this matter,” Hura says with a smile, his tone is professional, but the edge of satisfaction sets Zariel’s teeth on edge.

“The Dark Angel should be waking up soon,” Zariel informs Ash'val.

There is some noise and arguments, the Interrogator Chaplain is snarling at one of the other Astartes who is manning the front desk. The Chaplain is trying to loom over the Iron Hand and use his rank and specialty to bully the battle brother.

“In the system it says that he's still waking up from anesthesia.” The Iron Hand says in cold apathetic tones. “Please go back to your seat or security will *remove* you from the premises Interrogator Chaplain.”

“And I am telling you, that it's taking to long!” The Interrogator Chaplain growls out.

“Surgery time can take longer, depending on if there are complications.” The Iron Hand retorts. “Please go back to your seat or leave.”

“I will not-.” The Interrogator Chaplain hisses out. Cutting himself off as he looks towards the area where his Apothecary had been whisked off to.

The argued over Apothecary is being helped by a large Salamander, with Captain markings. The Interrogator Chaplain frowns a little bit. 

“What are you doing with one of my pride?” The Chaplain asks.

“The Apothecaries who were tending to him requested that I help guide him back to his squad. Once he was mobile enough to move he insisted on being returned to you.” Captain Ash’val says levelly as he eyed one of the others involved in something unwise.

He keeps his thoughts, and Rage hidden deep within His hearts. The rest of the pride of Dark Angels approach and look over their Apothecary. Ash'val helps guide them out of the base.

“Just a random question, Salamander,” one of the battle brother Dark Angels ask, “have you seen any younger brothers of the 1st recently?”

“Perhaps, why do you ask?” Ash'val asks levelly.

“Because they need to be sent to our Base, especially if they seem… overly large, training And socialization with their brothers is important.” The Chaplain says smoothly, “and we have… concerns that a Night Lord might be trying to corrupt One.”

“That is concerning,” Ash'val says. “If … such a thing is happening. I will speak with the younger cousins.” The Dragon lies through his sharpened teeth, which he then turns into a smile. 

“In fact I think I would like to speak with Sammath, Chapter Master to Chapter Master.” Ash'val states. “So we may be certain all relevant issues are being…appropriately handled. I will of course send him a message myself, but I know his schedule is likely to be Very busy. If you could mention it in your next report to him. I would be exceptionally Grateful.”

The Chaplain seems to mull over Ash'val's words before replying. “Of course Chapter Master. We will deliver your message.”

Ash'val smiles, were he a real dragon the smoke twisting up from his maw would give him away. “Thank You. I so Appreciate, your cooperation.”

“Was there anything else that you needed?” The Chaplain asks.

“For the meeting with your Chapter Master Sammath, to be Within the month if possible.” Ash'val says pleasantly.

“We will send the message along.” The Interrogator Chaplain says with annod as they head off.

Ash'val watches them leave and wonders if they will actually go back to their base or wait for their wounds to heal and then try to steal Kerubiel or one of the others. 

[animereaderinsertwriter]

we give what we can give (and take what little we deserve)

ch 9

pairing: alpha!kakashi x omega!reader

tags: omegaverse, arranged marriage, angst and fluff and smut, plot twist!

description: Kakashi agrees to marry an omega princess-- the adopted daughter of the daimyo. However, what he agrees to and what he gets aren't exactly the same thing...

Excerpt: “You’re hurting me,” she cried, those glistening tears making glittery tracks down her cheeks. Her pain wrenched at his heart even as he held her fast. “Let go, let go!”

“If I let go, are you going to hit me?”

“No,” she sniffled piteously, and like a fool, Kakahshi let her go.

She poked him in the eye and made a break for the door.

masterlist

ao3

Kakashi did not die screaming, as his wife had cursed him to do months ago— but he very much did die during Pain’s attack on the village.

If Kakashi had been asked how he thought he was to die, he would have answered that it would be in battle. That much, he would have predicted accurately, but he had always thought it would be more… glamorous. A terrible, dramatic slip-up that caused him to fall into an enemy’s hands. An unbeatable new jutsu created by a ninja savant. A heart-wrenching betrayal that he never saw coming. Really, just anything more spectacular than simply exhausting his chakra reserves. 

And yet he did not regret the way that it turned out. Perhaps it was fitting that Obito— or his eye at least— struck the final blow. It felt a little like coming home.

And then, of course, there was Hatake Sakumo waiting for him at the end of it all. The one shadow he felt that he was always facing.

His father was as Kakashi remembered him. The White Fang of Konoha was as daunting as ever; and, as ever, Kakashi’s time with him was too short. Hours, weeks, days— it did not matter how much time had passed in that void. It was simply not enough. It would never be enough to make up for the years that they had both lost. 

But, in true Hatake fashion, the two of them did try, at least, to rectify their wrongs. In that timeless place, they were free to talk. And talk they did.

“And I see you’ve married,” his father observed slyly, once they had dispensed with the formalities. The older man’s eyes, so like Kakashi’s own, flickered from his son’s wedding band back up to his face.

“It was by accident, really.” 

Sakumo’s brows rose. “Accident?”

“Well, sort of. It wasn’t my intention to find a bride. It was an arrangement.”

His father’s face fell. “Ah. I had wanted more for you, my son. Loving your mother— marrying her— was the best thing I ever did. I had wanted a love like that for you.”

Kakashi thought back to the day that he was married. How upset he’d been. How he’d wanted nothing and yet everything to do with that beautiful and terrible omega who was at once fearful and fearsome. He admitted that it was not the ideal experience he would have wanted for a wedding. If he had ever really wanted one. 

And then he thought of the moments since then— the good and the bad. Tender moments spent reading. Evenings by the pond, watching lily pads float on the surface of the water as they drank sweet wine. He thought of (Y/N) and her easy smile and sweet manner and her inexplicable ability to both lighten his load and check his ego. He thought of her quiet strength with Kurenai, her fondness for Gai, and her motherly air to Naruto and Sakura. 

Now that was ideal.

“Don’t worry,” Kakashi told his father. “It’s not so far removed from a real marriage. We’re just sort of doing everything badly, and a bit in the wrong order— but we’ve got the spirit, I think.”

At that, his father smiled.

But of course, this time— this place— was not built to last. Kakashi had never been allowed to have a good thing for very long. Still, though, saying goodbye was hard, even with his father to smooth the way.

“I'm grateful we had time to talk,” his father said, his eyes soft and sad. As the old shinobi spoke, the void began to fall away like ash being swept from a fireplace. “And for your forgiveness.”

Those were his father's final words to him. And then the world, as cruel as it ever was, returned in a white-hot flash of brightness, terror, and confusion. 

When Kakashi got his bearings, it quickly became apparent that the village had devolved to the level of a kicked ant hill in the mad scramble to discover what had transpired— and, as usual, what had happened was Naruto. Trying to find Naruto to offer backup was another mad scramble, but by the time Kakashi got to the kid, the hard part was over. Naruto had bested Pain. The knuckle-headed ninja, so like his father, had saved the entire village from certain destruction.

When Kakashi laid eyes on the boy, he was struck by the young man’s resemblance to Minato. And then, immediately after, he was struck even harder by the anguish on his still-boyish face. Naruto was still so young; and since Kakashi had not been able to help him bear the burden of Pain’s destruction, he felt it was the least he could do to carry the boy in turn when the burden of the village finally became too much for him to bear. 

Kakashi had to admit that returning to the village in triumph— watching Naruto receive due honor and praise— was rewarding, but there was work yet to be done. People needed to be dug out from beneath the rubble that had crushed them when they died; others still needed to be calmed, restrained, and occasionally medicated to deal with the shock of returning to the realm of the living. Through all of this, Kakashi worked diligently, first facilitating some semblance of order, then becoming a simple pair of working hands. Throughout his dogged efforts to set the village to rights, he searched for his wife. 

And searched.

And searched.

He asked fellow villagers if they had seen her. He pushed his chakra-burning luck to the limit by creating a clone to be an additional pair of eyes to search for her. He walked the streets until the sun dipped well below the horizon, and still his search yielded nothing. Even his nose could not divine where she had gone. 

He did not sleep that night. His bed was cold, empty, but he saw no need to light a fire. After all, what fire would his wife have, lost and alone? What shelter from the cold and the dark? 

Through the night, he held Love’s Shadow in his hands like a lifeline, reading over and over its spine, feeling its pages in his hand. 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend she was there with him, sleeping soundly, softly snoring. 

The morning sun was blisteringly, unseasonably hot for autumn. The dry ground was dusty and crunched uncomfortably beneath the thin soles of Kakashi's sandals. Sweat rolled in beads down his back, making his shirt cling to his flesh and scrub the sensitive skin where his flak jacket pressed against him. As he paced the front gate’s perimeter, he knew what he looked like; calm, nonchalant, slouching. Internally, he was coiled tighter than a spring and thirsty for blood, a caged tiger gnawing at his cage. 

His wife had been missing for days. 

His mind ran through possible scenarios on loop. His least favorite possibility was that (Y/N) had died as he had, but had somehow not been brought back to life. His second least favorite was the possibility that she had defected from the village and felt that the until death do us part vow of their marriage had been fulfilled. Kakashi tried very hard to imagine what he might do if he were in her shoes, but he could not fathom it. He had never been what she was— a civilian, a princess, a woman, an omega— and found his imagination incredibly lacking. The shoes just didn't fit, no matter how hard he tried to cram his metaphorical feet into them. 

He should have mated her when he had the chance, his raw, wretched instincts screamed at him. He should have Bonded her the night they married and chained her to the fucking stove like a bigoted, mean-spirited civilian lord would have done so that she could never leave him.  

“She will come back,” said Gai, who matched him pace-for-pace, his voice on the softer side of a shout for once. For Gai, it was as good as a whisper. “Remember that there are children missing also. I would bet anything that she is with them, guiding them away from the carnage.”

Kakashi held no such hope. The children that were missing numbered in the hundreds. There was no way his wife had been able to mobilize them so quickly. And besides, where would she have taken them? No, it was far more likely that the children had scattered, running from the terror that had visited their village. 

Still, that was odd too— Kakashi had lived through many attacks on the village, and shinobi children were more likely to stand foolishly and fight than to flee. There were too many unknown variables. He would just have to wait and see. 

In the distance, a bright and flaring chakra burst into existence. Kakashi had never felt anything like it. It was not like a shinobi who had unleashed a jutsu, or one who had started to loosen their chakra control a bit. No, it was as though the chakra had burst out from nowhere, ripping through the fabric of reality and into being. Kakashi uncovered the sharingan, and Gai grew serious. 

“My Rival, What Have You Sensed?”

“Chakra mass inbound,” he said, “Moving faster than on foot, but not leaping from tree-to-tree either. From what I can tell, it's a single target. Probably a person, but I can't really tell. Either way, I say we close and seal the gate before it gets here.”

Gai nodded, and the two of them set about their task. Fortunately, the village had been prompt about repairing Pain’s damage to the gate, and the fuinjutsu team assigned to increase the wards had added a few nasty surprises to unwelcome visitors. Kakashi felt reassured as the heavy wooden bar dropped into its place at the door, and he decided that the Hatake compound could use its own gate as well. In fact, if he had anything to do with it, he'd have Tenzou build a gate twice as thick and three times as high as Konoha's gate, and he’d hire the best fuinjutsu specialists in the village to ward it so that when he found his wife, he could lock her behind those gates and never let her out of the compound (or his sight!) ever again— even if she killed him in the process. 

The chakra mass grew closer. As it drew near, Kakashi could feel the chakra flaming, pulsating wildly as if with great anger. Whoever or whatever that chakra belonged to was full of a hard, unyielding fury that made his eyes narrow. That was killing intent if he had ever known it. The spring-like tension inside Kakashi coiled tighter. He would meet that intent fury for fury, glut himself on the blood-metal smell-taste of ozone mixed with charred flesh. As he figured it, a little violence would go a long way in distracting him from his worries. 

Finally, the chakra mass was close enough to become visible. From what he could tell, it was a lone rider on a gray dappled horse; the rider seemed to be the source of chakra, but that didn't make much sense. Shinobi were notorious for preferring the surety of their own feet rather than beasts of burden. A ninja did not tire as quickly as a horse, and often, chakra could increase a shinobi’s pace to outrun a horse. Yet, the chakra could hardly be coming from the horse, so Kakashi stood and observed, intrigued. 

When the rider approached the gate, they reined in the horse so tightly that the animal reared on its hind legs, screaming its displeasure at having been stopped so suddenly. Its rider kept their seat easily and called out above the horse’s frustrated whinny. 

“Oi! Tackle box! Corpse-maker! Attend me, Pain!”

Kakashi started. He knew that voice! But— there was no way. From this distance, he couldn't tell for sure. He knew his wife to be strong-willed as stone, but would she ever be foolish enough to challenge Pain when she had seen what he could do?

“Heed me, shinobi!” that great and terrible voice called in a raspy, raging scream. “You spoke of vengeance! Of pain!”

The rider dug her heels into her horse, and it began to trot as she spoke. 

“Come and meet my pain, then! Bear it wound-for-wound! You killed my husband and my friends— I challenge you, Pain, to test your mettle with me!”

Kakashi shook his head as if to clear it. Others had heard the commotion, and ninja began to gather at the gate, asking Gai and Kakashi what was happening. Before either of them could answer, the horse reared and screamed again as its rider raged her challenge. Fervently, hardly daring to hope, Kakashi made a hand sign and whispered a brief kai. 

The rider was still there when he was done.

“It's her,” said Gai in his whisper-voice. “It really is her.”

Heart racing, Kakashi flickered down from the gate. He landed lightly beside the horse, stirring up a little dust as he went. The stallion reared and aimed a heavy hoof at him, and, not expecting the sudden movement, (Y/N) nearly lost her seat as she battled for control of the thousand-pound beast. Her task was made harder, Kakashi noticed, by the blade she wielded in her other hand— his father’s tanto. 

Even as his heart swelled with pride, his stomach hurt with sickly relief. It was an effort to keep his knees steady as he grabbed the horse’s bridle, calming him. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, fighting for all his life to be casual. He felt lightheaded. 

(Y/N) just stared at him, eyes wide. 

“Come here often?” he tried lamely, desperate for some kind of response. His wife seemed frozen in time. She might as well have been a statue. 

Suddenly, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Kakashi had to move fast to keep her from hitting the ground as she slid out of her saddle. Her body was as soft and warm as he remembered it, and there was not an ounce of the abnormal chakra that had only moments before been pulsing through her like a roaring fire. 

“Medic!” He called from the ground. “I need a medic!”

The horse smiled in a terrible display of horse-tooth, and Kakashi frowned. He knew that smile for the threat it was. 

“Don't get any ideas,” he told the beast, cradling his wife’s head gently in the crook of his arm. “I'm helping.”

The horse danced, prancing back uneasily, but seemed to understand when the medics put (Y/N) on a stretcher and began their triage. After a quick whiff of smelling salts, (Y/N) sat bolt upright, spilling the salts and cursing like a sailor at the terrible smell.

“Kakashi,” she demanded, grabbing the nearest medic by the collar. “I saw my husband, where is he?”

The poor medic— the beta who had shared a moment with Kakashi in the hospital when he returned from Suna— babbled something incoherent, and (Y/N) shook him, teeth bared. 

“I said where is he, shinobi? Pull yourself together!”

Heart aching, Kakashi stepped forward.

“I'm here, wife. Let the poor man go.”

She looked up at him then, suddenly, impossibly soft. She scanned him up and down with fast-moving eyes, her chest heaving, and then her gaze came to rest on his eyes.

Her face scrunched with the beginnings of tears. 

Kakashi knelt. 

“I'm here,” he said, because it was all he could say, and his wife threw herself into his arms. 

“Kakashi.” She breathed his name like it was a prayer. Her tea-rain-earth scent blanketed him, and Kakashi buried his nose in her shoulder. “Kakashi.”

“I'm here,” he repeated for a third time, and he felt her tears hot and wet against his neck. 

“I thought you were dead.”

He held her tighter.  

“I was.”

(Y/N) pulled away, her expression quizzical. 

Kakashi shrugged. 

“Naruto,” he said helplessly. “He talk-no-jutsu’d Pain into… undoing it all. 

(Y/N) huffed in disbelief. Huffed, then chuckled, then laughed. Hysterical, she laughed until she clutched her sides, wheezing. 

“I suppose,” she said, wiping away a mirthful tear as she sobered up, “that I should rouse my men from the woods and have them disassemble their traps, then.”

Kakashi's interest was piqued. 

“What's this now?”

She shrugged. 

“I thought the village had been destroyed. My father was too afraid to send soldiers, so I gathered volunteers from the ranks. I…”

She looked askance, her scent rippling with quiet embarrassment. 

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on challenging Pain all on my lonesome. But surely we can have this conversation once I've retrieved my men? They must be terribly anxious to hear from me.” 

Kakashi nodded. His wife remounted, and Dancer— that was the horse's name, she informed him— whinnied anxiously as she directed him into the waiting forest. A few minutes later, men emerged from the forest in groups of five or six, until a host of nearly five-hundred stood gathered outside of Konoha’s gates. Most of the men were old and grizzled, their hair streaked with gray, but they were fighters to a man. One of them, Kakashi recognized— Jin, he thought the man's name was. 

Five hundred men, recruited, armed, mobilized, and positioned here from two day’s ride to the south, all in a little less than a week. Kakashi was impressed. 

The crowd parted with a quiet reverence as (Y/N) rode through the ranks. As she went, the men watched her with pleased grins, and Kakashi felt jealousy rear its ugly head. It was absurd, of course, to resent her men for loving her. Likely, many of them had known her since she was a child. Unhelpfully, Kakashi was reminded that that might enhance their supposed inappropriate thoughts rather than deter them, but he forced himself to put it all out of mind as his wife approached him, every inch a queen in riding breeches and cloak atop her steed. Her eyes darted to him for a moment, shining, then redirected to the top of the gate. 

“Hokage-sama,” she shouted, and Kakashi turned to see Tsunade standing on the battlements. “This force has come to your aid! I brought them with sword and shield to oppose Pain; I offer them now with hammer and working hands to repair the village.”

“Hail, soldiers!” Tsunade called in response. “You are welcome in this village!”

The gate opened, and the soldiers were allowed inside. Her task finished, (Y/N) heeled Dancer over to where Kakashi stood, looking as if she had aged ten years in the last five minutes. 

“There are children in the tunnels below the compound,” she said without preamble. “I sent them down the path that would lead them towards my father’s castle along the far border. They're alone, frightened, but they have enough food for the journey. Someone must retrieve them. If I can rest a few moments and gather some supplies, I can probably catch up to them and—”

Kakashi placed a hand on her leg. She jumped as though startled. 

“Come, rest, my wife,” he said, squeezing her knee. “Come home with me. The rest we can leave to others for now.”

She shuddered, and Kakashi moved his hand up further along her leg, reaching to the sensitive inside of her thigh. Even so, she shook her head. 

“I must see to my men. They must have food, lodgings—”

“Tsunade will care for them as though they were her own. You are my own, and you're travel weary. Let me care for you.”

He squeezed her again, making plain what he meant. 

“I have saddle sores,” she protested, “and I hurt all over.”

“Then let me draw you a hot salt bath and rub you down with liniment. There's no cure like it after being dragged from pillar to post and harried all the way.”

Slowly, she nodded, and he helped her gingerly dismount. 

“I really must see to Dancer, though,” she told him as they walked on together. “He needs to be brushed and fed and—”

“Naruto can do it. I'll send Pakkun with instructions.”

(Y/N) smiled suddenly at him, as though realizing something. As well she might— Kakashi wasn't trying to be subtle. He wanted, needed, to be alone with her, to feel her real and solid beneath his hands. He had thought— well, he had thought—

“I love you, Kakashi.” 

The words short-circuited his brain, and while his systems were still down, his wife took his hand in hers. 

“I don't know why it took me so long to say it. When I watched you die, my worst regret was not having told you sooner.”

Kakashi did not say anything— could not say anything— so he just tapped later in ANBU code on her wrist as he fought the riptide of overwhelming feeling. 

I love you. The words rang over again in his head as he led his wife home. 

In the glowing-dark of twilight, Kakashi held his wife. The skin of his thigh, so pale it was nearly translucent, pressed against her hip, and his nose rested in her hair. She smelled of salt and sweat and sex and him. It was the greatest and best thing in the world. Not even the hardness of the living room floor against his buttocks could take away from that moment. 

“What were you thinking, challenging Pain like that?” he asked her softly. It was so good to hold her that his arms ached with it. “He would have killed you and your army.”

(Y/N) pressed into him, craning her neck to look up at his still-covered face. He looked down to meet her gaze, brushed his cloth-covered nose over hers. Then, in a soft voice, she began to tell him of her plan. 

“I'd thought to draw the Pains out.” Her breath was warm against his mask. “I knew that they were all working together, and so I wanted to separate them. I thought maybe if I could lure them out to chase me, they'd fall into the pitfall chakra traps that I worked with Iruka-sensei to produce.”

She looked askance. 

“Fuinjutsu,” she explained, “specifically for anti-shinobi warfare. The more chakra that is used within the trap, the harder it holds, and I thought if I could trap even one of the Pains, it might buy us a small victory by drawing another, and another, until all of them were held in place. Foolish, I know— but I had to try.”

She would have drawn in on herself then, turned her beautiful face away from him in shame— but Kakashi could not countenance that. He took her gently by the shoulders and pushed until she moved with him. Together, they shifted until they were kneeling each before the other, naked. He took her hands in his, then kissed each through the cloth of his mask. 

“It was not foolish,” he said at last. “It was brave. It was queenly.”

The image of her seated on Dancer, screaming defiance in the face of pain and death was at odds with the woman before him. Her head was hung low, her eyes downcast. 

“They would have killed me and my men— and all for nothing.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. He had not been able to stop Pain. Neither had Naruto, when put to it directly. But there was no way to say for sure what would have come of a confrontation like the one his wife had planned. Fate is too fond of dice rolls for that.

“It was foolish,” she insisted. “I see that, now. Before, I was grieving and— and lost and I was willing to do anything to— to—”

She shook her head. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. 

“I wanted you back, Kakashi. And if no force on earth could give you back to me, then I was going to chase after you until I reached you.”

Her hands tightened in his. 

Kakashi pried his hands away, and her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of her tears. 

“When was it that you worked with Iruka-sensei on these chakra traps?”

“Whenever you were away.” She shrugged, not looking at him. “I didn't tell you. I knew you wouldn't approve, and I didn't want you to grow suspicious of me again.”

Kakashi’s heart beat fast. He looked at his pale hands resting in his pale lap, then back up at his wife. She was crying freely now, her eyes red and glistening; she stared right at him with a face of such anguish that it broke his heart. 

“And what about that seal on your neck? Does he help with that as well?”

Her eyes widened in a look of shock, then narrowed in hurt. He had wounded her.

That was not what Kakashi had intended. He was going about this all wrong— but what else was new? There was nothing for it. He must begin again. 

“You are a very good secret-keeper,” he began, feeling frayed at the edges. “You say you love me, have risked your very life for me, and even now you keep your secrets even from me.”

Her shoulders trembled with feeling. So did his hands. 

“And so,” he continued, lifting his shaking right hand inch by inch, “the logical conclusion is that once a secret is given to you, you will guard it preciously.”

He touched the sides of his mask, feeling along the seams at his neck. 

“I know that you keep things from me. I no longer care, because—” he swallowed thickly, nose burning with the beginnings of his own tears. “—because perhaps that is starting to mean more to me than if you had told them. My wife… I intend to trust you with a secret of my own to keep. I trust you will guard it jealously.”

He moved his hand to the top of his mask. (Y/N)’s hand darted out to stop him, and he let her. 

“No!” she said, still crying. Her eyes were so beautiful like that— they almost looked like a doll’s, made of shining glass. “Not like this, not out of some— some misplaced feeling of duty or— or whatever it is that you're feeling. I won't have it, Kakashi.”

He took her hand in both of his, and found himself strengthened by her. How strange it was that just to touch her could steel him so! 

“So thoughtful,” he murmured. He breathed deep, but his heart still fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest. “But not necessary. I died once without having done this. I don't intend to let the sun set fully on this day without having rectified that mistake.”

She shook her head, but did not protest as he moved his hand from hers once more. He dragged his forefinger along the high point of his cheek, feeling the seam of his mask. Slowly, he hooked a finger in it, and inch-by-inch, he pulled it down. 

His wife searched his face slowly. She cried as touched him, tracing the bridge of his nose to the ridges of his cheeks. Kakashi realized that he was crying too as she kissed away the wet salt trails on his cheek; she kept on kissing him until she came to his lips, pressing against him with gentle insistence and a flare of desperation in her fingertips as she touched him like the licking tongues of a flame. That touch warmed something within him, something soft and aching and primal.

He wanted her. 

“It isn't fair,” she breathed against him, her hand cupping his cheek. “Not fair at all.”

Whatever it was, Kakashi was inclined to agree— there were very few things in life that were fair— but then she was pushing him onto his back and he went with the motion easily, eagerly. As he saw it, that was a thing that was fair, and very good. 

“I have the most handsome husband in the Land of Fire with or without his mask,” she said, settling her warm weight over his pelvis, “and absolutely no one will ever know it but me.”

He groaned as she moved her hips, dragging her sex along his erection. As she moved, her fingers traced the seam of his lips, the line of his jaw. She kissed him. Once, twice, chastely, then a third time more deeply, and then she was propping up on one leg to sink down on his hot, hard length. 

Oh, but she was perfect. That little sigh as he breached her— a barely-there oh as sweet as anything— was worth living and dying for. She looked down at him as she set about her pleasure, and Kakashi was helpless to do anything but stare lovingly up at her. She was everything. 

“I love you,” she told him breathlessly. Her hands roamed his body from navel to nose, mapping him as if to commit to memory the feeling of his body. “I love you so much it breaks my h-heart…” 

She had not stopped crying. Sweet tears tracked her cheeks, traveling in rivulets down her neck. Kakashi understood. It was a moment of profound emotion for him as well. 

“Please,” he said, not really understanding what he was asking for, but pleading nonetheless. “Please, princess—”

She kissed him, stilling on his cock. Hands in his hair, she pulled him to her with a mighty force, and Kakashi nearly came undone when she started sucking on his tongue. His hips moved of their own accord, and she cried out against him. He did so again, this time on purpose. And again. And again. His chest ached as pleasure built low in his belly. (Y/N)’s tears slipped from her cheeks onto his chest like sea-salted summer raindrops, warm and then cold as they cooled against his feverish skin. He wondered what they looked like, naked there on the floor, crying and moaning and living. For a brief moment, he wished he could have it painted. The next moment, all thought flew from his head. She had him by the hair again, and was holding on for dear life. 

He reached up to cup a perfect breast in his hand. He squeezed, and she cried out. She was close, now, he could tell. Close enough that it might take nothing more than words to tip her over the edge. 

“Mate me.” 

(Y/N) froze above him, as he had known she would, but Kakashi was nothing if not a brilliant tactician. He timed the words with an upward thrust of his own, and he pistoned his hips in a slow, deep rhythm as he repeated himself. 

“Mate me. I want to be yours for the rest of my life.”

She came. The force of it took them both by surprise, and it was all Kakashi could do to keep her upright as she shuddered through it.

“Mate me,” he told her a third time, still hard inside her as she regained her composure. “I'm serious, princess.”

On impulse, he tilted his head to the side. It was a wild, foolish, and anti-instinctual motion— any alpha worth his salt never bares his neck in offering, even to a mate— but when his wife surged forward, canines sharp and gleaming, he knew he had done the right thing. Her teeth sunk into the flesh of his neck, Marking him. The strength of her bite was tremendous, truly wounding him, but Kakashi bore it gladly. It was a strong bite, a true one. It was fierce and possessive and impossibly perfect; Kakashi felt as though he were stretched thin, a string on a mandolin that had been viciously plucked, thrumming and vibrant and alive with music. 

Exactly when he came, he couldn't have said. It must have been somewhere between the time when his wife had bitten him and when his vision had managed to return. Whatever the case, he had knotted, and his body was live-wire sensitive with a new awareness that shook him to his very core. He could feel his wife's— his mate’s— fragile heart thrumming inside his own, knew how shaken she was by the force of their coupling. She could hardly hold herself upright. 

“Mate,” she whispered, staring dazedly at him. “My mate.”

A while later, once his knot had gone down, Kakashi returned her bite. His bite was not fierce, not viper-strike swift; rather, it was a slow, meaningful press of sharp incisors. It was a deep bite, taken with purpose and strength, and her little cry of oh! was enough to make him dizzy with— with—

With love. 

They spent a long time there, licking each other's new wounds. It felt like music, the Bond that had woven itself between them. Each time a tender kiss brushed his Mark, Kakashi felt on the verge of transcension. Each time he kissed hers, it felt much the same.

“Don't leave me again,” he murmured against her skin as they lay together, entangled. “I could not bear it if you did.”

She remained silent at that. Doubtless, it was the exhaustion of the day catching up with her rather than any true reticence, but her lack of response left Kakashi ill at ease as he waited for sleep to come. 

Sleeping, Kakashi reassured himself. She's just sleeping.

And she was. But that did nothing to ease his racing mind. Over and over he licked the wound he'd left, over and over he petted her hair, and all the while he whispered love to her through all the night.