#almost all the feathers on the back half of its body were ripped out and it had a large bleeding gash down its back

[songofsaraneth]

i am FUCKING pissed about the feral cat situation yet again

[make-it-kinky-make-it-fun]

You get home on a friday afternoon, after your college classes are done for the week. Your parents are away for the weekend at some work thing you don't care about, so you're completely alone.

You lay down on your bed as you lazily scroll on your phone, too distracted to hear the front door opening and footsteps climbing the stairs.

Suddenly, that creepy older guy from your class is standing right in front of you, and the moment you notice him he jumps on top of you, easily overpowering you.

He binds your wrists together and on the bedframe, then he rips your shirt off, leaving you bare chested.

He proceeds to take off your pants and tie your legs on opposing bed posts, making you unable to close them.

He then gags you with a ring gag he found on your bedside table drawer. You try to kick and scream but he just chuckles as he slowly caresses and gropes your whole body, pinching you nipples hard.

He does this for a long time, simply feeling you up as you start to cry softly.

He then starts playing with your exposed cunt, touches light as feathers, and you sob harder as you feel your own wetness pooling. You're not enjoying this, not at all, but you can't control your body and the man let's out a cruel laughter.

He plays with your clit relentlessly, you feel your body betraying you as you jerk your hips forward in search for more freaction, which only makes him laugh harder and you cry harder.

It goes on for hours, him just touching you like this as if your clit and slit were the funnest toys around. Your mind is completely fuzzy at this point, and you can just react at his incessant touches.

He has his dick out by now, but he's just using the tip to continue to molest you, never even trying to enter you.

He then mounts on you, and you think he'll finally fuck you and maybe this will be over soon. But no, he instead takes the gag off of you and sticks his tongue inside your mouth as his dick rubs on your cunt. You’re becoming breathless and desperate, which makes him laugh again as he shoves his tongue deeper inside your mouth and pinches your nipples.

After a long while like this, he finally stops and you manage to slur out:

"Why don't you get it over with and fuck me already?"

He chuckles and forcible kisses you again, making you almost choke on his tongue.

"Oh, baby, your parents won't be back until monday, we got plenty of time."

Your face scrunches up and you start crying again while he smirks and goes back to gently stroking your cunt.

You don't know how many more hours go by, the gag back in its rightful place in your mouth. You barely feel his touches anymore, with the amount of wetness surrounding your holes.

He takes this as his cue to grab one of your toys, a small vibrator. The moment it touches you, your back arches and you let an obscene moan escape your throat, and you try to hide your face from the embarrassment, but he won't let you.

"I won't stop until you beg me to make you cum, by the way. And if you haven’t done it by the end of the weekend, I assure you you'll regret it."

So this is how you end up being teased and edged for 34 hours straight. You lost count of how many times you passed out, and your mind is so fuzzy you almost forget where and who you are.

The man has used almost your entire collection of toys by now, and not once did he lose his focus and fucked you. Well, not your cunt anyway, because your face became his fleshlight, as you were unable to close your jaw and every time you tried to use your tongue to push him out he'd just groan "yes, baby, that’s so good, keep making out with my dick"

When you finally broke with a pathetic whimper of "please... please make me cum" he didn't turn feral or agressive like you imagined. No, he slowly entered you and it took him another hour and a half to actually get you off, tears running down your face again.

Then, he shoved his tongue down your throat for the twentieth time before grinning like a wolf.

"Well, we still have well over 12 hours to go. Shall we see how many times I can force you to cum?"

At this, you began sobbing again, and his mocking chuckles filled the room.

"I guess we better ger started if we wanna break my record, right?"

You'll forever wonder if you should've held on for longer, but that's no longer a choice as he rams his dick inside you over and over, a magic wand firmly pressed against your clit as you cum over and over, drifting in and out of consciousness.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

Please heed the warnings. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 29 Prompt: Growth 726 words C/W: NB season 3 and OG season 4 spoilers, body horror, minor gore

There is a lump.

Between Simeon’s shoulder blades, a bit higher than halfway down his back. That spot that he can almost scratch, but can’t quite get a good angle. It takes effort to push his hand down from above, to gently skirt the flesh that seems to swell just out of reach.

It is easier to measure the space without mentioning what no longer exists there, twin scars inflamed and infected when he glances over his shoulder in the mirror. His gut squirming with that familiar guilt, he shrugs on the silky navy button up that he had first started wearing in the human world. His trembling fingers slip over the gold buttons of his vest, struggle to center the knot of his tie. 

“I just felt like wearing this today,” He rehearses to his reflection. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong.”

Luke takes his words at face value, though the lingering stare from Raphael tells Simeon that the older angel will be harder to fool. Plastering his best smile across his face, aware that perhaps he is trying a little too hard, Simeon attempts to telepathically inform his friend to leave it.

Not now.

A little voice in his head taunts, “Will you ever be ready to admit it?”

The days go by, Simeon silencing the intrusive thoughts ruminating inside his skull, clinging to the interior slope like a fungus festering from pious neglect. Roots were planted deep in his brain, curling around memories of his brothers’ faces as they tumbled from celestial light, shadowed tendrils tugging at their limbs and stitching up their wounds.

The Devildom wove sutures of sin through once heavenly flesh, and now Simeon sees the own red of his wounds turning dark, rotten, evil. The growth between his shoulders pulses, grows, and he swears he can make out movement beneath the thinning layer of skin suppressing whatever shifts underneath. 

He wants to scream. He wants to rip out his tongue and plead forgiveness.

He wants to tear out his heart and eat it whole, give himself fully to that voice in his head that promises his rightful place at Lord Diavolo’s side. 

Simeon scratches at the edges of what he can only describe as a tumor, hunching his back and rendering his button up ill-fitting. He supposes he can’t wear his angel robes instead–No, the growth would appear prominent, bulging from his spine. 

It’s only a matter of time before Solomon effectively corners Simeon in the kitchen of Purgatory Hall. “You’re corrupted,” the sorcerer states matter-of-factly. When Simeon tries to protest (the attempt half-hearted at best), Solomon only laughs, “Really, are you surprised?”

No. No, he isn’t. He knew it was only a matter of time, that he was playing a dangerous game, that his heart had long yearned for a being forbidden to his lips. Was this his punishment? A grotesque deformity all for longing for a reciprocated affection? 

“But, that’s not what scares you, is it?” The little voice teases. “It’s not because you’re becoming a demon, but because you like it.” 

The attention.

The recognition.

The concern, the desperation of his peers to save what has been long lost. 

Your sweet, doe eyes, watching him with such lovely pity. 

Simeon can see the wings, now. They are small, still developing. Bare, fleshy bones flexing like a chicken embryo within the egg. His spine aches, curves towards the ground from the weight of the lump. He finds himself wondering how they will present themselves. Feathered like Lucifer’s or leathery and bat-like like Mammon’s and Asmo’s? He doesn’t think they resemble the exoskeleton extension of Beelzebub’s insectoid wings. Perhaps they will be something entirely different.

The image of a swallow soars behind his eyes, symmetric wings curved towards the sky above as it flexes its dark feathers. The swallow, the harbinger of land, the symbol of homecoming.

Simeon grins, a sinister smile in his reflection as the pressure within the growth reaches a breaking point. Blood begins to seep from the slightest rip of flesh, and he can’t hold back the wild laughter that tears from his lungs.

“You’ve wanted this all along,” That voice coos, and Simeon embraces the darkness as he scratches at his skin, allows his true self to unfurl for the first time. 

He speaks to his reflection, though doesn’t recognize the words spilling from his lips, “Welcome home.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[skyeslittlecorner]

Tails for all! - Avisos edition

Other parts: Kings | Gehenna | Tartaros | Hades | Nilfheim | Abaddon | Paradise Lost

Bael

No one has any idea what his real tail looks like. They say he either doesn't have it, hides it like Leviathan or the prosthesis is built directly around his own. Of course, the visible part is a prosthesis that looks exactly like Beel's tail.

The most common rumor is that he lost his tail while protecting Beel. When you asked Amon about it, he didn't answer. Beelzebub said he didn't remember, but something in his expression tells you he knows much more than he’s willing to tell you.

It's just the mechanical equivalent of a real tail. Stiffer, less agile than Beel, uncomfortable to sit with. Its appearance is perfectly reproduced, even poisonous, but Bael hates it and intends to get rid of it along with the crown and glasses as soon as Beel returns.

Sensitiveness 0/10. 

At the base it has four metal plates that are used to screw and hold this tail. You also saw that for a moment there was only the upper part of the prosthesis next to the body, that the tail base is larger than Beel, and at the bottom there was a small gap with a black soft… material? 

When you touched it, Bael jumped back and almost ripped your arm away. He was as scared as you were. So, maybe the real sensitivity is 10/10?

Suddenly you're even more motivated to put Beelzebub's ass in the office.

Amon

 A snake's tail, gray and thick as three fingers. Three tails to be precise, although it's easy to get confused because he usually keeps them all braided together.

Dark gray, very similar to his horn. Black thin stripe on the back. Supposedly he can slide blades out of it like his king, but no one has seen it yet.

They are so flexible and agile that he can braid them and use the three ends like three fingers or a gripper. Interestingly, each of them can handle a pistol alone. 

However, he can't hold a pen or documents. At all. Nuh-uh. Suddenly limp. 

He only unbraids his tails when he has the opportunity to mess up. Pull Stolas by the coat, steal Nabe's glasses. Reason? Who knows, he's probably bored.

When Bael shouts at him, he wraps two of his tails around his legs, pretending that he's so sorry, and with the third one, he tease Bael’s tail because he's just his friend, not the king.

Sensitiveness 6/10. If you manage to wake up this lazy devil, you can count on miracles in bed. He will hold your arms and legs, cover eyes, put ends in your mouth, explore under your clothes, and overall will be very creative.

Naberius

 If you were expecting a dog's tail, you almost got it. His brown tail actually resembles his own three Cerberus tails, but it is longer and fluffier, as if all three had to fit into one.

An ankle-length cascade of soft fur, a little more flexible than a dog's, but just as enthusiastically flapping when he's happy. What a good boy!

He usually keeps it curled up like a Shiba. It also has similar lighter fur underneath and a black tip.

Even though it looks like a dog at first glance, its tail is prehensile enough to handle a gun. However, he prefers the bazooka. It is larger and more handy. As you can see, his tail is quite strong underneath that cute fur.

Stolas says that when Nabe gets angry, his tail fluffs up like a duster.

The reason for this anger is usually Amon.

Sensitiveness 7/10. He will let you play with it, but only when you are alone. You can pet him, hug him and kiss him as much as you want. It is fluffy and warm.

Stolas

Feathered bird tails are very rare, and Stolas has a beautiful owl tail. He's not too happy about this, totally would prefer a weapon-type tail like Beelzebub's.

This tail is not large, only half-thigh long. When he folds it, it's barely visible. He wanted the same prosthesis as Bael, but he was banned from doing so by Beel himself.

To sweeten what Stolas considers a shortcoming, Beel gave him a special piercing at the base of his tail. But it's even harder to show than the one on the chest.

He sometimes bet on tail feathers instead of money. Due to how rare these tails are, it is believed that their feathers bring good luck and clothes or jewelry with such elements have magical properties.

If Avisos has some business in Tartaros, Bael sends Stolas there because Bimet has a soft spot for him (or rather his precious tail). Or at least that's what they did until the stolas started a fight in the street. And because once he came back plucked.

Nabe says that when Stolas gets angry, his tail fluffs up like an angry chicken's.

The reason for this anger is usually Amon.

Sensitiveness 4/10. His feathers are mostly ticklish, but he likes to be scratched at the base.

[n0cturna1-m3]

Pink In The Night | Gary "Roach" Sanderson x Male Reader | Angst

Minors/Fem DNI

Warnings; Hurt/no comfort, cheating, minor alcohol consumption

A/N; I ALMOST MADE TWO OF MY BETA READERS CRY WITH THIS ONE LMAOOO, one being Doc, ty Doc. I could have sworn this was a request, but I can't find it so whatever. I feel bad cuz another person requested fluff with roach and this is comin out first 😭❤️ godspeed soldier. i left the other man unnamed. you can decide who it is :)

Synopsis; Mistakes are made on lonely nights. This is evident in a man's hands on another, and the turmoil of what he has done come after.

1.6k words. Short and sweet

How did he end up like this? Roach’s mind was buzzing with thoughts, mostly regret, but also a small part being exhilaration. Something so taboo so frowned upon, but it felt so good.

As he gazed at the man next to him, a co-worker and dear friend, he felt guilt begin to gnaw at his chest. Rapidly his body began burning with shame, nausea settling in as bile crept up his throat, threatening to force up his dinner.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shuffling out of the other man's embrace and crawling off of the bed, walking to the bathroom as quickly as possible. He hunched over the toilet and began retching, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. When he finished, he spat the remaining liquid out of his mouth and reached for the toilet paper, ripping off a piece and wiping his mouth before dropping it into the toilet and reaching for the leaver.

He sat back and pulled his legs to his chest, resting his forehead on his knees with his arms at his sides.

“What have I done…”

The following days before he returned home were excruciating. He would have time to think of what he would say to Y/N, but inevitably knowing the outcome pained him.

He loved Y/N more than anything in the world, so why did he stray? He asked himself this over and over again, eventually concluding that a month and a half of being deployed left him touch starved and desperate. What a horrible excuse to cheat on your partner. He wanted to kick himself and force himself two days ago to stay in his room all day. Maybe if he played sick he wouldn't have had the temptation, though he doubted it.

There were only three days before he was going home. Why didn’t he wait? He knew Y/N would welcome him with open arms, treat him sweetly and shower him with love and affection. Why couldn't he wait?

As he was driven home in a cab after being dismissed, he felt worry invade his body. His hands were clammy, an uncomfortable warmth spreading throughout his limbs, settling in his throat.

By the time he arrived, it was later than he would have liked. The sun was about to set to allow the moon time to shine, to taunt him with the knowledge of what Roach had done in its presence. He flinched when he noticed the murder of crows on the roof, seven standing and watching him as he opened the door and stepped out, grabbing his duffel bag from the seat next to him and waving the driver goodbye.

He turned back to the house, unease filling his mind as one of the crows tilted its head at him. Their eyes were on him as he walked up to the front door and fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door. When he finally got it open, he sighed with relief, quickly slamming the door behind him to escape the beetie, endless black eyes that assessed him, silently judging every part of his soul.

They knew everything. They hold knowledge and power in their being. They carry secrets between their feathers. What secrets would they share tonight?

Roach takes a few deep breaths before dropping his bag to his side and kneeling to remove his shoes. Y/N emerged from the kitchen with a worried face before it quickly turned to happiness, a wide smile covering his handsome features.

“Hi,” he greeted, fondness written on his face. His head was tilted to the side as he gazed at Roach with a sort of longing.

“Hi, Y/N,” Roach said, pulling off his shoes and setting them to the side before grabbing his bag.

“Leave it, I’ll take care of it later,” Y/N said, waving his hand. “You must be tired.”

Roach just nodded, placing the duffel against the wall and walking towards Y/N who eagerly wrapped his arms around Roach’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm hug.

“Christ, I missed you so, so much, baby,” he whispered, squeezing Roach tight. He buried his face into his neck and breathed in his scent.

Roach hesitantly wrapped his arms around Y/N’s torso, holding him back. Tears stung the back of his eyes as Y/N embraced him, holding him close to his chest.

“I missed you, too,” he said. Y/N kissed Roach’s temple before pulling away.

“Dinner is almost ready if you’d like to sit down,” Y/N said. Roach nodded and wiped his nose with his sleeve as Y/N returned to the kitchen

He made his way to the small dining table and sat down, running his hands through his hair with anxiety. He rubbed his eyes and tried to calm his brain, taking deep breaths and counting down from ten to ground himself.

“Is Camille Giroud Bourgogne okay?” Y/N asked from the kitchen. Roach placed a hand on his chest as he looked back at him. “You look stressed. What’s going on in your brain?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Nothing,” Roach lied, a small smile spreading over his face. “It’s been a long month.”

“So, red’s okay?”

“Red is good.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgement and turned to grab two wine glasses from a cabinet, setting them on the counter before grabbing two plates of blood-red meat, seared medium rare with a wine sauce and green beans plated with it, well seasoned. He set one plate in front of Roach, placing the other at the seat in front of him.

Roach’s mouth watered at the sight, but he refrained from tearing into the meal, instead waiting for Y/N to fetch the wine and the glasses. He poured them each a glass before sitting down.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Y/N said, picking up his wine and taking a sip. Roach nodded before beginning to eat.

They ate quietly, all the while Roach had to think of how to tell Y/N what he had done. There was no way that he couldn't tell him. Rather quickly his appetite failed him and he set down his fork and knife, staring at his half-full plate.

“Are you alright?” Y/N asked, chewing on a piece of meat before setting his utensils on his plate. Roach didn’t respond. His hands twitched on the table. “Gary?”

He looked up and suddenly felt a pang in his chest. Y/N looked so worried for him. For someone who fucked a different man.

“I cheated on you,” he whispered. It was almost inaudible. Y/N thought he heard wrong.

“What?” he asked, eyes scanning his face in hopes of a lie.

“I-” Roach choked, staring back into the eyes of his lover. Was he still allowed to call him that? His mouth was dry as he fought to tell him the truth. “I cheated on you.”

Y/N felt his heart stop. His throat closed up and his face rapidly began burning with… what feeling was this? There’s no way to describe it. Partly embarrassment. Partly shame. Partly betrayal. Mostly horror.

“I slept with someone three days ago,” Roach said, turning to stare at the centre of the table. Y/N whimpered and covered his face with his hands, taking multiple heaving breaths. “I’m so sorry. I’m so-”

“Stop,” Y/N whispered shakily. His shoulders shook violently as he sobbed into his palms.

His eyes burned as he watched Y/N sob near silently in front of him, hunched over in his chair and shaking.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just so lonely, and- and-” he tried to explain, tears welling in his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” he sobbed, pulling his hands away from his face in favour of wrapping his arms around himself

“I’m begging you, Gary.”

“I just-”

“I can’t…” Y/N huffed, his bottom lip quivering. He hung his head and let out a guttural sob. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Roach wiped his eyes and frowned when Y/N stood up, pushing his chair in and taking his plate and wine. He scraped the food into the garbage bin and placed it in the sink before walking away. Roach watched him as he walked into the bathroom and locked it. Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he should have planned more.

Roach cleaned up after both of them before going into their shared bedroom and sitting on the bed. He thought it would be best to wait up for Y/N, but he ended up falling asleep anyway. He dreamt of that mistake, it looming over him like a horrible shadow, and it left him waking up in a cold sweat. The sun was beginning to rise behind the curtains, scaring away the night, but a crow sat on the windowsill. They always know.

He stood from the bed, noticing that Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Panic flooded his mind, and he quickly walked from the bedroom, looking into the living room. He worried when he saw nothing before remembering the bathroom. He walked to the door quietly and hesitated as he raised his fist and knocked lightly.

It was quiet for a long moment before Y/N said quietly, “Come in.”

Roach opened the door. Y/N was sitting in the empty bathtub with the light off. His hands were clasped on his lap. Roach flicked on the light and watched Y/N from the doorway.

Y/N’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his face stained with dried tears from sobbing all night. His eyes were fixated on the tile on the wall.

“Who was it?” he finally asked. Roach told him the name of the man, and Y/N simply took in a shaky breath before beginning to cry again. “Of course…”

“What?”

Y/N paused.

“You’ve always looked at him differently,” he said. Roach opened and closed his mouth. “If you want to be with him, it's okay.”

“Why,” Roach began, his head spinning with a headache, “Why aren't you angry? Why won’t you yell at me and cuss me out?”

Y/N turned his head to look at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since the night before.

“Because I love you.”

[babyxbluexmoon]

☁︎ ash girl | pt. 1 ☁︎

Na'vi! Jake Sully! x Fire! Na'vi! Fem! Reader/Oc!

Warnings: Not proof read.

synopsis : Jake Sully had been living with the omaticayas as one of them for quite a couple years now, and after learning the forest, the creatures off by heart, he finds something new.

Jake watched his best friend, Neytiri, marry the man of her dreams with a smile on his face. He knew her and Tsu'Tey would make womderful leaders for the clan. He had been a Omaticaya for the last three years now, and it has been the best time of his life. He could walk, run, he was free. He new knew this forest like the back of his hand, and the creatures like the back of his five fingered hand.

However, it was then he almost felt something watching. He turned to look over his shoulder, and his eyes widened slightly at a shadow like figure quickly moving out of sight. All he saw was a flash of.. red? Though it didn't look like an animal, more.. a na'vi. He got too curious and decided to follow it, the important part of the ceremony was over now, so he could come back for the after celebration.

He ran after the figure, using his senses and soon heard a.. Thanator? He approching quickly but quietly, and peeked around a tree, a gasp excaping his lips at the sight. There stood a red na'vi woman. She was a light red colour with darker red markings, and blacl paint around her eyes, a few stripes on her arms, and thighs, and ankles. She wore silver jewlery, two silver rings in each ear, a silver necklace, and a silver chain around her waist.

She wore black clothes over her breasts with no straps,then a black ripped mini like skirt covering her low regions. The thanator had red paint over his black body, and he found it interesting how she connected with him, and got onto its back. "She connected with a Thanator..?" He mumbled, but then saw her ears twitch and she looked right at him. Her eyes were a firey orange, blazing into his soul, darker than an Omaticaya.

"Uhh.. hi?" He spoke, and she quickly sped off woth the Thanator. "He-hey! Wait!" He ran after them, but soon had to call on his ikran, amd chased them. He landed infront of her, and his ikran roared, causing the Thanator to roar back and she hissed at him. "Hey, hey. I'm not threat." He said in thena'vi language, and she tilted her head when she saw his extra finger. "Demon.." the red girl spoke and he blinked a few times. "Excuse me?" He asked and she hissed loudly again.

She pulled out an axe like weapon, and Jake flinched, and gulped. "Wait, wait.. I am Na'vi. I promise, I am Na'vi." he said gently, and she tilted her head. "You omaticaya?" she asked and he nodded, "Yes, I am apart of that clan. I was sky person, now I am na'vi. I adapted." He said to her and she seemed to think for a moment, then slowly lowered her weapon and spoke english. "I sorry.. I no used too... this?" She spoke, her english was broken, but not bad, honestly.

"What.. what kind of Na'vi are you?" He asked her and she looked down for a moment, then back at him. "You people know I people as people of ash. Ash People." The woman replied and he slowly got off his Ikran, and she swung herself off of her Thanator and approched him. Before he could blink, she took ahold of his hand, inspecting it intensley with those sharp orbs. Her eyes were like slits, and the pupils so.. diamond like. Beautiful.

"My name is Jake.. you?" He asked, and she looked up at him. "Zuru'iki." He repeated the name in his mind, smiling slightly and feeling his heart pound slightly harder as she ran her fingers over the lines on his palm, and his extra finger. "You strange." She said, her voice was slightly deeper than Neytiri's, but gentle. "You are strange aswell.." he replied, looking at her hair that was half shaved, long and straight. No beads, no braids, no feathers.

However, she did have silver jewles around the her head, held up by her ears. On the middle of her head, between her eyes,but a bit higher but a silver cross shape, with ingraved markings covering it. She was stunning. Gorgouse. Outstanding. Every word the male could think of. "Zuru'iki.. where do you come from?" He asked, being curious. Neytiri never mention ash people before, and especially not red skinned na'vi folk.

She let go of his hand and pointed to three moutains, one huge one in the middle, and two smaller ones slightly infront of it. "There I home. There me clan." She said, and he nodded slowly, "may.. I go there?" He asked, an urge to learn of these new na'vi's. She shoom her head, "You omaticaya. You clan not happy you come." He took him a second to understand her, but spon caught on and sighed. "Then.. may I talk with you about it. We could find a place to sit?" He offered. "I would.. honestly, like to get to know you." He said.

She thought about it, and looked bacl at her thanator with a quesrioning expression, and the beast made a noise, seeming to shrug. She turned back to him and nodded. "We sit there." The girl pointed to a floating moutain, and he wondered howshe would get up there without an Ikran, but shrugged and nodded. "Alright, want a lift?" he offered, but she shook her head and we over to her companion.

He got on his Ikran and flew up into the aor, watching as her thanator ran through the trees, then stopped at the edge, looking up at the floating moutain. Suddenly the thanator walked away and Jake stopped Bob, the Ikran in mid air, wondering if she decided to leave, bit suddenly they came running back, and the thanator leapt off of the edge, and almost flew across the gap upwards, until landing on the floating moutain. "Whoa..". Jake flew over and got off thecreature again, detatching his braid and going over to her who also detatched her from from her beast. "That was amazing."

They sat down together and while Jake crossed his legs, she dangled hers over the edge, his Ikran sat on a ledge behind them and her Thanator curled up next to her. "So.. what do they meant by 'Ash people'?" He asked and she looked over, then pointed to the tallest moutain. "Watch." She spoke and after a couple minutes, as he was about to ask what he was looking for, the moutain, which turned out to be a valcano splurted out lava. "Most na'vi die near.. but we touch and be fine." She explained. "We fire na'vi. We one with fire." She explained and he gave a surprised expression.

"Why choose na'vi?" She asked, they had been talking for over an hour now, night slowly falling. Jake didn't mean too, but he slightly forgot the celebration, he didn't want this to end. Talking with her. "I betrayed my race because we were in the wrong. I fell in love with the forest, with the animals , and with the people." He said and she nodded slowly. "You betray sky people.. brave." Zuru'iki praised.

Her use of english made him chuckle every so often, the way she would forget to add words, or pronounce words wrong. The only sentence she could truely say propperly was, 'I see you' and he only knew that because she spoke to her thanator. "I see you, Omopaoni." She said, and he almost purred, nuzzling her. "Omopaoni? Thats a neat name. Did you pick it?" He asked and she shook her head. "He born it. He tell me when bonded." She replied and he made an 'ooo' expression. "You can understand them?".

"We understand Thanator. Thanator understand us. We one Thanantor." She explained and he understood, it reminded him of some of the other clans, how one clan were only horse riders, and another bonded only with Ikrans. These ones bonded with Thanators. Jake found that brilliant, considering one chased him the first time he came to the forest and how Neytiri explained that they did not like na'vi.

The night became darker and darker, and the little white dots on both their faces illuminated, aswell as the plants around them. It was then he noticed the orange flame like glow in the middle of the three moutains, and wondered how he never noticed it before. Why only now was he discovering this new side of na'vi. "Why dont you and the omaticayas get along?" He asked, "and also, why are you here?".

"In old time, ash and forest fight over land. Ash want fire, forest want tree. Soon, ash murder many forest, making ash outcast na'vi." She explained and he nodded slowly, understanding. "I here, i sent here by olo'eyktan, see." She said, now that he didn't understand, but decided not to ask further, but then she answered for him. "Olo'eyktan curious omaticaya." She explained and he nodded, noe he understood.

"I get back, dark." She spoke and Jake felt that he did not want her to go, he wanted to keep talking to her. More than he wanted to talk to Neytiri when they first met. "Wi-will I see you again..?" He asked her as she got onto her thanator, then looked at him. "Do wish too?". He nodded frantically, "I-I really like talking to you. Could we.. meet here again?" He asked and she nodded. "We can. Tomorrow, Jake Sully." With that, her Thanator jumped roght off the floating rock and he gasped, running to the edge and watxhing as they handed on a tree branch, then too the floor, heading towards the moutains.

"Wow.." he said, a sicky feeling in his stomach, but it was an addictive feelings, like little wings fluttering. Like anxiety, but he wasn't in panic or fear. "Until tomorrow, Zuru'iki..".

____

Jake Sully woke up extra early, getting on his Ikran and flying to the floating rock. He didn't care if it would be hours before seeing her, he'd been up all night awaiting day break. Bow sat on the rock, he looked out at the three moutains, longing just to see her red face with black paint, and soon he couldn't help himself. He flew his companion towards the fire na'vi.

As they got closer, he could already feel the heat, but admired what he saw. Huge flowers surrounding the moutains, fire and orange coloured like a burning flame with black middles. Then there was the village, no trees, but little stone caves for homes, statues, those firey flowers. There there was a big tree in the middle, burnt but covered in lights, red lights made of glow stones, their hometree. Thanators roamed freely, each with red marked painting on their bodies and faces.

He hid behind a fire flower on the smallest moutain, and scanned the area until he finally spotted her, Zuru'iki. She was speaking to a very tall na'vi, red like her, an elder man. He decided to get closer, leaving his ikran to perch and soon he was in the village, hiding behind a couple painted rocks. "Sempul(father)! I try best!" He heard and gave a confused expression.

"You stupid, like child!" He yelled back, "you betray the people! Talk with omaticaya man!" He said and Jakes eyes widened slightly. "Sempul.. he not bad omaticaya, he not like people! He talk me, curious!" She yelled back and suddenly he turned to her and screamed. "You betray me! You just like you sa'nok(mother)! Curious.. curious get you killed, stupid girl!" He said, then turned away from her. "You no speak me until I ready.. I not look at you." He walked away as tears ran down her red cheeks, and Jake growled lowly, making her ears twitch.

She looked over and spotted him, making her mouth drop. "What you do here!?" She loudly whisperedd, coming over and looking at him, continuously looking around to make sure no one else was looking. The tears were still running down her cheeks, and she quickly wiped them. "I-I couldn't wait to see you.. I just really.. I really wanted to talk to you again." He whispered back, and then wantes to wipe those tears but restrained himself.

"You stupid.." she said, but she was giggling which made him smile at her quite lovingly. "Not here." She said with a smile, and then grabbed his hand, "come, come." She said and sprinted him to a cave, her cave. She closed the curtains made of stripped silver, like crystals before looking at him. "It nice see you." She said, lighting the fire to brighten the dark cave. There was only one big bed in here, showing she lived alone. Her thanator sleeping outside beside the cave under a wooden made like hut, with his own fire keeping him warm.

"You not be here!" She said, pushing on his chest gently, giving him that sicky feeling again. "I know, I know.. I just.. couldn't resist." He chuckled and she rolled her eyes, sitting own on a soft looking bean bag, and he sat on the other. He looked atvher skin, glimmering in the flame lit light, and how the silver made her really pop. On top of that, she was daughter of the olo'eyktan.. she was gorgouse.

"Your really pretty.." Jake mumbled, and her eyes widened slightly, then she seemed to look flustered and he smirked slightly. 'Why is she so.. alluring...?' He wondered, staring at her shy smile. "Are you.. mated?" He asked, and he couldn't believe those words left his lips. "No, why?" She asked and he played it off cool. "Just curious. Being the cheifs daughter means you have to find a mate before a certain age right? How old are you?" He asked, "I twenty year old." She replied, "and yes, but no fire male catch eye. I no interest." She explained and he felt a little happy by that.

'Am I.. falling for her..?' He wondered, and his question was answered when she said, "you pretty." She said, "you catch eye." She seemed to realise what she said and looked down, making his eyebrows raise and his lips part, but then she stood up. "But you omaticaya. So it don't matter if you pretty not." She walked over to a table of weapons, and Jake saw the axe she held yesterday, a few knife or daggers, and what seemed to be poisonous flowers.

"Why... why should that matter..?" He asked her softly, and she looked back at him. "We be enemies. No friends." He was kind of happy she considered them friends, but now thinking about it, he wished they were more. "What if.. I don't want to be enemies.. what if you catch my eye aswell..?" He asked and her heart skipped a beat, now that sicky feeling in her stomach.

"It no work-", "You don't know that, Zuru'iki." He approched her, but she backed away so he respectfully stopped, putting his hands up. "I will not touch you unless you say so, Zuru. But.. I want to be the.. the one to catch your eye." He admitted. "I know we only met yesterday, and we barely know one another but I really.. like being around you." He said and she found herself agreeing. "Why dont, we see how it goes? We hang out every day we can, and.. save eachother for awhile?" He offered.

"Save?" She asked, "Like, dont mate with anyone until we know how we really want.. us to go?" He explained and she gulped gently. "You determind.." she let out a soft chuckle, making him lower his hands. She stayed quiet for a moment, then sighed and spoke, "I do it. But reasons I no promises." Zuru'iki had a point of no promises, but that was enough for this five fingered na'vi. "Its settled then."

[twistedchristianscience]

forgot to post about him here BUT I finished my silly little Vashraptor fursuit just before Emerald City Comic Con (and Vancoufur)

except he's not actually "finished", just finished enough for me to wear him to those cons for a bit. he still needs a few more details, namely feetpaws, the stitches on his torso, a more raptor-like hand for his prosthetic, and claws. plus I'm not totally happy with his ears so I might redo them. I'll make legs and different prosthetics eventually, but that probably won't be for a while.

as per usual of raptors, he looks pretty silly at any angle other than side profiles, so its a little difficult to get good photos while im actually wearing him.

more ramblings + WIP shots under the cut because this was the most complicated project ive ever done and im insane

so far, he's taken about $700 worth of materials and 150 hours but I'll make another post with updated numbers when he's fully finished.

the headbase is made of EVA foam, with a hinge from WeaselsOnEasels (covered with that pink fabric because I accidentally put it on the inside, rip) and 40 teeth from DreamVisionCreations. the eyes and antorbital fenestrae have .5mm computer fan pvc mesh-- his vision and ventilation are fantastic, rivaling my suit with a 3d printed base, but fine details like writing and text are lost as per usual with vision meshes (that's not normally much of a problem for me with the furry conventions I go to annually and know the layout of, but it made navigating ECCC a nightmare since ive never been before and the venue is HUGE. I imagine ill have the same struggles if I go to sakuracon-- anyone wanna be my handler for that? lol). the unfurred section is coated with Plastidip and spraypainted dark brown. most of his mane is zippered on both sides so I can remove it and make interchangable versions (I plan to make spiked-up hair in yellow, half yellow/black, and fully black) while the tip of it is magnetic so it lies flat against the base. his tongue is also magnetic. I was originally going to make magnetic eyelids, but in all honesty, I might prefer to make them velcro as they tend to be easier to adjust + more secure than magnetic ones.

the part I hated making the most was his tail, not because it's bad, but because when I was almost done with it my dog got to it and chewed it apart.

you can see there's an awkward little bump along the top near where the light yellow and black fur connect-- when im wearing the tail that bump makes it look broken. but since he's so mangled anyway it can just be considered part of his design since I didn't add any scars to it

the tail feathers were a bit of a nightmare to make but the progress shots are cool

the part I loved making the most, and that im most proud of, is the bodysuit. I thought the scars were going to be a nightmare to sew, but they were actually the most fun and I love how they turned out!! he will be getting an interchangable mane down his back as well but I didn't have the time to finish it. I might also extend the shoulders a little for a better fit, particularly the left as theres a noticeable gap between the suit and the prosthetic as it is.

I showed this video of the pattern to a friend at When Furballs Strike a few weeks back and she told me I was insane. she is correct, and I'm fairly sure me actually finishing the bodysuit in a week only proves it further. but I did it anyway, and I had fun doing it.

Fur used: Yellow (Hair/Mane, Tail Feathers): HowlFabric Buttercup Luxury Shag Light Yellow (Main Body/Face): MofuMofu Mi Yellow Long Fur White (Neck, Top Surgery Scars, Tail): BigZFabric White Short Shag Brown (Ears, Tail Feathers): HowlFabric Fossil Grey Luxury Teddy Black (Arm, Tail): HowlFabric Natural Black Luxury Teddy Scars: HowlFabric Salmon Minky Tongue: HowlFabric Banana Minky Inner Mouth: HowlFabric Vanilla Minky Inner Ears: BigZFabric White Minky

note about the mofumofu fur: it's pretty thin, if you trim too much you can see the backing through it. HOWEVER. this proved to be a positive for the bodysuit, as it's MUCH more breathable than thicker furs like howl's and bigz's. (for the one day I could make it to ECCC and two days of Vancoufur, I wore this suit for 10-12 hours straight with a sweatshirt underneath and never felt like I was overheating, the minky scars most likely helped with it but STILL??) it also doesn't get as matted. whether or not it's worth the $55/yd price depends on what you need it for, if it's within your price range and you're particularly sensitive to heat, I'd say go for it. I only needed a yard for this as I'm kindof a little guy (5'5", 120lbs) so it was worth it for me.

[lunaetis]

𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭.

why can't you place some of that trust in me ( @minban ) ?

                it would be a death wish to trust someone like him. someone whose hands were soaked in crimson, the scent of BLOOD clung to almost every fiber of his skin. the razor-sharp fangs capable of ripping her throat out in a single bite grazed every so softly against her skin, and how they pierced into her more than once. again and again, until his mouth tasted of iron, until every corner of her body was littered with bites, until he had claimed his ownership over her in a form of several marks adorning her otherwise flawless skin and the warmth of his essence was poured deep into her.

                the feel of his fingers running through the softness of dark feathers sent shivers down her spine. yínyuè could register even the slightest of movement as those gloved digits weaved themselves along the thick lines of her wings. she wondered how did it feel for him, how did it feel to have her vulnerable beneath him while he was touching her in the most intimate manner as though he had control over the power of havoc running through her veins.

                the rover was growing stronger as day passed, more powerful today than the day before as her blade cut through COUNTLESS of tacet discords with the very same frequencies she absorbed into her. when his digits could be felt so close to the base of her wings, yínyuè shuddered almost instinctively. the sound of her own heart ramming itself against her ribcage a reminder how her body responded quickly to stimulations caused by him. it was as though he knew how to bring forth a kind of REACTION oh-so-pleasant to his eyes and ears, while she was powerless to resist him. not in ways she'd like.

                her body was reacting in caution. it was reminding her how easily those fingers and hand could RIP those majestic wings of hers out from the base and leave her bleeding and writhing in agony. it was TRUST, was it not ? that compelled her to lie there unmoving, letting the MAN whose claws were sharper than any blades to ghost his touch all over her, along her spine, wrapping his hand, his entirety, around the area where the dark wings connected to the skin of her back, coiling POSSESSIVELY, in promise ... so intimately and wholly she was almost choking up on his heat that threatened to BURN and consume her everything.

                he could rip them out, causing her to fall from grace, causing her to fall to the ground into his very arms, into the depth where SINNERS crawl, yet ... he did not.

                she heard her NAME on his tongue, whispered so endearingly like she was the only thing valuable to him in this half-destroyed world she was trying to save. a mind-shaking shiver ran down her spine once more, causing her back to ARCH from the way he trailed his hand, now ungloved, along the roots of her wings and burying his scarred palm right into the soft, delicate feather until they were half swallowed up in the thick tresses. yínyuè heard the sound that escaped the back of her throat, how it vibrated from her lungs like a wounded prey being caught within the maws of its predator, and was being toyed with so casually.

                so gentle. so delicate. then transitioning from warmth to heat, scorching and searing, just enough to leave her to burn with primal need and leaving words of plead to stick to the tip of her tongue. so close to beg for something. for mercy, for more ? she wasn't sure. AUREATE ORBS melted into liquid gold, swirling underneath the locks of midnight and overwhelming aura of havoc being ignited by him. she gazed at him, glowing eyes meeting heterochromia ... and yínyuè felt yet another SHUDDER pulsing through every fiber of her being. when he stared down at her like that, despite having ALL the power to turn things around, her mind submitted to those mismatched orbs looking at her like she was his.

                the moment she felt his FANGS sinking into her skin, marking right between the two wings, she called out his name.

                as though it was the only thing, the only one, ever allowed to CLAIM her in such a way.

                ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢʰᵉ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ

[morocosmos]

Returning - G’raha

Intro chapter | Thancred | Urianger | Y’shtola | Alphinaud, Estinien | Tataru | Alisaie, Krile

Warrior of Light & G’raha Tia

Takes place during Endwalker, just after the end of 6.0. This is a series of vignettes on each of the Scions’ relationships with my Warrior of Light, Moro’a as he’s recovering after the end of the Final Days.

“How bad is it?”

Moro’a gritted his teeth as he tried to think through the haze of pain. “Bad,” he answered simply. The magic Frynn had used to treat his pain had nearly worn off, and he recalled the force of his fist colliding with Zenos’s jaw, followed by the accompanying crunch; from the way the shock had ripped through every muscle and bone in his arm, there was little wonder as to why it was in such a state.

He watched as G’raha nodded, his red eyes narrowed in a serious expression. There was more there – concern, as well as some other form of tension. “And…you are adamant that you would rather have me tend to it now, as opposed to letting the sages handle it?” the Seeker asked, after a long pause.

Moro’a considered G’raha’s words, working through the implications beneath their surface. The sages’ feathers had already been ruffled once in the aftermath of his aethershock attack; the Scions might risk incurring more than unsavoury thoughts were they to explicitly reject their expertise any further, and it was unlikely that Fourchenault would extend his authority to their aid a second time.

Despite that, he knew he would much rather have any one of the Scions do something than have the sages administer their form of remedy on him again. The first time he'd complained of pain, they’d carefully made adjustments to the machines linked to him, and several minutes later a strong numbness had followed, permeating throughout his body. It’d been deeply uncomfortable, comparatively mild to what he had experienced in Norvrandt as the Light had taken its toll on him, and yet. He’d been forced to endure the lack of sensation until blessed sleep at last claimed him.

Moro’a knew there was more to G’raha’s hesitation, too, but he was unsure of how to approach it. “Fourchenault said you and the other Scions could lend your magic ‘within reason'. Such was his wording, correct?” he inquired instead. G’raha nodded again, and Moro’a looked up towards the ceiling, weighing his choices.

“I believe you could consider this one such situation, then. If the sages pester you for a reason, tell them I’d be willing to explain it myself. They can present alternatives if they have any,” he decided out loud. G’raha didn’t immediately respond, and Moro’a noticed that his eyes had widened, though he maintained his composure. “Very well,” G’raha replied, settling back an ilm into his chair. The surprise was gone, smoothed over by a small, optimistic smile. “I shall entrust negotiations over to you, my friend. Then, if I may…” Moro’a felt G’raha lift his arm, and he couldn’t help but wince as his mending nerves protested. “My apologies,” the Seeker murmured.

“S’fine.” G’raha’s touch was neither rough nor gentle, but a cautious balancing act that Moro’a felt as he tilted his arm here and there, feeling where bone had been fractured and flesh torn. Moro’a half-watched, half-turned his gaze to the side, unsure of what more to say. Even after all this time, a faint air of awkwardness remained between them; an undesirable reminder of year-old differences and disappointments that made itself known when no one else was around. But Moro’a was glad for his presence all the same; pain aside, staying in this small room while all but immobile had made him want for company.

“Does it hurt most around the proximal phalanges of your hand, or is it more generalised?” G’raha enquired, after a time.

“Slightly concentrated there. But the rest of the arm hurts almost as much as where I’d hit Zenos,” Moro’a replied, feeling slightly embarrassed detailing how he had punched the Garlean. It still felt too surreal that he’d fought Zenos bare-fisted at the very edge of the universe less than three sennights ago. But G’raha made no move to bring it up as he continued to inspect Moro’a’s arm and hand with what the Keeper could only describe as utmost concentration. G’raha had been tense when he’d arrived for what would be his first visit since Moro’a had awoken; he had relaxed a little, though that undercurrent of something other remained. It was several moments more before he placed Moro’a’s arm back by his side, seemingly satisfied enough with his assessment to speak.

“The damage to your arm was certainly, well, extensive,” G’raha began. “Llorhis, the head nurse did report multiple fractures extending from your fingers to your lower arm…from what I can tell, the Technon restoration unit has focused on steadily repairing these, as well as where the muscles were torn all throughout.” So that explained the heightened pain in his right arm, Moro’a thought. “As for what I can do to relieve the strain it’s placing on you–” an odd shadow crossed over the Scion’s face, for just a moment – “I can modify a spell that Beq Lugg taught me for numbing pain. It was, ah, intended for my own use as the Crystal Exarch, once upon a time. But I should be able to adapt the spell without issue.”

G’raha was looking intently at him now, as though trying to gauge his response. “Additionally, I believe I can also adjust the extent of said numbing to your preference…should you have any concerns in that regard," he said, delicately.

It took a moment for Moro’a to catch on to G’raha’s meaning, but as he did, realisation had him staring at the other miqo’te, and G’raha dithered. “T’was only a hunch,” he added quickly. “After the aethershock, and learning you’d rather the Scions attend to your pain over what the sages have used.”

Moro’a blinked. “What was your hunch?” he couldn’t help but ask.

G’raha’s ears lowered to the sides a little as his gaze travelled to his lap. “Thanks to an explanation from Alphinaud, I learned that the sages employ several forms of umbral aether when treating pain,” he explained. “It led me to wonder if you might’ve found the effects of potent stasis-leaning magic uncomfortable, or perhaps even distressing…given what you’d endured on the First."

"...Like how the Light was affecting me." Of course G’raha would have picked up on this, Moro’a realised. He’d somehow neglected to anticipate that G’raha would have thought to consider how he might feel about it, before he’d even brought it up. Truthfully, it was a relief to see him approach the situation so conscientiously.

"Thank you," Moro'a said quietly, G'raha's ears swivelling towards him as he listened. “I was going to mention it, but you’re right about how I feel towards their methods. By which I mean I despised every second of it,” he sighed, leaning back into the pillow. The pain was beginning to tire him out again. “I would take just about anything else, perhaps even going without any remedy if I had to.”

“Well, ‘tis good that you need not resort to that last option. I would say you’ve endured enough for an age and a half,” G’raha stated. “But surely you know that my white magic will have a similar effect. Would that still be alright?”

“Yes – I doubt it would be half as uncomfortable as what the machinery did to me,” Moro’a explained. “I trust that you’ll figure out something.”

“Very well.” G’raha was smiling, and his shoulders looked more relaxed, as though the tension he’d been holding had abated significantly. “I’ll need to fetch my staff and take some time to work out the spell, but rest assured it won’t take long,” he said.

“And…thank you in turn. For trusting me with this task.” Moro’a nodded, feeling several onzes lighter himself. The air between them had changed – not entirely, but enough to soften the awkwardness into something far more hopeful.

[ofmermaidstories]

U think bakugo ever gets so angry his mouth misses surrender reader’s when he’s trying to have a passionate heated make out session because I do

Katsuki’s home for once, sleeping off the last few days in the darkness of his room, cocooned.

It’s early evening before he remerges. You’re peeling the potatoes for dinner when you hear him shuffling from the room to the bath, keeping track of him by the running of the taps before he closes the door, the sound cutting off — leaving you alone in the quiet of his large apartment, trying to amuse yourself by carving the perfect spiral of a potato peel; petty, silly.

When he wakes up after a marathon sleep it always takes him a while to come back, to return to the here and now; his mind catching up with the rest of his body as it realises it can finally relax, can take these next few hours to pause and breathe. He can be reticent even on good days: after big missions, after a series of demanding patrols, he’s even more silent, staying that way until something annoys him enough that he comes back into himself — or makes him laugh in his startling way.

The city outside is falling into dusk: the windows opened wide to the pink-twilight city glimmer. You hum along to a song on the television, jiggling the rice you’re rinsing and hear the traceable movement of your Pro Hero as he shuffles back into the living room.

“Hi!” You call out behind you cheerily, rinsing your hands and darting between the sink and the fridge. The door rattles as you open it, looking for the cold water bottle you set aside for him, earlier — but then big arms are slipping around you, enveloping you, and there’s the touch of lips against your neck, the feel of Katsuki’s fine hair against your face. The soapy, minty freshness of him, clean from washing up.

You lean back into the weight of him, the warmth, and he pulls you in tighter; breathing in deeply, like he’s still half-asleep. He very well might be — for a moment you stand together in front of the open refrigerator as you trace the veins of his hands, his arms, nosing into the side of his head where its against you.

“Hi,” You say again: softer, against the fine down of hair by his ear. Everything within you is vibrating that he’s here, that you’re together — your very cells rioting, hyperaware of his closeness. The invasion of space that only belongs to him.

The fridge beeps. You try and tug away from his arms to get his drink, to close the door — he pulls you back and kicks the door shut with a grunt. “No,” He says, and it’s ridiculous enough that you laugh. It’s the jiggling of the rice you were rinsing, the weight against the sieve; your body moves against his and he buries his face in your neck, like he’s trying to osmosis your laughter through your skin.

You breathe in and settle and eventually he lets you turn in his arms, your hands snaking up between you, his bare chest and going to his face, cupping his cheeks. The lines under his eyes are deeper, now, than they have been since you’ve known him — he looks at you, ruby eyes dark and tired, and your heart tightens.

You thumb the shadows of his face, gently. The feather-light touch of handling something so irredeemably precious. In answer he dips into you, a headbutt with no real force; you’re breathing one another in now, and you let your hands slip from the panes of his face to his shoulders, your fingertips mapping the familiar feel of him.

“You need more sleep,” You whisper to him; the tiny space between you gaining all the sanctity of a Library’s quiet.

Katsuki huffs. It’s light against you. “D’wanna.” He says, annoyed, childish. His hands - hands that have destroyed, that have saved, that are now on you - tighten. You wait, tracing the edges of the scar on his shoulder.

“Missed you ‘n shit.” He says at last, even more annoyed, now.

You droop into him, wilting like a flower; you’ve missed him too. He hasn’t been home in almost a week — it’s not the longest of his stints, not lately, and you knew what you were signing up for, when you fell for him — but it doesn’t make it any easier. When he is home the two of you sleep in shifts, almost: only able to be together, both awake and coherent, for a few stolen hours. It means the need to be near him has gotten so persuasive, lately, that sometimes when you’re here and he’s in bed, sleeping off a battle, you crawl in next to him; carefully and lightly, curling into his warmth and forcing yourself into a midday nap, just to be near him, to share his space. You always awake entangled and overheated, afterwards — Katsuki finding you in his sleep and dragging you close, missing you just as much as you do him, even in his dreams. It’s never comfortable — he runs hot, constantly, and it’s like sleeping with a heater but —

It doesn’t matter. It’s just more proof that he’s there. That he’s with you, alive and home safe.

There’s a light touch of lips at your neck once more; leading, ghost-like tracing, kisses, from the dip of your collarbone to just under your jaw bone as you tilt, giving him more access. Everything within you pulses, tightens — he nips at the soft skin just below your ear and you finally turn your face to his, enough to feel the sharp intake of his breath before his lips meet yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

His mouth is cool and tastes of mint and aniseed from his toothpaste and mouthwash, respectively — you let him spin you, pressing you into the counter. He pulls away, grunting something, leaving you momentarily bemused — before he presses in close again, mouth on yours, his hands hot even through the fabric of your shirt.

You want to claw your way into this man. He tilts you back — like he’s trying to claw into you, too and you break apart only long enough for the both of you to draw in what breath you need, gasping before you are kissing again, sloppily. Hungry for the need to be close.

Behind you, something begins to vibrate — and then Katsuki’s phone is bursting into life with that ridiculous old All Might cartoon theme, sharp and loud in the apartment. You pull away from your hero with a sharp breath, your disappointment tangible — Katsuki rips himself away from you with a hiss, grabbing for his phone angrily, as he answers, “What the fuck do you want?”

You can hear Kaminari clearly. “Yo! Kacchan! Love hearing from you too, dude. A few of us are meeting up tonight — ”

That’s all poor Kaminari gets a chance to say. Katsuki pulls away from his phone, looking at the screen incredulously — and then hangs up, letting it clatter against the counter.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Did you have to be such an asshole?”

Katsuki grunts, one hand pushing back his hair, irritated. “They all fucking knew I don’t wanna hear shit unless it’s about the case.” His eyes cut to you — in the kitchen lights, they glimmer, and his mouth softens. “They know I don’t get much… free time, or whatever.” To spend with you, he means.

You’re close enough that you can reach out and touch him, easily, so you do; pressing your fingers into his chest before letting your palm slide against him. Underneath it, you can feel the steady comfort of his heartbeat. He’s here. He’s alive and he’s home safe.

Maybe Katsuki is thinking the same thing. In a lot of ways, he remains a constant mystery to you; he covers your hand with his, pressing it further against him. His hand is warm; he’s warm. You trace the outline of your fingers together and then follow the soft lines of him, his collar bone, his adam’s apple — the motion of his neck as he swallows. And then your eyes are meeting his.

This man, you think. It’s awe and it’s love and it’s disbelief that he’s here. That you’re here, with him.

You lean into him; he catches you in a hug, tight and warm, his arms thick around you. Nosing against him, you breathe in his scent, the salty sweetness, and then say, “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah,” He grunts. You feel his lips in your hair, and then against the shell of your ear, his breath. “Missed you, too.” He headbutts you again, the heavy thunk of his forehead against the top of yours. You snuffle against him, annoyed.

“I have to make dinner,” You say, like you weren’t the one to bury yourself against him.

“Don’t care,” He says, a large hand slipping to the back of your neck — forcing you to look up at him, to meet his gaze, heated and soft. “Don’t want it,” He adds, his thumb stroking the soft skin behind your ear. “M’ — just wanna crawl back into bed with you and get some fuckin’ rest for once.”

“What rest,” You tease, but his hands tighten against you and you know what he means. It’s the same thing that drives you to nap, just to be close to him. To wait while he sleeps off a hard day, just so you’re there to welcome him back to the living. It’s just — it’s just the need to be together, in whatever way you can.

“I love you,” You say out-loud.

Katsuki headbutts you again, harder this time and you make a small squawk of protest — but he’s keeping his forehead against yours, trying to rub his nose against you, affectionate in the fickle way of a cat.

“Love you, too.” He says. You try and bite his cheek in retaliation — he swears, and tries to bite back and you are laughing, shaking like your sieve of rice — Katsuki holding you close, like he’s trying to osmosis your laughter through your skin.

[doubledgesword-2]

Breeding Kink

I’m taking this as a kink instead so I hope that’s alright for the request! I apologize if it isn’t! I treated them like drabbles and if I’m honest I’m a bit disappointed in my work ;-; this rose tea is not my best.

Illumi

You opened your door to your pitch-black apartment with the same sluggishness and tiredness you had walking all the way from your work to here. Today had been one of those days, and those were fine once in a while...but the entire week? No, that was not normal. You had been on edge and stressed to the point of burning out. So the plans for this evening consisted of showering, eating something quick, and just dying on your bed. That was until you noticed the figure sitting on your sofa.

Illumi's back was to you; he was so still and quiet, you might as well think he fell asleep while sitting.

"You're late," his voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't know I was expected," you replied, and it was the truth; Illumi had left for a week on a job and didn't even called you. You weren't feeling particularly forgiving this evening, and the edge of your tone contrasted the calm and monotony in his

"It's been a long day, Illumi, is there anything I can do for you?"

Your relationship wasn't the best when it came to normal; there was a lot of miscommunication or lack of it. But Illumi did his best, he was interested in you, and that didn't happen often.

"As my love interest, you should always expect me is a quality that every wife should have. It's their job to wait for their husbands no matter how long they take" Illumi turned slightly to look into your eyes as he talked.

You perked up at the word wife; he had never made allusions to marriage, at least not directly like this. You knew his goals when it came to relationships. Still, you always expected him to leave you in the end for someone more suitable, almost royalty. After all, his parents were very demanding, and you knew you didn't fit the role of the perfect wife, starting with the fact that you worked a regular job and haven't found your nen if you even had one.

"But we're not married, Illumi. Besides, I don't think your parents would approve of someone as vain as me. I'm not strong, and I don't meet the qualifications. So..." you shrugged in the end, dropping your keys on the counter and your bag nearby.

Your hand went to flip the switch; all this talk in the darkness was unnerving you, especially when you took into consideration Illumi was an assassin. Right when you flipped the switch, Illumi's hand was on your wrist, turning off the lights once more. You could feel his toned chest as he pulled you close to him. For a second, you struggled in a fight or flight response, and Illumi's face went to the crook of your neck. His breath on your neck sent chills down your spine as he planted a feather-like kiss on your pulse. The action almost threatening, and it made you swallow. The fear and desire burned equally in your veins as he stretched your clothes, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses all the way to your shoulder.

"I think I've given you too much freedom. Do you think you're in control in this relationship?" He whispered to your shoulder, his other hand holding you tightly to him. "Do you think you can talk back to me just because you're tired? If you're going to be my wife, you need to learn how to behave properly."

Illumi slammed you down on the island counter, both of your hands twisted on your back held with one hand. You gasped and yelped as he did so. Whether it was from desire or fear, you didn't know. He bent over you, leaning close to the side of your head, nibbling your earlobe and whispering.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you" Illumi's free hand caressed your side, going down and squeezing everything he could. "The first lesson is to obey my every command. Can you do that?"

You nodded frantically, and he tilted his head innocently as if he wasn't holding you down or grinding into your hips slowly.

"Good girl" Illumi turned your body so you'd be laying on your back facing him. His hands went to your shirt, ripping it open, sending the buttons flying all around.

"Second, we have to continue the Zoldyck Legacy..." Illumi caressed a trail down your stomach and undid his pants, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I'll ensure you're filled to the brim, just to be sure it takes. We still have all night to try."

Hisoka

Hisoka had managed to find you where you were staying. You were on a short business trip. After he had disappeared to go on another gig, you didn't think it would matter if you actually did the same for the same reason. But Hisoka didn't like that. Like the petulant child he is, he was expecting to arrive home and be received and welcomed with a nice meal and some more relaxing activities afterward. But all he got was a nicely written note on the counter explaining your absence.

P.S feed your cat dummy :)

"Hmm," the cat meow made him look down to the fluff currently sitting at his feet, "She left you too, huh? Well, at least you welcomed me." He said in a bitterly playful tone.

After feeding the adorable and fearsome beast that guarded your apartment, he went on to look for you. He wanted your attention, and he wanted it now.

You had been staying at a company-paid hotel near the station. It was a relatively short trip, three days max, counting on everything going according to the agenda. After you had finished your last reports, you were set for a nice shower and sleep. Your stomach growling said otherwise, though. So you ordered some room service and went to shower quickly just in case the food came. When you were out in your robes, there was a knock on the door.

"Coming"

You opened the door, still drying your hair, when you looked up at the man serving you. It was Hisoka. Somewhere along the way, after he figured where you were, he had seen the boy coming up with your food, and once that was temporarily disposed of, he went on to serve you.

"Mmm, hello (Y/N)-Chan, how lovely to see you" he rolled the cart inside the room and closed the door by slamming you into it.

"Hisoka, w-what are you doing here?"

"I was lonely and bored. You left me all alone" He licked a trip up your neck all the way to your cheek.

"You leave alone all the time; what's the difference?" You were angry at that statement, 'how dare he?'

Hisoka's eyes widened for a split second, but not in shock, more in amusement.

"Oh," he chuckled, the tone dangerous, "my bad, little pet, I didn't realize this was such a sensitive topic" his tone was whimsical and mocking.

"Here, let's eat, and maybe you'll feel better" without giving you a chance, Hisoka grabbed your arms and flung you into the bed.

After your first release, you felt tired. You had been working nonstop for these two days. Your eyes closed, and his half-lidded ones are the last thing you remember.

"You actually passed out, doll. Was our sexy time too much to handle, or have I been mistreating you all these weeks I wasn't there, hmm~?"

You let out a breath at his playful look. He was rubbing circles on your exposed stomach while straddling you.

"Mmm, I think you're not relaxed enough; we might as well try again. After all, you let all my efforts slip out; I'll have to work hard to fill you up again~" he pouted playfully, looking over your tired form. "Don't worry, you can sleep while I'm at it, little fruit."

Chrollo

You were currently perched on your island counter chair like a vulture looking down at its prey. The entire week had been a mess of deadlines, due dates, and unhelpful people. To say you were stressed was an understatement. You were so stressed you no longer felt stressed.

That's how Chrollo found you when he entered your house. He could've used the front door, but he wanted to surprise you, and now he was worried about your confused face staring down the laptop screen.

You were so concentrated that when his hand laid on your shoulder, you jumped with a yelp.

"Argh, don't scare me like that," you chuckled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek but immediately turned to the computer screen once more.

Chrollo pouted slightly. He had been gone for an entirety of two weeks because of a small job; the least he expected was to be received with kisses, praise, and hugs like it was a kings parade.

He understood the stress, but he wasn't having it.

"Have you eaten anything?" He casually asked.

"Not really, but I can make you something if you want?" Chrollo gave a small smiled at the fact that you'd roll were willing to attend to him. You just needed to relax.

"Don't worry, love, I'll go shower" you nodded, and he turned, making his way down the hall and disappearing. You heard the water turn on muffled because of the closed door.

While you were concentrated on your work Chrollo slipped out of the bathroom, he grabbed you by the waist, spinning you and slamming you against the wall. His lips were possessive and angry as he kissed you. Sandwiched between his toned chest and the wall, you tried to push him back but eventually gave in to the way his fingers caressed your sides, his tongue forced yours into submission, and how he grinds his hips suggestively.

"Chrollo," you gasped when he finally let go of your swollen lips to suck on the skin of your neck. "I have to w-work."

At the mention of it, he bit down hard on your shoulder, making you Yelp.

"No more work" he licked the bite, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. "I just returned, expecting my little darling to receive me with kisses and at least one hug. But instead," his free hand grabbed your hips tightly enough to bruise, "you've overworked to the bone" your hands held his head close to your chest, ruffling his hair in the process and making him look even hotter.

"I-I"

"It's alright, I know how you can make it better" kiss on your shoulder.

"for both of us" kiss on your jaw.

"I'm going to shower, and you're coming with me; after getting on your knees for me, you can let me fill you up nicely."

"But-t" a moan slipped your lips as his knee went between your legs.

"And if you keep protesting, I'll just keep stuffing you until you can't think straight. See if you can work after that"

I hope this was good! I’m sorry if I butchered this 😭

[keilemlucent]

prey and promises

 (NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader 

word count: ~2.1k

keigo is a people pleaser at heart, and you’re his person. you want to try some new things in the bedroom. you do the math.

warnings: light restraints, light predator/prey (ish), praise kink, service dom keigo

a/n: people pleasing keigo is my kink, service dom keigo is my kink, here’s some pwp. this was originally my drabble for the exchange, but it got a wee bit long so it’s its own bastard now. enjoy some h word and happy valentine’s day loves!!!! 💗💗💗

“That too tight, dove?”

No, and honestly? Not tight enough.

The rope binding on your wrists was a bit too loose, a bit unpracticed, but a good effort despite all of that. Keigo really tried his best for you, and you could tell.

The bedroom was dim, for the sake of romance, suspense, or both. Only the flicker of a few perfectly placed jar and pillar candles lit the room, allowing Keigo’s wings to cast large, beautiful shadows across the room.

You watched, mesmerized by just his shadow.

That wasn’t mentioning the man who was straddling your hips, chest level with your face as he futzed with your bound wrists.

He worried to himself, nervously speaking just above breathing.

Who would’ve fucking thought, that number two, pro hero ‘Hawks’ was a goddamn sweetheart in bed?

He was a notorious playboy (wrong, but tabloids work harder than sinners on their knees), and unabashed flirt (true, but before you, he’d always been shit at the follow-through). Yet, he’d been worrying about the state of your bound arms for what had to be at least ten minutes.

As much as you appreciated the care, you were practically dripping onto the bed from all of the teasings he’d led up with (kissing, sucking, torturing your poor nipples until they were hard, flushed, and bitten.) It had been too long since you’d had the proper time to spoil each other, and Keigo was exploiting the opportunity for all it was worth.

Some time ago, he must’ve had the rope shipped to your shared apartment without you knowing. It wasn’t too thick, not too rough, just perfectly oiled and deep scarlet. It was worn by the time he’d brought it out to you that night, a surprise for you, but not him. He’d obviously been practicing knots in the little spare time he had.

It showed how much he cared, truly.

You’d mentioned, offhand, a month or two ago over a shared bottle of wine that you’d like to ‘spice things up’ in the bedroom when you had the chance to. Keigo had been intrigued, dug in a little more, and got you blushing and revealing a good handful of kinks.

And he delivered, the best he could anyway, with the experience and research he’d been able to put together.

“Not too tight at all,” You tug on the restraints, wiggling a bit below him, antsy and needy already. “Now get down here, or I’m gonna leave hickeys in some very visible places.”

Keigo ‘ooo’ed and flopped to rest his chest against yours, the chill of the barbels through his nipples making you shiver. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes sharp and half-lidded all at the same time, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both, if you keep talking and not touching,” You really tried to keep your tone from getting whiney. Keigo was content, always content, to be a tease, and without your hands, it was even easier to fall to mush beneath him.

“Needy,” Keigo clicked his tongue, snapping the elastic of the garter over your thighs. With his weight over your hips, and your arms high and held to the headboard, there wasn’t much you could do other than writhe a bit and plead with your eyes.

“If you were in my position, you’d be the same way,” you hissed.

“Maybe,” He mussed, lips trailing over the skin of your throat.

Keigo stole any retort and the breath from your lungs as he chomped down on your neck (really, he bit down) and suck at the skin. The bruise he was leaving began to ache almost immediately, teeth kneading away even as you arched and gasped beneath him.

You bucked your hips, begging silently for just a bit more—

And Keigo growled against your pulse. His hands gripping the fat above your waist and pressing you into the mattress with his body weight.

His wings puffed up and outstretched before your eyes as your breaths became more labored with each moment.

He’s really fucking turned on.

Keigo pulled back to sit over your hips, pupils wide and having eaten the amber of his eyes long again.

You tried to grind up into him, desperate for just something—

And Keigo pressed you to the bed again, wings widening to cover the two of you as a low rumble broke from his throat. You swallowed dry and your lips fell open as you watched Keigo, somewhat in awe and very horny.

“Here’s how tonight’s gonna work,” Keigo sounded way too pleased that you’d finally stilled. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and let me decide how and when you get to feel good. You can do that, can’t you?”

You didn’t have a lot of fight left in you, not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way his hands were stretching and squeezing over your curves.

The small part of your brain that was still functioning recalled your tipsy conversation from months before—

...

“I dunno,” You giggled, leaning on Keigo’s side. “I just think I’d be nice to feel a little bit smaller, and weaker. In like a hot way.”

“... Small and weak is hot to you?” Keigo’s word only slurred slightly.

“Nah, not like that!” You pushed against his shoulder, hiding your bashful grin in his bicep. “Like... Use me a bit, you know? However you want to fuck me up, fuck me up.”

...

Apparently, Keigo had taken your request to heart. Did some serious ruminating. And was planning on delivering.  

“I said,” His wings half-flapped (oh, you were fucked)— “‘You can do that, can’t you?’”

He ran the tips of his nails (talons) over your ribs, the fucking bastard.

The nail in the coffin was the way how he dragged them up and up. Over the curves of your sides, your tits, heaving chest, and collar bones to plant either hand on the side of your head.

And Keigo leaned over you, naked and leaking, wings extended high with a fucking delicious and terrifying gleam filling his eye.

The sharp talon on his thumb ran over your cheek, and your stomach dropped. You felt your cunt clench around nothing as you pulled at the restraints.

“Yes, y-yes, yes!” You sputtered, lost in the pitch of Keigo’s pupils. “I can do that, it, whatever you want, please.”

Keigo visibly shuddered when you begged, but you hardly noticed. You were far more focused on how he shifted a knee between your parted legs, nudging his own flush with your bare cunt.

“Then fuck yourself on my thigh.”

Your hips moved without thought, the muscles and flesh on your tummy flexing to get just a morsel of him.

“Oh, I think I like this,” His breath felt so fucking hot against your ear, you swore you were scalded. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous when you doing just what I want you to.”

A strained, little sound dribbles from your lips as you nod, ‘yes, yes, I’m sure I look nice but I need more’, turning your head to drag your lips over his cheekbone.

His feathers ruffled, wings fluttering and flexing, the primaries scraping the ceiling but neither of you had a mind to care. Keigo had never really had this energy before, and you were a fucking glutton for it. You needed more, more of him and whatever he was willing to give.

You were begging for it without even thinking about it.

Keigo sat back on his heels, chest and cheeks flushed enough to match his wings.

He was so fucking pretty.

You took him all in, lips parting and just a bit of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. Just a little bit.

All the while, you kept grinding on his thigh, soaking Keigo in slick that he oh so fucking sinfully gathered up on two fingers that he then sucked clean.

Bastard, bastard—

And impatient bastard.

“Such a good little dove,” Keigo purred, palming his cock with his saliva-soaked hand. “My good little dove. I’m sure you want something to fill you up, don’t you? Tell me. Use that mouth of yours.”

And you spewed.

You slurred about how hot Keigo was like this, how much you needed his cock, because, I don’t know, for fuck’s sake, without it you might as well die. You licked your chapped lips as he grinned above you, more smug than you’d ever seen him.

And thank fucking god, he threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you clean with one, single motion.

You shrieked, stretched and stuffed without a moment to adjust but you didn’t fucking care. The burn was grounding, the heat spreading from your cunt to the tips of your toes and fingers as you tugged at the restraints, begging for more until your voice went hoarse.

And, as... predatory as Keigo was presenting himself, large and sharp and intimidating, he was ultimately still your dutiful lover who wanted nothing more than to have you ruined for anyone else on his thick, pretty cock.  

“FUCK!” Your voice broke high as you took Keigo’s cock, eyes rolling white as he moved, so fast— “K-Keigo!”

The tempo he set was something worse than brutal. It tore the breath from your lung with each slam of his hips. Each slap of skin on skin had a high moan ripping from your throat in time with the creek of the headboard. The way his cock hit everything so perfectly was overwhelming, but all the same you wanted to drown in it, take it between your ribs and absorb and it and be—

“Whose are you?”

His, Keigo’s, his, his, HIS—

“Y-Yours, yours, YOURS!”

Your vision sparked on the edges as you came, spin curling off the bed, back blown to high hell but you didn’t fucking care. All you could focus on was the pleasure of it all and the way Keigo didn’t slow—

The bastard sped up.

You sputtered something, a weak ‘too much!’, but with no safeword (no need to use it, you felt more alive on his cock than you had in a long time), Keigo kept up his pace, sweat pouring down his temples and feathers twitching blurrily in your vision.

A hand slipped between your bodies, “Y-You’re so perfect, baby, best f-fucking girl in the world for me.”

“Y-you’re best girl?” Your voice broke into a whine as pummeled that knot of nerves, your gut overheating in the best way—

“Yes, fuck, my best girl,” Keigo took only a moment of pause, catching his breath before continuing at a pace and depth you didn’t think you could take but you were— “My b-best, perfect, girl. You’re fucked for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly, watching Keigo’s bow forward with the curve of his spine.

“Good, good,” Keigo’s voice was just as rough as yours, weak for you and your spent, perfect body and self. “You take me so well, gonna take all of me so, so—”

The finger rolling your clit sped up, and heat shot through you, cunt clenching and sending the two of your tumbling with each other.

“GOOD!”

Keigo’s hips finally stuttered, slamming into yours once, twice, and third time before he spills into you, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel it in your tummy.

You were cresting at the same time, swimming in the sensation of him, slick soaking your thighs as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts, stuffing you.

And you came down together.

You were only half lucid as Keigo pulled out, laying thick praise on you with words and little kisses to your undoubtedly sore legs. A feather or two loosened the ties around your wrists, so your arms could drop limply to your sides. The rope left the prettiest indentations that you made a not to ogle at when you were more present. 

Keigo flopped beside you in the sheets, greedy hands pulling you close to mingle in sweat, sound and breath.

“So, how was I?” Keigo asked.

Someone less practiced in knowing him would assume his tone sounded over-confident, the lazy smirk he was wearing only adding to his incredible acting.

But you could tell from the tension still bound up in his wings, and the little crinkles between his brows, and the thick swallow he gives you, that he is indeed asking you, genuinely, ‘how did I do?’.

You replied with a deep breath, fumbling a bit to grab his hips, fingers dancing up his spin to rest the roots of his wings between your spread fingers.

“You did so good, Kei’, please fuck me like that again sometime—” It would probably be smart to let your very blown out back heal, but—

Keigo kissed you, hard and hot with a hand pulling your jaw just right.

“‘Sometime’?” Keigo murmured, nibbling your bottom lip, the fucking whore. “Why not now?”

You had no reason to refuse, so why not?

[blindingdutchy]

The filming scene In part 1 of pornstar!tom where he’s tied up and you take the blindfold off and his eyes are all blurry and unfocused go me thinking:

Imagine the video went viral and people started asking for more sub!tom so they get you to do it again but with more edging, so you’re sitting there, tom is tied up and gaged and you’ve been edging him for the past half hour but he’s not used to being the sub so he’s crying cuz he just wants to cum so bad and everyone thinks he’s just really good at acting but you know he’s crying for real. So when the scene is done you untie him and remove the gag, and the directors are telling you to come see how good it looks but you’re too busy making sure Tom is okay, and he’s so tired that he’s falling asleep on you😍🤤

i am such a submissive person this was genuinely difficult for me to write, but i think i got somewhere 😅possibly not even a request, but i was inspired and wanted to challenge myself

read switch here!

cry baby | t.holland

{pornstar!tom x pornstar!reader}

word count: 2,254

warnings: smut ofc

warnings: sub!tom, oral (m receiving), bondage, blindfold, spit play, edging/orgasm denial

You never thought you’d have ended up here again. But, your video with Tom had reached heights you’d never achieved before, and the fans were eating it up. They wanted more—and to your surprise, so did Tom.

Now, as he laid in much the same position he had in the original video, you were starting to understand why. He was flat on his back with all four limbs stretched out and fastened to the bedposts with thick black rope. His chest was heaving, his lips parted in fast paced pants as he watched you with intrigue—he knew what was to come.

“Are you ready, baby boy?” you cooed, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Tom’s eyes fluttered at the caress, brown irises blown wide with lust and desperation, and he whined airily. The black blindfold shielded you from his longing stares, and he lifted his head a little too eagerly so that you could slip the strap around his head.

Already he had suffered through the torture of your hands, his body flushed from agonizing minutes spent with your hands stroking his cock hard and fast just to rip his orgasm away from him. The sound of his pleas and cries still echoed in your ears, a familiar pang throbbing in your core as you remembered the way he sobbed your name on the third denial. For being such a dominant man, Tom was incredibly good at being submissive.

This time, though, you were skipping the gag. You wanted to hear all the little noises Tom could make, to hear all the words that spilled from his lips as he yearned so achingly for your touch. Trailing your fingers down his chest, you murmured, “What do you want, hm? Want my hands again?”

He shivered, a stuttered gasp escaping his mouth as you swirled your thumb around his nipple. The little bud hardened instantly, standing tall and stiff from the stimulation. “I—I want your mouth, Miss.” he whispered, and you smiled.

“You know what you have to do,” you tutted.

Tom’s lips were trembling as you crawled onto the bed, perching on your knees between his thighs, and he pleaded weakly, “P-please! I want your mouth, Miss, want it so bad.” His hips bucked wildly as your hands delicately caressed the skin of his inner thighs, and you admired the trail of goosebumps that erupted in their path. He was always so reactive, and it made your belly twist up in knots.

Seeing him there, entire body physically quivering for you to just do something, the world around you faded away. No longer did you care about the cameras trained upon you, and the faint sounds created by the crew vanished into white noise—it was just you and Tom. His legs were straining against the rope that tied them down, flexing and tensing as he tried his hardest to chase the hands that touched them.

Humming, your hands dragged up his thighs to rest on his hips. Thumbs dipping into the rippled lines of muscle that descended from his abdomen to his center, the length of his cock was reddened and leaking as it rested on his heaving stomach. Tom’s breathing picked up a notch as you teased the skin with a feather light touch, the area bare and smooth; he liked to keep things groomed for filming.

“Do you think you deserve my mouth, baby?”

Tom gasped when your hand closed around his length, stroking soft and slow pumps with almost no pressure at all. “Yes, I’ve been a good boy, Miss! I’ll—I’ll be so good for you!” he pleaded, voice hoarse, and you smirked at the way his head rolled around helplessly. “Please, Miss!”

Pulling at his length with more conviction, you relished in the strangled cry of relief he gave. “Don’t cum until I say so, understand?” you commanded, tone heavy with warning, and he nodded with a choked moan.

The sounds Tom made when your lips finally wrapped around his tip, lapping greedily at the pre-cum that was beaded on his slit, were purely animalistic. Carnal shouts of ecstasy and relief, his mouth hanging wide as he tugged relentlessly on his restraints. Each noise, each cry and plea for you to take him further, spurred you on. Your lips wrapped around him tighter, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, and you flattened your tongue to take more of him.

Tears welled in your eyes when you pushed the tip of your nose into his pelvis, his length buried deep in your throat and choking you. “Oh, fuck!” he cried out, hips bucking wildly off the bed, and you gagged roughly around him. The noise of your wet, sloppy cough around his length paired with the sensation of your throat constricting had him trembling beneath you.

“Miss, ‘m gonna cum,” Tom panted. His voice was broken and cracked, his throat undoubtedly worn out from the guttural sounds that had ripped it apart. You hummed around him before pulling away with a grin, loving the way his hips chased after you sloppily. “I—why did you stop?” he groaned, lips puffing up in a tiny pout.

You tutted, swirling your thumb lazily around his tip and licking the vein that ran along his shaft. There was nothing more you wanted in that moment than to strip your costume off and slide into his lap, but the video didn’t call for that. This time around the focus was all on Tom, endless edging and denial for the panting man on the bed.

As his breathing finally slowed, the erratic rise and fall of his chest deepening with his steadier inhales and exhales, you dipped closer once more. Almost instantaneously he stiffened, cock twitching in your hand expectantly, and you smirked at how needy he was. Now, after all the times you and Tom had slept together, it made you feel good to finally be in control. It felt good to be the one delving out the excruciating push and pull, dangling him right at the precipice of ecstasy only to drag him away before he could fall.

So, maybe you were being a little vindictive when you sucked his weeping tip between your lips and curled your tongue around it just like you knew he loved. When Tom was in control he rarely gave you the chance to truly treat him well; most often he’d be holding your head and choking the life out of you as he thrust to his heart’s content. But now? Now you were setting the pace, calling the shots, and damn if you weren’t going to make him fucking cry.

Already he was whimpering pathetically, his breathing jagged and voice hoarse as he continually vocalized his need for you. His entire body was glistening with a light sheen of sweat and oil, the latter courtesy of Marlena the makeup artist, and he looked ethereal. He looked like a classical painting or sculpture, all artistically harsh edges colliding with soft flesh. The ridges of his muscle flexed and strained against his tender, slightly flushed skin, and it made your mouth water.

You pushed him to that cliff twice more, each time forcing more and more aggressive pleas from his pretty, pink lips. Tom was growing frustrated—angry, even—and the thought of it made you excited. His jaw was tensed and ticking with every grind of his teeth, and if you’d removed the blindfold you’d surely have been met with dark, swirling pools of rage in his eyes. If there was one thing he hated, it was to be teased.

Swirling your tongue around the broad, blazing red tip of his length, you giggled when a guttural cry burst straight from his chest. There it was, you were finally getting somewhere. His body was trembling all over, knees quaking and fingers quivering, and the sound of his desperation had finally reached its peak.

“Do you want to cum, baby boy?” you murmured, lips ghosting over the ridge beneath his tip eliciting a breathy whine, “Tell me how bad you want it.”

He jerked against the restraints, snarling madly. “I’ve been so good, Miss!” he choked out, “I’ve been a good boy, please, please, please, let me—oh!”

Your nose buried in the soft flesh of his pelvis, eyes watering and throat aching as he stretched your throat out. In the blurry edges of your vision you could just barely make out the way his hands stretched against their bonds, fingers straining and clawing through the air as he fought to grasp your head like he always did. You knew he wanted to move you, to thrust in and out of you at whatever pace he desired, but you had no intentions of moving.

How long could you stay like that? Face buried in his abdomen, eyes dripping tears, saliva trailing down your chin as you strained around him? You wanted to find out, and a part of you also longed to know if you could push him over the edge just like this. Not moving, just letting the erratic twitch of your throat as you gagged stimulate him.

In the end, you caved first. He was muttering unintelligibly, lips moving in a flurry of words you couldn’t make out that wavered in pitch dramatically. You wished to keep going, but the persistent ache in your jaw and lungs told you that you needed to stop. You needed air, and if you tried to push through it you’d either suffocate or instinctively clamp your jaw around the intrusion—that certainly wouldn’t have been good.

As you pulled off of him again, breathing heavily and wheezing slightly as you stretched your jaw, you wondered if he remembered this was the end. The script called for you to leave him begging, pleading his life to release only to be left unfulfilled. He was still whining to himself, and you could just barely make out the hoarse whisper, “I’ll fucking die if you don’t let me cum, please, Miss.”

You were still stroking him slowly with your hand as you sat up, your back aching slightly at the stretch. “Don’t be so dramatic,” you teased, and he growled under his breathe, “I don’t like your attitude right now, baby boy.”

He bared his teeth in a feral grimace, jaw tight and unwavering as he jerked against the ropes violently. “I want to cum!” he whined, voice cracking and slurred despite his demanding tone.

“Is that so?” you pouted, teasing the small slit of his tip playfully, “Well, it’s too bad I don’t really care what you want.”

With that, you got up and climbed off the bed as his length fell back onto his stomach with a dull smack. He hissed at the loss of contact and fought hard to chase after you, only to growl when he remained stuck. You admired the slick sheen that coated his body and the way his cock had gone a deeper shade of red, probably throbbing to the point of near agony from all of your edging.

“Cut!”

You swallowed down the swelling lump in your throat as you approached Tom timidly. The cameras were no longer rolling, his time playing the role of a submissive man over, and already you were shivering over what you’d certainly be facing later that night. What you hadn’t expected, though, was to find genuine tears streaming down his cheeks as you removed the blindfold.

The black garment was soaked with them, and you gaped at the red rim of his eyes and the inflamed ring around his nostrils. His brown eyes were unfocused and dazed as he looked at you, still watering as he blinked up at the sudden light, and your heart thudded pitifully against your ribcage. He was crying.

He was crying, and you didn’t know whether to feel guilty or scared. “Tommy?” you whispered, chewing on your lower lip as you stroked his sweaty curls from his face, “Are you okay?”

Tom’s head lulled into your touch, and he sniffled as he blinked up at you. “Yeah, ‘m good,” he croaked, “but you won’t be later.” His threat wasn’t all that intimidating as his eyes drooped, brown eyes clouded with exhaustion and lingering remnants of desperation. You brushed aside the feelings of nervous anticipation that stirred in the pit of your belly—that could wait.

All you cared about was untying Tom and maybe finishing what you’d started in your dressing room, though you were pretty sure he was too tired to go on. His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought to keep them open, and the sight was so heartwarmingly adorable that you couldn’t help but to coo at him. He pouted when you kissed his cheek, smacking his lips at you, “You missed, darling.” Rolling your eyes with a giggle, you pecked his lips and smiled at the pleased sigh that fanned your face.

All around you, you could hear the crew mumbling words of praise, all raving over Tom’s impeccable acting. “Damn, he should be in movies or something!” one man gaped, “(Y/N), come have a look!”

“Later,” you called back, “I’m busy.” Tom murmured sleepily, his head rolling deeper into the pillows, and you pondered to yourself how you were going to get him off the bed. A quiet snore perked your ears and you shook your head—for a man with so much stamina in the bedroom, he sure was beat from a little edging.

[hiero-green]

CW: vampire AU, gun violence (brief), blood, “death” of a child (implied resurrection)

1,757 words

Vampire Bruce Wayne; Damian Wayne; brief appearance of Dick and Tim

Hi so ehm. I wrote the vampire Bruce and Damian idea;; I don’t know how I wrote this much in one night,, guess I’m becoming more of a fanfic writer than I thought. Unbeta’d and written in a couple of hours. Let me know if the formatting and stuff is broken because there’s meant to be a bunch of italics throughout

He smelled the blood before he processed the sound of the gunshot.

It was as if the air went still. Everything around him went silent; whether the deafening bang had knocked out his hearing or he simply wasn't taking anything in, he couldn't tell. A chill ran through his bones and he was afraid to turn around.

Stiffly, he did.

Damian stood a few yards behind him. His expression was blank, pink lips quickly fading to a dusky paleness as they rested slightly agape. Though feet were planted firmly on the ground, it was like his upper half was suspended by strings, ready to drop at a moment's notice.

Blood dribbled down the left breast of his uniform from a ragged hole in his chest. Damian's eyes slowly lifted to meet Bruce's, and his vision swam behind the lenses of his cowl.

Damian swayed, and almost without realizing he had moved, Bruce was running to his side.

"ROBIN!" The moniker ripped painfully from his throat in a voice Bruce hadn't heard in a long time; not since he kneeled in the smoldering rubble of a warehouse.

Once again he was kneeling, sliding across the concrete and ignoring the resulting burn across his shins just in time to catch the boy as he collapsed. He hooked his arm around Damian's back to ease him down, legs folding beneath him as the katana slipped from his fingers. Bruce felt blood soak into his sleeve.

He was distantly aware of Dick and Tim rushing past to dispatch the perpetrator, hearing the clatter of the gun hitting the ground, but he didn't care about any of that right now. He couldn't. Not when Damian lay in his arms, staring up at him through the domino mask perched on his paling face.

"Damian– Damian–" Bruce couldn't find words, could think of nothing to do but say his name, until he eventually found it in himself to breathe a quiet, "it's okay, it'll be okay." There was a dazed confusion in the boy's dark eyes and a wrinkle formed between his brows. His head shakily tipped down to try and look himself over but Bruce was quick to pull him back again. "No, no, Damian, look at me– just look at me, alright?" A gloved hand danced uneasily around him, brushing back black hair that had fallen over his face and stroking the top of his head.

Bruce's gaze flicked over the sinister dark blotch spreading through the red fabric; his gut clenched and he had to stop a sob at the sight of the gaping hole in his chest. The hole in his boy's chest. Blood steadily spilled to the surface with every pulse of ruined muscle, a quiet rush of a sound, inescapable as it filled Bruce's ears.

He was so small. It wasn't often that Bruce really noticed it. Damian's attitude usually made up more than enough for his size, like a bird ruffling its feathers to make itself look bigger than it was to a predator. In the few short months since Talia had left the boy with him, there were really only a handful of times when he paid it much attention, like when he'd had to buy him clothes or watched him playfully-not-so-playfully fighting with his new brothers.

Now, it was all he could notice. It was all he could think as he felt a soft cheek squish against his hand, cold and clammy; it was all he could see when he looked at the ugly exit wound, so big against his narrow chest; it was all he could feel as he cradled him, his small frame that rattled with each breath so tiny against Bruce's body, bones digging into his arms even through the costumes. This was his boy, his little boy, more fragile than he'd ever thought possible.

Damian's lips parted. "-a–.. fa…" Aborted sounds of barely formed words were all that came out and Bruce felt his stilled heart shatter. The boy's eyes narrowed to fight the blur overtaking his vision, but even through his haze, understanding was slowly coming across his features. This time Bruce couldn't stop the sound that bubbled up from his chest, forced past his lips.

"It's okay, Damian," he whispered, trying to force a smile as he fought back the quivering tugs at the corners of his mouth. Damian's lip now shook as well, and his nostrils twitched as his eyes became shiny and waterlogged. Bruce knew he saw through the lie. Still, Damian's hand reached for him; Bruce took it without a second thought and held it tight to his chest.

Somewhere beyond him, he sensed the other two had returned, but they didn't come any closer. Bruce didn't lift his head. Nothing existed at that moment but himself and the child in his arms. His child, whose hair he kept brushing back as his eyelids hung lower and lower, who he kept muttering comforting lies to even when he could see the recognition fading from his face, whose bundled cape soaked up Bruce's tears when they fell with delicate plips. A son he didn't even know he had a few months ago, let alone one who he could be around for. His son who should never have even been here, who shouldn't have been led down this path, whose life he'd already missed so much of and now he would never see the rest of it–

Damian was heavier in his arms than he had been. His fingers were limp in his grasp. Bruce could barely see his face through his tears, but he knew that the old notion was a lie. Damian didn't look like he was resting; there was nothing peaceful about his boy's dulled face. Shallow breaths still inflated his chest, but his eyes didn't move behind his eyelids, twitching almost invisibly like he was trying to fight the heaviness.

No.

Bruce couldn't do this. He couldn't lose a son. Never again.

He pulled Damian in closer against himself, moving with a feverish urgency to cradle him closer. The jostling made him stir – what little consciousness was left – and he let out a breath that was barely a sound. Bruce could only offer comfort by the firm hand planted on his shoulder, arm propping the young hero's neck up.

Determination filled him now, fighting back the fearful shaking that wracked his body and just about keeping it at bay. He lifted his free hand to his mouth, tearing the glove off with his teeth to bare his wrist and tossing it aside. There was a swift pain in his jaw, so frequent he hardly felt it anymore, and his fangs descended. There was no eager hunger to satisfy though.

They tore into his wrist with ease, ripping skin and opening veins; Bruce hardly grunted at the pain. Bitter, cold blood filled his mouth and he pulled away to spit onto the ground, before again turning his attention to the fading boy in his arms.

There was only a moment of hesitation before he remembered that he'd already made his decision; a decision that Damian couldn't make for himself. He only prayed he'd made the right one.

He shifted his other arm and Damian's head tipped back. Then he pressed his bleeding wrist to his lips.

His reaction was faint, but immediate. His eyelids fluttered once more, a losing fight to look around him as dark blood dripped onto his lax tongue and down his throat. He groaned and his fingers twitched in Bruce's lap, but Bruce held fast, wrist locked in place and watching to make sure that Damian's mouth caught as much of it as possible.

"It's alright," he cooed quietly, stroking his thumb over the other's shoulder. His cheeks were tacky and wet and his lips still quivered, but he fought to maintain that defiant (or maybe denying) smile, even if his son couldn't see. "It'll be alright, Damian. It'll be alright, you're okay. Just drink, that's a good boy…" His utterings continued as the blood dripped, flow slowing as the skin began to stitch itself back together. It would be enough; it didn't take much.

When the bleeding had all but stopped, he pulled his wrist away, returning his hand to Damian's head to gently cup it closer. After that… there was nothing he could do but wait. Sit quietly, rocking his son back and forth and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Whisper a chorus of I'm sorrys and please forgive mes as the last traces of strength ebbed from Damian's body. Hold him tight and weep as the rush of blood through him slowed to a stop.

He didn't know how long it was before a warm hand settled on his shoulder, and another arm wrapped around the back of his neck. None of them said a word; there was nothing any of them could say to make the scene any easier. Bruce couldn't bear to hear their opinions at that moment either. He'd done what he'd done, for better or for worse. They wouldn't know which it was for some time.

Eventually he shrugged the comforting arms off of him and raised a hand to unfasten his cloak, pulling it off. With one hand, he draped it over Damien's shoulder, wrapping it around his back and tucking it closed over his front as if to hold in the last of his dissipating heat. It also hid the ugly darkening stain soaking the vest of his costume. It completely swamped him, long enough to drape past his feet, boots just poking out through the split in the middle.

Wordlessly, Bruce stood, hooking his other arm under the boy's knees to haul him up. His head slumped against Bruce's breast, and there was no resistance in his body, all muscles slack and loose. His arm hung from his side, only held up by the cloak wrapped around him.

Tim had taken it upon himself to call the Batmobile, which quietly rolled up to them as they walked in sombre silence.

Bruce wouldn't spend his night in the Batcave as he often did. The following hours would see him at Damian's bedside; cold hand in cold hand; the cloak still wrapped around him; the plush bear he would never admit to liking tucked against his neck. The sun would rise, creep through the gap in the curtains as Bruce sat on the floor, slumped against the bed frame, and he wouldn't move. Until Damian's fingers twitched in his grasp again, he would wait; and hope he could be forgiven.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (4)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: symptoms of depression, PTSD, anxiety, some really sweet moments to balance it out, more book recs 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“You’re staring at the doors again, sweetie.”

Chin resting on your hands, arms folded out on the countertop of the library’s front desk, you tore your eyes away from the entrance to find Mrs. Jefferson peering over at you from over the bridge of her glasses. She smirked as she returned to her book, knowing she’d caught you in the act.  

“Have patience,” she said simply.

“Book club is tomorrow and—” you sighed, a heaviness returning to your body as you slumped back against the counter, stare drifting back to the doors at the entrance. The sun was beaming outside, reflecting in beautiful rays as it illuminated the walkway and touched over old oak and the colorful bindings of novels. 

You frowned. “I really thought he was going to come.”

“This James Barnes... he’s a soldier, yes? Like my boy?”  

You nodded, disappointment burning like a lump in your throat, though you swallowed it back. “A Sergeant. Sam said he came home a little under a year ago.”  

“Then he’ll come,” Mrs. Jefferson pressed confidently, sliding her glasses up her nose, the chain of purple beads clicking against the gem stones on her sweater. “Boys like that don’t break their word. Even if he is a bit of a hesitant one.”

You knew what she meant by that. Hesitant.  

No one liked to talk about the dangers of a soldier post-war. It was uncomfortable; the idea that they could still be fighting a battle long beyond the absence of a weapon in their hands and the threat of present danger. Heroes weren’t supposed to have chinks in their armor. They weren’t supposed to crumble and break under the weight of what happened beyond borders and the guilt they carried.  

They were supposed to be strong; a symbol of a great country and a willing tribute to place upon a pedestal. It was unacceptable to be a burden, unacceptable to do anything other than seamlessly integrate back into a society that they never really knew to begin with.  

It was all a farce; a rigged game set to line the pockets of the rich and exploit everyone else in its path – sent off to fight for a cause no one really understood or believed in. It left behind good men and women to the rubble; Bucky Barnes among them.  

Sam hadn’t told you much about Bucky before you met him, but you knew enough to tell that it was a struggle to get him to leave the apartment. He was isolated and quiet and hardly recognizable from the man you’d seen in photos. Only, it wasn’t the lack of his left arm that drew your attention when you first saw him, but the lingering sadness in his eyes.  

Sam had a picture hanging in the office that often pulled you in. Bucky stood on his left side, smiling so wide it left lines on his face. He was bright, light as a feather, only weighed down by Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders. You wondered if the man in the photo would have flirted shamelessly with you, if he’d have corny pickup lines or offer to take you dancing. He looked like the sort of man who had girls chasing his tail, a line of heartbreak in his wake. He was beautiful.  

It was strange to see him like that, comparing him to the man he was today. Now, it was like a cloud lingered over his head, draining the color from his skin and chipping away at his soul until it dimmed and crumbled and faded away.  

But you’d seen glimpses of the man in the photo. He was still beautiful; a little hurt and dragging his feet, but beautiful. His smile wasn’t quite as wide and the cloud was still present, but there was a peak of sunshine peering through. A single ray puncturing over stormy skies, but it was something. He’d laughed and teased and it was more than Sam had known him to do in months. You were determined to see the sun touch his skin again. If only he’d let you guide him there.  

“I’m going to go restock on the second level,” you conceded, pushing yourself up from the counter and sauntering over to the cart lined heavy with books.  

“Alright sweetie. I’ll be sure to page you when your Sergeant shows up.”

You felt a heat burning in your face at the very idea of ‘your Sergeant’. Mrs. Jefferson chuckled to herself, eyes still down on her book. She waved you off, not giving you a chance to object, even if you could string together a coherent sentence.  

***

Bucky couldn’t get out of bed.  

He’d been in this predicament hundreds of times before; staring up at the ceiling, wasting the days away as the curtains blocked the light and shielded him from the reminder of another sun daring to rise beyond his window. His energy would be drained and his willingness to so much as brush his teeth was obsolete. He’d known what it felt like to not be able to get out of bed.  

This was different.  

He had somewhere to be. He actually wanted to get up. He really fucking wanted to.

But the pain in his arm had flared to one of the worst episodes he’d had in months and it rendered him useless; the arm that was both there and not there. He could feel his left hand curl to a fist, could feel the itch on his palm, but when he tried to scratch it, he was only met with thin air, his right hand sinking to the mattress in search of the sensation that didn’t exist.  

It was infuriating.  

The nerve endings in his shoulder were going haywire. It felt like his arm was being ripped from his body and it took nearly all the energy he had not to let it consume him. He’d even gone as far to bite off a piece of his cheek in an effort to suppress the lump in his throat.  

Sam would have frowned at that, spewed him some bullshit about how crying can be therapeutic and Steve would nod his head annoyingly in agreement, but Bucky was tougher than that. He had to be tougher than that. If he allowed himself to unlatch that gate, it would consume him whole. He’d drown.  

Hinges squeaked at the front entrance as the door swung open and a pair of heavy footsteps came rushing into the apartment.  

“I’m coming, buddy! Hold on!” Sam called, the plastic swish of the grocery bag handing off his arms dropping to the floor. Bucky tried to concentrate on the sound of running water, the bottle of pills shaking in the small orange bottle, and not on the pain threatening to tear him in half.  

The door to his bedroom flung open and Sam rushed in with a glass of water and his fist closed around two red capsules. He paused in the frame, a frown pushing down at his mouth, and Bucky could only imagine what he looked like; disheveled, sweating, laying in day old clothes and muddled sheets. His right hand was shaking.  

“Alright, help me out, Barnes,” Sam said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He placed a steady hand on Bucky’s back to help push himself upright. Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed, finding his balance before Sam placed the pills in his hand.  

Bucky threw them back into his mouth, holding his hand out for the glass of water that would come next. It landed in his grip and he gulped down the medication. There was no instant relief with pain like this, but the knowledge it would soon wear off to something manageable was enough.  

“Thanks,” he mumbled out, voice tense as he struggled to find it.  

“Insurance companies are assholes,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, though he patted Bucky on the knee. “Cutting off coverage for a fucking vet with no warning like that? Can’t believe you’ve been without this stuff for almost a week. It’s messed up.”  

Bucky had come to expect it. He knew something had to go wrong eventually with how things were starting to turn around. He’d actually been looking forward to seeing you at the library and almost went that next day if it wasn’t for the sudden attack on his own body. He'd tried to deal with it on his own, thinking he might sleep it off, but then it became unbearable. Insurance wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the energy to argue on the phone with them all day. Thankfully, Sam did.  

Except now it was a day before the next book club meeting and Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to face you. Part of him wondered if you'd be disappointed, if maybe you’d steal a glance over the doors and hope that it was him walking through, only to be let down as each day passed by. The other half wondered if you’d care at all.  

But he’d seen the way you’d smiled at him, how you’d lit up at the idea of him stopping by.  

You’d care.  

He wasn’t sure if that hurt worse, seeing as he never showed up.  

“You could still go.”

Bucky sighed at Sam’s suggestion. He wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin. He was being serious. It was the kind of look that reminded Bucky that under it all, Sam was one of his closest friends, one of the few that stuck around when everything went to shit.

“She’ll want to see you,” Sam continued, nudging Bucky’s side with a soft smile, but Bucky shook his head, unconvinced.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Sam?” Bucky groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “’Sorry I stood you up, but I felt like my hand was being sawed off on an arm I don’t even fucking have?’”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, earning a glare in response he let roll off his shoulders with ease. “She’d understand, Buck. She knows what comes with the territory here. She’s a lot more familiar with this stuff than you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a pang of jealousy burning hot in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask her why she got involved with the VA in the first place.”

Bucky pressed his lips to a thin line, a silence coming over them. That was an immensely personal question; one akin to someone asking him how he’d lost his arm. He wasn’t sure that was an answer you’d be willing to share.  

Sam exhaled a heavy breath, patting Bucky three times on the knee before he stood up. “Let the meds kick in, but promise you’ll try to go, alright?”

Bucky stared up at Sam for a moment before he conceded with a short nod. The pain in his shoulder was starting to lessen, at least. It didn’t feel like his arm was being torn from his body or a knife was plunging into a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. It would likely get back to a place he could deal with within the hour.

“I promise,” Bucky said. “I’ll go.”

***

A brush of warm air filtered in through the vents as Bucky stepped inside the library. It was bigger than he remembered with large stain glass windows on the outer walls, filtering in a colorful sunlight onto the aisles upon aisles of books. At the center, just ahead of the entrance, was a reception desk. Bucky exhaled a tense breath in an attempt to rid himself from the nerves rattling in his veins and made his way to the woman sitting behind the counter.  

She was reading quietly in her seat, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain perched at the very tip of her nose. She didn’t look up in his direction until he stood at the edge of the desk, and only then, she caught glance of him over the top of her glasses before a smile rose on her lips.  

“Can I help you, young man?”  

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She, uh, works here. Y/n.”

The woman nodded. She wore the kind of smile on her face Bucky was familiar with. He’d seen it in Sam about a dozen times in the last week; the kind of smile that said ‘I was right.’

“You must be Sergeant Barnes,” she said as she picked up the radio from the desk.  

Bucky nodded quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt jittery. He tried not to let the fact that you’d clearly talked to this woman about him throw him completely off his game. If he even had game to begin with…  

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied with an even tone. She smirked.  

“Y/n,” she called into the radio, “you have a guest at the front desk.”

The woman held up a finger to him though it trembled with age, signaling for him to wait a moment. Bucky nodded, tucking his hand into his pocket as he silently made his way over to the series of chairs lined along the wall.  

He gripped his fist tight inside his pocket, trying to ignore the pulsing in his shoulder. It had lessened considerably since Sam brought him his meds, but it hadn’t gone away completely. Showering had taken longer than usual and it took him nearly four minutes just to pull a shirt over his head. His army jacket hung over his shoulders, wrapped in a protective layer, loose sleeve at his side. 

“If you’re pulling my chain, Mrs. Jefferson…”  

Bucky perked up at the sound of your voice. You were crossing the main entrance from the staircase, half jogging to the counter where the woman, Mrs. Jefferson, was grinning to herself from behind her book.  

You draped over the counter, toes barely keeping hold on the tile floors as you attempted to reach for her book, but she snatched it from your grasp just in time. You huffed, sinking back down the floor.  

“It’s not funny!” you whined and Bucky almost felt a little guilty for not making his presence known yet, but you were just so cute the way you slumped your shoulders and glanced back at the entrance.  

Mrs. Jefferson pointed over to where Bucky had slowly begun to make his way towards you, but you folded your arms over your chest. Bucky cleared his throat when he stood a few paces off your shoulder, but you didn’t seem to hear him.  

Mrs. Jefferson caught Bucky’s eye before she turned her attention back to you. “Sweetie, he’s—”

“He’s not coming, okay?” you groaned and Bucky felt a stone drop into his stomach. “I—I thought he would but… I was wrong.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak but suddenly his throat was dry. Mrs. Jefferson’s smile started to fade. Clearly, Bucky wasn’t the only one who heard the disappointment in your voice, the sliver of heartbreak, too. He tried to speak, to call your name, to say something, but he was marbled stone.  

“I’m going back to work.”

There wasn’t time to pull his words together before you slammed head first into Bucky’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces, surprised, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.  

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—” You stilled, taking in who was standing in front of you. “Bucky?”

He pressed out a smile, though his ears were burning red. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No! N-no, you’re totally fine! I didn’t—I didn’t think you were—” You blinked a few times before your eyes darted back at Mrs. Jefferson who only smirked from behind her book, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose. You turned back to Bucky, brushing out the hem of your skirt and wrapping the thick layer of a lavender colored cardigan tightly around your waist, almost like a blanket.  

You exhaled a nervous breath, a nervous smile lifting into your cheeks. “I’m happy you came.”

“It would have been sooner, I swear,” Bucky replied quickly, watching helplessly as your smile brightened into a laugh. “But, um, my uh—”  

He chewed on the edge of his lip. Was he really going to tell you what kept him held up in his room for days on end? Would it bitter the sweet way you looked at him to know that he was a mess under a poorly constructed surface, tied together with string and scotch tape? But you were looking at him so fondly, he wondered if there was anything he could say that could take that away.

“My arm,” he admitted, waiting for a flash of disgust on your face that never came. You softened a bit, but your eyes never left his. He cleared his throat. “It, um… It was just acting up. I ran out of meds and the pain it—it got bad. The kinda pain that sorta makes me wish I had the arm just so I could saw it off myself.”

Shit. He hadn’t mean to say that much but there was just something about the way you looked at him that made him feel like he couldn’t say a damn wrong thing. You pursed your lips, nodding in as much understanding as you could offer. You gestured to the staircase and Bucky followed you without question.  

“I would have been here last week,” Bucky finished because he needed you to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of you being upset, of that sliver of disappointment in your voice when you’d accepted he wasn’t going to show. He needed you to know he’d tried.  

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said simply, though he could tell you appreciated it nonetheless. You offered him a smile, one that washed away any feelings of doubt that crept up to the surface. The pain in his shoulder was long forgotten when you looked at him like that.  

“I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know I’m trying.

He had something to look forward to now, a reason to get out of his bed and open the curtains and look at the fucking sun for once. He had reason to shower and go outside and shove away all the thoughts of self-doubt and paranoia because there was something incredible waiting for him beyond the door.  

I just wanted you to know you’re the reason I’m trying.

“Come on,” you grinned, leading him to the staircase. “I have a few books in mind you might like.”  

Your hand extended in his direction, but you caught yourself when you realized what you were doing. It was seamless enough that you easily played it off as you tugged your sweater tight around your body, but he noticed. It was an intimate gesture, a closeness he hadn’t known in years.  

He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to crave something like that.

***

It didn’t take long for Bucky to settle on The Martian by Andy Weir. It was the first book you pulled from the shelves, one amongst a series of alternatives you had ready in the event this one didn’t appeal to him. All it took was a single glance over the back cover, a slight incline in his brow, and he was sold.

“I trust you,” was all Bucky had said; so simply, as if it didn’t take the breath straight from your chest.   

Bucky didn’t have a library card you realized as you brought him back to the front desk. He’d sheepishly asked to check it out on your account, but you were determined to see more of him and you hoped that by getting him his own card, he might be more inclined to come back. Not that you explained it that way per say, but he didn’t object at least.

It had taken a lot less time than either of you anticipated and you found yourself following him to the exit, both of you dragging your feet.

“So, um…” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “That was easy.”

“Yeah,” you scratched at the back of your neck, glancing to the clock hanging high on the eastern wall. “I hope you like it after all this trust you’re putting in my judgement.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A short silence swept over. Neither of you moving to leave. A couple swerved around you in an effort to get to the doors. The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was a nervous energy in it, like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Only, you both did it at once.  

“Would you want to—”

“I’m off at four—”

You bit down on your lips, suppressing a laugh. You gestured for him to go first. His looked so sweet with the pink in his cheeks. A man who had been once rendered as a weapon and he wore a blush in his cheeks. Your stomach held butterflies in its cage.  

“There’s a coffeeshop nearby,” he continued nervously. “I was thinking I could replace that coffee of yours I spilled last week…”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from how wide you were smiling. “Give me five minutes? I just need to wrap things up with Mrs. Jefferson and then I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, a flash of something unreadable on his face. He shook it off quickly and nodded, telling you he’d wait by the chairs along the wall until you were ready. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the desk that you’d realized what you’d said.  

I’m yours.

A harmless saying; one people used every day in passing. Still, you felt that same surge of energy at the thought. From the twists in your stomach and the stammer in your heart, you knew that if he’d asked, it would be true.  

***

Bucky watched as you scurried back to the main desk, a few quick glances back over your shoulder in his direction like you were making sure he was still there. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it ached in your cheeks. He’d never known anyone to smile as much as you did, like you had this limitless supply of joy eager to be tapped into. He couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach, knowing he had been able to syphon some of that joy and bring it to the surface. It was him you were smiling at. It felt like a dream.

He glanced down at the book nestled into the sleeve of his bag; a stunning ombre in shades of orange to red to black, a lone astronaut in the center – like he was floating adrift. You’d told him it was a story of survival, of the intricacies of humanity and human connection. It was funny at times and filled with science beyond your pay grade, but it was mesmerizing.  

There was an unspoken hope he could read in your eyes that he might connect to the main character, Mark Watney in his search for connection, in his desperate hope to free himself from the isolation, in his resilience. You’d said Mark was an exceptional character, one with courage and determination to be admired.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he could stand up to the likes of Mark Watney, but he would certainly try.  

The glimmer in your eye as you spoke about the book, almost as if it were an old friend, was enough to convince him. For the first time in years, he felt the urge to read when he got home, just so he could see the look on your face in book club when you realized he’d already started it. He wanted to make you proud, wanted to see more of your smile. It was his new drive.  

A few minutes later, you came jogging back up to him. Your purse hung over your shoulders, a few new books of your own tucked under your arm. You’d done more than finish your shift at the desk though, he realized, because his eyes flickered to a reflective shine on your lips, one that hadn’t been there before. You’d put on lip gloss.

His heart flipped.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the doors. All bright eyes and sunshine as you looked at him.  

“There’s a café called Luciana’s not too far from here. I’ve heard good things about it. Might be quiet,” Bucky offered and a flash of something unreadable crossed your features. “Do you know it?”

“I go there every Sunday before book club! It’s my favorite,” you replied, nearly skipping in your steps. “Replacing my coffee and getting it right down to the same shop? I’m impressed, Bucky.”

He chuckled, hanging his head as he followed you down the descending staircase and into the heavy flow of pedestrian traffic. He’d forgotten how busy the sidewalks could get at rush hour and the smile quickly drained from his face, though he wouldn’t let you see.  

Bucky tried to focus on you as the strangers circled in around him, how you were laughing at the coincidence of it all, starting on a tangent of your favorite donuts at the shop. Your voice was like a beacon and he did his best use it as a guide.  

But he could feel the quicken pace of his heart inside his chest, how it thumped through his ribs and pulsed into his head the closer strangers got to him. He swerved out of the way of a tourist who was too busy looking down at his phone to notice Bucky in his path. He kept his head down, hand clenched tightly in his jacket pocket, eyes staring at the concrete.  

Teenagers were whispering behind him, snickering under their breath, and Bucky could hear the harsh ‘shhh’ of a father at wit’s end. His lungs felt tight, certain that the boys were mocking the loose sleeve hanging down by his side. He could have taken it if here were on his own. His ears would flush red and a wash of shame and embarrassment would flood his senses, but he could have taken it.  

Not with you by his side. Not when you could be privy to the harsh stares and the cruel voices, the validation to a fear he’d known to be true long before he met you – that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and he would never find that sense of normalcy again. He was kidding himself into thinking that you could ever want someone like—

“Bucky?”

When he looked up at you, your smile had fallen away, replaced with concern. It must not have been the first time you called his name. He didn’t know what to say. He felt small, like a child, embarrassed that even on a good day the influx of people still rendered him to a state of panic.  

“Come on,” you said quietly, glancing around to an alley off your shoulder. “Let’s take the scenic route.”  

He followed gratefully, staring at your shoulder blades as you led him away from the busy hustle of the crowd and along empty side streets and residential neighborhoods. It would take longer this way, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy admiring the architecture of the brownstones and the beautiful array of plants and flowers hanging along the windows. In the open space, you skipped a few paces ahead, arms out wide and twirled around, simply because you could. You laughed and it echoed up along the buildings.  

Bucky could have handed you his heart right then. He could have pulled it straight from his chest and set it into your palms. He wondered if you would handle it with the tender sort of care he hoped you would. His heart was fraying and damaged, after all. It required a gentle touch.  

You fell back in line with him easily and you checked to make sure the next block wasn’t too busy before you led him down another side street. He tried to ignore the voices telling him he was a burden, that his baggage was dragging heavy at your feet, but it crept to the surface no matter how many times you smiled at him.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out, willing his voice to be stronger than it felt. “I don’t know why this is such an issue for me. I was fine on the way over.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky,” you said gently, slowing your pace until you came to a stop.  

Bucky dragged his feet, stopping along a bush of pink hydrangeas planted outside a stunning brick townhome. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your hand reached out to him instinctively, almost in slow motion, and you only paused as you realized what you were doing and pulled back. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not ever someone you have to apologize to about this stuff, okay?” you continued with a kind of sincerity in your voice, Bucky didn’t have a choice but to believe you. The way you looked at him nearly pulled him to pieces. “It comes and goes. Waxes and wanes. There’s no fault. No blame. Just tell me if something’s wrong, so I can help. That’s all I ask.”

Were you speaking from experience? Did you know someone who had been as shattered as he was? Was it the reason Sam wanted him to ask about why you were involved with the VA to begin with?  

It was quiet on the side street; the only sound the distant footsteps from traffic up ahead and the low rumble of car engines in the distance. A bird chirped from a low handing branch above.  

You shoved your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep yourself from reaching for his. He was surprised at the twist in his stomach when he wished you would have tried just one more time. Maybe he could have had some courage to take it.  

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. When you smiled again it was small— a little heavy— but it touched your eyes. There was a relief in it, maybe an appreciation, too. It swept away some of the anxiety from his veins.  

“Okay.” Your smile widened as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. Bucky found himself feeling a little lighter as he followed behind.  

When the two of you approached the main street again along the block Luciana’s was tucked away in, Bucky didn’t feel as though he was suffocating anymore. He could sense his reflexes picking up, a subtle increase in his heart rate, but he walked a little closer to you, your hip bumping against his every so often and he found that it grounded him. It kept him firm on the surface when he felt like he was floating up into a distant unknown. He wondered if you knew the extent to which you affected him.  

Luciana’s was quiet inside as Bucky jutted out ahead of you to reach for the door. A soft strum of an acoustic guitar and a Spanish speaking singer’s intricate melody hummed over the speakers. He felt a solid breath of air fill his lungs, tasting of coffee beans and fresh pastries.  

“Welcome to—” a voice called from behind the counter before she paused, eyes falling on you. “Y/n!”  

A woman ran out from behind the counter, dressed in a stained apron and a long, bright pink dress, and held her arms out to you. You laughed as she enveloped you to her chest.  

“My darling! It is not Sunday, you know. You’re getting your days mixed up!” she exclaimed, wagging her finger at you. She didn’t even give you time to explain before she turned to Bucky, who suddenly felt a burn of heat on his face. “Ah! You finally brought me one of your boys!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you quickly. His stomach dropped.  

“She means at the VA,” you explained, a little embarrassed at her implication as you shuffled your feet, eyes darting at the floor. Bucky raised an eyebrow in realization, eyes flickering back to the woman – who he assumed to be Luciana herself – as she scurried back around the counter. He noticed then that she was wearing slippers on her feet.  

“Come, come!” She called eagerly, waiting with a tapping toe at the register.  

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a breath of a laugh escaping before you stepped up to the counter. You didn’t hesitate in your order, though you took some extra time in looking over the pastries and donuts after Bucky told you to pick something out for him. You put so much thought into it, it was really quite sweet. He waited until you reached down for your purse to slip his card over the counter to Luciana.  

She wore that same smile he’d seen on Mrs. Jefferson at the library. That smirk. Like they knew something he didn’t.  

You heard the ring of the cash registered and looked up at him, agape. You swatted his arm without thinking twice about it and there was a comfort in that. He laughed, taking his coffee and settling in at a table by the windows as you followed behind.  

As he watched you across the table, your eyes glancing out to the pedestrians as they walked back, nursing the steaming mug of coffee between your hands, that morning suddenly felt like it was a life time ago.  

Had he really been paralyzed with pain, unable to move from his bed, just a few hours earlier? It felt like a century had passed in between. In a rare indulgence, Bucky let himself wonder what it would feel like to spend all his time with you; if maybe time moved so fast it swept him off his feet or if it moved slow enough to allow him to catch every second.  

All he knew was that he wanted more.

[fanaticartisan]

The Legends always forgot how quiet he could be...

It was partly his doing, of course. When in the arena, he disengaged his shock absorbers fifteen percent so his teammates would hear him, clanking and clattering along beside them like some two-bit MRVN. That way, they knew where to look for him when shouting about their foes. They  wouldn’t jump at a crucial moment and miss their shot just because he spoke aloud. He liked when they jumped – didn’t like when he died because the enemy was still alive. So, he made himself audible.

And they forgot he could be silent.

Nights like this, where they were all aboard the ship, heading to a far-off arena in a journey that would take the better part of a day and a half, he wore that silence like an old, well-used coat. He was bored, bored, bored, and if he couldn’t kill any of his so-called companions until they got to the games, he’d settle for the next best thing: sneaking around and finding their little secrets for later torment. Sometimes a snide remark, a hint that he knew something he shouldn't and could spill their hidden weaknesses like entrails, was as good as a blade to the kidney. Some of his companions seemed like they’d prefer the latter, when certain subjects were involved.

He had to repress a laugh even now, as he crept past their doorways. He knew which Legends cried in the night. He knew who begged in their sleep, who reached for salvation that wasn’t there, for loved ones long gone, chances long lost. He knew who took comfort in ways that shamed them, and who couldn’t sleep at all for the worries that kept them up long, long after the others had succumbed to exhaustion. He’d heard it all before, a dozen times over.

But his stealthy steps slowed, then stopped, when he heard something new.

Singing.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín. Úti regnið grætur.’

He recognized that voice, though usually its roughness and pitch were concealed through a respirator’s filter. It was strange to hear sound from within that familiar door when no light shone at the cracks.

Usually the Hound slept early, when they traveled long.

‘Mamma geymir gullin þín, gamla leggi og völuskrín.’

Revenant moved closer, drawn as if by a spider’s thinnest thread. He didn’t care if it was fascination that pulled him on, or eagerness to have caught the hunter in such a compromised situation. He didn’t let his mind calculate that far. He focused only on the stillness, the deliberation of each step placed without noise.

‘Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.’

The metal of the door was cold against his palm as he turned the handle, slowly, so slowly. The fingers of his other hand slipped into the crack that opened just for him. He caught a glimpse of the hunter sitting on the floor – back straight, legs crossed, their form ever so slight without all that armor to protect them-

Then the axe slammed into his hand, the sparks of metal on metal illuminating a scarred face with eyes that promised death more eloquently than any spoken threat ever could. For a moment, for that flash of agony and light, he believed the promise, and knew his grunt of surprised pain would be the last noise he made before he woke up in his new body-

And then the moment was broken as a cough raked through that thin body with claws crueler than even his own. The hunter fell back, gasping and choking, fumbling in the dark until their desperate hands found their respirator. Once they’d pressed the mask to their face, once the cough stilled and their breathing steadied into a rhythm more suited to the living than the dying, did they look at him. Not the darkness, but their own self control hid their emotions from Revenant’s eye. 

Their voice had an edge of frost when they finally broke the silence. “Knocking is a courtesy that is not beneath your practice.”

“All courtesy is beneath my practice,” Revenant responded, scorn curling the edges of his words better than any smile ever could. 

He pulled his hand back through the door – or, tried to. It was stuck, nailed to the metal surface by that twice-cursed axe. He made a mental note to find another descendant of the programmer who had thought it a good idea to build pain receptors into his system and teach them the true meaning of the word, then looked back at the hunter. 

They were still standing, staring at him, one hand keeping the respirator clamped over their face, the other holding a sharp knife Revenant was more familiar with than he cared to admit.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Revenant said. “Sounded like you were having a grand old time. Are you practicing for a concert?”

The sneer in his voice seemed to have no effect on the Hound who, after another moment of consideration, sat themselves on the floor once more, keeping the knife in plain view. “It is not for others that I practice,” they said.

“You just like the sound of your own voice that much, do you..?” Revenant wiggled his hand. Hurt zinged through his arm, but the axe stayed firm. He wondered if he could reach around with his other limb to pull it free. He didn’t much care for the amount of exposure that would grant to the blade that breathed so loudly not six feet away.

“It is not for my voice that I do this,” came the calm reply. 

Revenant hated all the Legends, but right now he hated the Hound most, for their unflappable honesty, for their unbreakable politeness. However much he needled them, they were ever unwilling, or perhaps even unable, to descend to his level of petty backtalk. “Tell me then, oh mighty hunter,” he said, using enough sarcasm for them both, “As it seems I won’t be going anywhere until you’ve had your say.”

Bloodhound watched him, their lenses reflecting the yellow light from Revenant’s own eyes back at him. When they next spoke, each word was measured, answering, but not confessing. “I would like, some day, to be able to breathe freely.” A pause. “If the gods will it.”

Revenant fell silent at that. His gaze lingered on the Hound’s face, on the hand holding the respirator over their mouth and nose, on the lingering scars that traced every visible surface of facial tissue. “...by singing to enhance your lung capacity?”

Bloodhound nodded once, some of the tension leaving their shoulders. 

That caught Revenant’s attention. 

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like understanding them, or them willingly trusting him with information he preferred to steal himself. He liked even less knowing there was nothing he could do with this confession of weakness that would be a satisfactory vengeance for his current position of compromise.

He tugged at his hand with more violence than before, making the door rattle. Bloodhound didn’t flinch, and neither did their axe.

“Get me out of here,” Revenant demanded.

The hunter stood, respirator still held firm, and walked close. They waited a moment, just long enough for Revanant to glare, and to see his own reflection in those stupid goggles, before taking firm hold of the axe handle and yanking it free with a crackle of sparks.

Their calm annoyed Revenant even more than the unwilling hiss of pain drawn from his voicebox. Without another word he slammed the door in their face, meaning to storm away and find someone more fun to bother.

But he didn’t. His feet stayed where they were, inches from the closed door.

Perhaps a minute passed this way, in silence. He didn’t let himself wonder why he stayed. He waited, telling himself he was the predator awaiting the footfalls of his prey. 

But when the noise came, it was not that of booted feet against the airship floor, but of cloth rustling as the Hound lowered themselves to the ground. It was the soft brush of a back against the door, of legs being folded. It was a deep breath taken before the respirator was set aside.

And then, once more, the rough, unfiltered voice in the darkness - but so close now Revenant could almost touch it.

‘Það er margt sem myrkrið veit, minn er hugur þungur.

Oft ég svarta sandinn leit svíða grænan engireit.

Í jöklinum hljóða dauðadjúpar sprungur.’

He was going to kill them for this. He was going to make them suffer, for forcing him to stand here and listen to their voice, as raw and vulnerable as any death cry, gentle and drifting as smoke on the wind. Were they doing it on purpose, twisting the melody so mournfully that it tugged at a soul Revenant was sure he no longer had?

‘Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt, seint mun best að vakna.’

He was going to kill them. He would make that soft voice scream in agony.

‘Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,meðan hallar degi skjótt,’

He would learn the words to their song just to croon it in their ear while he plunged his fist into their chest and ripped out their heart.

‘að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna.’

He’d have to stay a bit longer, though, to study the thing properly. He wasn’t sure he remembered the beginning right.

But for a second the song faltered, and Revenant felt an unexplainable pang at the thought that it was over, and the Hound was done for the night.

A flap of feathered wings. An accusing caw. From the other side of the door came that rough voice, soft and soothing. “Hush. I know. It is alright.”

Another deep breath, and they began again.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín…’

Revenant closed his eyes. No… killing them wouldn’t be punishment enough. They’d just be dead. Better would be to find someone else to kill, to make it very public, very bloody…

‘Úti regnið grætur.’

Then, when the newspapers reported his good work, when the survivors cried on television about a robotic voice chanting in an alien language, he would meet Bloodhound’s eye across the room, and the Hound would know, and Revenant would know they knew…

And that would surely be the sweetest revenge of all.