#drew the other leg wrong bUT I CANT FIX IT

[meggannn]

atsv rewatch notes that i forgot to share

in gwen's flashback, mr stacy says "why wear a mask if you've got nothing to hide?" may parker says "no politics at the dinner table," and gwen pointedly says "thank you, may" to which may winks at her. does may know she's spider-woman?? that would definitely add another layer of angst if may thinks she's responsible for her nephew's death as well

gwen goes to visions academy in her universe too, evidenced by the logo on the drums she plays and the shirt her dad's wearing. so no wonder she could sneak her way around in 1610, but also, her school seems to be in chelsea (manhattan) not brooklyn? unless their band practice is just in chelsea and they stole a drum set from brooklyn lol

one of gwen's posters just says SOCIAL MEDIA lmao

the fact that in gwen's touching selfie of her and miles you can still see peter's sweatpants legs in the background from where he's passed out on the bus is so funny to me

65's police department is also called PDNY, so i guess peter's NYPD in 616 is the odd one out

captain stacy calls his partner "yuri"! i assume it's 65's yuri watanabe?? (edit, the director's commentary confirms this)

according to his arrest log, the vulture was a middle school secretary before being arrested lmao

i just realized we were going to get miguel's backstory and then gwen interrupts it because she doesn't care. so i guess my theory about miles being the only one who can interrupt others' monologues because he's an anomaly is incorrect lmao

i didnt realize before the helicopter crashes, she looked at miguel and miguel nodded, implying "i'll get them" for him to clear the way while she handles the people in the helicopter. i think her competence and flexibility are why he changed his mind on bringing her to the team, along with her dad ofc

a reactor pointed this out (Lupa from YaBoyRoshi) but when gwen is pleading to her dad not to arrest her, he and the colors behind him literally become divided with a dark blue line against white background. i interpreted this as a metaphor for his indecisiveness but it's also. literally. showing a thin blue line foreshadowing his choice. that's insane

gwen saying "i don't know how to fix this." and miguel tosses her a watch after saying "yeah, well, join the club"—didn't realize this had two meanings lol, one inviting her to the society but also admitting he doesn't know how to fix any of this

i'm very impressed by how much they put into the spot on a rewatch, like the voice acting is excellent and they made him jiggle up and down going "this is real!" when he meets miles. it's so cute. like all the extra details just make it great

lmao when miles does his intro he shows himself growing like a head taller than gwen, and about as tall as peter b and noir?? ldkfjdlfk im sorry buddy you're not quite there yet

during miles's intro he meshes the past year with his current fight with spot, and he narrates beating up bad guys with a bunch of shots of him punching villains—then it cuts to him failing to punch the spot; quickly followed by the spot and miles tied in a bunch of weird scenarios with the dimensional holes, including miles's face on ohnn's body, all played for comedy. foreshadowing baby

all of the jeopardy categories when miles hosts are spider-themed. "swingin' in the rain" "arachnidioms" "spider sense & sensibility" "the wide web world" "thwip it" and i cant read the last one

not only does miles's baby powder apology video have more dislikes than actual views (69 million to 10 million, yes, a 69 joke), a youtube comment also says "old spider-man didn't need baby powder" so the youtube comments section is wrong in every universe

in his mustache apology video, once again there are more dislikes than views (70 mill to 11 mill) and a comment says "i heard it was made from actual spider legs tho fr"

miles drew his friends over his subway mural and everyone's always in cool action poses EXCEPT PETER who also gets a shot of him sloppily eating a burger oh my god. it cracks me up he draws more of the other spiders but so little of peter lkdfjld. but this is sweet tbh i hope somehow the gang sees this in btsv :(((

at the counselor meeting: "you thought i could do something special. and now i think so, too. and the special thing i want to do is this. there are people out there who can literally teach me the things i want to learn. and they're not all in brooklyn" my heart hurts

when the spot destroys a building in the lego verse someone goes "does anyone have the instructions for this building??" lmao

when miles is hanging with gwen, you can hear him faintly say "no it's not the greek burger place" and we don't know what he's replying to but. what's the bet he told gwen how terrible peter's favorite burger place was on the bus back from alchemax and it's an inside joke between them

miles left his jordans in a random alley in brooklyn chasing after gwen!!! MILES!! (but then later when he's trapped in 42, they glitch back onto his feet???)

miles still swings using the same bounce-crouch he learned from peter im gonna die. you can see it esp when compared against pavitr and gwen when they face the spot

i thought i missed when miles picked up an empenada but i didnt, they literally just cut straight from jess mentioning them to miguel's narration then miles walking down the hallway with it. did miles ask jess+gwen+hobie to stop by the cafeteria first lkfdjlf.

miles bounces when miguel's lift starts to descend. he's so excited to meet him :(

peter says mayday took a crap and then he takes her offscreen but. he doesn't actually change her diaper. mayday was sitting in a dirty diaper that whole chase and somehow wasn't upset? or are we supposed to believe that large spiderweb mayday bounces off of (which we never actually see getting built between one shot and the next) was being used as a very quick one-second changing station? lmfao peter

sun spider says "miles, i'm a huge fan of your work" which. wow everyone not only knows about miles's situation but follows his actions in 1610???? wtf. also does miles have fans?? (aside from the og gang)

after seeing how frustrated/desperate peter gets to have miles hold may, i'm 100% convinced he knew when miles entered the society, ran back home to grab his baby, and came back to nueva york just specifically so miles could meet may, but it turned into a shitshow and now he just hopes THIS conversation can go well if he can make it happen like he imagined in his head. like aww, but also peter, he doesn't want to talk about your daughter right now, he wants to talk about his dad lol. right words, wrong time

and peter doesn't even bother trying to escape the webs miles traps him in, he just kind of hangs there angrily?? lfkjlf

the text around hobie's portals reads ENTER PORTAL with an arrow, NEXT STOP, EXIT STOP, i think MIND THE GAP, a weather report, and i think miles's name?? maybe also 616, miles's dimension?

when miles realizes he's in the wrong dimension, the same leitmotif plays from the first movie when he walks down the school hall realizing something was different after the spider bite

miles's terror and joy at seeing aaron in 42 is palpable. he will always love and miss him, he will probably always wish he could speak to and ask aaron for help again, but he will never forget being chased by the prowler, and aaron about to kill him on the rooftop. i think some part of him will forever be that kid scared of the person in the prowler mask—or at least wondering what that person is capable of, how far that person is willing to go to get what they want—which is a very fitting question considering he then faces another miles behind the prowler mask shortly after. i suspect in btsv he'll have to ask himself the lengths he is willing to go to, in this universe or the next, to save the people he loves. heartbreaking

i adore the telltale art style of earth-42, it's so gorgeous and noir-like, reminds me of the wolf among us

[piecksz]

dirty little secret | (m)

pairings: jock!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, dub con, cheating, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, saliva, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, sneaky sex, explicit language

words: 3.2k+

summary: eren’s unsatisfied in his relationship with his girlfriend, so he looks to you for sexual gratification.

a/n: all the characters in this story are adults! it was originally meant to be a college au but the whole “fire drill” detail doesn’t really make sense in a college setting since fire drills are typically held in dorms, so as per usual 18+ minors dni. 

Your legs moved quickly against the polished tile of the hallway while you sped up to meet with your class who had already been far ahead of you, disappearing into the throng of people filing outside at the blaring signal of the fire alarm.

You’d excused yourself during your lesson to use the bathroom, unaware that an unplanned drill had been scheduled for that day, so with haste you finished up and rushed to rendezvous with the rest of your classmates before you were left inside the building.

As you rounded the corner, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your forearm, forcibly pulling you behind the small door that stood at the end of the corridor.

Instinctively, your hands balled into fists, and you threw them blindly in the direction of your assailant. You hoped that you’d at least land one successful hit, and it would give you enough time to break out of their hold and flee.

“Y/N, relax! It’s just me!”

Your hysterical flailing ceased, and you opened your eyes hesitantly at the sound of your attacker’s familiar voice. “Eren?”

Frantic pupils fell upon a pair of mischievous jade eyes, and your terror-stricken expression contorted into an angry scowl as you drove the palms of your hands into his chest, sending him careening back into the metal shelf behind him. “You asshole! What is wrong with you?”

Eren’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself and the rack before both were sent tumbling to the floor. “Ow,” he grumbled, rubbing away the soreness spreading over the skin of his arm from your knuckles’ potent impact. “You’ve got a brutal left hook.”

“Yeah? You wanna see my right one?” Your right hand tightened as if you were projecting another throw, but Eren’s outstretched arm maintained a safe amount of space between you two. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Eren’s tightly-wound eyebrows began to arch as his distressed face eased into a buoyant grin. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

You blinked. “Were you the one that pulled the fire alarm?”

“No, I didn’t pull the fucking fire alarm,” he replied sourly, evidently offended that you’d suggest he’d do something so juvenile. “I just got lucky.”

Your curled lip relaxed, and your irritation waned into a resigned stare. You desperately wanted to trust Eren’s saccharine words, and it didn’t take much effort to believe him while you were faced with his stupidly winsome expression. His smile was warm, eyes glossing over with adoration like he was truly expressing what he felt, and it wasn’t just empty flattery, yet you’d been more perceptive than to just take his intentions for what they were. Rather, you’d been smart enough to learn from last time.

He’d said something along the same lines, after you two had hooked up in his car after his lacrosse game. He was feeling mirthful after winning and wanted to celebrate with you, but on the cusp of his orgasm, he’d let the “love” phrase slip, and when you’d asked him about it afterward, Eren mulled over it for a second before nodding, admitting that he had feelings for you.

His confession had been somewhat of a relief, and you’d expected him to end things with his girlfriend shortly after he’d realized what he really wanted, but the following day in the courtyard, you were stunned to see Eren sitting with her and the rest of his friends, showering her with kisses like nothing had taken place the night before.

You swore you’d learned your lesson.

“Are these new? Can I see them?” Eren’s fingers gently wrapped around the frame of your glasses, pulling them from your face, and he slid them onto his ears, adjusting their position on his nose. “How do I look?”

“I can’t see, Eren,” you answered simply.

Eren laughed bashfully. “Right, I think they look better on you instead.” He slid your glasses off and tucked them back behind your ears.

Your lenses restored your lucid vision, and now that you could properly see, you noticed the way Eren’s lips were parted, lids low and languid as his face lingered only inches from yours. He’d used your glasses as leverage to get closer to you, a crafty technique, and now that he was close enough, he could whisper.

“You know what else looks better on you?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into his cheek, and he closed the space between you two, fixing his lips onto yours while his thumb and index finger supported the curve of your chin. His kiss was slow, mouth undulating with the most tender of movements, and when he carefully slid his tongue between your teeth you could taste the vague chill of spearmint on his breath. He proceeded timidly, as though he was touching you for the first time, but that was the very detail of your couplings that always had you running back. He handled you like he cared.  

The tip of Eren’s nose skimmed against yours, ever so slightly, while he continued prompting his tongue further into the depths of your mouth, eager to have you savor his desire.

Your body was traitorous and unmoving, allowing Eren to command you with his lips, and for a few blissful minutes, you forgot the two of you were crammed into the unyielding space of a storage room.

Eren withdrew from your mouth, and tilted his head to the side so he could occupy the empty curve of your neck, and once you felt him press mild kisses to the hollow of your throat, you freed a displeased sigh and sent him backwards with an assertive push.

“Seriously? In the supply closet?”

“We’ve got like fifteen minutes before everyone comes back.” He reassured you, shrugging dismissively before tipping his head in for another kiss.

You shifted backward, studying Eren as he continued to lean in until his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Wondering why he wasn’t receiving any contact, his eyes flitted open.

“You still haven’t broken up with her have you?” You pressed your lips into an unamused line.

Your question had Eren angling until he was standing upright, and then he rolled his head back and released a groan as though already tired from your question. “Y/N, come on. I don’t feel like having this conversation.”

“Have you?” you probed.

“No, I haven’t. It’s not that easy.”

“It really is.”

Eren drew his eyebrows up, now in regret. “We’ve been together since freshman year. Do you know how big of a douchebag it makes me look if I break up with her two months before graduation?”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you know how big of a douchebag you look fucking me behind her back?”

Eren’s eyes drifted to the side.

“Or are you just embarrassed to be seen with me?” you questioned, canting your body into his view.

“Okay, you sound ridiculous,” Eren laughed dryly.

“Because I’m not a cheerleader or an athlete, and I have about one other friend. You don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking the girl that spends lunch in the library.”

“What kind of cliche movie do you think we’re in right now?”

“It’s just something I���d expect from someone who peaked in high school.” Your words were sharp on the tip of your tongue, and you could tell by the way Eren recoiled that your statement managed to penetrate his seemingly careless guise.

“I’ll handle it okay?” Eren’s hand slid over the back of his neck, looking blameworthy of all the faults you’d accused him of. “But right now I really need help handling something else.”

Your eyes narrowed in his direction after realizing he’d managed to do it again, forcing you into forgiveness with his charming abashed impression. He’d taken advantage of how spineless you were when it came to matters concerning him.

“Please?” he urged.

It was his thick brown brows that were creased in the middle and opalescent green eyes that stared you down that made him look so sincere. He was easily one of the most spellbinding people you’d ever met, attractive and likable, he knew exactly what cards to play to get his way, and even though you were aware of it, you always found yourself wrapped around his finger. A pretty face and a sweet tongue was a recipe written up by the devil himself.

You lowered yourself onto your knees, leveled with Eren’s hands working swiftly against the buttons of his slacks. “I’m done doing this, Yeager,” you announced wryly.

“I know,” Eren said, as though guaranteeing you it would be the last time.

He pushed his pants down along with his briefs in one swift motion, freeing his cock from the tight cotton confines of his underwear. His length was already rigid, the sticky beads of precum leaking out of his swollen head the result of your stalling. He’d already provoked himself by thinking of all the ways he wanted to have you, you didn’t have to do anything more to get him hard.

A relieved exhale left Eren’s lips once he grabbed the base of his cock in the sweaty heat of his palm, tapping his wet tip against your bottom lip, then he pulled the hem of his shirt up slightly, allowing you enough clearance to take him into your mouth.

You wrapped a ginger hand around his length, feeling the way his warmth throbbed in your fingers, and you leaned in, using your tongue to lap along the rim of his cock.

“Fuck—” Eren’s voice was husky as it ripped through the depths of his throat. He watched you with heavy lids, observing the way your tongue’s tip danced around his swollen head, giving coy licks to his slit, and the way his cock twitched with need at the slightest provocation. “Jesus Christ—”

You gave him a few generous pumps before taking him whole, humming at the way his girth felt against the inside of your cheeks. The skin of his length ran like hot silk over your tongue as you fell into a natural rhythm, and your lips and hand rocked back and forth against him.

Eren’s face broke out into a dirty grin. “You’re such a little slut for my cock, aren’t you?”

You glared up at him over the edge of your glasses.

“Sorry,” he responded meekly, fingers brushing away the strands of hair that fell loosely against his forehead.

You continued working against him, excited by the honeyed melody of his moans every time your fingertips ran over the sensitive skin of his balls. Eren’s cock pulsated against the surface of your tongue with each small ministration, and you watched the muscles across his abdomen tense.

“I know you hate me,” he started. “But you have no idea how hot you look on your knees right now. Keep glaring at me like that, and I’m gonna cum in your mouth.”

The mention of Eren’s warning had a torrent of heat surging between your legs, and you fought off the urge to dip your fingers beneath your skirt and begin rubbing away your discomfort. You didn’t want him to know you were enjoying this almost as much as he was.

Your heavy yet stifled breathing caused your glasses to fog lightly, so you sat back on your knees, withdrawing your mouth from him briefly to catch your breath. You lifted a thumb to wipe away at the saliva that dribbled down your chin, but Eren’s fast fingers stopped you, holding your wrist away from your face.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “You look pretty like that.”

You ran the back of your hand across your cheeks, as though you were trying to rub off the furious heat that crept across your skin and over your nose. “Shut up.”

Eren only responded with an amused smile.

Then when you brought him back to your lips for the last time, his hands settled on the crown of your head, and he pushed his cock back in until his tip relentlessly prodded the back of your throat. Holding your head in place, he began jerking his hips, fucking your mouth at an agonizingly slow pace that had heavy tears cascading down your cheeks.

Every time his cock slowly and deliberately pressed against the back of your throat, you gagged involuntarily, fingertips digging into the side of his thighs.

“Feel how hard I am?” Eren asked. “You did that.” He rocked his pelvis forward again, muffling your whines.

“Yeah? You like it when I fuck your pretty little face, don’t you?” He thrusted himself between your jaws, throwing his head back and liberating a series of foul swears. “I really need to feel you.”

With the declaration of his wish, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, inhaling sharply at the obscene sight of his length coated and dripping with your spit.

After your dry heaving subsided, Eren helped you up with a gentle hand, running his palm between your shoulder blades to soothe your coughing. He made sure you were steady before cuing you to turn so that your back was facing him, then he watched as your shaky hands slid underneath your skirt and fingers hooked around the fabric of your underwear.

“Pull out this time, Eren. I mean it,” you rasped, cautioning him ahead of time. You stepped out of your underwear and used the toe of your shoe to cast it aside.

Eren’s hands reached under your hem, large palms gliding over the curve of your ass. “The odds of you getting pregnant are like one in what?” He flipped up your skirt and continued teasing the skin of your backside. “Plus I always cover you for the pill, don’t I?”

“I don’t care, cum in me and you’re dead.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the metal shelf, and you slid your arm around Eren’s shoulder while he placed one hand on your waist for support and curved the other under your thigh. Then, he brought your knee up to his chest until all of your weight was allocated onto one leg.

Eren held his cock with his fingertips and slid himself between your folds from behind. You let out a soft, unanticipated whimper, but quickly brought your teeth down on the flesh of your tongue to smother any more sounds of pleasure. You didn’t even bother looking over your shoulder at Eren’s satisfied smirk, you could tell by the way his hand squeezed your thigh that he had noticed it.

Eren positioned himself at your entrance, skimming his wet tip over your hole before sliding himself inside you. His cock slipped in with ease, your saliva acting as a crude lubricant.

“Oh fuck—” His breath was hot over the span of your neck.

“Eren—” you sighed, forgetting all your pretenses. You closed your eyes, enjoying the way he stretched you out, and then he started moving causing a pattern of shallow cries and moans to fall from your lips.

“Fuck Y/N, you drive me fucking crazy,” Eren groaned, thrusting up into you, slowly and rhyhmically, steadily filling you to the hilt every time, while his hand traveled beneath your ribcage to cup your breast over the crisp fabric of your uniform. “She doesn’t take me as well as you do.”

You shook your head, making weak sounds of protest between delicate whines. “I don’t wanna hear that, Eren—”

“But it’s true.” Eren moved quickly between your legs, hissing every time your slick walls tightened around his aching cock. With each punctuated thrust, you continued to lose yourself, until your need unfurled and Eren had you under siege. His methodical pace sent you into a flurry of moans, and you cried his name over and over.

His even strokes began to stagger, and his breathing became rapid and shallow, chaotic pants of hot air rolling out over the span of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum—” He continued pounding into you, faster now, harder, keen on drawing out his orgasm, and then Eren gave one last thrust, so deep it had you shutting your eyes and pursing your lips to keep from screaming. Then he shuddered, his body convulsing with the bout of his orgasm, and you felt him release inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy with every twitch of his cock.

“Y/N—” he moaned, resting his chin in the curve of your shoulder while he continued to jettison every drop of his release until he was sure he was empty.

Your hands tightened around his shoulder, as the ripple from Eren’s climax had your cunt tightening around his length, and ecstasy spread over the span of your pelvis and down your thighs. Once he grew limp, he slipped himself out of you, and you felt a slow stream of his cum run down the inside of your thigh.

“I said not to cum in me you fucking idiot.” Your legs were sweaty, making it easier for you to twist yourself out of Eren’s hold until you were now standing upright, both legs planted unsteadily on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” Eren wrapped his arms around you apologetically, but you shrugged him off, using your elbow to drive him back.

Your eyes scanned the closet with haste, looking for tissue paper you could steal to clean up the mess between your thighs, and Eren must have sensed your aim because he made use of his height, seizing a large roll from the top shelf and unwrapping it before handing it to you.

You grabbed it out of his hands, waiving a statement of gratitude, and ripped away a few plies, crumpling them up into a generous wad. “You owe me eighty dollars.”

Eren’s eyebrows lifted and his face twisted into an incredulous expression while he stuffed himself back into his pants and buttoned them up. “Are you running a prostitution ring?”

“I’m serious. Fifty for the pill and thirty just for dealing with you.” You straightened out your uniform, and watched as Eren did the same, tugging on his collar to smooth out the creases.

“You’re a mean little bitch,” he jeered with a slight playful undertone, and then he looked off to the side in concentration. He turned around, pressing his ear to the door of the supply closet, and then he looked back at you. “I think they’re coming back.”

You hummed.

“I’ll walk out first.”

“Right,” you said unenthusiastically, recalling that no matter how many praises he lavished you with in private, in public you were still his dirty little secret. He vowed to you that he would end his current relationship because it was clear you were growing tired of being his toy, good enough for him to fuck but undeserving of anything else. And after all was said and done, when you two passed each other in the halls, he’d still glance at you with the cordiality of a stranger.

Eren had promised to handle it, yet it was obvious he had no intentions to, and you knew that while you watched him give you a fond smile before slipping out of the supply closet.

[simplyclockwork]

I love what you did with Sherlock stuck in the window frame. Sherlock trying to be arch and aloof still but a bit defeated and John caring and meeting Sherlock’s needs. I’d love to have a fic that is John shaving Sherlock (out of some sort of medical necessity) but it leads to intimacy or the promise of intimacy in the future. I know John shaving Sherlock has been done before, but I’m sure your take on it would add hugely to the greater good!

Hey anon! Thanks so much for your patience. I've finally filled this prompt. You can read it below the page break or on Ao3 here!

Please feel free to send future prompts anytime as long as you don't mind waiting a while for the fill.

Thank you :)

---

“Stop fidgeting,” John snapped as Sherlock wriggled for the umpteenth time under his ministrations.

Sherlock stopped with a huff. “I need to check on my experiment,” he protested, though he remained perfectly still. “You’re taking too long, John. You shave like a man who has never handled a blade before.”

“I may have handled a gun far more than a blade, but that doesn’t mean I won’t accidentally lop off your ear if you don’t sit bloody well still!” John gripped Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed him more firmly into the kitchen chair. “Lord above, are there snakes in your pants?”

“Hurry up, John!” Sherlock snarled, squirming once more.

John, trying valiantly to keep Sherlock from slitting his own throat on the razor pressed against the vulnerable expanse of his skin, jerked the blade back. “Christ, Sherlock, stop moving! The sooner you shut up and sit still, the sooner this will be over with.” He shot a baleful glare at the cluttered surface of their kitchen table. “What kind of experiment are you doing with one working hand — non-dominant, might I add — anyway?”

“One surely beyond your simple mind,” Sherlock replied peevishly, making John roll his eyes.

“You and your miserable mood can both sod off,” John grumbled, biting back harsher words and making a concerted effort to soften his reprimand.

Sherlock had been absolutely horrid ever since he’d broken nearly every bone in his dominant hand in a brawl with a murder suspect. The man had slammed his foot down on Sherlock’s hand when Sherlock slipped on the rain-wet street during their tussle. Recovery had been a slow and painful process as the splinted hand turned alarming shades of black and blue while the bones and tendons healed. John couldn’t honestly blame Sherlock for his mood, but that didn’t make him easier to deal with. He struggled with even the most basic tasks, leaving John to support him in mundane functions. It had begun to wear on them both — Sherlock far more than John as he took repeated blows to his independence — bringing out Sherlock’s nastier side.

Which brought them to that morning, to John’s day off from the surgery. He'd been woken just shy of six am by a petulant Sherlock, who had insisted that his stubble had grown far too coarse to abide any longer. He’d stood — loomed, more like — over John as John blinked the sleep from his eyes and watched Sherlock scratch agitatedly at his stubbly jaw, chin and cheeks. Now, here they were, with John making a valiant effort to shave Sherlock’s face while Sherlock squirmed with the force of five hundred angry snakes.

“Do I really have to do this with a straight razor?” John asked for the fifth time, already knowing Sherlock’s answer before it was bit out through bared teeth.

“Disposable razors are a farce,” Sherlock said, muscles flexing under his damp skin as his jaw clenched. “I require a closer shave, which is only possible with a straight razor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, just as he had the four times before. “I know. Well, if you want me to do this, then you need to bloody well sit fucking still so I don’t cut your throat. Not even you would enjoy that murder.”

Sherlock muttered something that John missed.

“What?”

“I said, it would be manslaughter, not murder,” Sherlock snapped. “It’s only murder when it is premeditated.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, struggling not to lose the tenuous hold he still retained on his temper. “Who says it wouldn’t be premeditated?” John prayed for patience and opened his eyes again. “Stop clenching your teeth,” he ordered, smoothing his fingertips over Sherlock’s tense jaw. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tensed more, making John sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just shave my face, John,” Sherlock muttered, some of the aggression mysteriously gone from his voice as he closed his eyes.

John shrugged and smoothed more shaving cream where his first application had dried. Sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, John gently tilted his head back over the table and bent to set the razor against Sherlock’s skin. As he did, the sharp edge brushing Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock swallowed, making his throat bob beneath the blade. John paused warily, eyes fixed on the subtle motion. It seemed deeply vulnerable to him, inspiring an unexpected surge of protectiveness that caught him off guard.

He was still reeling with it when Sherlock cracked open one eye and squinted at him. “Something wrong?”

Did John imagine it, or did Sherlock’s voice sound strained? He studied the familiar face, searching for clues. But Sherlock had closed both eyes again, his expression perfectly blank.

“I haven’t got all day, John,” he reminded him sharply, though his voice lacked its earlier bite.

“Right,” John said, clearing his throat. He shook his head, banishing the strange feelings. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your incredibly important tinkering.”

“Experiment, John,” Sherlock corrected him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite his admonishment.

“Mhm.” John refocused, his feelings of confusion somewhat settled by the familiar cant of their banter. He hesitated over Sherlock’s throat and decided to start somewhere else. Setting the blade at the top of Sherlock’s cheek, John carefully drew the razor’s edge through the shaving cream. It was much fancier than his own brand, which came in a can and looked more like whipping cream than shaving material. Predictably, Sherlock’s came from a bar, complete with a rounded brush to spread the lather. It smelled like pine and explained some of what John had come to think of as Sherlock’s natural scent.

Reigning in his wandering thoughts, his brow furrowed, John wiped the blade clean and set it back to Sherlock’s skin. He cleared a strip next to the first, pausing only when his left hand gave a slight twitch. John cursed his intermittent tremour silently, retracing the same area to erase the few spots he’d missed. A stubborn fleck of dried lather remained in his path, and John reached out to smooth it away with his thumb. Sherlock’s cheek twitched at the touch. John paused, thumb resting on Sherlock’s skin, when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were open. Half-open, to be exact, with dark silver peeking out beneath his long, lowered lashes.

Something about that gaze froze John in place, the moment stretching out until he broke free with a quiet, awkward cough. Ducking his head to clean the blade again, John bought himself time, fussing with the flannel until he looked up again and saw that Sherlock’s eyes were closed once more. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could bite it back, and John was glad to see Sherlock didn’t react or comment on the sound.

He returned to his task with far more care, gritting his teeth at even the idea of his hand twitching. The rest of the foam disappeared gradually beneath John’s determined hand, revealing more and more of Sherlock’s damp, freshly-shaven face. Sherlock sat mostly still throughout, finally settled, his expression oddly peaceful. If not for the occasional shifting of his legs — crossing and uncrossing at the thigh whenever John paused to wipe the blade clean — he might have been a statue.

“Aright,” John finally said once Sherlock’s face was clear. “Just your throat left. Make sure not to move.”

“I’m not a toddler,” Sherlock grumbled, frowning at John’s incredulous laugh. He didn’t bother to reply, and John hoped that meant he would do as bid.

Taking a deep, calming breath, John braced a hand on the chair back, trying to find the right angle. It was awkward, and he reconsidered. After a moment of hesitation, he shook off his anxiety and cupped Sherlock’s jaw at the hinge. Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the contact, clearly startled, his lips parting around a small gasp. To John’s immense relief, he held still otherwise.

John chose to ignore the odd reaction, gently tilting Sherlock’s head back and to the side as he maneuvered the blade up the side of Sherlock’s throat. John did so with great care, tongue caught between his teeth, scared of slipping. All the while, he could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, a burning point of scrutiny that John struggled not to squirm beneath. Instead, he wiped the blade and tilted Sherlock’s head again, repeating the movement.

Sherlock was silent as the grave throughout. The only sounds in the kitchen were his loud breathing and the slick, rasping scrape of the blade as it scored stubble from skin. The moment held a strange intimacy, like the two of them existed in a bubble, removed from the world with only each other for contact.

John was starting to think he might be going mad before he slid his hand to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and cupped the base of his skull to tilt his head back. As he did so, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut, and his throat jumped with an audible swallow. Startled, John’s grip tightened momentarily in the damp curls caught beneath his fingers, and Sherlock jolted with a quiet groan. The reaction was so visceral that John froze, staring down at Sherlock’s upturned face. His eyes were tightly shut, face screwed up in a grimace that looked strangely close to horrified.

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly, confused. Sherlock didn’t answer, just remained stiff and still. Under his hand, John thought he could feel a slight, constant tremour rippling through Sherlock. Brow furrowed, he studied Sherlock’s tightly wound body, gaze pausing on Sherlock’s legs, crossed together in a vice grip at the thigh. Was Sherlock…? No, that couldn’t be it. Surely John was misreading the situation. “Are you alright?” he prompted, and Sherlock sucked in a loud, shaky breath.

“I’m excellent, John,” he said in a strained voice, still with his eyes closed. “Are you nearly finished?”

“Just about,” John replied, trying and failing to shake off his growing suspicion. Clearly, Sherlock didn’t want to draw attention to whatever was happening to him. John could respect that. He’d had massages before. Some touches felt unexpectedly nice, and things happened with one’s body that one couldn’t always control. It was perfectly natural — though John had never thought of Sherlock as someone who felt ‘natural’ urges.

“Relax,” he said, waiting for Sherlock to stop clenching his jaw and facial muscles. It took a moment before everything slowly eased. However, Sherlock’s lower body remained steel-tense, and John could still feel those minute tremours beneath his hand. But Sherlock didn’t speak, keeping his eyes shut, so John didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he returned to the task at hand. Gently tugging at Sherlock’s curls to tilt his head back, John exposed the underside of Sherlock’s throat and jaw as he angled the blade at the edge of the lather. With the heel of his hand pressed against Sherlock’s skin to steady his grip, John felt the subtle twitch of muscle underneath as Sherlock swallowed again, his breath catching. Rather than let that strange, slight stutter catch him off guard again, John swiped the blade up, taking the last of the lather with it in one smooth, rasping stroke.

Then, following some instinct John couldn’t name, he set aside the blade and laid his hand over the freshly-shaved skin. Sherlock gasped at the contact, blood rushing into his face and darkening his pale cheeks. The touch was light, John’s fingers barely brushing the blade-reddened skin, but Sherlock’s response was like a man run through with an electric current, his body jolting from head to toe.

John held perfectly still, waiting to see what Sherlock might do, expecting him to pull away and rush off back to his experiment. But he did neither, sitting perfectly still — save for the tiny shivers twitching through his body — under John’s touch.

Emboldened by that silent faith, John swept his fingertips down the strip of skin he’d just shaved, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of his caress. Sherlock’s shiver increased, the colour infusing his face darkening to a deeper, tantalizing flush. John watched, enchanted, as Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together, then upward and back down as a myriad of complex expressions flitted across his face. He turned his hand, cupping the side of Sherlock’s neck, tracing the rough line of Sherlock’s bobbing throat with the pad of his thumb, just to see what would happen.

Sherlock’s lips parted around a sigh that sounded both startled and strained, the tension in his face first intensifying, then easing slowly, as John repeated the motion. He stroked Sherlock’s throat in slow, smooth passes, his work-roughened skin catching briefly on the damp terrain. Under his fingertips, pressed below Sherlock’s jaw, John felt the soft vibration of Sherlock’s whimper, voiced from deep within his throat.

“Never realized you were so sensitive,” John murmured, awed and hardly noticing the blurred lines of their friendship passing them both by. Sherlock seemed even less cognizant of the change, head tilted back as he pressed into John’s touch, offering and baring his throat in a shocking display of trust.

It was that which nearly undid John entirely. But what erased the last of his hesitation was Sherlock’s eyelids fluttering open to reveal his darkened gaze. His pupils were blown wide, almost erasing the silvery shade of his irises.

“John,” he croaked in a voice as jagged as broken glass. His head was tilted back far enough that it nearly rested on the table behind him, the science equipment scattered over the surface seemingly forgotten for the moment.

The sound of his name, spoken with such desperation, cleared the last of John’s confusion. He let go of the last remnants of his denial, of his enforced blindness of how Sherlock was reacting to him. Because he was reacting to John, that much was clear, and there was no mistaking the meaning of that reaction.

Without speaking or wasting time on words, John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and bent down to brush their lips together. It was a bare ghost of contact, a tentative drifting of mouths, but Sherlock’s response was definite. He groaned and surged upward, his uninjured hand tangling in John’s hair and pulling him closer. Their noses bumped clumsily, Sherlock’s teeth scraping John’s bottom lip before their mouths slotted together in a fierce kiss. It was sloppy, turning even more so when Sherlock’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out.

John responded in kind, tasting Sherlock’s eager gasp as their tongues met. Sherlock panted against his mouth, the sound desperate and rushing in John’s ears. They kissed until their need for air grew too great, some uncounted seconds that broke as John turned his face to suck in a loud inhale, his lungs burning. Sherlock gasped in sympathy against his cheek before turning John’s face back to his to reclaim his mouth in another kiss. There was the sharp drag of teeth again, the sleek, hot press of tongue and lips, and Sherlock’s hand sliding out of John’s hair, down his nape to his broad shoulders. His splinted hand hovered, ineffective, just in front of John’s chest.

“Sherlock,” John murmured, forcing himself to think through the fog of arousal quickly obscuring his thoughts. “Sherlock, wait.”

They broke apart at once, Sherlock jerking his head back. His eyes were wide, pupils huge, his face twisting into an expression of watchful uncertainty. John — who realized he had, at some point, settled onto Sherlock’s spread thighs — blinked at that expression. Something very close to fear flickered in Sherlock’s blackened gaze, prompting a soft tsk from John.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, reaching out to smooth a tangled curl back from Sherlock’s forehead. “Everything is fine.”

Some of the tension in Sherlock’s rigid body — though not all — eased. “Is it?” he asked, his typically cultured voice turned rough. Less smooth velvet, more gravel. John thought he could get used to that change.

“Absolutely,” John murmured, offering a crooked smile. “Absolutely fine. But maybe we should, ah, slow down?”

Sherlock blinked up at him, hands settled on John’s waist, his forehead creased with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

John tilted his head and chuckled. “Well… I mean, we’ve only just had our first kiss. Are you sure you want to rush into things?”

A quiet scoff escaped Sherlock’s full lips. “We’ve lived together for several years, John. You’ve seen me naked a multitude of times—”

“Helping you shower and go to the loo when you’re injured isn’t really the same as an intimate relationship,” John interrupted, amused.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. Unimportant.” He sobered, his eyes darkening as his pupils widened again. “The facts are simple: I’ve wanted you for a very long time, John Watson. Now that you’ve realized it, I see no need to place restrictions on our feelings.” His eyes narrowed, eyebrows dropping into another frown. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

“Not what I said,” John said with an indulgent smile. Trust Sherlock to approach something like feelings with utter rationality, even as the apparent sign of his arousal pressed against the backs of John’s thighs. “I just never knew until now that you felt this way. It’s… well, it’s a bit of a surprise.”

Another scoff from Sherlock. “It’s not my fault that you’re a rather oblivious person, John. Now,” he said, voice clipped and to the point, “are you going to kiss me again? Or must we continue to talk all this out when I’d much rather show you how I feel?”

John stared at him, taken aback by the bluntness, before he tilted his head back and let out a loud, shocked laugh. “Oh, you’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

A gleam entered Sherlock’s pale eyes, lighting his face with mischievous promise. “I most certainly do plan for there to be handfuls of something, John. Rest assured.” He squeezed John’s backside with his un-splinted hand in a demonstration, prompting a startled but pleased wiggle from John.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John said with a grin, then bent his head to meet Sherlock’s upturned mouth.

[gwoongi]

wordless pt.1

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick?) au, sugar daddy au, fluff, pining, angst rating: mature words: 4.1k warnings: mentions of blood and violence, unconventional relationship, angsty themes, smoking mention a/n: this is jeongguk as john wick because i’m trash and i cant finish one story at a time. these prompts r from here btw :) im gonna do all 50 but im too lazy rn so here’s the first 10 :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Now, it definitely was not a stretch to assume that everything in Jeongguk’s life was indeed unconventional. People didn’t need to understand that what Jeongguk did for work was something that, by the law, was considered unprofessional and inhumane, and so when asked, Jeongguk sufficed for “boss of a company”, and questions weren’t asked. If they were, Jeongguk came up with a slightly more conventional lie, to make up for the reality that was Jeongguk working on the clock, killing nobodies for a bit of cash.

Taehyung, his right-hand man, had expressed how unconventional Jeongguk seemed to be over a dinner in Venice, a little restaurant tucked away unconventionally in a street that did not belong to America. Jeongguk spoke four languages comfortably, and had parents retiring in the Canary Islands. Jeongguk donated money to women’s charities and mental health services, and helped bribe his cousins into Ivy Leagues when racism prevented them from entry. Jeongguk was a Joe-Exotic in the making and owned a rescue black panther named Elio, and had houses across the globe for use when working. And, Jeongguk was dipping his toes into playing house with a sugar baby who was only five years younger than him, of whom he had met in a stakeout which involved the hit being on your brother’s head. Unconventionally, you led him to his target, and afterwards, dined with him in a Thai restaurant.

Things in Jeongguk’s life were far from ordinary, but perhaps it was the denial of mundane comforts that kept Jeongguk going. If he went back to normality, to working a shitty customer service job like when he was seventeen, dumping trash into overflowing piles behind the off-license he worked at, things wouldn’t be the same. Jeongguk would feel alien, like he didn’t belong. At least here, amongst the pain and the bullets and the years worth of trauma packed in his wrinkles (which, yes, if he looks hard enough, he can see some cursing his twenty five year old skin), Jeongguk felt like he sort of belonged. In an unconventional way.

Having met Jeongguk during his line of work, there were difficulties in being Jeongguk’s sugar baby. For one, he always felt guilty for having murdered your brother, even though you heavily supported the hit. Your brother was a jerk, a bully with money, someone who had wronged your entire family, turned off your younger sister’s life support when there was a chance of her survival. Asshole, he deserved it. Secondly, Jeongguk was impractical and irrational and often acted selfishly, meaning he was often out of the country on work, only available in whispers for a few hours and then he was gone, compensating with a few sums of cash.

He tried his best. Jeongguk, despite technicalities including his work and his past and his occasional mean streak, genuinely cared about other people. When he could, he made the effort, otherwise not attempting to make promises to you that he could not keep. Jeongguk knows that he got really lucky when he found you. You didn’t ask questions. Nobody was better for him.

However, Jeongguk was selfish, and broken, and in refusal of fixing what was wrong with him. When it was of convenience, Jeongguk drew comparisons to the last girlfriend he tried to entertain. One who wronged him, and died when he tried to repair everything she had destroyed. Jeongguk carries that with him like the tattoos on his skin, a permanent memory, and something that often disturbs what could be and should be between the both of you.

Jeongguk is worthy of love, and capable of loving. On days where Jeongguk is free to lounge without the guilt of not working, you find it is so easy to love him. But, it can’t be that way. You couldn’t just tell him that. Telling him that you loved him would be inappropriately unconventional. Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears it again.

(1) Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Jeongguk is in his living room, his right leg bouncing like a spring as he cradles an infant glass of whiskey. His eyes are glazed, yet wide, staring at the Seoul city draped in darkness and neon, and without even looking inside, you know that his brain is spinning, thoughts chaotic and loud.

“Hey,” you call out to him, and his eyes stutter to the left to catch you in the doorway, “I heard you get up. What’s wrong?”

Jeongguk shakes his head gently. “Nothing, baby, go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jeongguk often makes comments without expectancies. You stand in the doorway that connects the living room to the long hall that stems into bedrooms and bathrooms, and watch him for a moment. His whole body vibrates like a speaker, his hands trembling as the glass drains and he reaches for a second, or a third, or maybe a tenth. You want to sigh, without being patronising, but you know that any sign of sympathy is mistaken for that whenever Jeongguk is around to make the judgement.

He looks back to the skyline and frowns, his attention panning from the window to his phone that buzzes blue, but he ignores. Stepping across the cool wooden floorboards, you approach him sleepily and take a seat next to him on the sofa. Neither of you move, but he recognises you’ve moved. He bristles slightly, like it was unexpected.

“You can take your time,” you suggest to him, and his hands ache in his lap as he sets the glass down on the coffee table with a careless thud. He scoffs, devoid of emotion, and dips his head so his chin is near his collarbones. In his lap, those hands shake. “Maybe don’t drink so much tonight.”

“I’m clearing my head,” he insists weakly. Those hands still shake.

Brows creased with a pinch, you swallow the unease and reach for his hands. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything as you do so, enveloping his hands in yours, and so suddenly the shaking ceases. Like trying to block the shakes from reaching his wrists, your hands keep his safe.

“I know,” you understand honestly, because you do know what he’s going through. “How about tea, or something? To calm down, calm down the mess that’s up in there.”

Your chin is on his shoulder, and he smiles softly. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Nah, I’m calling your brain messy,” you reply. “It’s a cruel fucking brain.”

“Hate my brain.”

“Today, we hate it.”

Jeongguk’s head turns slightly so that he can see you, and in his lap, his thumbs brush across your skin.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk says quietly, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite convince. It doesn’t necessarily have to, not tonight anyway. His phone continues to flash like a light show, Taehyung’s name in bold. “Fuck. I’ll take the call, and then I’ll come back to bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mm, okay. Want me to make a drink?”

“I don’t need it,” Jeongguk concludes. “Not today.”

(2) Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Sometimes Jeongguk wakes up in the night due to nightmares, but tonight, it’s different.

Beside him, you stir uncomfortably and kick his leg for the fourth time. He huffs and looks over, trying to figure out if you’re awake and indignant, or lost in the dream. He settles on the latter when you strain out the name of your brother and his heart swoops with a dull ache.

“You’re just dreaming, baby, come on,” Jeongguk mutters quietly into your ear, holding you in place to calm the thrashing. “He’s not here anymore, I’m here. Y/N.”

It subsides after a few minutes, making it the longest you’ve gone on record. He looks into your sleepy, upset eyes as you break awake and brushes the hair out of your face. He tries to smile for you, and maybe you can’t see in the dark.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jeongguk suggests gently. “Hm? Sweet thing. It’s just a dream.” He says this into your hair in a hug, leaving a kiss on your temple as he breaks. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe uneasily, and he separates to get a glass of water and returns to find you sleeping again. What relief Jeongguk might have is exhaled as he sets the glass on the bedside table, stroking your hair until he moves away with the sudden realisation that this is not a normal exchange.

Before Jeongguk decides to leave again, he makes sure the bed is made and that you are safe; he tucks the duvet in tightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing his coat by the front door and leaving your apartment, one tucked in the city so far that Jeongguk finds it a hassle to visit.

(3) Travelling long distances just to see them.

For three days now, you have been in Colmar, and Jeongguk is beginning to feel lonely. It had been his idea to send you away, when the heat on his long, long fued with a rival colleague threatened your safety. In return, you got a new apartment that Taehyung had found closer to Jeongguk’s own when your address got leaked, and Colmar could be considered a vacation if you pretended for long enough.

With tensions cool and the coast somewhat clear, Jeongguk picks the skin around his fingernails as a distraction before deciding that enough was enough. He missed you, and missed how you were always around for him when he needed you most. This is what drives him to jumping on a plane in his company’s name, and flying to France.

A small boat passes underneath the bridge you are standing on, and your hands dig into the barrier as you arch to smile at the tourists beneath. One catches a glimpse of your denim skirt and cherry print blouse in the sunshine and extends his hat with a wave, and you wave back. France is nothing like Seoul, and is indeed warm and fruitful and unique. The sun is hot, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with an atmospheric buzz of friendliness, the smell of coffee and some food you don’t know yet entrapping your senses.

“Madame, je peux vous prendre en photo?”

Hearing the voice, you turn your body left and prepare to face the tourist, but instead you are welcomed with the sight of Jeongguk dressed in black, sunglasses sliding down his nose with a smile. He does hold a camera in his hands, although teasingly.

“Oui,” you quip, posing cutely and Jeongguk takes a photograph anyway, to humour the moment, to print when he gets back to Seoul. You join his laughter as he peers at the photograph and he walks without looking up towards you.

“When did you get here?” you ask him, a round of laughter from the little boat making you turn to stare at them with a giggle.

“Bout an hour ago,” Jeongguk replies, and he shuts off the camera and puts it in his coat pocket. It’s only a small camera, probably cost him a crumb to buy from a vintage store. He meets your eyes with a comfortable smile and rounds in, pressing your lower back against the bridge barrier and circling your arms around you. Carefully, then, he kisses you, tasting the suncream on your skin as his lips wander from yours to the skin around your face.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Jeongguk responds. “I am so bored when you’re not around. You always have something to do, always have something to say.”

You hum in response. “I’m glad I’m of some entertainment for you.”

“Oh, for sure,” agrees Jeongguk. “I don’t think I’ve used my brain so often when I’m away from work as much as I do when I’m with you. Did you know that you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met?”

“Wow,” you exclaim with a smile. “Hire me.”

“Ha!” he remarks, kissing you again and taking your hand in his. He moves, back in the way you came. “Over my dead body.”

(4) Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

“You.”

“Not now, Y/N, I’m working,” Jeongguk replies non committedly. He fists his hair.

“Not up for discussion right now,” you huff, and he has the nerve to glare at you which only makes you uncomfortably angry. “You haven’t eaten in fourty eight hours, and I’m not about to be held responsible for your death when you die of hunger, so get your ass in the kitchen before I dump this food over your stupid head.”

He challenges you. “You’re brave talking to somebody who could destroy your life like that.”

“Do it, I literally have nothing to lose,” you answer. “Please eat something. I made it with love and care.”

Jeongguk relents, sighing at his paperwork but nonetheless moving away from his home office and following you like a child towards the direction of the kitchen. He feels bad, you know he feels bad, and he circles his arms around your body as you walk, stumbling into the space of the kitchen and smelling the familiar aroma of pork rice stew. Alas, he sees the bowl steaming in his spot at the table and his eyes follow you as you hum and set start to washing the dishes.

“Y/N-”

“No words, just eating,” you instruct. “Bone apple tit.”

He grins, then, and takes a seat. “You know that’s not the phrase, right?”

“Tell that to Twitter,” you sigh.

(5) Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Jeongguk prefers to see you when he doesn’t have work the next day, because leaving when you’re asleep is an asshole move in any dictionary. So, when one of his men phones him at four in the morning and relays the horror that someone’s died on his property, Jeongguk has to fight the demons that almost convince him to hand the job over to somebody who gives a fuck about the intruder stuck on his barbed fence.

He gets up, anyway.

Next to him, in the bed that belongs to you because this is your new apartment, Jeongguk stares down at you and feels a tug in his stomach. Guilt, it follows him everywhere like a ghost.

Before he leaves, he likes to give you a little kiss for the morning, so the tingling sensation reminds you that despite being an asshole and leaving without properly saying goodbye, he still gives several shits about you, and will be back when he can be.

(6) Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Jeongguk wants to hang Taehyung for making him remember the reasons why you had to move across the city to a new apartment.

It had, of course, been Jeongguk’s fault, and when the notification came from an exhausted worker in his line of work that the alarm system in your apartment had been triggered for an intruder, Jeongguk remembers all he saw was red.

The front door was forced open, a body indent in the wood and the front porch ransacked and littered with shards of glass and bullets. Inside was no prettier, with mess scattered everywhere and photos smashed on the floors. The carpets were stained with red that Jeongguk prayed was just wine, the glass coffee table in two pieces and a knife covered in red on the floor. Jeongguk and his men, along with the few police officers Jeongguk could actually trust in this god-forsaken hellhole, noticed that the blood belonged to one of the intruders who lay dead on the stairs.

Nobody knows how Jeongguk got through the apartment so fast, and why, without any hesitation, he murdered the remaining intruders without suggesting questioning and torture. That was his go-to when it rarely concerned you. He wanted those stupid enough to even try and go after you to really fucking regret it as he picked off fingernails and made them suffer for hours or days. This time he just killed, and moved onwards, calling your name like a mantra.

Jeongguk could have cried when you emerged, petrified, from inside one of the closets. Upon seeing you, Jeongguk collapsed his gun on the floor and stepped towards you protectively, pulling you in tightly for a hug. Sobbing into his neck, you hugged him tighter, feeling finally safe when his hand held the back of your head, like you were a precious thing that was of value.

You were of the highest value to Jeongguk.

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk barks suddenly, and Taehyung shrugs and exits the office. All he had asked was if he loved you.

(7) Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

There might be the assumption that Jeongguk comes home with more bruises than you do. Which is true, technically, and there’s no hesitation from your end in nursing them to a comfortable recovery.

On rare occasion, Jeongguk comes home and finds you exhibiting a new purple blob on your skin. Like today. 

Jeongguk hasn’t seen you in two days, and when he lets himself into your apartment with the key he has glued to him at all times, he follows the silence and light to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of your bathtub, gently rubbing cream on your knee in little circles.

“What happened here?” he asks quickly, and you continue rubbing with your tongue poking out between your lips.

“You’ll laugh, don’t ask,” you mutter.

“Hey, I won’t laugh,” Jeongguk says. He rests his weight against the doorframe, “You open the front door the wrong way again?”

Ha! You laugh humourlessly. “Worse!” You look up at him sadly, “I tripped in the parking lot carrying my groceries. It’s on camera and everything, I want to die.”

Jeongguk pokes the inside of his mouth to resist laughing. “Well, fuck. That’s your leg ruined.”

“I know,” you pout. “Good thing you’re my sugar daddy- wanna pay for cosmetic leg surgery?”

“I like your bruised up legs,” says Jeongguk.

“Me too, but not these ones.”

“Bruh, that’s enough cream on your skin,” Jeongguk exclaims, moving forward to snatch the cream from your hands. “More is not better. Come on, you’re okay.”

“It hurts.”

“Boohoo,” he sighs. You don’t move. “Ugh, whatever. Come’re.”

Jeongguk drops the cream tube onto the sink but it clatters into the bowl. He’ll move it later if he remembers to, and he pretends it’s hard to pick you up off the bathtub and carries you swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room. Things have barely moved since he last came to visit; the swarms of paper still invade your coffee table and your laptop is on sleep mode by a half-empty coffee cup filled with hot chocolate, because he knows your standing on coffee. Everything is a lot messier now that you’ve decided you want to go back to school, but at least Jeongguk knows it keeps you busy when he’s away.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, as you’re sat down with one leg up around him still. He pokes at a spot on your leg and you squirm, “there’s another one.”

You peer to look, “Oh, yeah, that one’s you.”

“Oh.” He pauses, “Pretty, though.”

You huff like a little baby and he dares you with raised eyebrows. That keeps you silent and Jeongguk moves his body at an angle to the right, sweeping to kiss the bruise better, the bruise that he made a few nights ago with tender love and care.

“All better,” he assures.

“It feels better already.”

“Mm. Magic.”

(8) Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

“So, I was at a school fayre today.”

“Really?” Jeongguk sits with his laptop on his legs, and your legs are tangled around his body like some sort of jungle maze. He rarely works on his bed, not unless the work is sudden and he can’t help it. You’ve just come in, dived on the bed and claimed his waist as something to squeeze your legs around.

“Yep. Like, one of those little craft things where students sell their shit and make money from it. You know, supporting local artists! It’s really cute, if I was good at something I’d have participated.”

Jeongguk thinks of things you’re good at, and there’s a lot. “Aw. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah,” you reason. “Anyway- point is, is that I got you something.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, glancing over his right shoulder to see you, “Me?”

“Yep. You.”

“What did you get?” he asks, and then he’s back to checking blueprints.

You untangle your legs and slide off the bed, retreating to your bag slung across the room by the bedroom door. From here, you take out a small little pin-badge and when you’re sat next to Jeongguk again, you fiddle with it until it catches his attention.

“What’s this?” asks Jeongguk.

“It’s a badge of honour,” you claim, and you slip it into his palms. He fingers the front when he examines it, reading the little words of “Number One Dad” and he stares up at you. “Like it?”

“It’s for me?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You can wear it and like, I don’t know, think of me,” you shrug.

Jeongguk thinks for a moment. Even though it’s stupid, and cliche and a little bit embarrassing, he still thinks it’s funny and thoughtful.

“Want me to wear it to work?” he asks you.

“Oh, absolutely,” you encourage. “I’ll get Taehyung an uncle badge if he gets pissy.”

“Hey, you’re mine and he’s not allowed a relationship to you, no matter what definition,” Jeongguk pouts. “He wants a sugar niece, well...he’ll have to look somewhere else.”

You gape. “Wow. Who thought you had it in you to be so possessive.”

“Please, with a pussy like that of course I’m possessive,” he teases. He’s joking.

“My power,” you sigh anyway, and jump off the bed claiming that you’re hungry. Jeongguk looks at the badge again and pops it in his breast pocket before he loses it and regrets it.

(9) Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Jeongguk’s bored out of his brain.

He has no idea how you can be so fascinated by this stupid game where you’re essentially in debt, but he still sits and watches you tour him around this weird island that is inhabited by ducks and an ugly gorilla villager dressed in pink. And to think that he had a part to play in all of this, because his bank account definitely helped pay for this Nintendo Switch and game.

“Do you like my beach?” you ask him. It’s literally just sand and one coconut tree, and a few shells by the water. Oh, there’s a beach chair on there too, but it makes little difference. “I’m poor, I can’t afford furniture yet.”

“Can’t you just make it?”

“I can, but I’m sick of making axes to collect wood,” you explain with a grudge against the fact that tools now break in this Animal Crossing game. Jeongguk hums like he’s invested, and he tries to be, because he cares about you too much to unintentionally hurt your feelings by displaying his crippling disinterest.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Can I show you my hybrid flower garden?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you wanted to show me all of your island, right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Once you’ve had a tour, I can make you a profile and you can play too. You can live next door to me!”

“Why can’t we share a house?” Jeongguk presses.

“Because I don’t think it works like that, babe,” you confess. “Anyway. Here’s my garden.”

(10) Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

He’s tired. You’re tired.

The radio plays quietly updating Seoul on the fires that spread across the city today, and Jeongguk smells like smoke and salt. He keeps his head down as he eats his meal, something he brought home with him to make up for the fact that he’s been absent for almost a week now. You have so many things to say and he has so many things he needs to say to make up for everything, but nothing is said tonight.

You know he’s having a hard time, because Jeongguk’s been smoking again. He smoked on the balcony earlier, and once again in the bedroom. There are now ashtrays around your own apartment, and you don’t even smoke. Jeongguk takes a drink of bourbon and swallows it dry.

You look up at him from across the table, not wanting to press the issue when you know it’ll end in an argument, and then sex to make up for it. You’re both too tired to fuck today, too tired to speak. Just being in each other's company is enough for tonight. The only words he says are goodnight and something you don’t catch as you’re drifting off to sleep. Jeongguk’s awake all night, the fires burn until early hours, and the smoke smell is still there in the morning even when he isn’t.

[maleficar-writes]

Control

Pairing: The Darkling/Alina Starkov

Fandom: Shadow & Bone | The GrishaVerse

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, light bondage, sex magic, dirty talk

Summary: He was power crafted into flesh. But so was she.

Aleksander impresses the importance of control on Alina. She is a quick study.

On AO3: Link

They rode side by side, leaving the Little Palace and Os Alta behind them on a crisp, chilly day in late fall. Since the day at the well, he’d invited her out a handful of times—whenever he was at the Little Palace, he seemed to find an excuse to go riding with her.

Alina turned her eyes to the sky and wished he’d find an excuse to go riding with her. She probably hadn’t made it clear she was interested in him like that. After all, she’d dropped hints to Mal for years, but he never looked twice at her.

“Your lessons are progressing well?” Aleksander asked her, breaking the silence between them.

He rode like he was born for the saddle, all straight lines and confidence. He held the reins in one gloved hand, his other resting loosely in his lap.

With a sigh, Alina slouched in her saddle. She didn’t ride well at all—even without the comparison to him, she felt as uncomfortable on a horse as she did in her classes. She belonged in both places, but she fit wrong.

“Well enough.” She looked away from him, studying the passing trees with more interest than they deserved. “I can summon the light, at least.”

“Mmm.”

The sound of his agreement caressed the length of her spine. Her back arched, her shoulders rolling back, and when she glanced at him, she found him studying her.

“What?”

His brows lifted and he gave her a faint look of amusement. “You’ll need to do more than simply summon light at the Fete.”

Since she couldn’t scowl at the great General Kirigan, she dragged her eyes away from him and back to the trees just in time for them to give way to a broad meadow.

“Sometimes,” he said, “it helps to have a goal to work toward.”

He dismounted at the edge of the meadow, leading his horse toward a nearby post.

Head canted to the side, Alina followed and dismounted as well. “Why’s there a post here?”

“Old training field,” he replied, tying his horse and then hers.

“What’s here that will give me a goal?” She surveyed the field, barely managing to disguise her disbelief.

Aleksander gave her a dry look as he stepped around her, putting the horses at their backs. “Space.” He sounded incredibly amused by this, like he knew something she didn’t.

To be fair, he certainly did.

Frowning, she followed after him. “Why do we need this much space?”

The meadow was easy as big as the massive drive leading up to the Grand Palace. A critical examination of the meadow using all the skills she’d gained as a mapmaker told her they easily had the same area as a city block.

Aleksander stopped walking forward, and she stumbled to a halt half an inch away from his back.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You won’t see anything from there, Miss Starkov. Come—” She hoped the heat that washed through her at that word didn’t show on her face. “—and stand at my side.”

She joined him, watching him with curiosity.

He clasped his hands together behind his back.

Their shadows overflowed their boundaries, darkness welling up around their feet, their ankles. The sight of it no longer frightened her. Instead, he awed her as he brought his hands around his body, drawing more shadows from the distant edge of the meadow.

“Do you remember what I told you on our first ride to the Little Palace?”

Frankly, it was a blessing she’d forgotten the bulk of their terrifying flight across Ravka. At first, she’d dreamed of the Drüskelle’s death regularly. Had jolted awake from nightmares of his blood splashing her face all over again or, worse, the hand axe cracking into her skull. Now, the whole thing seemed like a lifetime ago.

Unsure if she should be embarrassed that she didn’t remember, she ducked her head. “No,” she answered honestly.

“The Cut,” he said, and her eyes jumped back to him.

She remembered that.

The Cut was a technique unique to Summoners, a shaping of power that required tremendous skill and concentration.

“I’ve seen the Cut,” she said, her voice low and soft. She didn’t know what might happen to all that power if she disrupted his concentration.

“So you have.” He held his hands before him, creating a crescent of writhing darkness in the air, holding the scythe-like edge.

Her eyes widened. To casually hold the power like that… how much power did Aleksander actually possess? What was the true extent of his abilities? She knew he was old, knew that meant he had considerably more power than the average Grisha, but—

“But we can do more with our power than just kill—than just destroy,” Aleksander said, a strange quality in his voice.

Darkness fell from his fingers in inky pools as he spread his hands wide, creating a plane of shadow. One of his hands slid beneath the darkness, as though supporting a tray, the fingers of his other hand danced over the plane, sculpting it slowly into a panorama.

Alina exhaled heavily with wonder, eyes wide as Aleksander made two forms out of shadow that walked together through a glade ringed by trees.

“We can create.” She felt his eyes on hers, but she couldn’t look away from what he’d crafted. “People think the small science has to be big.” His lips quirked, as if he found a joke in the small contradiction of his description.

Darkness collapsed on itself, folding into a small sphere no larger than a marble, but she felt the tremendous weight of it. Its gravity pulled her, and she stepped closer, enchanted by a kernel of midnight.

Aleksander turned his body toward hers. “The small science is small,” he said, his voice lowering. “It needn’t be a grand thing that overwhelms.” He lifted his hand between them, and she stared at the blackness, the emptiness, the void resting on the tips of his fingers. “Where is there shadow, Miss Starkov?”

Her eyes lifted to his. There was a lesson here, and she tried to divine the answer in the darkness of his eyes.

The corner of her lip quirked up.

Your eyes didn’t seem like an answer she could give him. “The night,” she said aloud.

“Think smaller. Where else is the darkness?” His eyes were fierce.

“Beneath the forest canopy.”

“Smaller still, Miss Starkov.”

She licked her lips. “In the space between you and me.”

Something shifted, an infinitesimally small change in his expression. There was darkness there, she thought. Darkness in his eyes.

“Smaller.”

“The hearts of men.”

“How philosophical.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “I—”

“You,” he interrupted, “are not wrong.” He spread his fingers wide, and the darkness stretched between them. “You find your piece of the science wherever you can. We are all things, Miss Starkov, that is the truth. And there is power in that.”

Lifting his other hand, he caught the strand of darkness and stretched it into a long, thin rope.

“And underpinning it all is control,” he said, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on hers. “The ability to exert your will on the world around you. If your power is everywhere, then you cannot be robbed of it.”

There was something important in that statement, but he gave her no time to pick through the labyrinth of his words.

“And if you can control it, you can never be overwhelmed.”

His hands turned in lazy circles, and she felt a coil of shadow against the inside of her wrist, cool as silk.

With a gasp, she lifted her hands as he drew them together, bound in a cord of darkness. She felt the pressure of another tendril of darkness against her throat, her waist, just below her knee.

Instead of feeling trapped, she felt a strange sort of liberation. If there was darkness in the hearts of men, there was also light, and his shadows were only so dark because her light shone so bright. He bound her in darkness, but she could destabilize his science with her own.

And that was power.

“Could I do this with light?” she asked him, studying her bound hands.

He caught his fingers beneath the knot of darkness, drawing her closer to him. He hadn’t hobbled her feet with his shadowy bindings, but she let herself fall against his chest.

His hand settled on her hip, holding her in place as he chuckled.

“Ah, Miss Starkov, how is it you so often surprise me?”

Since she’d arrived at the Little Palace, she’d thought of him often. At first, she’d been afraid of him. His reputation was as great and terrible as the Fold. He was solitary and given to isolation, they said, whoever they were, with exacting standards and little patience for mistakes. He was power crafted into flesh.

But so was she.

Now, when she thought of him, it wasn’t with fear. It was with respect—more respect than she’d had a moment before. And deeper, buried beneath the respect, was something else. Something hot and hungry, something full of craving.

Full of desire.

Lifting to her toes, her wrists still bound and her eyes on his, she pressed a tentative kiss against his mouth.

His eyes went wide and then drifted half closed, the hand on her hip curling into the heavy fabric of her kefta.

“Twice in as many minutes,” he murmured against her lips.

She shivered, finding the brush of his mouth against hers delicious. “I don’t think that was two minutes.”

“Are you suggesting I possess a poor sense of time?”

“Maybe.” Her lips curved in a faint smile. “Maybe you should release my hands and let me try this on you.”

His other hand found its way around the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers pushing into her hair to hold her close. The hand on her hip gripped her tighter, pulling her against the solid wall of his body.

She inhaled sharply, delighted and somewhat mystified by the sharp ache growing between her legs. She’d felt desire before, but it had always been a muted thing, easily set aside for the more pressing concerns of her own survival. Maybe she should be more concerned with her survival in this moment—he was dangerous, and to suggest he wasn’t was to believe a pretty lie—but all she wanted was to sink deeper into the feeling.

“You are Grisha.” Every word he spoke was like a kiss. Tingles spread from her lips to her jaw, along her scalp and down her spine. “Maybe you should practice your power.”

She hesitated. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

The hand on her hip curved to the small of her back. The heel of it pressed against her, urging her closer, and she was surprised to find there was still space between them, a space she quicky eliminated. Then his hand shifted lower, the tips of his fingers brushing over the swell of her ass.

Dark eyes watched her as his hand eased lower.

“Would you hold any part of yourself back from a lover?” he asked her, his voice low and rich and, Saints, she felt that sound. “Would you not use your hands to touch them?”

“Yes,” she breathed as his hand cupped her ass and tugged her flush against him. His arm kept her close, helped her maintain her balance.

“Would you not use your mouth to kiss them? To taste them?”

She swallowed hard, remembering all those times she’d imagined Aleksander’s mouth on hers. And on other parts of her.

“You’re imagining it now, aren’t you?”

She gasped as liquid darkness slipped over her arms. The bindings around her wrists stayed in place, but cool shadow drifted inside her sleeves and stroked over her skin. Tendrils of it, like so many cool fingers, dipped beneath her tunic and into her breeches.

Skin prickling with heat, she tried to tug her wrists apart.

“Where would you have me kiss you, Miss Starkov?”

“Alina,” she insisted.

“Alina,” he agreed, his voice a rough purr. “Will you dodge my question?”

She wasn’t sure she could answer his question. “I…”

He smiled and brushed his lips against her in the faintest caress.

Somehow, that devastated her more than any other sensation. She felt like she was falling even though he held her secure against his body.

“That wasn’t your original question,” she managed. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You worry about control.” Shadow licked along her thighs, following the curve of her ass, and she gasped, arching into him. His eyes darkened, becoming pools of midnight and desire. “That, Alina, is why we practice.”

He drew his mouth along her jaw, urging her head back and into the palm of his hand. A shuddering breath rushed out of her, tinged with a quieted moan. The heat of his breath washed over her skin, along the column of her throat, and his teeth followed.

Gasping, she yanked again at her hands. “You’re distracting me.”

“You’re not trying.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as he nudged aside the collar of her kefta and sucked on her skin. A reedy sound caught in her throat. “I could hurt you.”

“You could.” He licked the hollow of her throat. “I don’t believe you will, Alina.” He drew away from her neck, his nose following the curve of her jaw again. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and his teeth caught the lobe. He tugged, and pleasure shot through her like lightning, ricocheting through her body.

And lightning was light and light was her power and she summoned it without thinking. Sunlight shattered the bonds on her wrists as she sank her hands into his hair and yanked him back to her mouth.

Hungry little moans spilled from her lips to his as she kissed him. His hand on her ass flexed, and she arched her back to press into his touch, which only served to have him yank her closer to him again—where she felt the beginnings of his desire against her stomach, even though the heavy layer of her kefta.

“Summon again,” he whispered against her mouth, his hand sweeping over her hip and to the front of her kefta. Fingers of flesh and darkness pulled open her belt and buttons.

She shrugged out of the heavy jacket, letting it fall to the ground as her fingers yanked at his silvery buttons. “I don’t want to.”

As he had, she kissed along the length of his jaw and then down the line of his throat, trying to imitate how he’d licked and sucked on her skin.

The sound he made when her teeth raked over his pulse made her shudder—and drew light to the tips of her fingers.

His fingers stroked down her sides, caught the white chemise tucked into her breeches, and pulled it free. Warm, human fingers caressed her over her stays alongside more cool, silky darkness, and she cried out against the skin of his throat.

“Summon for me, Alina. Show me your control.”

Control? She was supposed to be in control? Now?

Aleksander’s hands spread over her ribs, his thumbs brushing over her breasts through the fabric of her stays.

Burning tension drew through her.

Shadow sank beneath fabric. Two cool coils curled against her nipples, and she gasped.

“Banish the darkness, Alina.”

How was she supposed to find control when he purred her name like that? When he touched her like this, like no one else ever had? When she—Saints, the revelation crashed through her like a spring storm come down from Fjerda. “I don’t want to,” she gasped.

He went still against her, drawing back to peer into her face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she met his gaze, keenly aware that she was already half undressed, and if she tilted her head to the side, she’d see the tunic beneath his doublet and his skin behind that.

“What do you want?” he asked softly, quietly, as if the words might break the world.

She freed the final buckle of his doublet, danced her fingers up his chest, and loosened the laces at his throat. She licked her lips.

Beneath the confines of her skin, she burned, and fire, too, was light. She drew on that burn, on her own desire, and spooled a thread of it to the tips of her fingers. They glittered gold as she let them wander over his skin, her eyes lifting slowly to his.

Light spun off her fingers, reflecting in the darkness of his eyes. She felt it like an extension of her body, drifting over his skin.

Against her sides, his hands tightened. His pupils dilated as she watched, as her light twisted against his flesh like his shadows had against hers. One arch of light ran over his nipples beneath his clothes.

He surged against her, capturing her mouth in a devastating kiss.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she held his mouth to hers. Their tongues met, tangled, and delirious heat wound through her. More light spilled from her fingers, spinning around them both like ribbons.

Just as much as his hands, his shadows pulled at her clothes, loosening her stays, the cords of her breeches.

Cognizant that she’d be naked faster than him, her hands dropped to his shoulders and then lower. She pulled at his clothes, too, until he broke away from their kiss.

One hand cupped her jaw. His forehead rested against hers. “Where is your line?” he asked her.

Saints, she didn’t know. She’d never done this before, but she’d also never wanted someone’s mouth on her skin as much as she wanted his.

As if sensing her hesitation, he began to draw back—and she knew she didn’t want that.

So she ran her hands down his sides, his hips, his thighs as she went slowly to her knees.

His breathing turned ragged. The look in his eyes scorched her.

She knew enough about sex to know all the ways people could play with each other. She knew that all the ways she wanted his mouth on her, he could have her mouth on him.

Emboldened by the way he looked at her, she brushed her lips against the hard line of his cock through his breeches before she spread her kefta on the ground and leaned back on it. She pulled the laces on her breeches open, letting the front panel sag low on her belly, and met his gaze with trembling anticipation.

As if mesmerized, he knelt between her legs. When he leaned over her, she felt sheltered by the shadow of his form instead of caged. His hands pressed into her kefta above her shoulders, and he hovered above her.

“I want—I want to feel—what you said earlier,” she managed, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Not because she didn’t want him to touch her, to taste her, but because this was new, and she didn’t quite know what she was doing, and she worried about disappointing him.

The hot look in his gaze, the ragged cadence of his breath, all told her she probably didn’t need to worry about disappointing him.

“My mouth on you?” he asked.

She nodded.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto his forearms. His fingers threaded into her hair at her temples, and he kissed her slow and long, his mouth lingering on hers as though she were a treat to savor.

With a groan, she arched against the air, seeking the weight and comfort of his body and frustrated when she didn’t find it.

His tongue licked into her lips as he obliged her, settling against her.

She gasped into their kiss to feel him between her legs—she’d never thought too much about how she might feel the line of a man’s cock through his clothes and against her body, but, Saints, she adored it. The weight of him, the feel of him, filled her with a gnawing need.

“Is that all you want?” he asked her, each word its own kiss.

She licked her lips. Licked his lips. Gasped when that made him groan and roll his hips hard against hers.

Oh, but she liked that. Loved that. Sliding her palms down his back, she curved her hands over his ass and urged him to move like that against her again.

With a moan, her head fell back and her body arched in a sinuous line against his. More friction, more pleasure, and she lost his question in the labyrinth of fire his body created against hers.

“Alina.”

Her name on his lips only made her want more, only served to make her burn brighter.

“Alina.” He tipped her face back towards her, and she felt shadows on her legs again. The silky darkness curled around her calves, and she felt them release the buckles of her boots.

That. She needed to learn that.

“Tell me, Alina. Do you want more than my mouth on you?” The mouth in question drifted against her cheek, the whiskers of his beard a delicious rasp against her skin. “Do you want my shadows on your naked skin?”

“Yes,” she gasped, driving her fingers beneath his tunic. Grateful, she was so grateful men didn’t wear stays, because the thought of having to get through more fabric to feel his skin beneath her palms was abhorrent.

“Do you want to feel those shadows inside you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He timed that question with a slow, languid roll of his hips against hers so she couldn’t mistake his meaning.

And she didn’t. Her nails curled into his skin, pulling a hiss that dissolved into a wicked chuckle from him. “Yes. And—and then—”

“And then?” he prompted, when she didn’t finish.

Her teeth caught her lower lip. Talking about this seemed strange, but she liked it. It was difficult to put all these secret desires into words, but when she did, those words made her burn. Made her ache. Speaking her desires aloud only made her want them more.

“And then you.” She turned her head, her mouth stroking lightly against his cheek as he groaned and rocked against her again. “I want to feel you inside me, Aleksander.” He trembled against her, and she ached with pleasure. As much as he could unmake her like this, she had the power to do the same to him. “With your shadows around my wrists.”

She didn’t know what to make of the sound that escaped him, but then he kissed her with such a savage hunger, she realized she didn’t care. He liked the idea, and she burned for it.

Shadows and hands stripped her of her clothes. He held her back in an arch as inky darkness took her shirt; his mouth smoothed over her chest as pale hands pushed her stays off her shoulders.

He didn’t pause to draw back and stare at her. Instead, his tongue traced an ever-tightening circle around her breasts before he reached her nipple. He sucked the little nub between his lips as she cried out his name. His thumb dragged back and forth over the other as shadows pulled off and discarded her boots.

Thinking around the wet heat of his mouth proved nearly impossible, but she did manage to create thin, wavering tendrils of light. The heat from her light kept her from shivering—though she thought the heat from their bodies and desire would work just as well—and made him arch and twist against her body in the most delicious ways. Still, she couldn’t strip him naked as he’d stripped her, and she wanted to. Saints, she wanted to. Wanted to use her power the way he did.

“You’ll learn,” he murmured against her underside of her breast.

“Now you’re content with letting me take my time?”

He grinned at her, and that grin made him seem so much younger than he was. “Never.”

Shifting away from her, he settled on his knees between her legs, both of them shirtless. His gaze drifted over her body, and the heat in his eyes made her squirm.

A muscle in his jaw flexed as he muttered a coarse oath. “Watching you move—” He broke off, running his hands up her thighs. One of those hands curved inward, and now his eyes fixed on hers.

Curled knuckles brushed against her breeches.

She let out a shuddering little sigh and rocked toward his hand. “Please,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks flame.

Aleksander’s knuckles brushed against her cunt through the fabric of her pants.

Alina frowned.

He burst out laughing, leaning over her again. “That’s not the look you want to see on your lover’s face.” He kissed her, and she felt his hand shift, felt his palm cup her. The heel of his hand pressed against her pubic bone, and the frown melted into a wide-eyed look of delight. Of awe.

“That,” she gasped.

“Good?”

Her hips twisted, her body moving to push his hand to the right place. She’d touched herself, she knew what she wanted to feel, knew—

A keening moan fell from her lips, and he devoured the sound with a greedy kiss

His hand rocked against her, finding a rhythm with her, until she burned beneath him and mewls of pleasure became broken pleas for more.

“I promised you my mouth,” he reminded her as she carded her fingers in his hair to hold his lips against hers for more of those kisses.

Torn between two wants, she groaned. “Didn’t think this would be so hard,” she groused.

His brow arched.

“I want everything all at once.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Stay still,” he told her, resting his forehead on hers again. His hand shifted away from her cunt, petting up and down her side as he closed his eyes.

She watched him, curious—and then she felt it. The swell of power, a cresting rise of cool shadow sliding over her belly. It shifted and rolled, shaping with his will into—

Alina jerked when a cool mouth brushed between her legs beneath the fabric of her pants.

Above her, Aleksander’s eyes opened. “Not too strange?” he asked as those cool lips kissed her thighs, her clit. As they kissed her entrance—as a cool tongue flicked against her.

She jerked again, her hips arching against his. She writhed, seeking the weight of his body between her legs and getting only the delicious torment of ephemeral shadow.

“Intoxicating.” His thumbs brushed over her lips as she twisted and arched beneath him, her eyes fluttering shut so she could focus on the feeling, the building pressure and pleasure and heat.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, clutching him against her body as she sucked one of his thumbs between her lips. She needed something, some kind of action to help alleviate the tension inside her. Instead, grasping him close and sucking on him only made her ache more, only made her burn brighter.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.” The dark timbre of his voice shook her. The cool touch of the tongue between her legs made her keen.

That shadow tongue curled around her clit and she sobbed his name.

“Fuck, Alina.”

The coarse language should have offended her. Instead, it inflamed her.

“Not enough,” he muttered, and one tongue of shadow became two.

The first continued flicking back and forth over her clit. The other thrust into her entrance, and her back bowed beneath him.

“Still not enough.”

His hand smoothed over her belly as she turned her face against his neck. Her hips worked hard against his shadows, shadows that continued to torment her when his hand slipped beneath her pants and cupped her.

The heat of his touch snapped the tension coiling inside her.

She came with a broken sob, her nails raking down his back. Pleasure overwhelmed her, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t quite the feeling she craved. There was no weight to the mouths on her, and nothing of him was inside her.

“Please,” she gasped, trembling beneath him. “You promised.”

“I did.”

Aleksander slid down the length of her body, those shadow mouths continuing their sweet torment as more tendrils of darkness pulled her pants down her legs. She kicked them aside, and he slid his hands beneath her ass, lifting her off her kefta.

She thought she should be embarrassed when his eyes landed on her naked cunt, slick with her orgasm, but those mouths never stopped tasting her, never stopped tormenting her. It almost felt like too much.

Then his mouth, his hot, wet, hungry mouth descended on her, and she realized she’d been very fucking wrong.

Alina’s fingers dove into his hair. She heard herself beg for more as his lips closed around her clit and sucked, as shadow mouths wrapped around her nipples and tormented her entrance. One hand yanked away from his hair to drive through her own. She didn’t know what to do with herself, what part of his body or hers to touch, how to alleviate the wicked, demanding ache he created once more inside her.

And then, as his tongue flicked against her clit, painting strange patterns on her flesh that made her keen his name, ephemeral shadow became somehow solid. It pushed into her, parting slick folds to fill her, and she knew without any doubt that otkazat’sya men would never be able to give her what she’d crave with sex because she’d always want this—this slick, wicked science, this combination of magic and flesh.

He must have remembered what she’d said to him, because as her hands wandered through his hair, over his shoulders, over her own breasts, shadow coiled around them. Darkness tethered her wrists, pinning them together over her head.

With no outlet, all she could do was feel. Wet heat. Cool silk. Insistent tugs of his mouth, the hot flick of his tongue. She sobbed his name, and the darkness swirled inside her cunt, filling her with power. It dragged along tender flesh, stroking her as he withdrew it, and filled her with a raging fire when he pushed it back into her.

She came a ragged cry, her hips arching against his mouth, against the shadows that filled her.

He grasped her hips and drew himself up her body. His mouth crashed against hers in a brutal kiss. She drowned in it, in sensation, in wet and wicked heat as his fingers petted between her legs and her cunt rippled and clenched around the darkness still inside her.

“You’re delicious,” he whispered against her mouth as she writhed beneath him, twisting against the shadows tethering her arms and against his body above hers. “You still want me—”

Her eyes snapped open and met his. “If you don’t give me what I want, I will learn the Cut just to use it on you.”

That didn’t motivate him, but it did make him lick at her lips. “What do you want, Alina?”

She groaned, her heels scrabbling over the rough grass, her hips arching into his stroking fingers.

“Do you want me inside you?” The murmured words were decadent against her lips, better than any sweet she’d ever eaten. “Do you want my cock stretching your sweet cunt open?” Two fingers slid inside her, the heat of him replacing the cool darkness, and she cried out with delicious shock. How good his fingers felt, burning hot by comparison to his shadows. “Do you want me to fill you until you can’t take anymore? To grind myself against you until you’re begging for me to move?”

She had no idea how good the fantasy he painted might actually feel, but her body certainly wanted it. She felt her cunt squeeze around his fingers, an involuntary contraction that made her moan.

He shifted over her, drawing his fingers out of her. She dragged her eyes open to watch him pull back and strip off his pants. Had just enough time to see his cock, hard and flushed, before he leaned back over her. The head of it nudged against her entrance, his fingers playing once more against her cunt—as much to torment her, she was sure, as to guide his cock into her.

But he didn’t push inside. Instead, he lingered at her entrance, and the tease was unbearable.

“Please,” she gasped, arching, twisting, yanking hard against the shadows that pinned her arms above her head.

He gave her the most infuriating smile—lopsided, smug. “We came here for a lesson,” he reminded her, bending his lips to her chest. He nipped her skin at the swell of one breast, making her jump beneath him, only to soothe the sting with a long stroke of his tongue. Still his cock nudged her entrance but didn’t push into her. “Call the light, Alina.”

For the first time, summoning was easy. She burned, she ached, her skin stretched tight over the swell of glittering pleasure, and that was all her power. She drew it through her body from her hands, and it sparkled over her arms and down her chest, casting scintillating patterns on his skin.

“Collect it, shape it,” he murmured. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Show him? The fact that she could summon while he drove her out of her mind should have been enough, but of course he’d expect more from her.

“Come now, Alina.” Fuck him for that phrasing. “Impress me.”

She shuddered beneath him, trying to separate herself from the pleasure he’d coaxed through her so far. She couldn’t, not entirely—she didn’t want to—but she found a quiet place in her mind where the pleasure was warm and soft instead of an inferno, and in that space she urged it into a shape.

Light formed into a tongue, and she ran it from the base of his cock to the tip.

He arched sharp against her with a curse, burying himself in her cunt in a single stroke, and Alina moaned his name as she arched beneath him. Full, she felt so delicious full, and though there was a slight discomfort in the first second, that faded a moment later when her cunt rippled around him.

A different sort of pleasure spread through her, and she purred.

Her eyes opened. He stared down at her, his expression the most delicious combination of aroused and surprised and delighted. A lopsided, smug smile spread across her lips, a mirror of his from earlier.

“Impress me,” she said.

With a ragged chuckle, he bent his mouth to hers. “With pleasure, solnishko.”

He drew back slowly, and she sighed with pleasure. He thrust back into her, her hips arching to meet him, and she moaned. As he found an easy pace with her, she let herself down in the sweet friction.

The bonds around her wrist stretched. Fingers twined around her own, and she held them tight as he fucked her in long, easy strokes. Each time he pushed into her, her back bowed, and her body softened more.

She lost herself in their back and forth, content to float in the warmth of their shared pleasure. But he didn’t let her for long. His lips brushed against her ear. “Once more for me,” he told her.

She recognized the warning in those words a moment later when shadow tongues licked against her clit.

Electric pleasure strung her tight. Now, she clutched at the shadow hands holding her own as silky darkness licked her, as cool fingers stroked the swollen lips of her cunt. He played with her, layering her pleasures until she gasped his name and begged for him. Only then did he replace one shadow hand with his own and the shadows between her legs with his fingers.

The heat of him ruined her, shattered her. She came with his name on her lips, and he followed her mere seconds later, his body shuddering over hers.

They lay together, panting, for a long moment. Then he drew back, the cool shadows retreating as his cock slipped out of her body. Instead of pulling away entirely, he settled at her side, giving her most of the kefta.

She turned toward him, her fingers brushing over his jaw, his lips, his shoulders. “Are all your lessons in control going to turn out like this?” she asked him.

He made a thoughtful expression.

Scooting closer, Alina pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I’ve an idea for another lesson if you don’t.”

His brow arched. “Do you?”

“I want to try binding your wrists with light.” Interest flashed in his eyes, and she smiled. “I want to push you into your chair in the war room and bind your hands to its arms. Then I want to climb onto you and ride you.”

He stared at her, the look on his face equal parts aroused and bewildered. “You—”

“I grew up near farms,” she reminded him. “And then joined the military. Believe me: I have plenty of ideas for lessons.”

“You think you can keep control long enough to keep me bound to that chair?” he asked, a wicked growl in his voice.

Her body responded to that tone with a wash of pleasure, and she found herself hungry for more of him even though they’d just finished. Part of her wondered if that was normal—and she got her answer when he rolled her beneath him.

“The minute your control breaks, solnishko, I’m going to put you on your back on that table and fuck you until your screams summon the guards at a run.”

Wrapping her arms and legs around him, Alina grinned. “Maybe I’ll make you beg for that.”

With his face buried in her neck, he laughed. “I hope you do.”

[modern-vellichor]

In Her Blood

Epilogue

Summary: Bucky visits you in Paris

Warnings: Smoking, age gap relationship, language (profanity and french),

a/n; also please please please dont leave padlocks on the Ponts des Arts it is so bad for the bridge, it has collapsed before :(

He gets your address from Sam, saying that he's going to keep you company for Thanksgiving. He doesn't tell you he's coming, he cant sit still. His leg bounces the whole flight, much to the dismay of other passengers. He tries to sleep, to fix his internal clock, but he's too excited.

When he finally lands, its overwhelming. You spoke so highly of it, but he was still taken aback by the beauty of the city. He likes to think that he would never get used to a view like that, but he knows he would.

He rushes to your apartment building, ancient brick with dark oak doors, rustic and foreign. He stands impatiently in the elevator to the 4th floor. He knocks on your door a little harder than intended, and a man opens the door.

"Bonjour?", he says, confused. "Puis-je vous aider?"

He stumbles for a moment, mind going blank. He mumbles to the man in front if him.

"is Y/N here?", he tried to learn the French on the plane, but it was lost on him.

"Y/N? oui"

He called your name, then he heard you shout back, annoyed.

"Une minute!"

He calls you again, and you repeat the simple phrase, more frustrated until you're storming over.

"Bonjour! Puis-je vous aid-"

When your gaze meets his you stop talking, taken aback. You shake your head and kick back into action. "Hi, Hey", you pull him into a hug. "How are you?"

"good, good", he mumbles into your neck.

When you pull away, you're beaming.

"Bucky, this is Claude, my roommate"

Bucky waves awkwardly, then you turn to Claude, voice laced with a thick accent.

"Il s'appelle Bucky. Il est mon petit ami"

Claude laughs, shakes his head and turns back into the kitchen.

"come in, come in"

You usher him into your cramped apartment, occasionally Claude will say something, and you retort quickly with a sarcastic tone, until eventually you're ushering Bucky out of the building and into early autumn French air.

Your fingers are intertwined as you swing your arms back and forth, talking lazily about the streets around you as he gazes in awe. He swoons when he listens to you order 'deux cafés au lait'. You briefly explain the little history you know about the buildings around you, until you're halfway across the Pont des Arts, and you realise Bucky is no longer at your side. You look around, frantic for a moment before you spot him a few steps behind you, toying with a lock attached to the bridge. He looks faraway, and a little sad.

"Buck?", you say tenderly, squeezing his bicep. "what's wrong?"

He jingles the padlock as an answer, drawing your attention to the weight in his hand.

'Bucky and Y/N' is carved messily into the lightly rusted metal. There are tests welling in his eyes before he blinks them away.

"when'd you do this?", he sniffles.

"a couple weeks back, why?"

"nothing, just wondering", he says with a smile, pulling you into his side with a kiss, continuing on your walk.

Dinner that evening was a strange affair. Bucky had never seen so much food in his entire life, but you and Claude weren't even paying attention. After a brief and seemingly aggressive argument, Claude finally addressed Bucky in English, much to his surprise. And after that, the evening went smoothly until the sleep deprivation was catching up with Bucky, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. You chuckled kindly at him, leading him away from the table and into your bedroom.

It was cozy, several small plants lining your windowsill, dark green walls covered in various string lights and photos. Textbooks were stacked neatly onto shelves and the surface of your desk. You pulled the curtains shut, tucking Bucky into your bed and kissing his forehead before turning out the light and returning to the kitchen.

Bucky stirred in his sleep a little over and hour later, when you were readying yourself for bed. Old flannel pants and a shirt that Bucky was sure had, at one point, belonged to Steve. You mumbled an apology as you crawled into bed next to him, curling yourself against his body, he was always so warm, heat radiating off of him like a furnace.

Your legs tangled together, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders while you clung to his waist. He pressed kisses to your cheeks and neck, leaving playful bites on your shoulders. Theres a faint scar from when he drew blood a few weeks back, but its long healed and faded. He whispers a faint 'I love you' into your hair.

"why'd you come?", you choke out between yawns.

"I wanted to see you, I missed you", he states plainly, but you're not having it.

"you could have called", you drawl as if it's obvious, "but you flew all the way here. Why?"

"I needed to see you, I missed you, all of you, and I couldn't wait until you were back to sneak around your parents again. I need all of you", he pleads, his voice is desperate and raspy, nervousness coming out in shakes and pants.

You pull him closer, holding him against your body. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, his breathing shallow. You trace circles into his bare back, pressing a kiss to his head and murmuring; "you can have all of me"

@vicmc624 @adriannajackson @zizzlekwum @chipilerendi @madaroni37 @spameloearie

[glimmerglanger]

(Fighting the urge to apologize for horniness) Can I request to see more of the scene where they ~make love~? (right at the end of chapter 9). The sex scenes in slo!au were so visceral, even if they weren’t affected by the heat they still would be out of their minds just because of how much they want each other. The idea of them making love, stretching it out for hours slow and sweet- I’ll probably start tearing up before the horniness even kicks in 😅

YOU CERTAINLY MAY! :D I know there was a bit of a delay in this one, as I decided right away I wanted it for spicy week because it was so good. :D

SPICY AND NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS, but not warnings.

~~~~~~~~~

Cody pulled Obi-Wan closer, still not quite believing that he’d been so wrong. They had more to talk about - so much more to discuss - but it was hard to think about that with Obi-Wan melting into his embrace, mouth soft and welcoming as Cody kissed him. 

They’d never kissed outside of a heat, before, and Cody found that it was not, really, so different. Obi-Wan always kissed with a stunning amount of focus, giving and sweet and unhurried. Cody had no idea how other people kissed, and no real desire to find out; he couldn’t imagine that anyone did it better than Obi-Wan, currently cupping both sides of his face and sucking on his lower lip.

He’d awoken that morning aware that Obi-Wan was about to fall over into a heat and he’d gone to - to offer what assistance he could, because the thought of Obi-Wan having to go find some stranger to help him, after all he’d gone through, had cut inside his chest. He’d been willing to ignore the pain of - of having something so close to what he wanted, of having Obi-Wan’s body but not his heart, but--

“Force,” Obi-Wan murmured, against his mouth, as Cody nudged him back one step and then another, and another, until they reached the bed. 

The sheets were still a mess from earlier. Most of the blankets were, in fact, on the floor. Cody avoided them, breaking the kiss just long enough to sit on the mattress, tugging Obi-Wan after him.

He ended up sprawled across a damp spot on the sheets, and didn’t even care. In fact, he felt a little kick of pride in his gut as Obi-Wan stretched out beside him, arm curled around his shoulders, falling right back to kissing him.

Cody would have, happily, kissed Obi-Wan for the rest of the night, if that was what he’d wanted, but he couldn’t suppress a little shiver of relief when Obi-Wan started tugging at his belt. He’d been hard for what felt like an age, since the moment they’d fallen into an embrace, despite all of their… earlier activities.

He shifted up, pulling off the white tunic - he liked it much better than the armor he’d grown used to wearing - and grabbing his black undershirt. Obi-Wan made a thick little sound, and Cody found him staring, openly, after he threw his shirt to one side.

Cody couldn’t help a quirk of his mouth, a swell of pleasure at the glazed look in Obi-Wan’s eyes and the want written across his expression. “I want to touch you,” Obi-Wan said, in the same tone he’d used before he - he licked across Cody’s cock, earlier, and Cody shivered, because that was a memory he was going to cherish for the rest of his life.

“By all means,” he said, and Obi-Wan moved towards him, all predatory grace, pushing him onto his back and leaning down to kiss his mouth, his jaw, further back. Obi-Wan’s skin was cooler than his - always was - and his hands were strong, his fingers roughened with calluses and scars, but he was infinitely gentle.

Obi-Wan touched him so carefully, running his palms across Cody’s chest, out to his shoulders, his breath escaping in a little stuttering rasp against Cody’s throat, his beard a rasp against tender skin.

Cody pulled him a little closer, a hand in the small of his back, delighted to feel how hard Obi-Wan was, pressing against his leg, groaning when Obi-Wan rocked against him, with a hungry little sound.

“Let me see you, too,” he murmured, tugging at Obi-Wan’s tunics. It would feel so much nicer, he thought, if they were all skin to skin. Obi-Wan made a little sound, agreeable, pulling at his clothes while shifting up to kiss Cody’s mouth again.

Cody knew so many of the scars across Obi-Wan’s body; he’d been there when the injuries that left them behind occured. The majority he didn’t know; they’d been set against skin before he’d ever met Obi-Wan. He had questions about a hook of raised flesh at Obi-Wan’s side, and a series of jagged lines over his back, but…

But they’d spoken enough, for one day. He only traced them with his fingers, feeling Obi-Wan shiver against him, arching into the touch. Obi-Wan had not, he thought, ever been touched enough. Cody planned to fix that, he’d already developed strategies, and--

And they fell out of his head when Obi-Wan worked free the closures on his pants and slid his hand past the waistband. 

“Force,” Cody gritted out, because Obi-Wan’s hands always felt so good on him, most especially wrapped around his cock. He shoved at the waistband, trying to give Obi-Wan more room to work, feeling him smile. 

Obi-Wan kept touching him as he kicked his own blasted pants off, kept touching him as Cody pushed him back on the bed and tugged at his Force-damned trousers. It was… distracting. But Cody knew how to focus through distraction, through the ache of want in his blood, making a victorious sound when he managed to make Obi-Wan utterly naked.

There were a few marks, here and there, across Obi-Wan’s skin. He’d left them behind earlier, with his mouth and his hands. Seeing them left a shivery little feeling in his gut. Every time they’d shared a heat before, he’d only imagined the marks he left behind. There’d been no chance to look on them, and his cock twitched in Obi-Wan’s grip.

“You’re so kriffing beautiful,” he rasped, pressing closer all at once, needing to kiss Obi-Wan again. Obi-Wan made a surprised, pleased sound, arching up against him. His hand caught between them for a moment, before he slid it around Cody’s hip, gripping at his back, instead.

There was no rush to touching him. Cody just... shifted against him, slow and steady, enjoying the drag of skin on skin, the wet smears of Obi-Wan’s slick on his legs, which tightened his gut and made him groan in the back of his throat.

Nothing in the kriffing galaxy felt quite as good as tangling together with Obi-Wan, and the sense memory of sinking into him was so sharp and clear in his mind. Obi-Wan shifted against him, arm slung across his shoulders as he drew a leg up, welcoming Cody to press a little closer, cock sliding on slick skin and--

“I want you,” Obi-Wan panted out, right against his mouth, canting his hips up, all red and flushed across his cheeks and throat, “Please, would you--”

And Cody saw no reason to make him ask twice. He curled fingers around Obi-Wan’s thigh, hitching his leg a little higher and, oh, sinking into him felt like coming home. He went slow - well aware of how tender Obi-Wan had to be, from his earlier heat - and careful, Obi-Wan gasping against his mouth as he settled.

They rocked together, slowly. Cody braced an elbow on the bed, staying close to trade shivery kisses. Obi-Wan held onto him, tightly, his cock caught between their stomachs, shifting against skin with each slow, deep thrust.

Time - the entire rest of the world - slipped out of focus. Cody couldn’t bring himself to care about anything outside of their bed, anything but the taste of Obi-Wan’s mouth and the way his eyes were glazed, the way he held on and started to cry out, sharp, with each movement.

Obi-Wan’s orgasm took him by surprise - perhaps it took Obi-Wan by surprise, too, for he groaned loudly as his cock jerked between them, making a mess all over them both. Even that felt far away as his body clenched and squeezed, sudden pressure that dragged Cody after him all in a rush.

He swore, dazed, pushing in one last time, his knot swelling, leaving them together, which was, he thought, perfect.

[bloomyn]

Here’s a prompt! How about Sanemi freaking the heck out when his s/o doesn’t return from a supposed “short and easy” mission and she turns up days later barely standing at his front door? I just love your writing btw :o✨

pairing: sanemi shinazugawa x reader

tags: fluff, also it got kind of angsty , but happy ending

word count: 930

warnings: mentions of blood

prompt: Here’s a prompt! How about Sanemi freaking the heck out when his s/o doesn’t return from a supposed “short and easy” mission and she turns up days later barely standing at his front door? I just love your writing btw :o✨

a/n: okay i was rlly scared no one was actually going to request so thank you! 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

sanemi paced back and forth.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you weren't supposed to be gone, you two shouldn’t have been arguing, and why the hell weren’t you back yet? guilt was starting to, no, guilt had already eaten him up. looking down he could see his fingers quaking,  and it wasn’t till he looked into the mirror that he realized how torn up he looked. 

“ i don’t need you here!” sanemi shouted, slamming his hands on the table. “why the fuck are you even still here!”

you just wanted to see if he was okay. you couldn’t stand the idea of sanemi struggling and bottling all those feelings up. and this was probably the result of that. why couldn’t he understand that you loved him, that you just wanted to BE there for him. your lips were quivering now, everything told you to run into his arms and tell him you loved him that you only wanted the best, but your logic told you he needed to figure this out. so you took a deep breath and raised your eyes to meet his. until your crow came crashing through the window.

-

“how long will you be gone,” sanemi whispered. 

“why do you care.”

you could see him clench his fists from the corner of your eyes. and you softened. 

“two days max.”

sanemi watched as you tightened your uniform and pulled your haori over it. watching the way your hands fixed your hair and adjusted your sword. he wanted to say sorry. he wanted to say that you were the person he loved most in the world and he was so damn stupid and he was sorry and he was so  so  sorry. he wanted to get up and hold you and tell you not to go just yet because dammit he wasn’t going to let you leave with all this shit in the air. but he didn’t. 

you were already halfway to the door waiting for him to say something, anything. but his eyes were closed and his fists at his side, so you left.

-

that was five days ago. you said two days max. sanemi was on the verge of storming to the demon slayer headquarters, demanding to know where you had been sent and exactly what the fuck kind of demon you had been sent to deal with. 

but then his heart started to sink. what if you had chosen not to come back. what if, no, no you wouldn’t have. his chest was heaving now, his arms were shaking and he could feel his jaw go numb, and then start to ache. goddamn it. he had never been so torn up, not about anyone. especially not a lover. 

and then he felt a presence outside the door. someone was here. refocusing his energy he drew his sword, eyes narrowing as he approached the door. and then the shadow whimpered. 

“-nemi?”

dropping his sword sanemi rushed to the door and there you were, bruises coiling around your arms and legs and blood dripping down the side of your face. but what punched sanemi in the gut was the look in your eyes, sorrow and anger. he lifted you bridal style rushing you to an empty room.

“what happened?!? what’s wrong? where does it hurt?”

everything in sanemi was panicking and you could see it. gently you raised your hand to his cheek, stroking his cheekbone. he wrapped his fingers around your wrist feeling your pulse.

“ -nemi im going to be okay, it’s just the gash on my forehead i promise.” you whispered. “everything else is just day old bruises and annoying cuts.”

your words didn’t stop his eyes from watering up. 

“well i mean the most annoying ones are on my legs. that demon was just an entire nuisance by itself i;”

he cut you off with a hug, pulling you up and burying his face in the juncture of your neck. you could feel his breaths on your back, ragged and wet. 

“i thought you weren’t coming back,” he admitted, “i thought you left, i thought i did it, i thought i forced you to leave but i never want you to leave.”

it was your turn to start crying. 

“ i was just scared.” he continued, “i was scared that maybe you cared to much but i realized i’d rather be afraid of caring too much that having you not here with me at all. fuck.”

he tightened his grip. “ i love you. and i’m sorry.”

you two could’ve stayed there forever, finding solace in each others warmth, even if both your haori’s were now damp with tears. but then a drop of blood landed on your arms and you jolted back. sanemi leaned back to see what had happened and was met with the gash on your forehead.

“oh . yeah. “

bonus:

you were tucked into sanemis arms, his heartbeat audible through his chest. 

“.....ou.”

“hm?” you looked up at your boyfriend’s half-closed eyes. he mumbled against your hair.

“i cant hear you.”

he looked down, gazing intently into your eyes.

“ i said i hope our kids are like you.”

your face looked like it belonged in a manga. 

“k-kids? you want to have kids with me? like a family?

he rolled his eyes.

“yeah obviously dumbass. wait, did you want to get married first? because i already have a ring.”

“you already have a ring?!!”

“ i know i know! but you know...  i just. you know.”

you planted a kiss on the underside of the jaw.

“yeah, i know.”

[hollywoods-golden-age-imagines]

Meeting and Dating Cosmo Brown

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Cosmo while attending one of Monumental Studios movie premieres and after parties as a photographer. You were the only one to snap a few photos of the handsome piano player once he arrived which immediately drew his attention to you. And what a sight stood behind those blinding flashes.

- He quickly composed himself and joined the announcer at the microphone just as Don and Lina showed up. He took the opportunity to sneak a long glance at you as you struggled to keep your place in the front of all the pushing cameramen. You finally fell back, dissapointedly giving up as you waited for the event to start.

- It wasn’t until everyone arrived at the after party that he spotted you again, though that wasn’t for lack of trying; he searched the entire dark theater for you. He made a beeline towards where you were stood, dodging people left and right as he did so.

- You looked at him a bit timidly, thinking you might have done something wrong, before he introduced himself to you and started to make conversation.

- He pretty much proceeded to tail you for the rest of the night, speaking with you as you went around snapping photos. You really didn’t mind, it was nice not being completely ignored at an event for once.

- You’d managed to snap a photo of Lina, post-cake throw which he amusedly told you you had to print him a copy of.

- By the end of the night, the two of you were pretty well acquainted. You began to pack your things, saying goodbye to him as you did so, assuming you’d never really see each other again. That was when he slipped you a sheet of paper with his name and number on it, telling you that it was so you could give him “that picture”.

- You smiled, nodded and wished him a goodnight just as your taxi pulled up to take you away.

- A week later and you were meeting up with the man, framed photo in hand and a smile on your face. He was ecstatic when you handed it to him, telling you how great it was and explaining how rotten Lina was most of the time so you didn’t think he was too cruel. He even promised you an opportunity to photograph Don as a thank you which you gladly accepted.

- It was during that photoshoot that he asked you out on a date; partly due to Dons insistence and threats. He was genuinely surprised when you agreed but boy did he look happy when he realized what you said.

- He took you to an amusement park for your first date. The two of you walked around the place riding everything you could, talking to each other and buying small snacks to eat. You wound up kissing his cheek while the two of you rode the Ferris wheel which prompted him to lean over and lay one on you.

- He was half-expecting you to slap him but he was more than glad that you didn’t. Even though the two of you kissed, he was still a little hesitant when asking if you’d be seeing each other again which you found quite adorable. You obviously agreed and soon enough, you were official.

- He likes to give as much pda as he can get away with. He’s so proud of you and wants everyone to now that you’re together. 

- He often calls you “his better half” or just “beautiful”. He’s incredibly fond of pet names and uses them all the time. 

- Your kisses always make him, at least a little, flustered and giddy, especially when he doesn’t expect them. His ears and cheeks turn a cute shade of red whenever you surprise him with one. 

- Complimenting people is something he’s learned to do well over the years but he must admit, he likes complimenting you far more than he does Don, Lina, or anyone else. 

- He’s not too crazy about movies; he deals with them everyday, he prefers to do something else when you’re looking to have a date. 

- Going dancing. Doesn’t matter what music plays; he’ll always be the best one out on the dance floor. 

- Bowling dates. 

- Rollerskating together. 

- Long dates that carry into the late hours of the evening. He’s a sucker for a goodnight kiss no matter how long you’ve been dating. 

- Handholding; he likes to swing your hands back and forth lightly. 

- He’s sort of shy when it comes to girls so it takes him a little while to really warm up to being in a relationship. When you first started dating, he was always unsure of what to do and when to do it. 

- Pecks on the lips and cheeks. 

- You like to jokingly call him a shadow what with him following either you or Don around constantly. 

- He always tries to be as close to you as he can. He just really likes being next to and touching you. 

- Sitting in his lap. Don’t have a chair? This boy will literally kneel on the floor so you can sit on his leg. 

-  He enjoys sleeping with his face in your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist in a hug. It’s a nice view to wake up to. 

- He can make just about anything into a song. You often catch him singing your name while wandering around. 

- Getting to listen to him play piano whenever you want, he thinks the praise and look on your face make it completely worth it. 

- Nobody ever really pays any attention to him so he adores it whenever you do.  He has a tendency to try and make listening to him worth your while; jokes, amusing stories, etc, because he thinks you should be somewhat compensated for doing so since no one else does. You always assure him that he doesn’t have to worry and that he could never bore or disappoint you. 

- He greatly enjoys being able to impress you, showing off his different impressive and comedic skills. He’s really a talented individual. 

- Making faces at each other. 

- Reading The Funnies together. It’s part of your morning routine.

- This man loves to hear you laugh and see you smile; it’s his favorite thing in the entire world. He’s constantly fooling around and telling jokes in an effort to see you do so. He’s a professional jokester so it’s pretty easy for him to have you in stitches. 

- Doing impressions of each other or other people. You may not be as skilled at doing so as he is but he loves it anyway. 

- Getting to hear his stories and the truth behind Don’s actual rise to success. It’s certainly hard to envision Don Lockwood as anything but a movie star though it’s definitely fun to try. 

- He still has a habit of waiting around for his buddy only now he has a girl to do it with. Sometimes you really have to wonder whether he’s in love with the man himself.

- He’s a bit of a smartass so the two of you exchange lovingly snide remarks often.

- He doesn’t get jealous very often, he trusts you wholeheartedly; he sort of has to be able to when you’re around his best friend, he just doesn’t trust other men. Whenever he does get jealous, he either forces himself to act completely friendly or pretends to be friendly while trying to make a fool of the other man. 

- Attending the Monumental Studios events with him. He has fun matching his outfit to yours. 

- Double dates with Kathy and Don. 

- He likes leaning his head on yours whenever you lay your head on his shoulder. He’ll usually press a kiss to your forehead before he does. 

- If you need an idea, without fail, he’s sure to have one. 

- He always has a joke ready but he isn’t afraid to get serious whenever you need him to. 

- A wonderful motivator, Cosmo always knows exactly what to say to cheer you up or get you in the right state of mind. 

- There’s really no better partner in crime than him; always loyal and never jealous of your success. 

- He always seems to be able to look on the bright side of things which helps when things aren’t going well. You can’t help but absorb some of his optimism when you’re feeling down. 

- He’s good at coming up with solutions which is partly why the two of you rarely argue. Who needs to fight when their boyfriend can always create a compromise or fix things?

- He isn’t afraid to apologize whenever he’s wrong, giving you a sincere “sorry” then making a few jokes to cut the tension once everything’s resolved. 

- Saying or hearing “I love you” makes him happy yet bashful. He doesn’t say it often but sometimes he just cant help himself, oftentimes exclaiming it while pulling you excitedly into his arms. 

- He’s certainly planning on tying the knot in the near future. He can’t imagine a life without you. In his eyes, he may have nothing else but at least he has you. 

[hollypies]

I don't really know how to ask but do you have any advice for new artists?

Uhm, yeah!!

Im not the best at explaining, but I'll try to make sense!!

Alright so. First thing is like, what style you want to draw or what style you already might have! I used to look at a bunch of different artists and find ones I liked and then note littke things they did. Say like, you like the way they draw hair or clothes, or how they shade, and you take the things you like, draw it and change it to suite your style even more! All artists do this I think, its like. It's just something we do!

Shading is also really important! You don't have to shade of course, but for me personally it's my favorite part! This is some advice I got from a friend a few years ago when I was just starting digital qrt. Try to avoid shading with grays and blacks. It can look good for some things, and if it fits what you're you're anf uou like it, keep doing it! But it doesn't alwasy fit. It can make your characters or scenery look dark or scuffed. If you wsnt to use a dark color but you don't wanna use black alwasy go for a color that goes well with the current colors anf! Make it a lot darker !

Another thing about shading is figuring where you want the light and where you want the dark. And what I mean by that is which side has shadow and which doesn't! This is another thing I was taught ! My old friend Sea (who's art was amazing and I looked up to them) used give a lot of advice, so most of the stuff I learned comes from them or just me playing around in ibisxpaint.

Alright! Next is anatomy!! There's a few things to remember so I gonna make it as simple as I can! For people I alwasy start with more or less basic shapes. Use a circle for the head (you can use other shapes as well!!) And then put lines where the face will be looking. This helps later when you're actually drawing the face. Also use basic shaped for the body and hips. I personally use squares and rectangles, but like I said!! Use other shaped to for more dynamic shapes! I'm trying tk to that as well so !!

Here's just some other basic things I picked up on. Hands alwasy go a little below the waist, so when I draw the arms and hands somewhere else I always picture in my head where it'll be. This is a littke hard to explain haha but! You can also use your own arm or look at references! You only need the basics for anatomy in my opinion, because if everyone was straight on all the time it'd hurt some character designs. It can help your character look more stylised!! So when drawing dknt worry to much and just keep the general position and then stretch it to how you wanna look!

I cant draw feet so I can't help you with that sorry :(

Legs are fairly easy though! Ok so when I'm using my first name sketch I like to also use a shape for the base of the waist. It helps with remembering where to start the legs and also it helps with knowing how long the arms have to be. Look at references if you need to, either of real people or how others draw! That helps a lot.

Kinda being a hypocrite because I don't normally use references 🙃

And how could I forget!! The face!! Faces qre fun to draw , but they can be a littke tricky. I used to struggle with them because I started out as a cat artist. It was.. the only thing I drew. So remember that!! Eye position matters. I mean the pupil bt that haha. My friend Sea once. Informed me that the way I used to draw eyes was wrong. One was bigger than the other and the way the pupils and irises were positioned made all my characters look cross eyed. Harsh to say to a twelve year old but it was true .

Q good way to check eyes is to flip your art around! This also helps with anatomy I general but it's very useful for the face! Once you see whats wrong or if it doesn't look how you want, fix it on that side and then flip it back. It may take a few minutes of tweaking but! It works reallt well!!

Go ham with the mouth honestly! Do whatever! Just remember that teeth do curve in the mouth

And finally! Ears 😬. I used to really struggle with ears. You don't alwasy have to draw the ears, you can cover them with hair and such, but it is good to figure it out! Ears are on the middle of the head. Like. Ok so where the eyes are! Use the eyes as a guide as to where to put the ears. Thats what do I but id recommend looking into it further due to it taking me years to figure it out 😔

Hand hands. Yeah. I dont have anything for that I'm sorry ! I'd say just learn the basic shape of a hand and figure it out. That's literally all I did and im still not sure I know how I did it.

ALSO DINT FORGET TO STRETCH YOUR WRISTS OR U WILL PAIN :[

And the advice that generally makes people mad. Practice ! I'm. Im q self taught artist, and ever since I was littke I just. Drew on my own. I practiced anf changed styles a lot to get where I am now, but I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been dedicated. It helps that I enjoy making art and I like putting out there for people to see! But it does take a lot of time in the beginning. And you'll improve each time you draw!!

And as I've said, your art style is yours. You might find a way that is way different from anything I said, and that's good! There's tons of ways to do anatomy and figure out shading and just! Honestly just have fun with it :)

Also I won't be able to help with scenery and perspectives for rooms and. See I have derealization and it. It makes it hard to figure that out and its just. It's complicated for me ! I'd recommend asking someone else about that in particular!

Hope this helps! If there's anything specific I missed please tell me and I'll try to ! I'll try to help!

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar, 7 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, Wong, OC

Rating: T?

Warnings: Language! Mentions of sexual encounters, sarcasm, terrible storytelling, and typos prob.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

Previous Chapter

WARNINGS: Language, terrible circumstances, and a–

XX

Physically cleaning up the farmhouse after the fight had taken no more than a half-hearted wave of Loki's hands. Mentally cleaning up whatever had annoyed Wanda into snapping and subsequently opening the door without checking who was outside was another matter, altogether. Persephone quietly warned a steely-eyed Stephen to take a break before having a chat with the witch. Wanda could honestly destroy him in a heartbeat and if he burst into her room, guns blazing, like he was poised to do, there would be another tragedy happening.

Stephen had left Seph with Loki, in the living room. The millenia plus-old god had snuck in under her and was idly scratching at her scalp while minimally disturbing her glorious abundance of curls. He couldn't help but smirk at the extremely careful circles Loki was making on her head, evidence that he had once tried to card his fingers through her tresses and she, most likely, nearly eviscerated him. A song-song Be Nice from Loki was the last he had heard before a tense, overdrawn, and long-time coming conversation with Wanda. Now, several hours later, the only thing that remained of the pair was the book that Loki had been paging through while he doted on Persephone.

He moved himself outside through the kitchen door, walking around the side of the house towards the tell-tale creak of the banquet seat swing on the wraparound porch.

"Over here."

Seph's voice called out just as the door slammed shut in his wake, his foot just shy of stomping onto the first step to climb the porch. He smiled to himself, dandelion fluff blowing across his face on the light afternoon breeze while his brain pulled him back to days where they would sit on this very porch, talking for hours until one of them was ultimately called home. Most of all, he felt the old disappointment of reluctantly dragging himself away and the tingly expectation of what may happen tomorrow.

He found her rocking gently to-and-fro on the swing, alone.

"Where's Loki?"

Seph tilted her head curiously. "Greenhouse. Need to do damage control?"

"No. I just had questions for him," he retorted, sinking into the seat she patted in invitation. "Are you alright? Light-headed? Sluggish?"

"Nah. I think Loki did something to help the exhaustion along." They swung in silence for a long while before Seph found her voice again. "Who were those people, Stephen?"

"Time Variance Authority," he said, simply, before adding. "Time police."

The little notch of worry between her brows deepened. "I thought you were the time police."

"I protect reality–"

"But you manipulate time for it. You literally wear an all-powerful stone called the Time Stone."

Stephen started his response several times over before groaning. "OK, you're not wrong."

"How'd Loki get stuck with them? They don't seem his style."

"That's a long story that maybe you should get straight from the source, Peep. It wasn't an easy trip for him and… well, we're seeing the aftershocks."

Unsatisfied with that answer, she pushed further, ever the inquisitive mind. "Is he OK? Why were they fighting him if they had worked with him?"

He sighed, leaning his head back against the backrest, eyes closing as the soft movement lulled him into a sense of calm. "These weren't the exact people he worked with. Multiple Universes are now stacked onto each other in parallel, even if they weren't supposed to exist. They sometimes bleed into each other."

"Multiverse convergence."

Stephen straightened, turning his head to look at Seph curiously, just now noticing the daisies pinned behind her ear. "Yeah." He raised an eyebrow. "You've actually been reading what Wong gave you."

"Some of us actually did the homework. Not just popped into ghost mode to do it," she teased, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. She was rewarded with a generous roll of his eyes.

"I've told you, it's called–"

She interrupted him again, holding her hand up to quiet him. "Don't care, bud. Ghost mode."

He resorted to laughing quietly and leaning into her side, letting out a soft sigh when her fingers sunk into the hair at the back of his head and twisted the strands between her fingers. "I could teach you."

Persephone giggled, turning her head to press a kiss to his forehead. "That would require me listening to you, and I don't think that is a realistic expectation," she teased, voice soft. "But I'll give it a little thought."

"Thank you." He stopped to peck her cheek on his way to straightening up. "Check on Wanda for me?"

Seph nodded. "Going to see Loki?"

Stephen gave her a nod of his own before hopping off the swing with a groan. He held it steady long enough for Seph to climb down after him. After a squeeze of her hand in his, he retraced his steps back off the porch and dove into the endless rows of corn as a shortcut to the greenhouse. Any person who did not grow up in this kind of life would immediately get claustrophobic swimming in the emerald stalks, waiting for a glimpse of light to signal an exit. As a kid, he had gotten lost in the cornfields as often as he breathed, but as he grew, he developed a sixth sense, and it became harder to lose his way. Not unless he was intending on it.

Adjusting to the sudden sunlight after the trek through the dappled green glow made him pause, but it was the punch to the gut that really threw him for a loop. Instinct kicked in, immediately. He drew the sling ring out of his pocket, jumping into position to defend himself. His eyes, still swimming in the bright light, barely caught a glimpse of the world before it went black.

When he came to, the smell of damp and the ringing in his ears made him want to double over and throw up. Of course, it was hard to do that while also tied to a chair, but he hadn't paid any  mind to that part. He never did like going down to his parents' basement.

Wait.

His parents' basement.

"Stephen! Stephen!"

Through the fog in his head, the Sorcerer could barely make out Loki's voice hissing at him through the darkness. With a strangled groan and a painfully drawn breath, he shifted his head to look beside him. Loki was similarly tied down, a collar with a red light wrapped around his neck that looked just shy of choking him. The god of mischief gave a sigh of relief to see the other's eyes opened and seemingly focused on him.

"Thank the Norns. Stephen, are you alright?"

"I think so. Someone attacked me in the corn field–"

Loki was quick to cut in. "Yes, it was a TVA agent. I guess they fell back during the attack, but Strange, listen to me. I managed to slip your ring into your back pocket while she was struggling with you. You need to get it on and get us out of here. She collared me, but you can still do magic." His face turned serious, and something in his eyes that seemed to Stephen very close to regret–or pity–overtook him. There was a sadness permeating Loki now, and his voice was quiet and soft when he spoke next. "Stephen, the agent that attacked you–you cannot let your emotions get the best of you, alright?" His eyes darted back towards the stairs, though Stephen's head was protesting any movement and did not follow. "Regardless of what you think, she–"

Stephen gasped as the room tilted. One second he was staring at Loki, the next his eyes were fixed on a shiny black boot that had canted his chair back onto two legs. He followed the regulation TVA uniform up, up, up towards whoever had assaulted him, only for his breath to catch in his throat and his jaw slacken.

"Donna…?"

The face of his precious younger sister, his shadow growing up, the person he had most adored and who had been dead for most of his life, stared down her nose at him. In one hand, a bully stick remained poised to strike. Even though it was inactivated it could still pack a wallop, if the pain in his ribs was any indication. Her mouth was twisted into a scowl and her other hand held a fistful of his shirt, which she used to shake him when he became lost in thought. Though her shoulder was marked as Hunter D-17, there was no doubt in Stephen's mind, from the freckle on her left temple to the multicolored eyes that matched his own, that this was his sister.

"You." Her voice snarled much the same as when she caught him reading her diary. "You're going to tell me who the fuck you are and why my face is all over this house. Understood?"

[monamourbladie-mb]

Redemption - Anakin Skywalker x Reader

“If you’re up for ideas, I have one for Anakin Skywalker! The reader is under his training and they end up gaining feelings for each other. When Anakin is slowly turning to the dark side, he begins having nightmares about the future. His last dream was about the reader in TROS. In the dream, he saw that Palpatine returns and tries to lure her into the dark side. He had the same vision as Rey did when she saw herself joining the dark side, only this time, it was the reader instead of Rey. He wakes up after she says, “Don’t be afraid of who you really are.” That’s what stops him from going to the dark side.” REQ: @originalposter96

Warnings: Slight angst

Words: 2k

Extra info: The majority of this takes place in third person POV but in Anakin’s dream. On occasion it’ll be confusing cause there’s two Anakins.. one in the dream and the one dreaming it. But just keep in mind that anything italicized is the dream, and anything not is real life. italicized bold are Ani’s thoughts. I added onto the idea to include more of Ani’s downfall, so I hope it’s what you had in mind!

~*~

The Clone Wars were dark times. Death and destruction across the entire galaxy - murder and mayhem in every corner. The Jedi were doing all they could to stop the Separatists and Count Dooku, but they could only do so much.

It seemed that, almost every battle, they would lose another Jedi Master. Of course, this was painful to say goodbye to a friend and fellow Jedi, but it hurt nobody more than it hurt Y/n L/n.

Young Y/n had been trained since she was 7 years old. She was a young orphan - and her parents were criminals. To say that the Jedi saved her life was to say the least.

Her first Master, Master Yindos, was the one who originally found her. She brought her to the Jedi Temple where the Masters agreed to start her training, since the Force was so strong with her.

Sadly, when Y/n was 14 Master Yindos was killed by Dooku during the battle to rescue Padme Amidala, Anakin Skywalker, and Obi Wan Kenobi. She had to be reassigned to a new Jedi Master, Master Ornell, whom trained her until she was 17. He sadly was killed as well during the beginning Clone Wars.

Y/n felt cursed. Each of the Masters she had both met the same fate - Masters Yindos and Ornell had both died. She begged and pleaded for Master Yoda to not give her a new Master, and to let her train to join the Jedi Service Corps. Instead, he assigned her a new Master - Master Skywalker.

Although Anakin was very adamant to accept a Padawan, he eventually warmed up to her quickly and the two became inseparable. Of course, the two of them being only a few years apart in age did complicate things a bit - because both of them thought the other was very attractive.

It wasn’t until the first time Anakin saved her from dying that they realized their feelings for each other. They tried to hide them - but eventually gave up and decided to date in secret instead.

And now, for almost a year, everything was perfect. Y/n felt that the curse had been lifted and she would finally become a Jedi Knight with Anakin as her Master.

Everything had continued to stay perfect - until Anakin’s infamous nightmares started to come back, and he started to become suspiciously close with Chancellor Palpatine.

He’d lay awake at night for hours after one, trying to figure out what they meant. After his mother’s death, any dream he had he took very literal. He wasn’t going to risk any more lives if something happened in his dreams anymore.

One night, Anakin thought he was having what seemed like a peaceful dream. But it felt different. It felt... foreign. And he wasn’t sure why.

“The wayfinder has got to be here somewhere...” a foreign voice said. “I know. I just don’t know where it could be,” Y/n replied to her. Anakin turned around and saw Y/n standing with a young girl who he did not know the name of. She wore what was reminiscent of a Jedi’s clothing, so he assumed it was a Jedi.

“I think I found something,” Anakin spoke, turning back around to a hallway from the strange ruins he was at. “I’ll go down with you, Anakin. I think the command center is down that way...” the girl spoke, nodding for Anakin to come with her.

“Keep him safe, Rey,” Y/n nudged “Rey” and she laughed lightly. “Don’t worry...” she pulled out her lightsaber and Anakin’s eyes widened.

She had his lightsaber. He touched his lightsaber hilt and picked it up, realizing it was the same as his. How could she have his lightsaber?

“He’s safe with me,” she smiled and attached it back to her hip. “C’mon.”

Anakin turned to Y/n, “Are you going to be alright angel?” he asked her, afraid to leave her. She nodded, giving him a thumbs up, “I’m fine! It’s just the ruins of the Death Star, Anakin. Everyone who worked here is long dead.”

Anakin nodded and reluctantly followed Rey.

Y/n hummed to herself softly as she looked around the dark, cold ruins when she passed by a triangular object. She gasped lowly and walked forward, grabbing it from it’s invisible hold and moved it between her fingers. She grinned, about ready to shout to Rey and Anakin when she heard a lightsaber ignite. She turned around and froze still in place, barely able to believe what she saw in front of her.

She saw herself - wrapped in a black cloak wielding a dual-edged lightsaber, smirking. She twirled the lightsaber between her fingers before speaking simply, “Y/n... don’t be afraid of who you are.”

She dropped the Wayfinder and instantly brought out her lightsaber as the dark version of herself swung to attack, blocking it. The two started dueling with each other, blocking over and over until finally Dark Y/n pins the other version of her against a wall, holding the saber threateningly close to her throat.

She struggled against her grasp as a she heard the labored machine-like breathing of a dark, looking figure. He stayed hidden in the shadows behind Dark Y/n and crossed his arms, “Good job, my sweet apprentice,” he spoke lowly. “We shall take her to the Emperor.”

“Think she knows who you are yet?” Dark Y/n smirked. Y/n gulped, what if this was the Sith Lord?

“I would hope so...” he answered, walking into the light. The tall, cloaked man stood beside Dark Rey and the sight of him fully sent chills down her spine. Half of his mask was broken, revealing half of the face of the wearer. “I would hope she would know her own husband.”

Y/n struggled more and Dark Y/n pressed the saber closer to her skin, starting to burn her neck slowly, “A-Anakin-!” she shouted, completely confused as to why her husband looked like that.

“What did you do? What happened to you?!” she choked out, screaming in pain from the burning. Anakin rest his hand on Dark Y/n’s shoulder and she moved the saber away.

“Like I said, Y/n. Don’t be afraid of who you are,” she spoke again.

Instantly, Anakin’s vision began to blur. All around him the Death Star ruins began to disappear and everything became hazy, but the loud mechanical breathing of the Dark Side Anakin blared in his ears.

The sceneries quickly switched and he was on Mustafar, alongside Y/n and Obi Wan.

“I don’t know you anymore. Anakin, you’re breaking my heart!” Y/n started to cry, “You’re going down a path I can’t follow!”

“Because of Obi Wan?” Anakin replied. He was so... angry. Anakin didn’t know why, and it scared him. He hadn’t been this angry since his mother died.

“Because of what you’ve done! What you plan to do! Stop now, and come back! Please! I love you...” her voice was so broken, so worried and scared that it frightened him. What could he have done that caused her this much pain?

The Anakin that’s stood in front of her snapped once he noticed Obi Wan Kenobi from the ship behind them, “LIAR! You’re with him! You brought him here to kill me!”

“No, Anakin-“ she started to say, then she squealed when she was lifted up and started choking. “N-NO!”

Anakin tried to scream but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place watching him choke his lover.

Then, the scenery changed again, and this time he was in a metal room with robots surrounding him. Instead this time he wasn’t a spectator in the dream - he was looking through the eyes of a charred man, laying on an operating table.

Anakin tried to look around but he couldn’t - then suddenly a searing pain ripped through his entire body. He screamed and started to flail around the best he could, but he was strapped down. He was able to look down for a moment and saw his legs had been chopped off - and replaced with metal legs. His arms were both robotic, and his head felt dizzy from all the pain he experienced at once.

He felt it all - every tool drilling through his skin, every piece of charred skin being ripped off. He felt everything.

Even after that tormenting, it did not prepare him for what came next. He looked up and saw a black mask get lowered down onto him. He tried to move but he was immobile, and the mask drew closer to him.

It covered his face and before it could lock he mustered all his strength to scream out, “Y/N HELP ME!”

But it was too late. The mask sealed, and the same horrifying mechanical breathing from earlier emitted from the mask. Anakin had just become Darth Vader.

Then, as quickly as he arrived, the world around him began to disappear again. Everything grew hazy.

Anakin tossed and he turned until suddenly, “NO!” Anakin screamed, sitting up and breathing heavily. “T-that can’t be true...” he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily, “i-it cant be...”

Y/n ran back into their bedroom, fixing her robe when she saw his panicked face. “Ani? Sweetheart, what’s wrong? I heard you screaming...” she walked over and sat beside him, resting her hand on his thigh gently.

He sighed heavily and pulled her into a tight hug, fighting back tears, “I know what I have to do now.” he moved away and cupped her face with his hands, stroking her cheek gently as he looked at her with a worried expression, “I know you know I’ve been different. And I’m ready to talk about why.”

“Anakin, you’re scaring me...” Y/n frowned, holding onto his hand, “Whats going on?”

“I... started to be tempted. To fall into the Dark Side,” Anakin looked down, barely able to look her in the eyes now. “Because I wanted the power to save you from dying. Chancellor Palpatine had promised me that he would teach me that power, and he revealed himself to me as being the Sith Lord. It was him the entire time...” he sighed.

“Oh my God...” Y/n was stunned, “What are we going to do? He has total power over the Senate!”

“We’ll worry about that later, my angel. What’s important right now is the fact that I was almost fully seduced to the dark side, blinded by his lies... and the dream I just had made me realize that.”

“What happened in the dream?” she scanned his blue eyes, and noticed how scared and worn out he looked.

“You and I were looking for something called a Wayfinder. We had to go to a ruined spaceship called the Death Star to find it, and we were accompanied by a young Jedi named Rey. You found the Wayfinder, and you saw an evil version of yourself. She fought you and almost...” he looked down, taking a deep breath, “she almost killed you. And then a man in a black suit came out. He was so cold... so evil,” he winced, “...and he was me.”

“Anakin-“

“Then... I-I choked you. Nearly to death. I think, I think I did kill you, actually,” Anakin gripped the sheets with his metal hand, sighing. “I cant put you through that pain to watch me turn into a monster. I won’t let myself go down that path, and you too.” he held her hands and squeezed them gently, “I love you too much to let both of us go down a dark path.”

“Anakin, I promise none of that would ever happen.” she smiled and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his lips, “You won’t lose me to the dark side. And you won’t ever turn into a monster, Ani. I promise.”

He nodded and simply held her close to his chest, all the thoughts he had about joining the Chancellor fading away. That dream made him realize how evil the dark side really was - and all his recent dreams made sense now.

Rey was a recurring character throughout them, as were strange people by the names of Luke, Leia, and Kylo Ren. Their stories were affected by Anakin’s choice to become that man, and he was going to make it absolutely certain that he would never, ever turn into that monster.

[fics-not-tragedies]

The getaway car

©

This is fic based on this request I got ages ago, also @meetmeinthematinee​ suggested the overall idea for it - once again thank you so much Babe!

SUMMARY: John’s to do a huge job and asks you to be his getaway driver. He’s more than surprised when he sees your car handling skills which leads to him demanding you to stop in some dead end alley, so he can show you how grateful he is for your help. Words:  2426; Warnings: smut;

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In one swift movement you changed the gear and swiftly took the sharp turn back into the main street. John took his time to hide the guns back into the holsters, but now his eyes were focused on every movement your hands made. He carefully watched as your fingers enveloped the stick shift, while your other hand was gripping the steering wheel.

“You’re okay John?” You asked, eyeing him with the corner of your eye. When you fixed the rear-view mirror you could hear a little gasp that left his mouth. He was tense, sitting straight in his seat, not saying anything as he usually did when he get the job done.

“Yeah, I’m fine” he mumbled, flinching in the passenger seat like he wanted to lean closer to you, but stopped himself from doing it in the last second.

“You don’t look fine…” you swiftly took another turn and he gasped louder this time gripping onto the handle mounted near the roof.

“Stop the car!” He finally demanded and before he could say another word you quickly parked in a dead end alley and killed the engine.

“What’s wrong?” Undoing the belt you turned around to face him and he cupped your face in his gloved hands before his lips were pressed roughly into yours and he kissed you deeply almost crawling on top of you, so he could have more of your body in his hands.

“John…” you whispered against his mouth when he drew back from you, “What has gotten into you?”

He grasped your hand and placed it on the front of his pants, “This” he spoke as calmly as he could in the current circumstances. You looked at him surprised, but before you could say something he opened the passenger doors and jumped out of the car, then quickly walked over to your side, opened the doors for you and pulled you out of the car.

His lips were back on yours. They were greedy, and wet, and you gasped into the kiss, allowing him instant access. Before you even had the chance of thinking to stop him, his tongue was searching your mouth, licking its way behind your teeth, gathering up the taste of you. You were at once more than grateful for the car behind you, or you might have found yourself collapsing from how weak your knees were growing. It wasn’t just the demanding way in which he kissed you - it was how his gloved hands traveled your sides, grabbed at your shirt, pushed their way beneath it.

John pressed himself close to you, trapping you between his body and the vehicle. If you were meant to be worried that someone would see you two, it had the opposite effect; you found yourself willingly succumbing to his touch, his needy hands fondling your skin raw.

When John’s lips slipped from yous, you gasped for air. John seemed out of breath too, but he did not pause. His mouth moved across your cheek, his tongue teasing your ear before he dragged it down your neck. He nibbled all the way across your skin, leaving small, red marks, and you whined in surprise when his teeth tugged at your blouse, dragging the fabric down over your bra.

You felt terribly exposed. It made your panties wet. More so when John crouched before you, his hands dragging all the way down across your breasts, your stomach, your skirt. He pushed them up along the inside of your thighs, the leather gloves creaking, and the closer he came to your cunt, the more you felt a need to feel him .

“Please” you gasped as his gloved finger stroked across the flimsy fabric of your pants.

John paused at once and sent you a naughty glance, “You’re begging now, darling?”

You exhaled in frustration when his thumb flickered across the soaked fabric, and you dug your heels tightly into the ground, “Please, John” you said, “I want to feel you.”

“I know you claim to be a silly girl, darling, but surely you’re aware of what’s happening?” John asked and quirked his brows.

“Your glove,” you said, “please take them off, Sir. I want to feel you.”

John’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated your words. Then, he slowly pulled his hands out from beneath your skirt and stood up. With care, he removed the gloves then tucked them into the pocket of his jacket.

John grabbed you at the waist, easily lifting you into the air, and you squealed in surprise as you were carried to the hood of the car. With a grunt, he seated you on it, and then, with no further hesitation, he grabbed at your skirt and roughly pulled it down your legs.

As the black fabric was casually thrown aside, you wriggled shyly. Your ass pressed to the silver metal quickly warmed, the hood heated by the sun, but what really got you going was the intense look in John’s eyes. As his rough hands traveled up alongside you skin, groping at every inch of your exposed legs, you felt yourself quiver with desire.

“You’re such a tease John” you said sweetly, and reached down to stroke John’s cheek as he started pressing kisses to your inner thighs, “Taking your time to teach little me a lesson” you knew you were crossing the line even further, your voice heavy with admiration, but the words you spoke had the desired effect; John eagerly pressed his face right between your legs, his nose buried into your panties, and you whined in pleasure as his flat, roughened tongue started dragging across your cunt.

The flimsy fabric was no hindrance for John’s skilled mouth. He easily tore it aside with his teeth, and his tongue searched across your wet cunt, tasting it, smelling it. All you could do was lie back, your arms stretched above your head, the sun kissing your sweaty skin as John worked you ready.

Somehow, John knew how to make you feel good. He kissed your lips, his lips travelling their full length, flicked his tongue across your clit, then dug his mouth further into your soaked cunt. His tongue stretched to tease your entrance. His lips nudged their way in and you felt how your legs close in around his face as you held him in place, unwilling to let the overwhelming feeling of pleasure be over too soon.

“Oh fuck” you whispered as his hand joined his lips, a rough finger pushing into your tight cunt. You reached down to grab a hold of his strong, black curls. They felt soft between your fingers. You easily took a good hold of them as you led his face in deeper, “Oh fuck!”

For a minute, he let you have your way, rocking your hips up to meet his finger and mouth. He added a second one, filling you even more, and you found yourself rubbing your cunt to his face, almost insistent on covering every inch of him with your juices. But then, the authoritative attitude kicked back in, and he slammed your legs back down onto the hood as he withdrew himself, his tongue eagerly licking his lips dry.

“Don’t get greedy, darling” he said, his doe eyes sparkling.

You looked down at him, your chest rising and falling in line with your quickened breath, “Or else?” you dared him, making John grin.

He firmly took hold of your fleshy thighs, dragging your body down across the hood toward him. Your clammy skin squeaked as it crossed the metal, and you felt yourself flush with embarrassment about the sound. Yet John didn’t seem to care; once he had himself positioned between your legs, he unzipped himself with haste and withdrew his throbbing cock.

As he watched your wet cunt, your writhing body, your pink cheeks, your lustful eyes, he pumped his cock a few times, coating it in his pre-cum, “Darling,” he said, his breath heavy.

“J-John, please…” you moaned. Your toes wriggled in your heels as you drew your legs around him, dragging him and his cock closer to your soaked core.

You were wet and ready, yet John’s cock seemed to stretch you in the moment he pushed inside you. With a loud moan you fell back down onto the hood, your head lolling to the side as your body adjusted itself to his thick member. As you wriggled, he did not pause, but merely continued pressing inside of you at a steady pace.

Only once he was fully engulfed in you , his balls slapping to your skin, did he pause. He leaned in over your body, his lips pursed in pleasure, his eyes glazed over, and he looked down at you as he gruffly asked: “Are you okay, darling?”

You reached up and grabbed him by the die, pulling him closer, making him blink in surprise, “Fuck me, Sir.”

John did not hesitate; he pulled out of you before slamming back in, causing the car to rock from his force. You moaned in surprise, and he groaned with delight, your wet cunt rubbing his cock nicely from every angle. As he pushed into you again, you lifted your other arm too, wrapping it around his neck as you dragged him down atop of you.

Your lips crashed together again. This time, your mouths were open, gasping for air, barely kissing, yet still their tongues rubbed together as John’s cock penetrated you, repeatedly claiming your wet cunt as his.

With him pressing down on you, you felt small, weak, vulnerable - and wonderfully amazing. It was like you were giving yourself fully to him, and you knew that he wanted all of you.

“Give me your hand, Sir,” you whispered, your words almost swallowed by him.

“Are we making demands now, darling?” John replied, smirking to your lips.

You felt like rolling your eyes, but the way he rocked into your cunt felt too good to risk losing. So you held back a whine of pleasure as you steadied your voice: “I’m sorry, Sir” you gasped for air, his cock rubbing wonderfully tight at your stretched walls.

John grunted as he pushed into you, your body welcoming him fully, “Try again, darling” he said.

“Please may I have your hand, Sir?” You said, your voice shrill from the fucking.

Though looking slightly vexed, John raised his right hand to your face, only to make you shake your head.

“No, the other” you said, hurriedly adding, “please, Sir, the other.”

“What do you need it for?” He asked. Still, he offered you his left hand.

Without explanation, you looked him straight in the eyes and, without pause, parted your lips, closed them around his ring-finger, and sucked him inside. As your wet tongue dashed around his wedding band, John’s eyes seemed to widen with understanding, and you felt so perfectly dirty at what you were doing.

You didn’t care how harsh the metal tasted, how heavy the smell of leather was on his knuckles, or how roughly his finger pushed to the roof of your mouth - the feeling of cleaning the ring, something that represented purity and promise and monogamy just made you so horny that you couldn’t resist.

John too seemed to enjoy the sight. At least he moaned, and his pace quickened, his cock fucking you with more fury. You could feel his balls tense. You could see in his face how his eyes started to become unfocused. You were certain he was about to come when a crackling disturbed the otherwise quiet alley.

John groaned. Sweat was dripping down his red forehead, and he looked tempted to ignore the call as he continued to ram into you. But in the end, his dedication took over - John reached into his pocket, withdrew the phone, and clicked some buttons as he watched you with care, “John Wick” he replied gruffly, seemingly unable to come up with anything else.

“Is there a situation?” You could hear the man on the other end of line ask him.

You almost chuckled, but John stuffed another finger into your mouth, keeping you quiet as you sucked on them both. You watched him as he paused, his cock still pushed deep inside you.

John sighed as he looked down at you. You could tell pause to his face, a temptation to revert back into his role as a man who focuses on his job. So you did the only thing you could think of; you locked your legs strongly around his waist and dragged him further into you, making him gasp. Your soft, warm inners tightened around his cock, your legs urging him to continue fucking you, and, as nature took over, so he did; John pressed the phone to his lips as he rammed into you, his body aching with need.

“I’m still on my way” he spoke, his voice breathless,  “Just got” he hesitated, his eyes roaming your body, “hold by some… thing on my way there. I’ll be done soon.”

“Oh I’m sure you will” you mouthed to him, twirling his hair around your fingers.

“No problem. Keep me informed” the male voice quieted. John stuffed the device into his pocket as he grabbed a hold of your waist and slammed back into your cunt.

The car rocked, you whined in pleasure when you felt yourself shiver as your cunt tightened, an orgasm suddenly taking over your body. You had no time to stop yourself - you just let go with a loud groan, your body hammering back onto the hood of the car as your whole body shivered.

As pleasure rolled over you in waves, John took a hold of your waist and started taking you with more need. You felt like a rag-doll between his hands, unable to protest or move as he continued to fuck you, his hard cock claiming you er until his body finally could take no more. As he came inside of you, it was with a loud gasp, and you laid breathlessly, your eyes rolled back as he filled you with his cum.

“In a hurry?” You asked him, as he quickly stepped away from you and begin to tuck himself back in, fixing his shirt.

“Still have one job to do” he breathed out fixing his tie.

“Want me to drive?” John handed you your skirt and you put it back on.

“Please…” he helped you off the hood and back onto the ground, “I’ll try my best not to get… distracted” you laughed at his words.

“Get in.”

[hereidinathoreauwrites]

A Stunning Lack of Context (part the second)

Part 1

AO3

A VERY worried Anna arrives in Enchanted Forest. Ryder attempts to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

Or

Pronouns are hard.

Ryder was used to unusual things. After all, he’d lived most of his life under a veil of fog, with magical spirits around every corner.

But the sight of Queen Anna, in full regal attire, tumbling out of the sky unannounced was the strangest thing he’d seen in quite awhile.

“Hey Anna!” He greeted her as Gale dropped her face-first into a pile of leaves. “…what brings you here? On Gale?” He looked around. “Alone?”

Anna sat up, spitting leaves out of her mouth. “I need to see Elsa.” She responded. “And your sister. Now.”

Ryder shrugged. “Oh sure. But you do know they’re not here right now?”

Anna scrambled to her feet. “Where. Are. They?”

“Oh Elsa and Maren?” He thought back. “Yeah they went up to the ice plateau this morning.”

“Together?” Anna squeaked. “Why?”

Ryder grinned. “Oh yeah, they do everything together now…you know…since the incident.”

Anna’s face paled. “What incident.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Ryder had always assumed the sisters told each other everything. “Elsa’s tent exploded…”

“It WHAT?!”

He shrugged. “Yeah, strangest thing…her whole tent just kinda…” he threw out his hands, “BLAM! in the middle of the night one night.”

“Is she OKAY?!”

Ryder nodded. “Oh yeah she was fine…we all just assumed that the fire spirit had sneezed or something but funny thing was, no other tents caught fire…Elsa’s ice was everywhere though so maybe she put them all out herself…?” He shrugged. “Anyway, now she and Maren share a tent.”

Anna sighed. “Alright…but what about Elsa’s leg? She said she couldn’t walk. Is it better now?”

Ryder’s face scrunched, confused. “She told you about that but not the incident?…well…”

Anna pounced on it instantly. “Well? Well what?”

Ryder shrugged. “Well, her ankle could be better.”

“Her ankle?” Anna’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, poor thing twisted it the other day…”

“Doing what?”

Ryder tapped his chin in thought. “You know…I’m not entirely sure…something about birds? Or was it bees?” He shrugged. “That’s what Maren told me anyway…”

“Honeymaren was with her when it happened?”

Ryder nodded. “Oh yeah, saw the whole thing.”

“So why are they at the ice plateau then?”

“Oh, that’s because Maren needed all the help she could get after the stampede.” Ryder told her.

“Stampede!?”

“Yeah, I think your sister felt guilty so she offered to help wrangle the lost reindeer.”

“Why is Elsa chasing down the reindeer with a twisted ankle?! And why would she feel guilty about it?”

“It’s fine, the reindeer wont have gotten too far. Maren’s probably just carrying her anyway. Just like she did after that time little Elsa fell out of a tree.”

“She did WHAT?!”

Ryder took a step back, more than a little scared of Anna’s fury. “Yeah…no idea how that happened…” He tried to laugh but Anna didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. “…didn’t really seem like Elsa was the climbing type.” He shrugged. “Maybe it was because of the avalanche.”

The queen threw her hands up.  “Okay, wHAT happened with this AVALANCHE?”

Ryder grinned, trying to hide his growing anxiety. “Honestly, we’re not really sure. Probably had something to do with the Giants. But Elsa did come back exhausted and wearing Maren’s clothes so whatever happened must have really tired her out…”

Anna let out a long exasperated sighing sound. “Ryder…just point me in the direction that they are so I can have Gale fly me out there now.” She bemoaned, rubbing her head. “Because talking to you isn’t making me feel better right now.”

“I’m sorry!” Ryder apologized, waving his hands. “I just…well, by the time Gale gets you there, they’ll probably be back anyway…why don’t you just sit down and try to relax for a bit? Elsa’s fine, I promise…”

Anna begrudgingly sat herself down on a log. “So…Elsa and your sister…they’re getting along very well…”

Ryder laughed. “Oh yeah, Elsa cant get enough of Maren since they’ve started sharing a tent. And Maren’s thrilled.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Maren’s been teaching her all sorts of things…apparently your sister’s got very nimble fingers.”

Anna made an odd choking sound.

“Maren says she's a natural. Really ‘scratches all the itches’, as she says.”

Anna’s eye twitched. “The itches? What?”

“Maren’s been taking really good care of her.” Ryder continued, hoping that more examples might calm Anna down. She looked about ready to strangle him. “Makes sure she gets everything she needs. Elsa too.” He laughed. “They’re practically on top of each other!”

“Okay, when will they be back?” Anna demanded desperately. “What is taking them so long?”

“Anna, it’s okay.” Ryder tried to assure her. “I’m sure Honeymaren is riding Elsa back here as we speak…”

“ARRRGGHHHH!” Anna threw her face down into her hands.

Ryder awkwardly patted her back, unsure what he’d done wrong. Grimacing, he looked towards the horizon.

“Oh, Anna look.”

The Queen’s head snapped up, eyes searching the horizon. Her whole face lit up when she caught sight of what Ryder had seen.

Honeymaren and Elsa sitting astride a reindeer, cantering gently down to towards them.

“ELSA!” Anna launched herself at her sister, grabbing her tightly around the neck and practically tackling her off of her mount as they drew near.

“OHMYGOSHI’VEBEENSOWORRIEDWHATTHEHECKISGOINGONHERE?!”

“Anna…” Elsa chuckled, gesturing helplessly. “I…need to breathe…” Anna released her immediately and began systematically checking her sister for injuries. “Anna…what are you…?”

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Anna bent down and lifted up each of Elsa’s ankles. “Tell me if this hurts!”

“Anna, I’m fine!” Elsa assured her, scratching the neck of her mount. “Honeymaren and I were just getting the little one home.”

“What?” Anna glanced up at the reindeer herder and realized two things very quickly. One: Honeymaren was cradling an absolutely adorable reindeer calf.

Two: Elsa was wearing Honeymaren’s cap.

Anna’s brain struggled to catch up. “B..but Ryder said…said you were…twisted ankle…” everyone was staring at her, looking confused. “…falling out of a tree…” her voice trailed off. “…’riding Elsa back here…’”

Honeymaren’s eyes lit up at that. “Oh yeah, I named this reindeer calf ‘Elsa’.” Honeymaren explained. She scratched the tiny calf under her chin and the thing moaned in delight. “It’s a Northuldra tradition, when a new person joins our people. We’re going to name one in the next season for you!”

Anna let out a tiny chuckle, everything starting to make sense. “Oh…well okay then…but…why were you chasing her down?”

“Little Elsa got lost up near the ice plateau after the avalanche…” Honeymaren explained, rubbing the neck of the little reindeer. Sliding down from her mount, she set the little one down and it pranced around them, favoring one foot. “We got a little worried. She’s a trouble-maker this one…” She nudged the human Elsa. “Remember that time we found her up a tree?”

Elsa laughed. “Oh yes! I had to catch her with snow when she fell!”

They both giggled uncontrollably, seeming to recall something far funnier than they were letting on.

“I was worried.” Anna finally admitted, seeming satisfied that things were a little less crazy than she thought. “Ryder was telling me all sorts of things…”

Honeymaren punched Ryder in the arm. “Guess my idiot little brother got his Elsas mixed up!”

Ryder shrugged, shooting Anna a sheepish smile.

The little reindeer nuzzled her namesake’s leg until Elsa reached down to scratch her. “I need to feed her.” Honeymaren continued, petting the calf.  “Ryder? Want to help?”

Ryder nodded, eager to be away from Anna’s volatile reactions.

Honeymaren smiled at Anna. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

Leaning over, Honeymaren pecked Elsa briefly on the lips and walked away, smirking. Elsa the reindeer pranced after her and Ryder as they left.

Still catching her breath, Elsa turned and saw her sister staring at her, mouth slack and eyes wide.

She grinned, sheepishly. “Ummm…surprise?”

Anna inhaled deeply. “Elsa.” She began, fixing her sister with a look. “What. The. Hell?”

[bitchfitch]

angsty dnd npc character study

The Winter King wore the face of the man that The Boar King loved. The Boar focused on those familiar features, on the night sky black skin and the ivory fangs in his smile. The way his horns curled and his pointed ears twitched every now and then under the weight of his many piercings. If he focused on all the little familiarities this ordeal would be significantly less painful.

***

"You summoned?" Winter smirked, the playful light in his eyes and tone was something a lot crueler than it was warm. Nothing was warm about him. Nothing had been for a very long time.

"I just wanted to speak to you," The Boar knew this was an awful idea, one that would bring him nothing but pain, but he missed his husband so much that he was willing to put up with the entity that stole him away.

"Oh," the smug look that crossed his face was almost enough to call this off, it was to glaringly not right. A throne of ice rose from the ground to catch Winter as he sat. Boar focused on how he sat. His movements were always performative, he would cross his long legs and twist just right to look as alluring as he could.

Boar couldn't help but focus in on where Winter's ribs showed, all the sharp lines that were covered by soft fat when he was still the Boar's.

"Now, what would you like to speak about? You know I'm all ears for a voice as nice as yours," Winter cocked his head, his soft silver white hair always seemed to cascade in just the right way.

"How are you doing?" It was a simple question.

"Hm? That's all you have to ask?" the disappointed pout was almost enough to make the boar cave, it was the same one his husband used anytime he wanted something. The pout disappeared only to be replaced with a frown, "This is about Him isnt it?"

"Maybe, Just answer the question,"

"I'm fine, he's dead."

"Winter King-"

"You know there are kinder ways to turn someone down? You don't need to rub in the fact that you dont return a smidgen of the affection I hold for you. It's not even my fault I have the awful feelings for you, they're holdovers from that weak and hot blooded Thing that came before me."

"He wasnt weak, he fought you off for decades."

"He didn't Need to. He and I could have coexisted, but No, he wanted to burn me up, so I froze him."

"Does that imply he's still in there somewhere?"

"He may as well not be, Do you have anything of worth to ask of me? or may I return to my duties? I have better things to do than to cater to you,"

"I do have one other thing to ask,"

"Ask it."

"Won't you let me hold my husband? Just for a few minutes, even if it's just pretend,"

"Boar, you are pushing your luck something awful. Why should I let you touch me? Because that is what you are asking. Your husband is gone, hes not here, I'm Not Him."

"I know," the boar said quietly, "I know, and it hurts me to no end… But I still hear him in your laugh, and I see him in the tricks you play, and your temper is firmly his too, but he always knew how to control it. You hold yourself like he did when he was scarred to be open. You both lay on the charm and the appeal when you want to hide in plain sight, to be looked at but not seen. I refuse to believe you two are separate, or at least as distant from each other as you say you are."

"You're wrong," his voice was low and full of hurt, the crystalline tears that formed in the corners of his gold and black eyes was all the boar needed for proof. Even if it did hurt to see his love cry.

"You said it yourself, Winter, that the feelings you hold for me are not yours. If you still have his affections and his taste in clothing and music and his sense of humor… How can you two be separate? I believe you are merely an evolution of him, just the next step,"

"Shut up," he wiped away the tears freezing on his cheeks, "You're Wrong. I'm not him. He was weak and he ignored his fate and fought it so hard that we became This."

"He wasn't weak, he was scared,"

"It was his fault she died, it was his fault we had to manifest so quickly. If he'd accepted his crown, his place in the court, we would have been one. Not this awful double personality garbage."

"Maybe you two could work together now? Winter King, if you are him, all my affection is for you. You want that right? To come home and sleep in our bed again? To stay in your tower-"

"And watch the sunset. To visit Mama and see my sisters and my brother, and our friends, and-" he cut off as he sobbed, the boar went to him in an instant, his husband always wanted to be held when he was vulnerable like this, to feel safe. Winter seemed no different.

The frost of his touch bit through the Boars clothes, but that didn't matter, not right now anyways. He held the fey king as the smaller creature cried, his long fingers fisted in the fabric of the Boar's tunic,

"And our kids?" The boar finished the thought for Winter.

"Yeah, dammit, I want to hold them again. Fuck they're all grown up now arnt they?" he curled closer as the boar took his weight and sat them both down on the forest floor infront of the rapidly melting throne, "I didn't get to see my own babies grow up,"

"They are, you would be so proud of them if…"

"If I wasn't a danger to them?"

"Yeah,"

they sat there quietly, the Boar ran his hand through Winter's hair as Winter's sobs calmed into shakey breaths.

"Take me home?" he hid his face in the Boar's shirt, those quiet words more a begging plea than a true question, "Please? Just for tonight, Please?"

"Of course," The Boar stood and he hated how light Winter felt in his arms.

The Boar's castle hadn't stood above ground in centuries, instead he preserved its rooms deep within the soil of his forest. The entrance opened for them as the Boar carried Winter through.

The Boar rarely stayed here anymore. he couldn't stand the way his mind filled the silent halls with laughter and music, how at every turn he always expected to see his darling disappearing around a corner and giggling as he tried to start a game.

Their room was untouched, and had been for many many years, the bed felt like a grave anytime he drew near.

It didn't feel as awful as he set Winter down on it, the sight of him there being enough to soothe over long fraught nerves. This was where he belonged, where the Boar could keep him safe from everything outside of the canopy of the bed.

Winter sat up and curled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as his tail flicked, "I used to love this room," he mused,

"You did, you liked how warm it was, and the fact that there arnt any windows made you feel safe," He sat on the opposite edge of the bed, and even that had felt like he was pushing his luck,

"I can't sleep outside of my domain," Winter grimaced, "I wish I could wake up here in the morning, do you think that would fix me?"

"I don't exactly follow,"

"Do you think being home and away from the court would fix me? Would it make him come back?" his tone was solemn and pained.

"Winter, I do not know,"

"Would you ever miss me?"

"What?"

"When you get him back, and I'm gone, would you miss me? or mourn me for even a second?"

"Winter, you are him, I won't miss you because you wouldn't have gone anywhere,"

"That's bullshit."

"No, it's not,"

"It is, because he and I cant exist together, but you want him. Not me, and-" he had to wipe away his tears again, "And I love you, but you cant love me. Because you don't even See me, you only see him. You won't mourn me when I'm gone, nobody will. My death will be celebrated and then I will be forgotten,"

The Boar didn't know what to say,

"Just, give me tonight. Let me pretend for tonight,"

"Of course,"

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Everything Ends (Then Begins Again)

(This is a time-travel AU I started after finishing FFXV and then dropped for a bit, but I’ve started watching Episode Ardyn Walkthroughs and was Inspired™ so I picked it up again instead of, you know, working on my already posted WIPs like a responsible person. Basic premise is that Noctis saves the world ala game end, but in the moments after defeating Ardyn in the other realm he decides to just ... yeet fate and fix things properly. One breaking of the laws of time-space using all his Astral/Crystal/Ancestral-given magic later, he and several others including Nyx and Luna wake up in their younger bodies. Libertus is not a time-traveller and, as such, is the perfect Outsider POV for me to play with at the moment).

The first time they saw Prince Noctis was in the aftermath of the Wave, when the king finally decided to let them off their leashes and take back what had been stolen from them. Oh, they had seen the prince in the news before. A few of them had even seen the little boy flitting about the palace halls, cheerful and pampered and oblivious to the blood being spilled to keep his home safe when so many others had already lost theirs.

     But the first time they saw him, looked in his eyes and really heard his voice, was about six months after the Wave, only a few weeks after the strict silence about the prince’s health and recovery had been lifted. A mere four days since anyone had seen the prince ghosting through the halls again, far quieter and being waited on hand and foot by two of their own that had only just come back from their latest long-term secret mission —and didn’t that just light Libertus and the others off, all those servants and guards and the prince had to demand two pet glaives of his own—.

     It was in the glaive’s medical bay. The one deep in the bowels of the Old Citadel, nearest the underground garage that all the medical trucks went to after a nasty battle left comrades either dead or gasping from blood loss and missing limbs and magical exhaustion. The latest push to reclaim territory from the Nifs had been met with more resistance than anticipated. Crippled the main military force might have been, but there were still human soldiers and officers in the imperial army. And there was still tech that could be used by those humans if they were desperate enough —which they were, like cornered rats clinging to their stolen scraps—. The Nifs in the area had lashed out with cunning instead of brute force for the first time in years and many of the glaives had suffered from the unexpected turn of tactics.

     Libertus was one of the ones sent back. Not because of an injury, thankfully, but because King Regis had the glaives on a constant rotation of who was at the front and who was on “light duty” at the Citadel to “recuperate”. Besides, someone needed to be there to guard their injured brothers and sisters, keep them calm when the doctors pumped them full of chemicals instead of potions and the nightmares of the war clawed like daemons beneath uncaring medical lights.

     He was trying to browbeat one of newer, snobbier doctors to stop being such a miser and use a hi-potion on one of Libertus’s screaming comrades when a useless nurse by the door squawked, “Hey, this is a restricted area, you can’t-! I-! You’re Majesty, don’t-!”

     Nyx’s familiar, sarcastic drawl drew Libertus’s eye to the door like a magnet, “Stand aside, sweetheart. His Majesty wants in.”

     The nurse was waving a clipboard helplessly at Nyx’s dangerous coeurl-like smile. She protested loudly even as she let Nyx nudge her aside to let someone else into the room, “But-but- this is no place for a child-! Why did you bring him here-.”

     “I told him to.” The quiet lilt of a child was so at odds with Libertus’s surroundings it felt like a slap to the face. The general hubbub of the medical bay was fading save for the groans and whimpers of those too out of it to care. Doctors, nurses, and glaives alike stared in disbelief at the tiny figure who had entered at Nyx’s heels. The last person anyone would expect to see in this place that stank of blood and pain and chemical cleaner and nightmares.

     The eight year old prince stood in the middle of what must have looked to a child like the set of a horror movie. Blue eyes flitted back and forth over it, slowly widening as childish, pampered innocence clashed with the marks of war. Libertus shoved his way over to Nyx and hissed in his friend’s ear even as he waited for the terrified screaming to start, “Why’d you bring him here?”

     Nyx glanced at him, that weird, distant cant to his gaze that he’d had ever since the Wave made him fail a warp and hit the ground from several stories up, “He asked.”

     Libertus fumed, —“no brain damage incurred” his right foot—, “You could have distracted him! He’s gonna start bawlin’ any minute an’ that’s the last thing we need right now-!”

     The prince unfroze and, instead of screaming and running away, walked deeper into the ward. He came to a stop by one of the corner cots —a comrade already abandoned by the doctors, marked off as unsalvageable even though an elixir could buy him enough time, even though a megalixir would fix him—, and stared into the pain-glazed eyes of the man draped on it, “This man needs help.”

     No. Really? Libertus bit back the sarcasm and gave Nyx —and Crowe, who had just slipped inside— a dark look. Another nurse tried to tug the prince away by his shoulder, “Please leave, Your Majesty, this is no place for someone of your status and age-.”

     The brat prince forced the hand off his shoulder with mulish slap, “He needs help. Why aren’t you helping him?”

     “We’re doing all we can, but we have to take care of the more urgent cases first-.”

     “Shattered legs and internal organ damage isn’t urgent?” There was anger in the young tone now, a slight lilt toward a tantrum and even though it was technically in the glaives’ favor, Libertus nudged Nyx hard and tried to silently make his friend intervene before the prince distracted all the doctors and got more of their comrades killed —it wouldn’t occur to him until later to wonder how the prince had known what was wrong with the glaive, how he’d known what that kind of trauma looked like at a glance—.

     “Your Majesty, the surgeons are already busy-!”

     “Then just give him an elixir or something!” Libertus nearly saw red —of course it was easy to say that when you were royalty that could afford everything and didn’t have to worry about the miser doctors rationing out potions and elixirs like water in the desert— and he could hear Crowe breathe sharply through her teeth.

     “Your Majesty-!”

     Nyx interrupted at last, but not the way Libertus wanted him to, “There are rationing regulations in place for all magical medicines above the level of basic potions. They won’t use elixirs on a patient unless the patient’s officer level or crownsguard. He’s neither, so he’s been marked as a hopeless case. They’ll get to him when they have time, but that probably won’t be for hours yet.”

     Blue eyes snapped over the prince’s shoulder, staring at Nyx with something Libertus couldn’t understand —something too dark and dangerous and old, something his mind shied away from because no child could look like that—. Libertus wondered if the sudden drop in temperature was his imagination, but the other conscious glaives were all shivering and panting beneath the sudden pressure of an incoming storm too. It occurred to Libertus that royals were connected to the Crystal at birth, so if the kid threw a tantrum here, there was every chance of triggering a magical blowout.

     Nyx had essentially let a magical bomb into the same room as their comrades with a child holding the detonator.

     Panic swelled in his mind as blue eyes narrowed and burned red for a heart-stopping second.

     Then faltered when the boy whipped around, ducked under the nurse’s grasp, and grabbed the limp hand of the glaive on the cot. Armiger magic chimed and green lit the cot like a strobe light as the prince shoved something into the limp hand and forced bloody fingers to squeeze tight. The glaive on the cot gasped, eyes snapping clear as the man who shouldn’t have been able to move from his injuries sat up sharply.

     The prince was already turning away, red eyes boring into the nurse and command lining the childish tones with unexpected venom, “Show me the rest of your ‘hopeless cases’. Now.”