#it leaves them trembling in awe weeping on their knees as they never have before awash with sweet relief

[bonjourxrenae]

True blorbo status is achieved when you realize you just want them to be happy and treated well, no matter who they end up with or where they go, but especially if they must experience The Horrors before they get there first.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.2

Part one

Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him. 

Warnings: slight fluff, angst

==========================

Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.

“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.

And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.

Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.

A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.

“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.

His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.

“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.

“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.

He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.

“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”

A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”

“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.

“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”

Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”

Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.

“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.

Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.

Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.

“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.

“St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.

“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.

"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"

Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."

Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”

Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.

“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.

Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”

“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”

“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.

“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.

"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”

Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”

“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”

Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”

His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”

“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”

Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.

“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”

“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.

How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?

“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”

“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.

“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.

With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.

A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”

And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.

He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.

And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.

So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.

Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.

He couldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.

He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.

“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.

Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.

She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.

“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.

Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.

PART 3

[angryschnauzer]

Full Mast - Part 2

Summary: Your idyllic life as a trophy wife of a rich lord is suddenly disturbed with the arrival of a pirate ship and a kidnapping that goes wrong... leaving you in the care of a band of pirates that seem to treat you better than your husband ever did.

Part 1, 

Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie, Mission Impossible: Fallout, Night Hunter, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader, August Walker x Reader, Walter Marshall x Reader, Mikey (Hellraiser) x Reader.

A/N: This is a CRACK FIC. After a brief discussion with @nuggsmum about the cheap romance novels that you could find in the 80′s and 90′s, i called upon the awful storylines, plot holes, and general cheesyness of those books that walked so fanfiction could run. Read the warnings please.

Storyboard note: The only artwork i could find that was suitable to show a Henry-like character included the woman seen above. I tried to crop as much of her out as possible, the story itself does not describe the female reader at all.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (F Recieving), Blowjobs, Multiple Blowjobs, Multiple Partners, Implied Age Gap (but never confirmed). Pretty Poly Pirates.

Only the finest organic free range typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Full Mast part 2

Standing in the grand cabin you took in your surroundings; the large table that was half covered in maps, the scattered chests and crates, the large four poster bed with messy linens. You wondered if the Captain had many other women between those sheets, or whether he kept his liaisons to his time on shore. At the mere thought of the man that had just taken your innocence you felt your stomach clench and another wave of arousal coat your already soaked petals. 

A quiet knock at the door drew your attention, smiling when you saw Mikey come in pulling a large chest and setting it down in the middle of the room;

“So err… Captain says there should be some stuff in here that will be ok for you, so umm… help yourself Miss…”

“Thank you Mikey”

The young man must be at least 20 yet a blush covered his cheeks as you spoke to him, and with a nervous smile he nodded his head and left the room, half tripping on the rug as he did so before slamming the door shut.

Stripping out of your ruined clothing you saw a pitcher of water and a bowl on the side, using it to wash the Captain's seed from your thighs. Crossing the room in just your silk stockings you opened the chest and pulled out a number of items, gauging what would fit. Looking around you set the items onto the large bed, pulling the covers straight as you made your choice and a thought came to mind.

-

Sy stood outside his cabin, his hand hovering over the door handle. What had he gotten himself into? When he’d heard that his old friend Walter was having issues on the island, he’d set sail immediately and between the two of them and his right hand man Walter, they’d come up with a fool proof plan; kidnap the lord’s young trophy wife, demand not even a ransom - just what they were due, return her unharmed. Instead he ended up with another officer onboard, a woman on his ship that was said to bring bad luck, and the puzzle of what the hell to do with her now it had been made abundantly clear that her husband didn’t want her back. Taking a deep breath he entered the room, expecting the worst…

“Darlin?... Don’t be mad…”

He looked around the room, surprised that at first he wasn’t pelted with whatever wasn’t tied down, but when he couldn’t see you at all he frowned.

“Captain, over here…”

His jaw dropped when he saw you, kneeling on his bed, bare save for your stockings and a smile. Crossing the room he came to stand at the foot of the bed, licking his lips as his gaze traversed your naked body;

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…I don’t know what i was expecting, but it wasn’t this…”

With a single finger he beconned you towards him, watching as you moved until you were up on your knees, his large hand at the back of your neck and you were kissing again, his glorious tongue exploring your mouth as your hands clung to his shirt. Deliberately falling back on the bed you pulled him with you, his mouth making its way to your breasts where he lavished each one with full mouthed kisses, his tongue laving over the hardened peaks before pressing a trail of kisses down your stomach before settled at the apex of your thighs;

“Gotta be the prettiest little Puss i’ve seen in a long time, bet you’re as sweet as a peach too…”

His tongue swiped a wide path through your folds, your fingers clawing at the sheets as his beard tickled you and he did to you things you’d only read about in the secretive books that were hidden in the depths of your husbands library.

“Oh Captain!” you gasped as his tongue dived into your soaked entrance, his nose rubbing at your sensitive clit and you could feel your stomach tightening with anticipation of the inevitable. Seemingly in no need of air he continued to work the thick muscle inside of you, driving you closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure until the point of no return was met and you came with a cry, your legs clamping around his head. 

Finally he pulled himself free of your grasp, climbing up the bed until he was nestled between your thighs, his hardness pressing against your soaked core. Holding himself up on his strong arms he looked down at you beneath him;

“This time i’m gonna take my time and savour it…”

Your hands found their way to his breeches, unbuttoning him and gasping as his hot flesh sprung into your palm, heavy and weeping with need you guided him to your entrance. As he plunged into your depths the world seemed to fade around you; you’d had a taste of heaven and now you wanted more;

“You’re so big…”

“You want me to slow down Darlin?”

“No! It feels… so good…”

With practiced skill he rocked into you, slow but rough thrusts that had his length hitting a spot deep inside you’d had no idea that existed. The man had probably fucked his way around half of the Carribean but for a barely touched blossom as yourself he cherished the way your petals opened around him. 

He continued to fuck you closer and closer to orgasm, feeling your body tighten around him and tremble, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed at your sensitive pearl, a grin spreading across his face as you came again with a shout of his rank;

“That’s a good girl, so fucking good… almost there…”

He quickly pulled out and spilled his seed over your stomach, watching as rope after rope of his creamy seed patterned your body, before he fell to your side, his chest heaving. Covering his eyes he let out a shaky breath;

“What the fuck have i gotten myself into…” He peeped out from between his fingers, smiling at you before pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, finally resting his forehead against yours; “Wait there a moment Darlin, i’ll get you cleaned up”

-

You’d dressed in front of your Captain, watching how he admired your choices from where he sat at the long table;

“Wasn’t expecting you to go for breeches…” he commented as you fastened the half length velvet garment, your stockings beneath the knee length trousers. A loose shirt with a wide leather belt fastening it at your waist was the only other garment you put on, standing in front of him and doing a little twirl; “Very nice… and practical”

“I spent ten years of my childhood aboard spice ships, running up ladders and rigging in skirts was a recipe for disaster.”

You crossed the room and sat across his lap;

“So, how is this going to work? You gonna drop me at the next port, leave me to my own devices? Wait until we’re in shark infested waters and throw me overboard?”

“What? Now why would i do that to a pretty little thing like you?”

“Well I know you didn’t end up with the outcome you were hoping for, and now you’re stuck with a ransomee that isn’t due any ransom”

He let out a sigh;

“I wouldn’t do that… it ain’t your fault your husband had the balls of a eunuch. No, i’m sure we can find a use for you, even if it’s just warming my bed… did you have an education?”

“Of sorts. Whenever we docked in Grace Bay i’d see a governess. I can speak spanish, french, and italian” you nodded to the maps spread over the table; “... and i can chart courses and know the currents of the Indies better than anyone that ever sailed on the spice route” 

You gently stroked his beard;

“So Captain, what do you want me to do?”

“All of the above and more…” he stroked your cheek; “I won’t always be able to please you in bed, and from the signs of it you’ve got quite a carnal appetite...So, firstly you can call me Sy when its just us or the officers. When we’re on deck it’s Captain like everyone else. Secondly, if you want it, my officers could do with a bedmate, if you don’t mind sharing?”

Your eyebrows shot up so far you were surprised they didn’t meet your hair;

“Share me with your officers? Who…”

“There’s the Constable - who you’ll know from town - Walter Marshall, and the Armoury Officer - August Walker, and you’ve met Michael, he’s first mate”

“O-Okay”

“You’re alright with that?”

Stroking his beard you leant forwards and kissed him;

“Yes, yes I am. I’ve always wanted a little more adventure in my life, and now here it is”

“Well, you can be the one to decide when you want to go to the others, i’ll leave that move to you… i wont say anything yet”

“Thank you Sy, let's tell them Friday night. You can tell them.”

“Anything for my little Rose” he pressed his face to your neck and inhaled; “Still smell as sweet as that rose garden…”

“You can call me Rose if you like?”

“A new name for a new start?”

“Something like that” you grinned at him.

-

You’d spent four nights in the arms of Sy, some nights just falling asleep in each others arms, other’s you would fuck until dawn. That particular morning you’d taken him in your mouth and he’d taught you how to suck a man, working your tongue and lips over his hot flesh until he’d flooded your mouth with his thick salty seed. He’d held your jaw as he finished;

“Now be a good girl and swallow it”

You gulped down the mouthful before smiling;

“Tasty”

With a laugh he kissed you, before giving your naked ass a cheeky spank as he rolled out of bed;

“You gonna join me on deck?”

You stretched and sighed;

“I’m gonna try and find that earring i dropped when you had me bent over the table last night…”

-

Sy entered his cabin just as the ship’s cook was leaving, nodding to the meal he’d set out;

“Creole Stew tonight Cap’n, bread and ale like always”

“Thanks. Have you seen Rose?”

“No Sir”

Nodding Sy entered his cabin with a weary sigh, it had been a long day and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed to sleep, grateful it was Friday which meant August took early watch on deck the next day, but he had dinner with the other officers and he hadn’t seen you for the last few hours, last he knew you were still on the hunt for your lost earring. Leaving the door ajar he sat at the table and started to eat, moments later Walter and August joining him.

“Where’s the others?” Walter asked as he sat, helping himself to a large chunk of bread

“Mikey is in the crows nest, he’ll be down shortly” August confirmed; “Haven’t seen Rose for a while though”

“Rose?”

“Sy’s bit of fluff. Decided as its a new start onboard she may as well choose a new name. Apparently its because Sy say’s she smells of Roses”

Walter snorted out a low laugh;

“She’s gonna be smelling of Sy sooner or later”

Sy listened to his two oldest friends banter back and forth, unaware of the surprise he was about to get. Hearing quick footfalls coming along the corridor he looked up to see Mikey at the doorway just as two soft hands pressed to his thighs from beneath the table. He nodded to Mikey to take a seat, before leaning back and peering down to his lap, hiding his surprise when he saw you on your knees beneath the table, hidden from the view of the rest of the party by the many overhanging maps and the low candle light.

Grabbing a chunk of bread he stayed leaning back but parted his thighs wide, wide enough to allow you to unfasten him and pump his hardening length and slip him into your mouth.

“Dig in boys, its gonna be a spicy meal tonight!”

As you worked quickly with your new found skills, sucking on the bulbous head as you fondled his heavy ballsack with your free hand, working quickly and silently as the men above you talked amongst themselves. You could feel Sy’s leg start to tremble, his hand sliding beneath the table to hold your head in place, and as you relaxed your jaw you felt his hot seed flood your mouth.

“WOO!” he exclaimed above you; “This stew is HOT!”

He took a deep breath and slapped his hand on the table with a laugh, before you tucked him carefully back into his breeches and you continued with your plan.

“Sy, we need to consider restocking the armoury” August started; “Scuttling the boats used up a lot of ammunitionnnnnnnnn”

Sy looked up and smirked, August looking at him wide eyed but recovering quickly, clearing his throat;

“Anyway as i was saying… umm... wow, the stew… the spice really hits after a while doesn’t it…”

August scrunched his face and rested his hand on his fist, before grabbing his tankard of ale and taking a large gulp, some of it spilling from the sides of his mouth as he spluttered on the liquid that did only a little to hide the groan. Sy shovelled another mouthful of stew into his mouth to hide his grin as August sat back in his chair, a half glare on his face. 

Walter frowned at both of the older men;

“I have no idea what you two are on about, this stew is fine”

August wiped the slight sheen of sweat from his brow, before finally sitting straight and digging back into his meal;

“Walt, just wait, it takes a while to hit you but when it does… ooooh boy it takes your breath away”

The big bear of a man frowned and shovelled another mouthful in, before his eyes went wide. Swallowing awkwardly he nodded, shifting in his seat;

“Oh… oh yeah… its hitting… wow, its a good burn, ya know…” taking a leaf out of August’s book he grabbed his tankard, taking a gulp as he fidgeted in his seat, both Sy and August doing poor jobs of hiding their smirks, whereas Mikey was sat at the far end of the table without the slightest clue as to what was going on;

“Seriously? You guys must be getting old, this stew ain’t spicy”

Sy raised his tankard to his son and grinned;

“Just wait, it’ll hit ya… anyway, i got an announcement to make”

The three other men looked at Sy, Walter’s gaze faltering now and again as his focal point seemed to change, but he shifted in his seat and leaned his elbow against the armrest of his chair, his hand sliding beneath the table as he muttered about ‘cramp’, when in fact his large hand was holding your head in place as he pushed deeper into your throat. Sy cleared his throat and continued;

“We all know the events at the island did not go to plan. We’re down on funds and supplies, and we’ve increased the crew numbers with those that helped with the land mutiny… we’ve also of course got Rose to consider, she never asked for any of this, but we have come up with a solution of sorts”

“I think i might know what that solution could be” Walter panted out, his face contorting into something that resembled a grimace as he muttered about spiciness and cramps again before with a sigh a smile spread across his face; “Ooooh that’s it… the cramps are going…”

“Anyway” Sy interjected with a wry smile; “Rose can speak numerous languages, can read and chart maps, she’s probably the best educated of everyone on the ship”

Just then Mikey squeaked and jumped in his chair, a thud sounding beneath the table;

“S-s-sorry... my knee hit the table”

Sy nodded with a smile;

“No problem Son, carry on. So Rose will also be here for other duties, but only for the officers at this table tonight” he paused; “And i think you all now know what those duties will be”

August nodded as he eagerly mopped up the last remaining morsels of his stew with a chunk of bread;

“That sounds a fucking brilliant idea Sy. She has the greatest tits...” at that moment Mikey let out a groan and his head thudded against the high back of his chair; “... and i think we all now know she’s got a fucking brilliant mouth on her”

There was little point in denying what had just happened, the very fact it was still going on and Mikey had so little control of his reactions as you were sucking his meaty dick, having just done the same to the other three men in the room from the darkness under the table. In fact the three older men started to chat away candidly as you lavished Mikey’s beautiful cock with your tongue, before taking him in hand to move your mouth down to his tight ballsack to suck on the warm globes. His athletic thighs had parted enough for you to get much closer than you had done with the other three men - all of whom had thighs that could crush a coconut - and it meant that the top of your head could now be seen in his lap by the other men.

“Grab her hair Mikey” August shouted from behind his refilled tankard; “Get deep down in her throat, its fucking amazing, feels like she’ll suck your soul out of your dick”

You felt Mikey's hands curl into your hair, holding your head in place as he started to rock his hips up, filling your mouth and throat. Gripping hard to his thighs you could feel him start to tremble, preparing yourself for the flood of seed and as he came with a cry, looking down at you as you stared back with wide innocent eyes that completely ruined him. 

Finally he released his grip on you, and as you looked down you smiled at what came into view. Seconds later you were climbing out from beneath the table, turning to smile at the rest of the men as you fastened the earring to your lobe;

“Look Sy, i found my earring!”

Walking around the table you took the tankard of ale that August held out for you with a smile, before sitting across Sy’s lap;

“I think they like the idea”

Sy looked at the men around the table, his trusted friends and family and smiled;

“I think they do, my sweet Rose”

He clinked his tankard to yours and you both drank, the joyous laughter filling the room as the night continued.

__________________________________________________________

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Masterlist can be found on AO3, link here.

[hexxborne]

Requiem

It all started when he pulled the trigger. He’d never had a nightmare so vivid and terrifying. His vision went white, and before he could even blink, it was back to normal again, and he was standing in front of a large marbled door. Looking around the immediate area, he saw elegant statues of unthinkable figures, filigreed veins of gold and silver running through the ivory stone. The floor was just as white, splattered with what appeared to be gold and black paint. He was too stunned to move for quite some time, simply observing the odd, ethereal room.

When he did finally muster up the courage to take a step, the sound echoed loudly around him, easily stopping him dead in his tracks again. It was an awful sound, and something about it told him he was wrong for moving. So he continued to stand and wait, pale jade eyes glancing nervously from statue to statue. The figures were strangely humanoid, surrounded by impossible rings decorated in eyes and fluttering flame. Just looking at them told him they weren’t stone, but something otherworldly and beautiful. The longer he looked, the more they shifted and changed before him. It brought tears to his eyes to perceive such beauty.

When his tears hit the floor, they left more black stains in amongst the gold, white, and black. It took him by surprise, a soft, choked noise sounding in his throat. Suddenly, he felt as the ground began to shake beneath him, nearly knocking him over. When he stood upright again, one of those strange statues had moved to stand before him, though a blinding halo hovered over it this time. No, it wasn’t a statue– It must have been an angel.

The angel spread its many sets of wings and let out an ear-piercing shriek, sending a wave of terror through him. As the angel silenced itself, he fell to his knees without even knowing it, obeying whatever command it had screamed. He could no longer move freely, instead feeling as if he were held in place by invisible angelic hands. A fresh wave of terror washed over him, leaving him trembling in the hands of the angels.

The head angel spoke, flaring its wings once more. “Re- qui- em.” It stated simply, its voice stinging his ears and rattling through his bones. He nodded without thinking, understanding what it meant despite its vague statement. It was his judgement day.

Another figure appeared– Though this one was much different than the others. It was mostly human looking. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, causing him to openly weep as the hands around him began squeezing tighter and tighter. The tall figure stood over him closely and in silence, as if awaiting something.

All at once, the hands began to tear into his flesh, picking through skin and muscle like it was paper. He screamed, and continued screaming as black blood poured out of him, chunks of flesh splattering onto the floor. The angelic fingers seared through him like a hot knife through butter, melting his flesh and lighting his nerves on fire. 

His endless screaming continued as the ripping and tearing came to an end, one hand finally pulling a black core from somewhere deep inside him. It handed the core over to the beautiful figure, and suddenly, the agony was over. He was free from the angel’s grasp and free to look himself over, arms wrapping tightly around himself as he recovered from the traumatising vivisection. His sobbing continued though, terror coursing through his veins as he touched his suddenly intact body, wailing in terror as the figure held his blackedned core. 

“O, my child,” The figure spoke, its voice soft inside his head. “Why have thou forsaken me?” It’s question burned in the back of his mind as he came to realise he was standing before God himself.

“F-forgive me father, for I have sinned–” He gasped, as if such a plea would help him. The figure leaned over above him, and he could feel a rush of sadness wash over him before it spoke again.

“It is too late for that, my son.” It stopped him, its voice echoing in his mind. He was frozen, awaiting whatever was to come next. 

One of the Lord’s fingers came up to hush him softly, pressing against his lip and dragging itself down his throat and chest in an impossibly straight line of white hot agony.  He screamed again, and the Lord cried over him, tears dropping onto him like rain and staining his skin a gaudy gold. 

Baptised in the ethereal tears of his Lord, the pain stopped for a brief time, before the angels began a shrieking cacophony around them. “Hell!” He heard one of them wail as God held out his obsidian core. “Damnation!” Another scream. “Hellfire will rain down upon you!” They chanted, deafening him. “Fall! Fall! Fall!”

And so he fell.

[pinkoushi]

flipping like a switch (NSFW)

summary: asahi can flip like a switch, going from shyly blushing at your compliments to pounding you until your legs give out. porn with very little plot

characters: asahi x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: major daddy kink, creampie, edging, slight impact play, mild dacryphilia (? not sure tbh), mating press, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting (slightly), degradation, praise, PET NAMES, borderline forced orgasm aaaand slight overstim? i think that’s it. basically, y/n is in for a wild ride

A/N: okay. i haven’t written a fic for at least two years so i’m grossly bad at it, sorry! also, in case anyone missed it, this is based off the interaction between asahi and @odetolove​ / @introloves (i’m the asahi mod, i’m not stealing anyone’s content dw) anyway, enjoy!

It was a lazy Saturday; you and Asahi had the day off work and had decided to take the day to just relax, ending up on the couch together, half watching an old show you’d seen together hundreds of times. Asahi was on his back, you laying on top of him, his hands running soothingly up and down your back.

  “You’re so pretty.” He suddenly whispers, moving a hand to pet your head, urging you to look up at him.

  “Hmm you’re real pretty too, baby!” You hum back, barely awake, nuzzling your face on his muscular chest. “So handsome, makes me weak.”

  A blush creeps up his face, heart beating faster. You had been dating for just over a year, and with the constant compliment battles the two of you had, you’d think he’d gotten used to it, but he never understood how someone as beautiful as you could possibly love him as much as you do.

  “Y/N! You can’t just say that without warning!” He moves a hand to cover his burning face, feeling you laugh against his chest.

  “Aw but it’s so fun to tease you!” You look up, resting your chin on his chest, a playful smile on your lips. “You get flustered to easily, I could just say that no one makes my pussy as wet as you do, and it’d put you in the grave.”

  He squeaks, both hands now covering his face.

  “It really is surprising how your personality flips, you’d think I was the dom here,” you laugh again, moving one of his hands from his face. “but you flip like a switch, fucking my brains out without a moment of hesitation.”

  Confidence grows in him, blooming in his chest. You move up, gently sucking on his neck.

  “My daddy, always fucking me so good.” You mumble against his neck, feeling your lower stomach tighten with arousal.

  Asahi growls, flipping the two of you over, moving between your legs and pinning your hands over your head.

  “My needy slut wants to play, is that it? Teasing daddy,” he smacks your leg, “how naughty.”

  He kisses you roughly, hands roaming your body, groping at your tits. He’s growling into your mouth, grinding his hardening cock against your clothed cunt.

  His lips move to your neck, sucking and biting harshly, hands moving your shirt up to expose your chest, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them.

  You’re sighing and mewling, squirming against his actions, big and rough hands making you shiver. He smacks one of your tits, making you arch your back in to his touch.

  “Please, fuck me!” You’re growing desperate, bucking your hips to get him to touch you more, deeper.

  “Daddy, please” your hands find themselves in his hair, tugging on the soft locks. He tuts, biting down on the point where your neck meets your shoulder.

  “Now, now, let daddy take his time or you’re not getting his cock.” He moves, lifting your shirt off your body before attacking your chest with hickeys. One hand trails down, sneaking under your sweatpants and panties, teasing your clit with soft touches, making you gasp.

  “What did I just tell you, princess? Let daddy take his time.” His voice is harsh and deep. He scrapes his teeth on a nipple before moving down your body. “Maybe my pretty girl needs to be taught some patience, hm?”

  He pulls your sweatpants and underwear down, spreading your legs and teasing your slit with a finger.

  “Such a pretty little pussy for me, all mine.” He licks a hot strip over it, latching on to your clit and sucking. Two fingers find your entrance, pushing in and rubbing against your g spot.

  “Ah-! Daddy!” You moan out loudly, hips bucking. “slo- slow down, gonna cum too quick!”

  He doesn’t stop or slow down, speeding up instead. He waits, letting your orgasm build and build, hearing you near the edge and…

 “FUCK, daddy, please!” He pops off, lips and fingers leaving you as you wail, hips moving desperately, searching for his touch.

  You only moan and whine in response, frustrating him. He lets you calm down before attacking your clit again, sucking and playing with it. You tense up, muscles locking and trying to wrap your legs around his broad shoulders to keep him in place. Asahi only groans, pushing two fingers in again and pumping hard, building you up again.

  He leans his head on your inner thigh, pinning your legs open with his hands.

  “Aw, baby, you’re gonna have to wait,” he smacks your trembling pussy, smiling at the way you writhe in pain and pleasure, “you have to learn to be more patient.”

  “Please- please daddy, let me cum, please!” you babble, gripping his hair to pull him in closer.

  But he lets go again. You groan out, tears welling in your eyes. He smiles and kisses your shaking legs, hands running up and down your torso, calming you again.

  “So pretty for me, all needy and crying.” He coos, pinning your legs open again and licks up your weeping hole, pushing his tongue in. He thrust a little with the muscle, moving back to your sensitive clit, pushing in his fingers again.

  “Cum for me.” He commands, speeding up his fingers to urge your orgasm closer.

  “FUCK! Daddyyy” you shake, your orgasm spilling down your pussy and down to your butt, falling on the couch. He doesn’t stop, harshly working you through the waves, pushing you to force more cum to squirt out. “Please, please, can’t- too much!” You try pushing his head away, him eventually retreating. He rubs on your legs and stomach, letting you breathe again.

  “Good girl, so pretty, came so hard for me.”

  He doesn’t try to initiate anything else, giving you the space to keep going if you want to.

  You reach out, hands grabbing in the air and a high-pitched whine leaving your throat. Tears pool in your eyes, desperation aching in your bones.

  “D-Daddy, please” you look down, squirming at his lust filled eyes, lower face covered in your slick and cum. “please... fuck me”

  “Who owns this pussy? Who is fucking you this good? Tell me.” He commands, shivering at the way your eyes gloss over, completely submissive for him.

  Arousal runs hot in his body, your desperation awakening something deep inside him. He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them to your chest, moving your body in to a mating press. Taking a hold of his cock and teasing your entrance before pushing in, a groan slipping out from his lips.

   “Fuuuuck yes princess, feel so good!” his hands land above your head, lips meeting yours for a kiss. He starts thrusting, hard and deep, forcing squeals out from your mouth.

  “Daddy~” you mewl, shaking hands clawing on his back, leaving red marks on the smooth skin.

  Asahi comes down to leave hickeys on your neck, licking, sucking and biting at all the skin he can reach. His thrusts keep going, the slapping of your hips meeting echoing off the walls. You’re a mess, mouth open and letting all noises come out. The thrusts come to a halt, just grinding against you, one of his hands grabbing a hold of your hair to force you to look at him.

  “You- you do, pussy- yours! Yours daddy, ‘m all yours, please!” you’re babbling, tears falling from your eyes and hands trying to force his hips to move again.

  “good girl” Asahi coos, kissing your cheek and letting go of your hair, “such a good girl for daddy, my little slut.” Slapping your thigh and starting to move his hips again, chucking at the whine that escapes your throat.

  “gonna cum for me again? C’mon, I know you can do it, my needy bitch can cum as much as daddy asks her to, right?” he hums, a hand sneaking down to play with your clit, groaning as you tense up and just about scream, orgasm hitting you hard.

  He pulls out, going down your shaking body to your pussy, licking up the fluids and moaning. His fingers never leave your clit, playing with it until a sob echoes in the room. He pulls back, smirking up at you.

  “My pretty girl, came so good n hard for me.” He’s making his way up again, pressing your knees up to your chest again and pushing in his cock again. “just a little more, my love, gonna cum soon. Where do you want it?”

  “I-in… in me. Please, daddy please cum in me” you say softly, gasping when his thrusts start again, hard and quick.

  He groans into your neck, humming approvingly. Your legs and arm go limp, mouth open and fucked out. You can barely think, skin on fire and pussy clenching over the thought of his hot cum inside you.

  “Gonna cum, gonna, gonna-!” his voice is hurried and strained, biting down on your neck and moaning, hot spurts shooting into your pussy.

  You’re both huffing and panting. He moves your legs down and lays down between your spread legs, kissing your chest.

  “Th-thank you daddy” you gasp out, feeling his cum leak out of your soaking pussy. Your fingers run through his hair, smiling at his arms wrapping around your waist and snuggling closer.

[thebadgerclan]

Solnishka

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alina Starkov

Summary: After the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to his rooms...

Smut!

A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here we are!

“I’ll leave my guards outside until I return,” Aleksander said, only inches from her face.  “I’ll be waiting,” Alina replied, breathless.  He placed a hand on her cheek before turning to go, everything in him telling him to stay, to keep kissing her, to keep her close.  But he didn’t get very far, Aleksander turned on his heel and hurried back to Alina, kissing her deeply once more, needing her.  She smiled up at him, and he forced himself to go; if he didn’t, he’d be there all night.  Besides, Alina said she would wait.

And wait she did, remaining in the war room for a time, unsure of how long Aleksander would be gone.  But after a half hour elapsed, Alina wandered around the room, looking at the maps lining the walls, the model of Ravka on the table.  The table Aleksander was just kissing you on, her mind supplied, and she felt herself blush.  Alina found herself in the doorway that led to his bedroom, and she paused.  Would he be angry with her if she entered?  Likely not, she reasoned.  He’d just been kissing her senseless.

So she entered, taking in the room.  A large bed with silk black sheets, a fireplace, bookshelves.  Clothes were hung and folded neatly in the wardrobe, and Alina sat on the edge of his bed.  Her heart was beating rather fast, but she knew it was more from anticipation than nervousness.  Another 20 minutes or so passed before she heard the door open, and Alina straightened up.  “Alina?” Aleksander called, slightly concerned by her absence.  “In here,” she responded, and Aleksander smiled.

He entered his bedroom, a warm feeling filling his entire body, seeing his Sun Summoner on his bed.  “Making yourself at home?” he teased, but Alina frowned.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”  “Shh, lapushka,” Aleksander interrupted.  “This is exactly where I want you to be.”  He strode over to her, taking his hands in his and pulling her to his feet.  Aleksander’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush to his chest, her face only inches from his.  “Now, shall we pick up where we left off?”

Alina nodded eagerly, and Aleksander laughed softly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers; the kiss gentle at first, but intensity and need grew rapidly.   His hands bunched the silk of her kefta at her back, wanting her closer, and Alina whimpered, going limp in his arms.  Aleksander deepened the kiss, one hand coming to her cheek, the other splaying across her back.  Alina clung to the lapels of his kefta, pulling him closer to her.  Want and need pulsed between them, and Aleksander moaned softly against her lips.  He brought his hands to the fastenings of her kefta, but paused, breaking the kiss, both breathing heavily.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, forehead against hers.  Aleksander was aching for her, wanting to tear her clothes from her gorgeous body and have his way with her, but if Alina said no, if she even hesitated, he would walk away.  But she nodded, pressing herself into his body.  “I’m sure,” she said, voice breathy with need.  “I want you, Aleksander, please.”  He kissed her again, removing the gold ornament from her hair, tossing it aside.  “Then you’ll have me.”

Aleksander kissed her again, and there was only one word to describe the kiss: hungry.  His tongue parted her lips, entering her mouth, and Alina moaned, hands threading through his hair, tugging gently.  He chuckled against her lips and broke the kiss, much to Alina’s displeasure, slowly unfastening her kefta.  The black silk rippled from her body, and Aleksander draped it over the arm of a chair, before turning his attention to the dress she wore beneath.  Alina felt her face heat up as Aleksander undressed her, embarrassment filling her.

She’d always been a scrawny girl, no doubt from not using her powers for her entire life.  She was skinny, her breasts were small, she never found herself beautiful.  Alina shut her eyes, not wanting to see Aleksander’s face when he looked at her.  “Solnishka,” he breathed, awe in his voice, once she was naked.  “You are beautiful.”  Alina opened her eyes, breath catching in her throat.  Aleksander was looking at her with a reverence she’d never seen, his eyes roving over her body, mouth quirked up in a small smile.  “Such a gorgeous, perfect body, my love.”

Aleksander pulled her into another kiss, easing her backwards until she was sitting on the bed once more.  He undressed himself, his kefta tossed onto the sofa, boots kicked off, shirt pulled over his head, and trousers pushed down.  Alina couldn’t help but stare at his sculpted form: his defined muscles, his strong arms and legs, and most of all, his hard, weeping cock.  “Do you like what you see?” he asked, kneeling before Alina on the bed.  She nodded, mouth dry.  “My Alina, you are perfect.  

He kissed her again, lips trailing down her neck, chest, and abdomen.  He murmured praises into his skin as he went: “So beautiful, perfect, gorgeous, mine.”  He kissed an identical path back up her body, and when he was done, Alina was trembling with want.  “Aleksander, please,” she whispered, and Aleksander kissed her.  “Have you ever been with a man before, milaya?”  There had been numerous make outs, a few instances of groping over the clothes, in her time in the First Army, but Alina had never gone as far as she would go tonight.  She shook her head.

“I will make you feel things you never thought possible, my love,” Aleksander promised.  “And I will be gentle.  If you need me to stop, just tell me, alright?”  Alina nodded, words failing her.  But when he rose to his knees before him, she spread her legs, revealing her dripping cunt to his view.  Aleksander moaned, swiping two fingers through her slit, assessing her arousal.  “You want me?” he asked, wanting to be completely sure that Alina wanted this.  “I want you, please, Aleksander.”

He moved forward, taking his cock in hand, lining himself up with her entrance.  “I will go slow,” he promised.  “This may hurt, my love, but not for long.”  “Please,” was all she could manage, and Aleksander nodded.  He bent forward to kiss her, lips covering hers as he slowly pushed forward.  The stretch burned, and Alina whined, but Aleksander pressed forth, knowing she would stop him if she needed.  She was wet, she was warm, and she was tight, and Aleksander moaned low in his throat.  “Saints, solnishka, you feel so good.”

Aleksander stilled once he was fully within her, rubbing her side comfortingly.  “It’s alright, darling, you’re doing so well.”  Alina whimpered softly, reaching out blindly for his hand.  She’d shut her eyes while he’d entered her, and they slowly fluttered open, meeting his grey eyes.  “How do you feel?”  Alina wiggled her hips, testing the sensations, and Aleksander hissed.  “Full,” she responded, the pain making way for pleasure, the feeling of fullness changing into that of want and need.  

“Are you ready?” he asked, kissing her sweetly, and Alina nodded.  “I am, please, Aleksander.”  Slowly, ever so slowly, he withdrew until only the head of his cock remained inside.  When he thrust forward, Alina moaned, gripping his bicep with one hand, pulling his face to hers with the other.  He fucked her slow and gentle, cock dragging in and out of her pussy, stretching and filling her completely.  He knew he was the first man to take her, and Aleksander prayed he would be the last.

Alina was in heaven, she felt like she was high on pleasure, and he’d barely fucked her yet.  Pure pleasure flowed through her veins, a feeling she knew she could never go without again.  Aleksander rolled his hips against hers, cock gently and slowly pleasuring her.  When the tip hit a spot deep within her, Alina cried out, bucking her hips against his, needing more.  “Did that feel good, dearest?”  “Yes, Aleksander, more, please!”  She felt so good, he was making her feel so good, but she needed more.

He brought a hand to her clit, rubbing slow, gentle circles around the bundle of nerves, and Alina moaned louder, rolling her hips up into Aleksander’s, chasing the pleasure she so deeply craved.  Aleksander craned his neck to take one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pebbled flesh, and Aline keened, arching into his mouth.  “Aleksander!” she cried, pulling harder at his hair.  “Oh, Sasha, please!”  He lifted his head, meeting her eyes, her pupils blown with lust.  

“Tell me what you need, Alinochka,” he prompted, and Alina sighed.  “More, please, I need more!”  “Are you close, my sweet?  Are you going to come for me?”  She was close, unbearably so.  Alina had brought herself to climax on her own before, but then, it was just her fingers.  They never did anything when she tried putting them inside her, and rubbing her own clit became mundane after a while.  But Aleksander filled and stimulated her in a way she’d never even imagined before, and with his fingers on her clit, she felt like she could implode.

“Yes,” she breathed, pulling him down into a kiss.  “Please, Aleksander, I’m so close!”  He sped up his hips, only a bit, and rubbed Alina’s clit faster, and a moment later, she was coming.  Alina whimpered his name as she rode out her orgasm, cunt fluttering around Aleksander’s cock.  “Can you keep going?” he asked, having not come himself yet.  “We can stop if you want.”  “No,” Alina said at once.  “No, keep going, please Sasha.”  He kissed her, this kiss deeper and more passionate.  Alina craved more, she needed it, and Aleksander nodded, resuming his slow, gentle thrusts.

But it wasn’t enough.  Alina ached, she needed more.  “Harder,” she pleaded, making Aleksander freeze.  “Please, Aleksander, fuck me harder.”  He wanted nothing more than to fuck Alina as hard as he could, to rail her into the mattress and take his pleasure from her body.  But this was her first time, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her.  “Are you sure, darling?”  “Yes, please, I need it!”  A fire had been set in Alina, and there was only one way to extinguish it.  Aleksander nodded, shifting his position so he could fuck Alina as she requested: hard and fast.  

He now knelt upright, hands on her hips, able to gaze down on her perfect body.  “Tell me to stop and I will,” he reminded, and he snapped his hips forward.  Skin slapped against skin as Aleksander fucked her, hard and fast, the only thoughts in his mind being Alina, Alina, Alina, and chasing his own high.  Beneath him, Alina was a moaning, trembling, whimpering mess, broken moans leaving her mouth.  “Yes!” she cried.  “Yes, Aleksander, fuck!  Oh fuck, there!  Saints, that’s it!”

The pious Sun Summoner, Sankta Alina, was begging for cock like a common woman, and Aleksander loved it.  His Alina, desperate for him, and no one else.  She cried out, pulling Aleksander back down to her, kissing him hungrily and clawing down his back.  “S-Sasha, fuck, I’m close!”  “I am too, solnishka,” he gritted out, forehead on hers.  “Come with me, Alina, I’m so close.”  Aleksander rubbed her clit again, making his Sun Summoner wail with unadulterated pleasure, and she came again, legs wrapping around his hips, locking him within her.

The squeezing of her pussy drove him over the edge, and Aleksander grunted his release, lips against Alina’s as he spilled himself inside her.  They were both panting as Aleksander slowly pulled out, Alina whimpering at the empty feeling.  “Shh, Alinochka, I’m here.”  He reached into the drawer of his nightstand, pressing a small vial of pale purple liquid into her hand.  “Alkemi made contraceptive,” he explained, and Alina nodded, downing the vial with a grimace.

Aleksander laid back, pulling Alina into his arms.  She snuggled close to him, her face buried in his chest, arms around his middle.  He held her close, his arms tight around her, one hand smoothing her slightly ruffled hair, lips on her forehead.  “I love you, Alina,” he said, speaking the words he’d felt for weeks.  “I love you so much.  There is no one else, solnishka, only you.” Alina lifted her face, kissing Aleksander softly.  “I love you too, Sasha.”  He felt his heart might burst, and he returned the kiss, a bit deeper this time.  “Rest, my love,” he said, settling back into the pillows.  “I will be right here.  I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”  Alina nodded, kissing him once more before snuggling back into his chest.  For the first time, she had a warm bed, a full stomach, clean clothes, and a man who loved her, and would love her for eternity.

[peachyteabuck]

bitter to the taste

summary: after a long mission, natasha and steve return to find you’ve broken their number one rule. 

pairing: natasha romanoff x steve rogers x reader

words: 2,045

trigger warnings: brat taming, degradation, punishment (spanking), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm control

notes: this is my birthday present to @domromanoff! not only a wonderful writer, they’re a fantastic friend and the owner to a simply adorable kitten. enjoy!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You cling to Steve’s pants leg, expertly manicured nails gripping into the fabric as you tuck your face behind his calf. The man sighs as he feels you sniffle against the expensive fabric, doing your best to hide from the wrath of the woman standing just in front of the sitting man.

“You know how I feel about rule-breaking, Steve,” Natasha sighs, looking between her husband and your trembling form below him. “If we don’t punish her, she’s just going to break more rules.”

Steve tsks, leaning down so he can pet at your hair. “Oh, baby, our little girl wouldn’t do such a thing,” he turns to you, sticking his bottom lip out to mimic your pout. “No, you love following directions from Daddy, don’t you baby girl?”

You grin up at him, playing with the hem of his pants in an attempt to look extra cute. “Yes, Daddy!”

Natasha scowls, shaking her head. “That’s bullshit and we fucking know it, Steve. You saw how wet her panties were when we came home. It’s obvious she touched herself without permission!”

The man just rolls his eyes, continuing to rub his thumb into your temple. “Babe, when we set that rule at least one of us always been there whenever her desperate little cunt needed us. Even if she broke it, we’ve been gone so often we can’t really blame her, can we?”

Your core heats at his words – speaking about you as if you weren’t digging your perfectly manicured nails into his muscular calf and could hear everything they were both saying. You love it when he does that, when he gives you no choice in whatever he chooses to do, when he makes you feel all small and dumb as his cock fucks in and out of you without mercy.

Natasha rolls her eyes, heeled foot still tapping against the hardwood floor at a tempo that makes your head spin and your whole body clutch at Steve’s leg even harder than before. You’re not sure why becoming something akin to a needy koala would protect you from the wrath of the redhead, but it’s still your only hope for avoiding your ass spanked raw – even if its chance of working is slim to none.

“Steve, we absolutely can,” she bites back – stomping closer towards you as you bury your face into Steve’s calf. At the least second she crouches down, her body awash with a faux caring demeanor. “Do you want me to be mean baby?” she coos, pouting her bottom lip. “You want me to tie you down so you can’t move, can’t squirm or writhe when it gets too much? Is that it? Do you want me to edge you all night, edge you until it hurts and then ruin every single orgasm I let you have until you cry so pretty for me?”

You shake your head, tentatively moving so that you can look at her with your own large, round eyes that silently plead for mercy. For a moment you have hope that it’ll work, that she’ll go easy on you or even give you what you want. But it’s only a second later that you realize you were wrong – very wrong.

Steve exhales deeply as Natasha reaches out to grab you by the hair – his actions relaxed as you yelp in reaction to the sharp pain spreading from your scalp to the base of your spine. She drags you through the large house, ignoring your whines as Steve follows close behind. His stride is casual, almost bored – he’s witnessed this back and forth before, seen the fire in Natasha’s eyes and fat, watery tears from fall from yours as they beg Steve for mercy, pity, anything. It’s unwavering – the look you give him – even as Natasha sits on the edge of their shared king-sized bed with her feet flat on the floor, bending you over her knee as she pins both your hands behind your back with one hand wrapped around where she’s crossed them on top of each other.

Steve sits next to his wife so that your head is resting in his lap, gazing down at you an unfortunate, disgraceful painting his face. There’s nothing there for you to pull at, nothing you can manipulate to get you out of the compromising position you’ve found yourself in, even as Natasha begins one of her famous punishments.

She doesn’t both undressing you before she begins, flipping your white tennis skirt up over your ass and tucking it under your hands before pulling your matching cotton panties as far as they’ll go to reveal your bare ass. Her spanks are hard and succinct, never stopping to coo over your tears or rub at the heated parts of your ass. You keep position, though, keep your arms behind your back as your wide, tear-filled eyes beg Steve for intervention, for praise, for something. At this point you’d even accept him degrading you – a job normally left to Natasha.

Unfortunately, it’s become obvious that tonight is different than the others – Natasha and Steve particularly stressed from the bullshit Tony handed down to them since the billionaire is unable to manage is own emotions weaning their capacities for your bullshit down to near nothingness. You consider sending the man a strongly worded email as the spanks enter the double digits, the pain causing you to weep openly into the fabric of the pants you once clutched for support. You count to twenty-four before she’s rubbing a rough hand into the heated skin and commanding you to thank her.

When it comes out more mumbled, more hushes than she would like, Natasha immediately grabs your hair to yank your head straight back.

“Say it again,” she hisses through grit teeth, ignoring your cries of pain as her other hand comes down to leave a quick smack! to your face. “I don’t care if it hurts - I want to hear you.”

Your voice is high-pitched and desperate “Thank you, Mommy!”

“Aw, so our little slut can follow directions,” Natasha coos, her voice tinged with laughter that should make you feel much more ashamed than it does horny. “Too bad she has to be beaten into it.”

She punctuates her words with a final harsh SLAP! against your dripping pussy, eliciting another high-pitched scream that only dies when Steve begins to pet over your face and hair to calm you down.

“Nat, do you always have to be so harsh?” he sighs, wiping a few tears that stain your cheeks.

The woman in question just grins, ghosting her fingers over your abused skin and nearly laughing as you twitch under touch. “Is there any other way to be?”

Steve rolls his eyes at his wife’s dramatics, but still manhandles you into his lap at her direction – pressing your back to his chest as your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths. He knows what Natasha wants, positioning his legs over yours to keep them open while one of his hands holds your skirt up so reveal your now-soaked panties, the cool air hitting nearly-transparent fabric and sending a feeling down your spine that makes you moan.

Natasha’s eyes zero in on your trembling cunt, smirking as she looks up to see your face heating up while you try to hide behind your hands. “You’re so needy, aren’t you? And all it took was some discipline and now you’re a little crying mess, all small and obedient for Daddy and Mommy…”

She gives Steve a small nod, giving him the cue to push your panties to the side, her grin getting impossibly wider as you melt against him.

“You’re our pretty little toy, aren’t you?” Natasha murmurs, watching as his fingers rub circles around your clit. “Our cute little toy with cute little whines and whimpers…”

Steve grins as well as your wanton moans fill the bedroom, leaving kisses on your temple as your pussy tightens around Natasha’s fingers. His voice is sweet, filled with love – and it makes his words all that much filthier. “Such a pathetic little toy for us, aren’t you baby? Just our dumb little toy…” Your fervent nodding, your mindless agreement with his degradation of you – it makes his cock strain even harder in his pants. “Don’t need to think at all…just be soft and pretty and do what we say, don’t you baby?”

You cry out as Natasha begins fucking her fingers in and out of you even harder – your face scrunching up as your legs twitch where they’re held in place. “Y-yes Daddy! I’m your dumb little baby!”

Your cries get even more pathetic, though, when Natasha pulls her fingers out of you to use that hand to slap you once more – leaving a trail of your own slick against your cheek. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” she snaps, ignoring your cries as her fingers slip back inside of you. “It’s a shame you’re stupid…at least you’re pretty.”

Her words shouldn’t make your head swim like it does – shouldn’t make heat pool between your legs as she fits one more finger inside of you, working in tandem with Steve to illicit humiliating wet sounds from your cunt.

“You want me to fill this wet little pussy don’t you?” Natasha murmurs, more speaking to herself than to you. “You want Steve and I to fill your filthy little cunt? Want to feel both of us inside of your tight little hole?”

Your eyes are wide and pleading, desperate for something – anything.

But then Natasha sighs, and that’s always a bad sign. “It’s too bad you’re a bad little slut.”

Yup. There it is.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” you immediately moan in anticipation but it’s almost immediately cut off with a yelp as another SLAP is landed on your pussy with Natasha’s free hand. “And then you’re on no-touch for a week. You’ll be Daddy and I’s adorable little fleshlight until we say otherwise.”

You gasp and shoot forward, the reality of your future crashing down on you at once. “N-no Mommy! Please! Please I’ll do anything please don’t put me on no touch Mom-!”

You’re cut off by one of Steve’s large hands covering your mouth, pulling you against his chest and holding you in place.

Natasha smiles up at him, eyes knowing as you get tighter and tighter around her fingers. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it babe?”

Steve just rolls his eyes as she speaks down to you, her sweet voice an incredibly hot juxtaposition to her words “It’s so easy to make you beg, isn’t it? So easy to make you into a desperate little whore? All you little brats are all the same, you act out and do whatever you want and the second someone threatens a modicum of structure or punishment and you fall apart…”

Her words trail off as she realizes how close you are, as she sees each muscle in your body tense while your hands tangle in the sheets and your jaw goes slack and your brow furrows and

“Do it,” she leans forward to whisper into your temple, your head tucked under Steve’s chin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon – you can do it, you can come on from Mommy and Daddy’s fingers all over your pretty little pussy…”

You finally – finally reach your peak with a moan that sounds more animal than human, Steve holding your trembling body as you shake near-violently, your cunt gushing onto the sheets below as your already soaked panties and the seat of your skirt become drenched with your slick and sweat. It’s disgusting but so hot, and makes you pant even harder as your lungs claw at your throat for air.

Steve moves his legs so that you can curl into his lap, whole body folding into itself as Natasha moves closer to hold your face with both of her soaked hands. “Go to sleep baby,” she murmurs between kisses. “We’ll discuss your full punishment tomorrow.”

As unconsciousness overwhelms your senses, a sense of relief floods your veins as the pleasure subsides. Natasha only negotiates when she knows she’s lost…especially when it comes to you and Steve.

[savagetrickster]

Sweet Poison (NSFW) | BNHA

Inspired by @bnhabookclub​‘s weekly nsfw prompt in the discord. <3

Prompt: “I’m going to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch.”

AU/Trope/Scenario: Coincidental Relationship + (my own) Dance school AU

*coincidental relationship (in this case) = a sexual relationship happening from chance despite being very unlikely

Themes/warnings: 18+, aged-up, explicit content (!), daddy kink, voyeurism, oral sex, mirror sex, dance studio sex, degradation, swearing

.

If anyone could match her temper and brashness, it would be Bakugou Katsuki. 

But that doesn’t mean she got along with him. 

It had always been a funny thing for people who grew up with them. 

Ever since they were as little as kindergartners in a tots’ dance school, she had always been the person who stood against him whenever he was mean to Izuku. 

She was constantly frowning upon on how he treated the other boy and never understood why Izuku would ever want to hang around with someone like him. 

Though ironically, it was common to hear their peers commenting about how similar she and Bakugou were.

Dominating.

Hot-headed.

Loud.

Two powerful frictions were what they were. Always rubbing off each other the wrong way.

A stare any longer than a second could become an unwavering match of death glares.

Brushing past each other along the hallway of the same famous dance school they were unfortunate enough to end up in could make even oblivious idiots shiver to the dangerous aura both emitted at the mere brief contact.

A word from one could trigger the other to demand a ‘shut up’ and escalate it to a shouting match colored with so much vulgarity that anyone who heard them would probably need to cleanse their ears, be it with soap or holy water.

They had always rubbed off each other the wrong way, but this was the craziest they’d been.

Who knew that one day this endless rivalry would eventually bring them before a fogged mirror.

.

She couldn’t really tell how it happened or even why it happened. 

An international dance competition she had signed up for was all that she had in mind and staying back at the dance school to practice had been how she spent her nights. 

And for the past few nights, her hardwork was executed in a room the administration officer had left unlocked so that she could use it after she was done with her part-time job.

It had never really crossed her mind, or more like she just didn’t care to know that any other students would be taking part in this competition until she arrived at the school on her third night to find the room lighted and occupied.

By none other than Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Something about him always infuriated her without fail, with a blooming annoyance and irritation which would always make her particularly unforgiving.

It was probably the years after years of conflict that caused this to be built into her system. 

Furious clenches between her eyebrows and snarls on her lips were the default face she made around him.

But somehow for reasons she could not comprehend, a strange click in her happened while she argued for the room and he spatted a ‘fuck off’ at her.

Her eyes just had to wander and notice the weirdest things about him while she was fuming. 

She’d never really seen him in this state before - maybe she did but just didn’t bother because, in her eyes, he was always the young annoying brat she knew since little and wanted nothing to do with him.

But tonight was different. Being up close and spitting fire at him alone made noticing...anatomical things about him inevitable. 

Without his usual oversized tee or singlets, his sweaty sculpted body rippled to every movement. 

It was hard to miss the prominent waves of clenches ripping down the taut muscles down his chiseled six-packs to the V-line disappearing below the stretchy waistline of his black sweatpants. 

Under his tightened jaw jarring out at her, the noticeable bops of his Adam’s apple were distracting as they exchanged spats of demanding, awful words.

Being in a sports bra and a pair of fitting shorts, she didn’t miss the way his angry red eyes ran over her a couple of times.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe that was why her knees and her palms were pressed into the cool, wooden floor of the dance studio, with her naked arched back accentuating her equally naked ass.

Wanting this but not at all at the same time.

Aroused but angry.

Relishing but spiteful.

Brimming with moans within her rapidly expanding chest but adamantly refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing a single one of them.

Her eyes burning into the gray bricked wall and her teeth biting down on her lower lips, pushing back any moans or whimpers threatening to respond to the two long, thick fingers inside her weeping cunt.

She could feel his red eyes boring into her, enjoying her struggle to keep herself from making a sound. 

Waiting for her to lose her footing and beg him. 

Knowing with smugness that he was good. Damn good at what he was doing. 

...That even someone who was as intense and stubborn as him would eventually bow down to him once he gained the upper hand, even if it meant needing to shove his cock into her some time soon.

“Feeling good, ain’t ya?” There was a smirk evident in his smug voice. “Admit it, bitch, your fucking pussy is literally soaking me.” 

She refused to open her mouth, knowing something would escape if she did. 

An actual smirk curled his lips at her silence, tad amused at her loud, tattered breathing.

“Oh wait, what the fuck am I doing anyway?” Bakugou eyed her with an anticipating calculated glint, “Why should I care if you feel good? You don’t deserve anything from me.”  

His fingers slipped out, splatters of her slick arousal flickering across the floor. A whine nearly escaped her at the emptiness between her folds.

Clad loosely within his sweatpants, his thigh muscles clenched as he moved to stand on his feet.

“...St-Stop.”

Bakugou paused, his knee he knelt on hovering over the floor as he glanced over with dancing eyes.

“Stop?”

Tongue darting out to lick his fingers clean, Bakugou resisted a groan at the taste in his mouth.

Fuck, how can someone like her taste this...nice?

His eyes lingered on her sopping cunt hungrily as he planted himself behind her ass to marvel at his work.  

“...you can’t just leave something half done, bastard.’ Her thighs under her shook. 

Leave it to this girl to remain stubborn. 

His lips curled wider.

That was something he liked yet hated about her. His feelings toward her had always been an enigma since...forever. 

She was intriguing but grated on his nerves. And he was sure that was what she felt about him too. 

Seeing her succumb to him had always been a dirty little wet dream he always thought about.

“Yes I can,” A scoff blew through his lips, “and I just fucking did. So deal with it, bitch.”

Today felt like the day to let it all play out. 

He made his move to step away, eyes fixed and breath bated for her reaction.

“No wait, please-” 

A pleading whimper she fought so hard to hold back interrupted her before she could stop herself. 

His Adam’s apple bopped with an elaborate, deep gulp at the broken sound drifting to his ears.

Shit, that sounded so... 

Bakugou shuddered to the chill running down his body, down to the tightening pressure in his pants.

Was she finally giving in?

“Please?” His lips parted to a grin. “Please what? Speak up, where did all that bitchiness go?” 

Oh, he was definitely still infuriating as always but fuck, she really needed him. Right now. Even if it meant giving in. 

Her toes curled. “Don’t go. St-Stay with me.”

Shaky exhale at the sweet crack in her weak, quiet voice, red eyes glimmered with a dangerous keen look, sharpening with an almost feral edge.

Tongue licking his bottom lip sensually, Bakugou tilted his head back and rolled it to his right shoulder in a condescending, lazy manner.

“And you think I’ll oblige to that?” A chuckle huffed out of his mouth as his hands hung heavily in his pockets.  “Beg me like a little bitch then.” 

An annoyed sigh sifted through her gritted teeth, feeling herself wavering.

And she did.

“Ple...Please fuck me,” Her heated walls quivered with impatience and overwhelming needs. 

It was too much.

He was driving her nuts.

She was driving herself nuts.

Everything felt so fucked up tonight, but she didn’t even want to give a damn anymore.

“I-I’ll be your bitch for today.” Her words gasped out of her in a whimpering plea.

A coat of silence echoed after her words.

“Fine.” Amusement cracked the grin on his face wider. “But you gotta call me Daddy. Now, let me hear it.”

Another sigh of annoyance blew through her mouth.

“Da…” Her lips trembled with hesitation.“...Daddy.”

“Good, but I’m not gonna do all the work here.” His eyes glinted. “Sit on your ass and spread your legs, I wanna watch you prep yourself for me.”

Bakugou toed his shoes off and kicked aside before moving to sit against the mirrored wall.

Back slouching against the cool surface, his eyes followed her movement with raw hunger. Meticulous to every detail of her body moving with her.

Her breasts shifting and lightly jiggling to her turning body, their nipples perking at him. 

The spread of her legs widening before him as she settled on her butt.

The red blush adorning her cheeks as her hand gingerly reached down to her leaking cunt, prying open her folds with shaky fingers. 

What hit him the hardest was the quiet, wavering look in her eyes he’d never thought he would ever see on her face, as if she was feeling...shy around him.

He couldn’t quite believe his own eyes. Shyness and her just did not fit but it was there.

Bizarre, indeed.

...that she could actually feel shy around him. 

A guy she bared her teeth at, almost every time she saw him. Like she would rather set herself on fire than have anything to do with him.

Fuck, something about this foreign side of her was so...sexy. He had to fight himself not to palm his erecting cock poking up against his pants.

To add to the sight, the soft moans leaving her parted lips and the soft, wet squelches made by her fingers were killing him. 

His red eyes looked even redder with heat and carnal hunger as he watched her reach her other hand up to cup her breast, tugging and rolling her nipple between her fingers.

Familiarity evident in her actions. 

Shit. Was this something she’d done a lot alone?

Bakugou stared hard, too caught up by her to realize that his harsh, raspy breathing was giving his arousal away.

Obvious enough to make her smirk.

Lifting her eyes from her working fingers inside her cunt, she met his gaze and felt a strong urge to tease him. 

While she was feeling kinda strange and shy about performing her usual masturbation technique for him, she was still her. 

A little reign of control was something she could at least do while being submissive to that grinning hot asshole.

“...Are you enjoying my little show, Daddy?” She spoke through her pants. “Do you see how ready I am for you?”

The smirk on her face grew.

Her fingers burrowed inside her slipped out to pry her folds open for his fixated eyes. “Look at how much I’m producing.” 

Through her slit, her arousal leaked and spilled over the wooden floor, growing the small puddle under her.

His widened eyes stared back at her, his muscles running down his body rippling and clenching hastily to his harsh breathing. 

The choked grunt he was pushing down slipped out of his grasp as a soft whimpering moan, cracking through heavy puffs of his exhale.

“...you little bitch.” 

Bakugou sprang forward and planted himself between her legs, arms tensing around her thighs to pull her further apart. 

A responsive sharp gasp rushed down to his ears.

His face was down quickly on her weeping slit, his tongue giving her clit a roll before jamming itself between her folds.

Lapping and gulping down her fluid like a thirsty person, a low moan hummed against her as he felt her fingers dig into his hair with a tug.

Watching him from above her rapidly heaving breasts, her eyes glazed over with heat as she watched him taste her with fervor. 

Her breath grew louder by the seconds.

“Li-Liking the taste?” Her hand ran over his hair, soft blond locks sifting through her fingers as she caressed his head with soft tugs. 

Pulling away slightly, a snort huffed against her cleaned slit as his lips hovered with a smirk. 

“Nah, I like it better fucking you with my cock.” 

Her breath hitched. “...You can do it now, you know.” She bit her lower lip at the thought.

There was a pause after her words. Like he was mulling over something.

“Very well, get in front of the mirror.” Warm breath of chuckles tickled her skin. 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?” 

“If I’m going to do it,” A crooked smirk curled his lips, growling his words hoarsely. “I’m going to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch.”

Clenching taut muscle on his back moved with him as he retreated from her parted legs to settle in a kneel on his knees.

This time, it was her time to laugh.

“Never took you for such a kinky bastard.” She got up and slipped past him to the mirror anyway. 

“So...” Her hands planted on the mirrored wall as she adjusted her position till her ass was stuck out. “...like this?”

She glanced down at herself and turned her head to gauge his response to her stance-

“I’m fucking sure I’m not the only one.” 

Her action came to a halt with a shiver as his warm breath shuddered across her shoulder, feeling his warmth radiate over her back like a coat as he appeared behind her.

“Look at you, already getting it correct.” 

His lips pressed to her ear.

“Someone’s excited to feel my cock in her slutty pussy eh,” His words ended in a taunting hiss. “...kinky bitch?” 

His arms snapped around her waist, one flying down to cup the conjunction between her thighs with his large hand, immediately greeted by a sharp gasp from her. 

The sculpted curls of his bicep rippled to his movement as he shifted her further away from the wall. 

To the point that she had to lean her weight on her arms probed against the mirrored wall- her fingers splayed and digging into the surface to support herself. 

In this position, her back was arched, accentuating her ass even more. The folds between the widened gap of her thighs stretched out right before his aching, swollen cock ready in his hand.

“I have to give it to you though,” He slathered himself between her stretched folds teasingly, “You’ve done a good job prepping yourself.” 

His eyes prodding hers through their reflection drank the sight of her parting lips at his action, the helpless sob feeding the heat within his grip.

“Won’t you look at that.” 

A whistle blew through his lips the moment his glance slipped down to admire how thoroughly coated his length was in her slick fluid- 

“...So fucking wet for my cock.” -with a hum of satisfaction in his chest.

His red eyes rose to meet her dazed ones again, his hand pausing to prod her with his cock. 

That and a stretching grin on his face was his only warning before his hip rutted forward, burrowing his whole length into her in one powerful shove.

She jerked forward from the force with a loud cry, her chest heaving and falling hastily in a drawling breathless moan at the abrupt, dramatic stretch of her cervix.

“...Fuck, your tight little cunt is as bitchy as you.” A strangled grunt rumbled in the chest pressed against her back.

Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, she felt him pull himself back, the vein on his thick, generous girth rubbing deliciously against her melting, throbbing walls as he drew himself to his tip.

A delirious whimper accompanying his movement as she relished in the sinfully sweet friction inside her.

But was quickly interrupted with a sharp cry spiking through her when he slammed back in.

And that started his relentless, powerful pace in her. 

Forcing tumbling moans out of her as his powerful thrusts hammered into with strong, rough prods. 

His heated red eyes watching her greedily through their reflection as his cock shot inside her at every thrust of his hip. 

The muscle curling on his arms clenched and ripped across his skin, along with his rippling body as he hiked her leg up by the crook of his elbow. 

His eyes drifted down to where he could see his balls slapping against her folds, his cock disappearing between them in a plundering speed.

The splutters of their mixed fluids from his fierce ruts were clearly visible. 

And when he returned his eyes to her face, shit - what he saw nearly made him lose the reign over his own building release.

With the sultry moans dragging through her panting, parted lips, the hazy heat through her fluttering blinks reflected back at him. 

Somewhere between the heat of each thrust, they had shifted closer to the mirror, close enough for her nipples to brush across the cool surface at every furious bounce of her breasts.

“Gro-Growing addicted to my cock?” Bakugou managed through his tattered breathing.

She responded to him with trembling whimpers.

“...Clearly.” He remarked mockingly.

Chest pressed flush against her back, his hand slipped up to cup her throat and tilted her head back till the side of her head met his smirking lips.

“Don’t come begging me for more after this,” His low, husky voice breathed into her ear, “...unless you’re ready to permanently call me Daddy, got it?”

Her eyes clenched close at his words. 

Oh, fuck. 

Along with those stirring words, his cock continued to pound through her between her struggle to form coherent thoughts. 

All they did to her was push her closer to the edge.

Her brain felt so heavy and slow, too saturated and hazy in the fast-approaching heat of her orgasm. 

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“I-I’m...”

White flashes met her eyes with every rut the thick, bulging girth pushed into her, straining her walls with wide stretches again and again. 

This was it.

His smirk widened. “You what?” 

She just can’t hold it anymore.

“I...can’t-” 

A loud sob wrecking through her throat as her pulsing walls clamped down harshly over his plunging cock, flooding her insides with rich juice of her arousal.

The choked moan dragging through his breathing mingled with her tattered voice.

“Shit,” Bakugou tried to speak, “...you sneaky little slut.” 

The tight muscles of his broad back and down to his taut ass rippled and clenched vigorously to his furious thrusts. 

The pleasure squeezing his painfully swollen cock was urging him to let go as he continued working his cock through her greedy clutching walls. 

“...D-Don’t you dare cum inside me.” Her words fell out of her as she tried to fight through the moans leaving her.

Her weak whimpering moans escaped her one after another in a hasty fashion as her body rocked fast along with his. 

A shaky snort left Bakugou.

“...Don’t be so fucking obvious,” he panted over her shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “you don’t deserve any of that.”

With that, his movement inside her grew faster. The need for his own release evident in the desperate, wild snaps of his hip, her butt cheeks jiggling to the slams against them.

Until-

“...Shit.”

With a loud throaty grunt, he tore himself out of her at the nick of time, bursting his load all over her the moment his cock was freed. 

Staggering on her quivering legs, she turned to watch him throw his head back with a long growl shredding through his throat as he sprayed ropes and ropes of his seeds from his cock. 

Her breathing was shaky and heavy as his pumping hand splattered his thick warm cum onto her.

She fixed her heated eyes on him, absorbing the sight of the agonizing pleasure showing on his face greedily into her memory.

Knowing this was probably the last time she would ever see it.

They had always rubbed off each other the wrong way, but this was the craziest they’d been.

But that doesn’t mean she didn’t like it.

[hexensalbei]

hereafter

Hi! It's me again! Your self-proclaimed writer who just can't stop writing about Buddie. This time I offer you angst before the s4 finale ;) 

Find it on ao3

Nonono.

This canʼt be happening.

Buck barely even registers it when heʼs brutally pushed by Eddie. He wants to ask him what the actual fuck but he doesnʼt have a chance. It all happens so quickly. He hears a gunshot and—

His heart stops. His world shatters beneath him as he sees in a slow motion that the bullet reaches his friend and Eddie is collapsing, his expression stuck between pain, fear and something else, something Buck canʼt describe. Thereʼs a dark red patch blooming on his uniform in his chest. 

Nonono. 

This canʼt be happening. 

Buck realises with horror that he canʼt move, heʼs like petrified and his body just refused to work. He canʼt even make a sound even if heʼs literally screaming in his mind.

He desperately tries to force his legs to move, to run to Eddie, try to help him, not let him die.

He canʼt die.

He canʼt die, he canʼt leave him alone, he canʼt die not knowing that Buck loves him—that heʼs in love  with him. He canʼt leave Christopher, he canʼt do it to this poor kid that has already lost his mother.

Buckʼs vision blurs and he feels tears streaming down his cheeks but he doesnʼt even try to wipe them out. 

Nonono. Eddiepleasedontdie.

He falls on his knees, not noticing that the hard concrete is causing him pain. The only thing heʼs focused on right now is Eddieʼs closed eyes, shallow breaths and the pool of blood around him slowly spreading.

He wants to help him, save him from bleeding out but his hands are trembling so much, heʼs not able to do anything. He knows he should focus, push away all the negative thoughts but he canʼt. Heʼs never been more scared and panicked in his life. Heʼs never been so paralysed with fear that it actually prevents him from doing  his  job. It has never happened before. He canʼt do anything and his best friend is bleeding out right next to him. 

He barely hears the sound of another gunshot. Then, he feels burning pain in his arm but he ignores it, he doesnʼt really care if he got shot. Itʼs nothing compared to the dreadful feeling like his heart was ripped out from his chest. Or rather, gouged out with something blunt.

Eddiepleasedontdie.

He doesnʼt notice his coworkers rushing to them to help them, he doesnʼt hear Athenaʼs shouting, the sound of sirens around them, he doesnʼt really feel Bobbyʼs gentle touch on his non-injured arm.

“Buck”, tries Bobby but thereʼs no reaction. He doesnʼt want to do anything sudden, he doesnʼt want to scare him more than he already is.

“Evan”, he tries again.

This time it works. Buck tears his gaze away from Eddie whoʼs already taken care of by Hen and Chim and looks at his Captain.

“Buck, youʼre hurt. We have to check you out. Can you move?”

His voice is filled with so much worry, it makes Buck weep even more.

“Iʼm okay”, he hardly whispers because the lump in his throat doesnʼt let go.

“No, youʼre not. I know youʼre worried about Eddie but heʼs in good hands. Heʼs strong, heʼll get through this. Letʼs go.”

He helps him stand on his feet and wraps his arm around his waist to keep him standing because Buckʼs legs are still like jelly. Slowly, they reach out the paramedicsʼ truck and Buck is examined by another team. They say he got lucky because the bullet only grazed his arm and his recovery will be quick.

He doesnʼt feel lucky at all. How can he? His best friend is a few feet apart from him, fighting for his life. Friend who has a son waiting for him at home. Friend who never should have been shot. It was supposed to be Buck. The sniper was aiming at him, not at Eddie. He was supposed to be lying on the ground with a bullet in his chest. But Eddie—his usually careful, cautious Eddie—did a very reckless thing and saved his life. Knowing that his best friend noticed the sniper and pushed him to protect him makes him physically sick. The guilt is consuming him because he wasnʼt worth saving. Not that much anyway. Eddie has a loving family, a son, a girlfriend and Buck... Buck is just a friend. Not someone who canʼt be replaced. 

Eddiepleasedontdie.

His hands are still trembling when theyʼre heading to the hospital Eddie was taken. Bobbyʼs there with him; he doesnʼt speak, doesnʼt try to find some clichéd words; he suspects that they wouldnʼt work anyway because Buck is too lost in his own head. Bobby just reaches to his hands and covers them with his own to keep them more steady. 

They arrive at the hospital and find out Eddie already has a surgery. 

He canʼt die.

That clean, sterile smell of hospital makes Buck even more sick. Heʼs been there enough times, both as a visitor and as a patient. He hates hospitals and he knows heʼs gonna spend there next few hours—or days. He doesnʼt know how he will survive this, how he will get through Eddieʼs surgery. What will he tell Chris? Carla? Abuela? That Eddie got shot because of him? His brain immediately takes him back to the day when he lost Chris in the tsunami and he tried to tell Eddie. It was one of the worst moments of his life and now it seems like he will be forced to do it again—only this time to tell Christopher which makes everything worse. He needs to stop bringing the Diaz boys such awful news. He should call Carla, tell her what happened, make sure she can stay with him longer than she was supposed to, tell him the truth but he canʼt even hold his phone. Itʼs Hen who does it for him. She calls Carla, she tells her about Eddie, about Buck, about the whole situation and promises sheʼll keep her updated.

Buckʼs grateful for that but he still feels guilty that he wasnʼt the one to share the news. It was supposed to be him but he was too weak to do it. 

“Buckaroo.”

Thereʼs a gentle pat on his back, big, warm Henʼs eyes filled with love and a sad smile on her lips. 

“You canʼt keep blaming yourself. It was not your fault and everybody knows that. Eddie knows that and he wonʼt be angry at you when he wakes up after surgery. Besides, you would have done the same thing for him. But Iʼm pretty sure if you were the one shot, we would have to restrain Eddie from barging into the police station and killing the sniper with his bare hands.”

Buck lets out a quick, humourless laugh because heʼs not sure Eddie wouldʼve done such thing. Oh, he knows that Eddie cares about him, he knows that heʼs a part of the Diaz family but at the end of the day, heʼs still just a friend. He wouldnʼt be that reckless.

And yet, he decided to put his life at risk for him.

He canʼt die.

Buck has never been a religious type but after two hours in the hospital, he starts to pray. He knows that surgeries can take hours, especially if you have a patient with a bullet in his chest but panic starts to take over him and he canʼt stop it, itʼs stronger than him. What if Eddie doesnʼt make it?

No. 

He canʼt think like that. Itʼs not his first time heʼd been shot, he was in Afghanistan, he was almost buried alive, whatʼs a one bullet for him?

He has to fight for his family.

Next few hours blur into never-ending waiting. Buck feels more and more exhausted, the pain in his injured arm is nagging him but he refuses to take pills that could help him ease the ache and lull him to sleep. He will do it, eventually. As soon as heʼs sure Eddieʼs alive and safe, he can rest. Otherwise, heʼll keep vigil. He can do it. Maddie and Athena paid them a quick visit—they brought them coffee, donuts and fresh clothes. Both women talk with Buck and try to reassure him. Athena also scolds him for getting shot and she pulls him into a hug because clearly the whole situation took a toll on her and sheʼs as worried about both Buck and Eddie as much as her husband. Her presence actually helps Buck a little and heʼs calmer than before. He even manages to drink his coffee and he doesnʼt feel like throwing up and he counts it as a success.

 After what it feels like an eternity, the doctor finally goes to their room. His expression is unreadable. 

“Is there Evan Buckley?”

Buck raises his head sharply because itʼs not something he has expected.

“Y-Yeah. Itʼs me”, he says hesitantly. He really hasnʼt expected to be Eddieʼs emergency contact even though he knows itʼs very reasonable. “Is he...?”

“He is alive and stable, heʼs lucky because the bullet missed the most important organs and he will get through this but he needs to rest. Heʼs sleeping now but you can visit him now. One person at the time.”

Buck lets out a long, deep breath; he didnʼt even realize he was holding it during the doctorʼs speech. The guilt is still there but the weight that has been crushing his chest is definitely lighter.

Eddieʼs alive.

“Go, Buckaroo. Go see him”, encourages him Chim, smiling softly and nudging him in the right direction. 

Buckʼs very unsure and tentative but he goes to Eddieʼs room anyway. Seeing him so vulnerable makes him want to cry again. He has never seen him in a bad state like this. Heʼs never seen Eddie being so close to death—not even when he was buried in that well.

He sits on the edge of the bed and squeezes his hand gently. He knows Eddieʼs sleeping so he feels comfortable with doing this. His cheeks are wet again; he didnʼt notice heʼs crying again. All of the emotions he has felt in the last few hours are piling up in his chest and he has to let them out. Heʼs still worried, he still feels guilty but knowing that his best friend is alive, that heʼs gonna get through is soothing. He thinks about how happy Christopher will be and that heʼs probably eager to go to the hospital and take care of his dad. Heʼs relieved that he doesnʼt have to bring him bad news. 

Everythingʼs gonna be okay. 

He lets the rest of the team see Eddie; he gently refuses Bobbyʼs offer to take him home. Heʼs not ready to go back to his apartment, he needs to stay, be there when his best friend wakes up. Bobbyʼs not happy with his decision because he sees how exhausted Buck is but he doesnʼt argue with him. He only tells him to call when Eddie wakes up. Buck agrees and he settles on the chair next to Eddieʼs bed.

Heʼs alive.

He falls asleep somehow, even though he was sure he wouldnʼt be able to. His sleep is not deep though because he immediately wakes up when he hears a shift on the bed. Eddieʼs eyes are open and he looks a little bit confused. 

“Hey, Eds. Itʼs okay. Youʼre in the hospital, you got shot. Iʼm gonna call the doctor now, okay? Iʼll bring you some water”, says Buck. He doesnʼt even let him say a word, he doesnʼt know if heʼs ready to hear what Eddie has to say. Heʼs not ready because the guilt is still there, it doesnʼt let him forget even just for a moment. He calls the doctor and stays back when the man checks Eddie and talks with him. Heʼs even ready to sneak off like a true coward but Eddie must sense it before it happens.

“Buck.”

That one word is all it takes to make him stay. When the doctor goes out, smiling warmly at Buck, the blonde sits again on the chair very hesitantly. He keeps his head down because heʼs not sure heʼs able to look him in the eye.

“Unbelievable”, he hears Eddieʼs voice. It sounds weaker than usually but he can still detect a hint of amusement and teasing. “I took a bullet for you and you still got shot.”

“Sorry”, mumbles Buck, still not raising his head. “I didnʼt really think about it when I saw you on the ground. Besides, itʼs nothing. The bullet just nipped my arm. Although it should have been me with a bullet in the chest.”

“Buck, look at me”, Eddieʼs voice is now pleading and Buck finally looks at his best friend. Eddie has a small smile on his lips and he reaches out to take his hand and intertwine their fingers. “I would do it again if it meant that youʼre alive and safe. Iʼm glad youʼre alive and safe, but I wonder if I should be mad at you for being careless. I wouldnʼt want to wake up and find out that youʼre fighting for his life or youʼre dead. Weʼre not Romeo and Juliet so no dying, okay?”

“Said the dude who was literally fighting for his life a few hours ago”, points out Buck. His eyes are fixated on their intertwined hands; he was surprised by Eddieʼs gesture and he hopes heʼs not misreading this.

“Again, Iʼm fine with it. I would definitely do it again to keep you safe. Iʼm not blaming you for this.”

Buck should have known that Eddie would reassure him, tell him itʼs not his fault. He knows him so well, probably sometimes even better than Buck knows himself.

“It still feels like my fault. Eddie, you have to be more careful, you have to think about people who love you, people you love because—”

“Who says I wasnʼt thinking about people I love?”, interrupts Eddie.

“Then why did you do it? Why did you do it thinking about Chris, your family, Ana—”

“For Godʼs sake”, Eddie interrupts him again, now with a very exasperated look. “Because I love you too, you dumbass.”

Buckʼs heart stops again. It feels better this time, though. 

“You... Love me?”

“Yes, I love you. Although I should probably make this clearer for you... Iʼm in love with you. So yes, I was thinking about you and I wouldnʼt forgive myself if I lost you. But youʼre here and I couldnʼt be more happy.”

“I love you too”, says Buck simply and then, heʼs just grinning because itʼs the most beautiful thing heʼs ever heard and his awful day just turned into one of his best.

“So is there a chance that youʼll take care of me when I go back home?”, asks Eddie, doing puppy eyes because he knows Buck wonʼt say no. “You know, I did take a bullet for love so I think Iʼve earned it.”

“Oh my God, I’m never gonna see the end of it, am I?” 

“Never.”

[sidespromptblog]

I Know...

“What were you doing down there?” 

Logan visibly fought the urge to flinch at the accusatory voice that assaulted him the moment that he stepped through the door that led from the dark mindspace. The light that clicked on stung his eyes, he had been down there for so long he had gotten used to the dim lighting and his eyes had more than adjusted to it. Everything around him felt blinding, like he should shy away from it and go back to the shows that he had just left. 

Still, irritation pricked his insides like wildfire, and so without even offering Roman an answer, he attempted to shoulder his way past him. It was more than late, and he had a lot of stuff to do in the morning, and so very little time to prepare for all of it let alone schedule for it. 

“Logan,” Roman’s terse voice snapped again, “Don’t ignore me! What were you doing?!” Like a viper, his hand struck, gripping Logan’s arm and preventing him from so much as taking another step away from their inevitable conversation. His grip was like iron, although his expression rather screamed fear and uncertainty rather than the annoyance he had come to expect from the creative side when it involved him. “Why were you down there Logan… talk to me.” 

A rough snort left Logan before he could even think to stop it, “Oh I’m sorry, I thought that you would rather my dialogue be optional.” He snapped, the words laced with venom as he gave his arm a rough jerk. “And here I was doing exactly that for you… sparing you my comments.” 

Roman’s hand jerked away as if he had just been burned by the white-hot coals of a burning fire. 

“Logan…” 

His voice was terribly small, and uncharacteristically soft. 

Not at all like the overdramatic prince that unsheathed his sword at every opportunity when it came to saving one of them from some dastardly monster.  This, however… this was a monster of Roman’s own making, and they both knew that well enough, and the things that Roman had done in the past hadn’t really been made up for yet. Even now, even now Logan could still recall every single thing that Roman had said about him and his contributions, he could still remember that Roman meant all of them when he had said them. Then again…

He had said awful things to Roman as well. 

“I’m just worried,” Roman’s hand curled back against his chest, before he casually went to run his fingers through his hair. As if letting go of Logan was his own choice, and not done out of shock or hurt. “My brother isn’t exactly the kind of person you should be hanging around… he’s hurt you before. And Dec… Janus…” Roman’s lips twisted, and his knee bounced up and down. “I don’t know okay… I’m just worried about you.” He softly admitted, casting his eyes down to the floor so that he wouldn’t have to meet Logan’s fierce stare that wasn’t backing down one little bit. 

It didn’t escape Logan, and it didn’t escape Roman’s attention that he had just ignored Logan’s outburst of emotions. They both knew that he was correct. Roman had said that he wanted Logan’s input to be optional, and that was yet another thing that he couldn’t rewind the clock and take back.  

It was yet another mistake. 

Yet another thing that had made him the bad guy in Logan’s eyes. 

“I was having fun,” The words were practically exhaled from Logan’s lips, and Roman’s head snapped back up at them. A momentary flash… no more than a glimpse of hurt echoed in Roman’s eyes at this, “I was having fun, something that I seem to be dearly missing out on when I am here with you and everyone else.” The words were true, and Logan meant every last one. He would say it again too, even if Thomas and Patton were here and even if they seemed horrified by what he had to say. He wouldn’t apologize for this truth, and he would never take it back. 

Pain and agony lanced across Roman’s heart as he felt the distance between him and Logan growing even greater than before. Peering into the shadows of Logan’s eyes, he could feel nothing but pain and guilt. 

Roman thickly swallowed, “Oh…” He softly whispered, his nails clutching the fabric of his uniform right over his heart, he could feel it thumping against his ribcage. “I… I…” Even his bones felt like they were trembling, even though he could tell that he was standing perfectly still. “You’re probably tired then, huh?” The laugh he forced out was just as painful as the agony on the inside. “I’m sorry… for keeping you then.” The smile that he forced on his face felt like a wax painting that had been set for too long. 

There was nothing that he could do now. 

“Yes,” Logan straightened his back, taking a step away from Roman. That one step was nothing in comparison to the chasm that the creative side felt growing more and more with each second. “I’m sorry too… for making you worry about nothing.” 

With a stiff nod, Logan turned away his hand trailing up the railing as he made his way to his bedroom. 

Leaving Roman behind in the darkness of the living room.

The gentle click of Logan’s door shutting was all it took to break the dam that had been building and building inside of Roman. As his knees crumpled under him and his hand clapped over his mouth, a vain effort to stop the wail that had sat perched in his chest since he’d had his talk with Patton. The tears that streamed down his face burned, like hot ashes sticking to his face and refusing to leave no matter how desperately he rubbed at them. His chest heaved, and just like that the sobs broke loose like a tidal wave being unleashed onto land.

“I’m.. I’m sorry!” He openly weeped into his hands, although there was no one around to hear his apologies. “I’m so sorry!” He repeated, “I’ve failed.. I’ve failed.. I’ve failed! I know that! Just tell me how I can make it better! Tell me how I can take back everything, and make you love me again! Please! I’m sorry! Please!” Gripping at his hair, Roman could only cry and cry, into the silence of the living room. Desperately wishing  that these words had come to him when Logan had been standing before him, or even before then when he had the chance to take back every way that he had slighted him or the others. 

But there was no winding back time, there was only the future.

And the things he had done to it. 

What was he going to do though? What was there to do? How on earth could he possibly make this… their relationship any better than the mess that it was right now? How could he make Logan ever look at him, and not have that massive chasm between them. 

“Good, now trying saying all of that in front of Logan instead of just being a willy.” Remus’ voice piped up being him, and Roman was almost certain that he snapped something in his neck with how fast he jerked his head to look over at his brother. 

“What?” He asked, shame and humiliation in his voice as he desperately attempted to wipe his tears away with the wet sleeve of his shirt. It wasn’t really working all that well, but he had to get some kind of credit for trying. “When did you… how long have you been here?!” 

Remus gave a simple shrug, “Since you grabbed dorkness, instead of letting him leave.” And just like that, yet another stellar example as to how Roman had fucked up in the past twenty-four hours. “But,” The other creativity tossed a box of tissues at Roman’s face, only partially caring if his brother caught them in the first place. “I’ve learned that nothing heals better than a good apology, so work on that. And you should be…” Remus’ nose scrunched up a little. “Well not golden, but maybe silver or bronze.” 

Roman fumbled with the tissue box as soon as it was thrown at him, but plucking a few out he dabbed at his wet tearstained face clearing of the evidence of his tears. 

For a moment there was nothing but silence between them, as Remus wiggled in place. Clearly more than a little uncomfortable about having such a… genuine moment between the two of them. 

“Then,” Roman paused for a second as he struggled to stand up again, “I’m sorry, Remus for… everything. Since the moment we’ve been separated, I.. I should have fought harder for you to be included, and I should have cared more about what happened to you. But I didn’t, and that’s on me. So… I’m sorry.” He honestly said, making a point to somewhat meet Remus’ eyes, as he looked back at his twin brother. “I mean it.”

A soft exhale from Remus was his only answer, as if his words actually took the air right out of his brother’s lungs. 

“I know...”

[highfaelucien]

Heyy

90. Dance for Rhycien?

Please send me whump Prompts

(Heck yes, it's time for The Gay. Have some Under the Mountain Angst. Slight warning for mind control/influence (Rhys to Lucien) It's short-lived, demanded by Amarantha, and doesn't last long)

Old Time's Sake

"Ah, Lucien, nice of you to finally join us," Amarantha drawled from her place upon the carved throne, sitting above the writhing fae bodies, watching with that grim pleasure Rhys had come to loathe so intensely.

Turning, he spotted Lucien, long red hair gleaming in the dancing faelight, barely concealed loathing etched in every line of his angular face.

The exiled Autumn prince hadn't been seen for several days now. Not since the brutal whipping at Tamlin's hand that had left him unconscious and, if rumours were to be believed, near death.

From the look of spite in Lucien's remaining eye, it seemed he had spat in death's face for the simple pleasure of being able to glare at Amarantha once more.

"You're looking a little grim there, princeling," Amarantha crooned, "Why don't you join your little human friend? Dance with her."

She gestured towards Feyre, who had drunk the wine Rhys had provided her and accompanied him to the dance as he did each night. Her body moved with surprising grace, considering she was human.

A muscle feathered in Lucien's jaw as he watched Feyre. He turned that simmering hatred on Rhys instead, fire blazing in that russet eye. Rhys just smirked at him and winked. Lucien's hands balled themselves into fists at his sides.

It was clearly an effort for him to project even a facade of civility as he turned his gaze back to Amarantha and said, "I fear my skills are not equal to those already here. I wouldn't like to offend you with my display, lady."

Amarantha tapped one sharpened nail on the arm of her throne. Few caught the suppressed flinch in Lucien's body at the sight of it, but Rhys saw, and looked away, disgusted.

"You will offend me deeply if you refuse me again, Lucien," she said, voice soft and dangerous now.

"I'm sure we both know how much I'd hate to do that," Lucien growled, and Rhys found himself closing his eyes.

Lucien never had learned to keep his mouth shut. There seemed to be some self-destructive part of him that enjoyed snapping at those who could snap him in half with a wink.

Silence enveloped the hall for a few, pounding heartbeats. Then Amarantha turned her head sharply, all the false air of a pleasant queen amongst her court banished.

"Rhysand," she said, darkly, "Make him dance for me."

"It would of course be my pleasure," Rhys said smoothly, nudging Feyre to one side and rising from the plump cushions he'd been reclining on, keeping an eye on her as she reveled blindly.

Lucien turned to him, his jaw set, his eyes hard. There was no fear in those eyes. Many here underestimated Lucien, as he didn't possess the same power as his father or brothers. Rhys thought they were fools. It took an extraordinary level of strength and courage to face him that way. Not to mention his return here in the first place.

"Little Lucien," he clucked, aloud, shaking his head, "You know it's not polite to refuse a lady."

Inside his head, he murmured, I'm sorry.

Lucien's eyes flashed, almost giving him away with his moment of confusion. Then Rhys swept away his will, and forced him to perform for Amarantha. Just as he was forced to perform for her.

At once, Lucien's face contorted with pain. He shouldn't have come here tonight. Tamlin had no doubt ordered him, the cowardly bastard, unwilling to come himself to see Feyre. Lucien's magic had been suppressed, and he had been denied any kind of healer. His body had been forced to heal at the rate of a human.

It didn’t take long for the wounds to re-open, blood staining the handsome tunic Lucien wore.

Amarantha underestimated Lucien, too. Rhys could sense he would refuse to give out until this killed him, just to spite the bitch. But she wouldn’t know that. Once Lucien was breathing heavily, and finally cracked to let out a whimper of pain, Rhys enveloped his mind in darkness and allowed him to slump to the floor, unconscious.

“Pathetic,” Amarantha hissed, as Lucien’s brothers, clustered around her throne as usual, sniggered and jeered their approval.

She waved a dismissive hand at Rhys, “Get him out of my sight,” she commanded, already bored, turning away to watch Feyre with amusement.

“At once, lady,” Rhys said.

Snapping his fingers, he lifted Lucien’s limp form into the air then carried him down to the cells, where he would return Feyre to in a few hours.

Setting him down far more gently than he would have dared to under Amarantha’s watchful gaze, Rhys gazed down at the fae male he had almost let himself love, once upon a time.

His fingers traced the scar over his eye with sadness. Then gently unbuttoned the blood-stained, ruined tunic, and examined the mess of his back. Torn, raw flesh, weeping fresh blood once more after Amarantha’s forced dancing.

It would have been worse if you hadn’t put a stop to it when you did, he tried to tell himself. Anger flared as another thought crept into his mind, And it would have been a lot better if Tamlin hadn’t sent him to that fucking party.

The High Lord of Spring had to know how much Amarantha enjoyed using Lucien as her plaything. Torturing him was becoming something she enjoyed almost as much as she enjoyed torturing him.

Sighing, Rhys reached out a hand, magic flaring, but-

Slim, hot fingers wrapped around his wrist, surprising him, which was impressive in itself.

Lucien, remarkably, had fought his way back to consciousness.

Stupid, stubborn bastard, Rhys thought, with fondness.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lucien demanded, spitting blood from a bitten tongue out of his mouth at Rhys’s knees.

“That’s really no way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian, Lucien,” Rhys said, tutting, “I see you haven’t improved your manners since last we met.”

“I see you haven’t stopped being a prick, either,” Lucien shot back, weakly.

“I’m overwhelmed by your wit,” Rhys said sardonically.

“Fuck off and let me bleed, Rhys,” Lucien muttered thickly, body starting to tremble with the pain.

“Is that what Tamlin would do?” Rhys asked, unable to stop himself picking at that old wound between them.

A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw, but for once he restrained himself from answering. Perhaps Amarantha’s eye gouging had changed him, after all.

“No,” Rhys continued, folding his arms across his chest, “No, Tamlin doesn’t even know your bleeding out down here for his foolish command. Or, more appropriately, he doesn’t care.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Lucien snapped, some of that fire flaring in his remaining eye again.

Rhys still wasn’t used to the mechanical one. He’d spent a long time, previously, getting lost in that blazing gaze before. It wasn’t the same now.

Rhys tutted idly, rocking back on his heels, peering down at Lucien, “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, you know.”

“And you do?” Lucien shot back, an awful disdain twisting his face.

Rhys’s jaw tightened, “I didn’t say that,” he said, smoothly.

Lucien laughed bitterly, even though it made him convulse with pain, “You meant it, though.”

He rolled onto his side, snarling with pain as he did, so that he could look Rhys full in the face as he spoke. Lucien had always been far too skilled at reading him, and he looked away, unable to bear that burning gaze.

“He didn’t deserve the sacrifice you made to stay with him,” Rhys breathed.

“Sacrifice?” Lucien repeated, “You mean you?” He laughed, the sound raw and humourless, echoing in the cavernous cell around them. It degenerated to coughing before long. “I owed him. I still do. He saved my life. He took me in after Jes. I pledged my fealty to him. You thought I’d turn away from that for your fucking dick?”

Rhys met his furious gaze once more as he said, softly, “I thought you might have turned away from it for the chance at happiness.” He rose to his feet, staring down at Lucien, something tightening within him, “But you could never let yourself have that, could you? It’s always been your most fatal flaw, Lucien. You don’t know how to let yourself be happy.”

“And you do?”he shot back.

“I could have learned,” Rhys said, very quietly, and he knew Lucien felt the sincerity in it, “For you.”

That actually shut Lucien up, for once. The only times he’d managed to achieve that before had been with decidedly more creative applications of his tongue.

“Don’t return to the party tonight,” he said, “I’ll be back here in a few hours with Feyre, and you can visit her yourself. Lie there and try not to drown in your own blood until then, won’t you?”

He turned, cloak covering Lucien in black for a moment, before pulling away, leaving him trembling on the cold stone floor.

Despite the anger that pulsed in his chest, he couldn’t leave him like that. He waved an idle finger, and Lucien’s wounds sealed themselves. Not fully. Not enough to leave Amarantha suspicious, but enough to ease his agony for now.

Lucien blinked and sat up as Rhys turned away again.

“What will she do to you if she learns of this?” he asked, very quietly.

Rhys forced himself to smile, “I doubt she’ll think of anything new. She’s not particularly creative, you know.”

“It’s still a risk,” Lucien said, gazing at him with suspicion, as if he expected some bargain, some demand for recompense.

Rhys shrugged in response, “Perhaps I think it’s worth it.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely, heartbreakingly, bemused.

“Maybe I think you’re worth it,” Rhys said, more softly still.

Lucien eyed him for a long moment, pregnant with heavy silence, words they’d never spoken to one another echoing up through the lonely decades they’d spent apart.

“I’ll never understand you, Rhys,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.

“Isn’t that part of my enigmatic mystique and irresistible air?” he replied slyly.

Lucien smirked at that, “Enigmatic ego and insufferable ass, more like.”

“You found my ass quite sufferable, if memory serves,” Rhys smirked.

Lucien grinned. For a moment they weren’t trapped in this foul pit of a place. They were on the borders of Spring, Lucien’s mouth hot and insistent against his, fingers roaming beneath dark Illyrian leathers with surprising knowledge of buckle placement.

“Thank you,” Lucien said, a little too stiffly.

“I do believe that might have caused you more pain than the whipping,” Rhys quipped.

“It certainly is now, with you gloating in my face,” Lucien scowled in response.

“Take care, Little Lucien,” Rhys said, waving an idle hand back towards him as he moved to the door of the cell.

“And you, Rhys,” Lucien said, very quietly.

There was such emotion in that deep russet eye of his, that Rhys forced himself to winnow back to the party, before he did something incredibly stupid. Like kissing him.

***

Thanks for the prompt!! I hope you liked it!

[thatsamericano]

Screaming and Fighting and Kissing in the Rain

Pairing/Characters: America/Romano. Past Prussia/Romano, minor Cankraine.

Rating: Teen, for cursing. Also, suggestive implications at the end, but nothing even remotely explicit on-screen.

Warnings: Self-esteem issues, including body image issues. Mentions of violence that aren’t carried out. An unwanted kiss between Prussia and Romano due to miscommunication, but Prussia respects Romano’s boundaries when he makes them clear.

Word Count: 2412

Summary: America gets upset when he plans to meet up with Romano after a meeting and sees Romano and Prussia kissing when he gets to the restaurant. Romano has to chase after America in a rainstorm to make things right.

A/N: Written for Romerica/Itapan Week Day 2: “Kissing in the Rain.” Title taken from “The Way I Loved You” by Taylor Swift.

Despite changing his outfit twice, adding an extra spritz of cologne, and taming his hair as much as he could, Romano still managed to be fifteen minutes early to the restaurant. He ordered a drink at the bar and browsed Twitter on his phone as he impatiently waited for America to show up.

This wasn’t a date, so there was no reason for him to be so nervous, Savino reminded himself. It was just supposed to be “dinner and drinks” with a friend after the world meeting, but Alfred had seemed so excited about spending time with him that an incredibly stupid part of Savino was hoping he could manage to turn this evening in another direction. Savino wanted that part of him to shut the fuck up.

So when Prussia showed up at the bar and sat down on the adjacent stool, Savino slipped his phone into his pocket and engaged in a bit of lighthearted bickering back and forth. Gilbert was a useful distraction that would help him appear relaxed instead of jittery and anxious by the time America showed up.

Romano’s mind was so fixated on America and their date that wasn’t a date that he missed signals he would have ordinarily noticed. He only realized things had gone too far when suddenly Prussia’s mouth was on top of his, and his hand was inching up from Romano’s knee onto his thigh (and when the hell did it land on his knee anyway?).

Romano tore his mouth away and shoved Prussia’s hand off him before it could climb any higher. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Romano squawked.

Prussia gave him that annoying, smarmy smirk he was way too used to. “Trying to turn you on so you’ll agree to come back to my hotel room with me. Is it working?”

Savino scoffed and picked up his drink. “Hardly. That hasn’t worked in a century, asshole.” He took a large gulp and picked at a cocktail napkin nervously. “Besides, I can’t go to your hotel room tonight. I planned to have dinner with someone else.”

“Oh, you’ve got a date?” Prussia asked. Now that sex was off the table, he was curious in a purely friendly manner.

“Not quite. I’m uh… supposed to be meeting America here in a few minutes.” Savino smiled nervously, in a way that must have given away his true intentions, because Gilbert laughed like Savino had said something incredibly hilarious.

“That sounds like a date to me.”

Savino opened his mouth, but before he could issue a flustered denial, he saw an enraged Canada marching towards the bar with an umbrella clenched in his fist like a sword he was about to wield against some very unlucky victim. Ukraine was right behind him, and she was fluttering her hands in the air and whispering, but clearly it wasn’t calming her boyfriend down at all. America’s brother could be downright scary when he was pissed off, so Romano wisely closed his mouth and shrank back against the bar.

Canada pointed a finger straight at Romano. “You!”

“Me?”

“What the fuck did you do to my brother?!” Canada snarled, resembling a polar bear. A fully grown, vicious mama bear, not the cute little cub he carried around with him sometimes.

“I… I didn’t do anything, I swear—”

“Well, somebody must have done something! Because Alfred practically ran out of here crying, and Alfie doesn’t cry like that for no reason! I know for a fact he was supposed to be hanging out with you tonight because he told me all about it after the meeting! He was so happy about getting to spend time with you, and now look what you’ve done!”

Romano felt nauseous with guilt. “Fredo was crying?”

Ukraine nodded solemnly. “I’ve never seen him like that before. Matviy tried to ask him what was wrong, but Alfred was so upset he couldn’t even answer him.”

“Shit,” Prussia whispered. He turned to look at Romano. “Do you think he saw us kissing and got the wrong idea?”

Canada ground his teeth together and gave Prussia a look that was colder than the chilliest day in the Arctic. Ukraine put a hand on her boyfriend’s bicep to keep him from lunging forward to beat the shit out of Gilbert like he clearly wanted to.

Savino hopped down from his barstool. “This is all a horrible, hideous misunderstanding. Where do you think Alfred went?”

Matthew released an irritated huff of air. “He was going out the front door. He’s probably on his way back to the hotel now.”

“Grazie.” Romano dashed past Canada and Ukraine and dodged a couple waiters and a few drenched guests on his way out the front door.

When he pushed open the restaurant’s heavy front door, Savino was instantly confronted by a harsh wind whipping through his hair and rain pelting down on him as thunder boomed from the clouds. The sky, which had been merely overcast earlier, was now in the midst of a full thunderstorm, but Romano didn’t care about getting wet or ruining his Armani suit or Ferragamo shoes. He only cared because the inclement weather made it harder for him to see.

Romano swung his gaze desperately around the street and quickly spotted a blond man in a business suit swiftly walking down the block several meters ahead of him. Romano ran towards him and started yelling.

“Alfred! Alfred, slow down so I can talk to you, damn it!”

When he got closer, he could see that the man he was chasing was indeed America, and that his shoulders were trembling. He was sobbing, just like Canada had said. “Leave me alone! Go back to making out with Prussia! That’s what you’d rather do anyway!”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking want, idiota!” He was close enough now to grab America’s jacket, which he did, forcing America to turn around and face him. “If I wanted to make out with Prussia, I wouldn’t be out here in the rain yelling at you!”

America’s face was met with a mixture of rainwater and tears. He was soaked through to the bone, just like Romano was, and his electric blue eyes were swimming with misery and betrayal.

“You know, Vinny, it’s bad enough that I had to walk into that restaurant, expecting that I’d get to spend time with you, alone, and see you shoving your tongue down Prussia’s throat. But I at least thought you respected me enough to not lie right to my face. Guess I was wrong!”

Romano shook his head. “That’s not what happened, damn it! If you’d just listen, I could explain—”

America made a noise between a derisive laugh and a wet, hiccupping sob. “Explain?! Explain what?! Let me guess, it didn’t mean anything, and you and Gil are just good buddies! Because kissing your friend like that is a totally normal thing to do, right?!”

Savino’s throat was closing up, and he didn’t know what to say. Because Alfred was half-right in his hysterical shouting. A long time ago, he had kissed Gilbert like that, and even slept with him, but their relationship had never turned romantic. There had been mutual interest and mutual understanding between them, but never love. He would have never run away crying into a rainstorm if he’d seen Prussia kissing someone else, and he knew Prussia wouldn’t have either.

Which made him wonder: why the hell was America reacting like this? He was acting like Romano had ripped out his heart, stomped on it, and then laughed about it while high-fiving Prussia, which didn’t make any sense, unless…

“Fredo, do… do you want me to kiss you?”

Alfred whimpered like Savino had just stabbed him in the guts. He hunched his shoulders to shrink down as much as his tall frame would allow and squeezed his eyes shut. “I get it, okay? Gil is… he’s more attractive than me. He’s less fat, for starters. He can be loud too, but most people aren’t as annoyed by him as they are me. He’s older and smarter than I am, so he’d actually know how to kiss people. Of course you’d want to be with him instead of me.”

The thunder rumbled ominously as Romano reached out to touch America’s shoulder. “That’s not true. None of that is true.” Dio, it hurt to hear Alfred talk about himself like this. Like he was nothing. Like his feelings, which were clearly hurt, didn’t matter.

America continued, disregarding what Romano had said.  “It’s okay. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I know you don’t like me the way I like you. You’ve got every right to kiss Prussia or whoever it is you want. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kiss them right in front of me, because it hurts. It hurts a lot more than you realize.” Alfred’s lower lip wobbled dangerously, and Savino could barely hear his voice over the wind and rain. “I’ve never… I’ve never even wanted to kiss anyone other than you. Talk about pathetic, right?” Then Alfred started weeping too hard to continue speaking and making these awful, animalistic, heartbreaking noises Savino never, ever wanted to hear again.

Savino reached up to wipe the tears and rainwater away from his cheeks. “You’re not pathetic, amore. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and fucking amazing. I don’t care if it takes all night, I am going to stand here in the rain with you until you believe me.”

Alfred sniffled and looked down at Savino like he was some strange, otherworldly creature he’d never seen before. “Did… did you just call me amore?”

Romano felt a white-hot flash of embarrassment at having his openly sappy words pointed out to him, but that only made him more determined and stubborn. “That’s right, I fucking did! You better get used to it, because I like you a lot, damn it! And that means I get to call you whatever sappy shit I want!”

Alfred laughed and pulled him closer by the waist. “You can call me whatever you want, baby doll. Just as long as you aren’t calling Prussia that too.”

Savino rolled his eyes and vainly pretended he wasn’t shivering from the possessive tone America had used with him or the ridiculous pet name. “For the record, I’ve never called Prussia amore, even when I was hooking up with him. And I wasn’t kissing him earlier. He kissed me, and I pushed him away.”

Alfred tilted his head and grinned. “You wouldn’t push me away if I kissed you right now, would you, Vinny?”

Savino had never felt more exasperated. “Honestly, the fact that you even have to ask—”

Alfred chuckled and leaned down to kiss him, and Savino closed his eyes. At first, Alfred was tentative and uncertain, but with Savino’s encouragement, he gradually grew more confident. His lips were cold and wet from the rain, which wasn’t ideal, because Romano was not a fan of this kind of weather. He obviously didn’t know what to do with his hands, but the fact they were roaming all over Romano’s back like he couldn’t touch him in enough places was flattering as hell. Overall, it wasn’t perfect, but the kiss was equal parts loving and desperate, so it was pretty damn incredible.

Then, with no warning, America lifted Romano’s feet off the ground like he weighed nothing at all. Savino groaned into his mouth and wrapped his legs around Alfred’s hips so he wouldn’t fall over. And because the fact Alfred could just lift him up like that was stupidly hot and making his mind wander to ideas he definitely wanted to explore somewhere more private than this very public sidewalk in front of God knows how many people.

He was a panting, horny mess by the time Alfred pulled away to breathe. Alfred was still holding Savino up, like he could do this all night, and he was smirking.

“Well, how was it? Was I better than Prussia?”

Romano smacked his shoulder without putting much force behind it. “You don’t have to beg for compliments. It was better than anyone I’ve ever been with. Especially the part where you lifted me off the ground.”

“I could carry you around like this for hours. I could pin you up against a wall too, if there was a wall nearby.”

“You should definitely do that at some point. But for now, I’d like to stand again.”

America obediently set Romano back down on his feet and let go of his waist. He gestured back down the street, from whence they had come. “We had dinner plans earlier. Do you want to go back to the restaurant, or…”

“It’s getting late. I think we should go back to the hotel.”

Alfred took his hand and led him down the street. “Makes sense. The hotel has room service. Plus a shower with hot water and fluffy towels. We can get warm, change into dry clothes, then order something to eat.”

He squeezed Alfred’s hand. “The hotel also has walls. And beds that are definitely too big for just one person.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, and he choked on air. “That’s… yeah. Lots of good stuff at the hotel.”

Savino smiled to himself without saying anything. As smooth and seductive as Alfred might pretend to be, this was entirely new territory for him, so he was naturally overwhelmed. It wouldn’t help him to know that his innocence was one of the most adorable things Savino had ever seen.

The light was red when they arrived at the crosswalk, and they had to stop to let cars pass by. Romano leaned up to kiss America’s cheek, and America gave him a puzzled look afterwards.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance as best he could. “I just love you is all.”

Alfred beamed down at him, brighter than the high-beams of passing cars. “I love you too.” He tilted Savino’s chin up and kissed the bridge of his nose. “And I cannot wait to take you home with me.”

Home, hotel, a colony on the moon… at the moment, Romano would gladly go wherever America would take him. When the crosswalk light turned, he grimaced at the fact his Ferragamos had to wade through a muddy, filthy puddle, but it was worth it to be a few steps closer to a hotel room where they could finally be alone at last.

[amongtheshadowandlight]

In Twilight: 7 of ?

Chapter Seven: Silence is Deafening

"Aw, but it was so nice here in the twilight, what's so great about the world of light anyway? See ya later."

Ombretta blinked blankly as her vision returned from the sheer white, her body tingling as She shook out her arms and legs, the familiar tingling coursing through her limbs. She examined the area around her. Gone were the yellow haze and the floating squares but seeing the familiar light of spring, the water turned a liquid gold before the ball of light, same to the one in Ordon, floated up from the water. With the ball of light, manifested the likeness of what Ombretta could only picture was a giant squirrel, it's tail circling around it.

"My name is Faron. I am one of the light spirits who dwell in Hyrule. By order of the gods, I protect this forest. Oh brave youth...in the land covered in twilight where people roamed as spirits, you were transformed into a blue-eyed beast."

Obviously talking about Link. Ombretta thought.

"That was a sign. That was a sign that the powers of the chosen one rests inside you and that they are now awakening. Look at your awaken form..."

Ombretta looked to her left, her heart leaping at the sight of the sight of blond hair instead of grey fur. But instead of the normal Ordonian clothes she was used to seeing and what Link was originally wearing in the first place, was replaced with green tunic. Her eyebrows furrowed together the more she looked at the green outfit. It was like...she had seen the same outfit before, but she couldn't place it. Looking at the outfit felt like a locked up memory, something her mind was desperately trying to remember, but couldn't.

"The green tunic that is your garb once belonged to the ancient hero chosen by the gods...his power is yours, the true power that slept inside you. Your name is Link. You are the hero chosen by the gods."

Ombretta took a step back, her jaw slacking open as Link stared up at the spirit, his eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Brave youths...A dark power rests in the temple deep within these woods. It is a forbidden power. Long, long ago. I and the other light spirits locked it away." Faron began to explain, his form beginning to grow fainter with each word. "Because of its nature, it is a power that should never be touched by those who dwell in the light. But this world weeps under a mantle of shadows and there is no other choice...you must match the power of the king of shadows. Proceed to the temple within the forest depths."

His form faded, leaving both Ombretta and Link silently standing still in the shallow waters, trying to process all the information given. Link was the first one to make a move, lifting his hand to look at the leather glove and guard he now donned.

"Well...huh!" Ombretta finally got out, swallowing the building up saliva. "That's truly somethin'..." She looked at Link once more. "That stitchin' is immaculate..."

"Of course you would say somethin' like that."

"If you were raised by my mother, you'll be thinkin' the same thing."

"Well well well...!" Midna sneered as she popped out of Link's shadow. "You're the chosen hero and all that, huh? So that's why you turned into that beast! What a shame...I mean, maybe you'd rather just wander as a spirit like the rest of them? Totally unaware of what's going on for all time, right?"

"Doesn't answer my question as to why I didn't change into a spirit." Ombretta shot back, crossing her arms. "I have no ideas, my head feels so jumbled right now..."

"Well, what do you want to do? Do you want to head to that temple?" Midna asked, seeming like she was ignoring Ombretta's comment. "How convenient! I was about to head there myself!" she sighed. "Look, you want to help your friends, right? And get the answers you want? The way I see it, it's all in that temple, just waiting..."

Ombretta glanced at Link, who just gave a slight shrug in return.

"Well, good luck you two." Midna giggled before diving back into Link's shadow.

"Well, what's the plan here? Go to the temple?"

"I guess there isn't much choice, is there?"

Ombretta shook her head, handing Link the scabbard and shield off her back. "No, not really."

"Well, I better go back to town to stock up, I have a feeling it won't be easy."

"Oh! Now that you can produce words. How is everything?" Ombretta asked as they began walking back to Ordon, but frowned when she was met with silence. "Link?" she jumped slightly ahead of him, turning around so she was walking backwards. "Link, what happened?"

"We weren't the only ones taken..."

"Link...?"

"All the kids were taken. Beth, Malo, Talo, Lennel..."

It felt like the world stopped. Everything zoned in on her as her breathing picked up, her heart beginning to race as she turned around on her heel, taking off in a sprint. She could barely hear the call of her name behind her as she ran through the woods, her vision becoming a tunnel as she only focused on the pathway in front of her. Her lungs screamed at her to slow down, her legs begging but she only pushed herself forward, only slowing down as she ran through the clearing.

She skidded to a stop once she passed through the gate. The air fell so still, even being the village for one minute, the quiet was deafening, the normal ruckus of animals seemed to have disappeared along with the usual bustling of the adults.

It was like the very life of the village was gone.

Ombretta let out a shuddered breath, flinching slightly at the gloved hand landing on her shoulder.

"I'm gonna go check on Rusl and Uli, you go home. I'll come see you before I leave." Link said before walking away from her.

She felt like her body was moving on it's own as she walked towards her house, dread building in her chest as she got to the door. "Hello...?" She called out as she walked through the front door. "Anyone here-oof!!" All the air escaped her lungs as a body flung into her, a pair of arms wrapping around her shoulders.

"Ombretta, oh my good stars." Her mother whispered, squeezing her daughter as tight as she could. "You're alright..."

Ombretta wrapped her arms around her mother, "yeah...yeah I'm alright."

"Oh! It was horrible, when you didn't come home I assumed you were taken as well..."

"So..it's true then?" Ombretta asked as she let go of her mother. "All the children were...?"

Maren nodded. "It was so fast, Rusl got badly injured, the mayor went out and your father as well. But they're up there in age so Ciel went with them and took Kano and oh!" She shut her eyes tightly, rubbing her forehead. "I can't help but think the worst."

Ombretta glanced down at her feet, her eyebrows furrowing together before shooting her gaze back up at her mother, Link's words floating around her mind. "Where's dad's old huntin' clothes?"

"Huh?"

"Where are dad's old huntin' clothes?"

"In-in a chest, in our room." Maren stammered out, following Ombretta as she raced up the stairs and into the main bedroom. "Ombretta, what are you doing?"

"I'm going."

"What?"

Ombretta pulled out the clothes, draping them over her arm as she stood up. "Link's going to find the children, and I'm going with him."

"Ombretta, no." Her mother protested, blocking the doorway. "I won't let you!"

"Mom..."

"Don't "Mom" me."

"Mom...I gotta go, if I can help in any way, I'm going to."

Maren sighed, moving away from the doorway after a few minutes, allowing Ombretta to rush past her and into her room.

Pulling on the hunting clothes, Ombretta stilled in her movements, staring at herself in the mirror. It felt like the previous day was finally catching up with her, her body beginning to feel sluggish, knees beginning to tremble as she lowered herself to the ground, her face going straight into her hands once more. She only lifted her face out of her hands when she felt a body next to her, peering at her mother.

"...Will you be okay, mom?"

Maren nodded, smoothing the back of Ombretta's hair. "I will be, I have a feeling that you need to go."

Ombretta shrugged a shoulder, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Then we share the feelin'." With a heavy sigh, Ombretta pushed herself to her feet, grabbing the arm guards and slid them on before pulling on her boots she mostly wore for travelling.

"Come to the kitchen once you're finished," Maren said as she stood up after Ombretta before leaving the room.

Her nose crinkled a bit as she looked to the door, sighing before turning back to the mirror, checking if everything was in place. It felt a little weird, the clothes being bigger than what she was used to, her belts being the only thing keeping some things in place but that being a given she supposed. Deeming that everything was good, she left her room, pulling her hair to the side so she could throw it in a quick braid.

Walking into the kitchen, Maren stood by the table. In her hand was a brown leather pouch, on the table were two scabbards laying on the tablecloth.

"Here, this was mine when I was younger. I figured you'll get some more use out of it."

"Oh, thank you, Mom." Ombretta thanked as she took the pouch from her, attaching it to one of her belts. "And thanks for pulling out my swords. But I'm shocked you put them on the table. I thought 'no weapons on the table'?"

"Oh, shush you."

Ombretta laughed, putting the scabbards on her hips, but her laughter dying down quickly as she stared at her mother.

"Please, be careful."

Ombretta simply just nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, her saying anything would feel like an empty promise. She already knew what they were facing, it wasn't going to be easy. And she felt like her mother knew that as well. Giving her one last look, Ombretta raced out of her house and towards Link's house, where said man was climbing down his ladder.

"Ombretta?" He said once he noticed she was there. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

"Ombretta, no way."

"Yes way."

"Ombretta..."

"Link, I need to come with you." Ombretta crossed her arms, her stare becoming hard. "I wouldn't feel right just having you go on your own, plus those kids are just my responsibility as yours..."

"And the third argument?"

"What if Midna's right?" Ombretta sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. "What if the answers I want are out there? If I can kill multiple birds with one stone, so be it."

Link couldn't help but smile slightly at his friend's determination, "it's gonna be dangerous y'know."

Ombretta smiled back, "I was countin' on it."

"Well, then we better not waste anymore time."

"Lead the way."

So they went, silence surrounding them as they trekked through the forest. With each step taken, Ombretta could feel her nerves coming more and more alert, the pain slowly coming back, not the skull splitting pain she was growing accustomed to, but like a simple poke. It was like her own body was trying to warn her. Warn her of what, she didn't know.

She didn't dare say anything out loud though, what would she even say? Link would probably attempt to tell her to turn around and go back home. She couldn't have that. So she simply pushed the feeling to the back of her mind, focusing in front of her.

"How's your leg?"

"Hm?"

"Your leg," Link pointed down. "How is it?"

"Oh!" Ombretta patted her leg slightly, "It's fine, I used some of the spring water I told you to have, nothing but a dull ache now."

"Oh that's good!" Link said. "You have no idea how nice it feels to talk again, I thought I was gonna go insane."

Ombretta giggled. "I can't imagine. I would never want to be in your shoes-oh yeah, gate's still locked." Ombretta walked over to the wooden gate, giving the metal lock a few tugs. "Yeah no that's not happening."

"Let me go talk to Coro, maybe he'll have a key or something."

"Coro?"

"The guy who lives in the shack just over there?" He pointed to the clearing.

"Oh! Him, yeah okay." She said, watching Link take the path to the left. She leaned against a rock face, arms draped across her chest as she waited for Link.

"Don't tell me you're bored now."

Ombretta jumped back with a yelp at the sudden voice, scowling when she saw the black shadowy figure of Midna floating next to her. "Sweet Nayru, What are you doing?"

"Saying hello."

"And scaring me outta my wits more like it." She scoffed, moving back to lean against the rock wall, her hand pressed against her chest. "Oh my poor heart...so, what's with the shadowy-ness?"

"It's the only way I can be in your light."

"Oh yeah, I guess that makes sense huh? I can understand you a bit there I suppose." She shrugged, lifting up her arm. "The sunlight doesn't really like me either. But, what can you do, right? It won't kill me."

"No, the sunlight won't."

"Oh! Link," Ombretta pushed herself off the rock, Midna fleeing back into her shadow. "Well?"

Link held up a small key, "I also got a bottle of oil for the lantern."

"Did he just give it to you?"

"Oh no," Link said as he went to unlock the gate. "Sold to me for about a hundred rupees."

"A hundred rupees? Link!"

He shrugged, giving Ombretta a guilty smile as he pushed the gate open.

"You're too nice for your own good, I swear." Ombretta said as she walked past him through the gate. "Speaking of which, what did you tell Rusl and Uli about the sword you stole from them?"

"I didn't tell Rusl anything and Uli assumed that a monster stole it and I just happened to get it back." He replied, jogging to meet Ombretta's side, a now lit lantern in his hand.

"Wait, whaddya mean by that?"

"Rusl was badly injured, he had just fallen asleep when I went there."

"And what about Uli? Is she okay? And the baby?"

Link nodded, making Ombretta sigh, her hand clutching at her heart. "Goddesses, the poor woman, husband injured, son missing and heavily pregnant."

"Speaking of that, how's your parents?"

"Well, only spoke to mom. Dad joined the mayor on his search and Ciel went with them and mom is just...distraught."

"Which is why we need to find everyone as soon as possible."

Ombretta nodded. "Quick question," she asked as they were nearing the opening of the tunnel. "If the purple fog’s still there, how are we getting across?"

"Oh I didn't even think 'bout that." Link scratched at his cheek as he peered at the purple fog that was still as thick covering the forest floor. "You can "jump" I guess but me-HEY!"

It was a second, from Link holding the lantern to then being in the clutches of a monkey, who put it on a long branch. Ombretta took a step forward, but was held back by Link, watching as the monkey made her way to the end of the broken bridge, waving the lantern around then turning around, making the motion to follow.

"Hey, what's this monkey's problem?" Midna asked as she popped out from the shadows. "You idiot! While you two were chit chatting, your lantern got stolen!"

"Excuse you, Midna. But we were trying to figure out how we're gonna get across, no need for names."

Ombretta locked her jaw as Midna merely scoffed as she dove back into Link's shadow.

"Let's just follow the monkey, maybe she can help us."

"Hm, fine." Ombretta sighed.

They made their way towards the monkey, who jumped down from the broken bridge, instantly waving the lantern around. And to their amazement, watched as the fog moved, as if it was trying to get away from the light as much as possible.

"Well, that solves that issue." Link pointed out as he jumped down from the bridge, holding his hand out for Ombretta to take. "I have good ideas."

Ombretta took Link's hand, stumbling slightly as she landed. "Um, it's more the monkey's idea than yours but sure!" She giggled, following the monkey as she kept waving for them to follow.

The walk was mostly eventless. Other than the occasional keese or deku baba showing up, they safely made their way up to the gate to the north part of the woods. The monkey jumping around as they got to a safe part of the woods, the lantern falling off the stick and the monkey running off past the gate.

"Huh, at least she helped us right?" Ombretta shrugged. "And gave us back the lantern, somewhat?"

Link nodded, picking up the lantern and looking it over. "Used up all the oil though. Luckily I bought more." Link pulled out a jar of oil, giving it a little shake towards Ombretta. "See? I was smart to buy the oil."

"Oh, I wasn't against you getting the oil, I was against you paying a hundred rupees for only one jar."

Link merely shrugged his shoulders as he filled up the lantern, making Ombretta roll her eyes.

"And how do you plan on getting more money?"

"There's treasure in temples, isn't there?" Link said nonchalantly as he continued past the second gate.

"Oh, we're temple robbers now?"

"Ombretta..."

She giggled, shoving him lightly. "I'm just pullin' your leg." She went silent after that, something feeling like it was stirring inside her, the warning feeling showing up once more. "Pull out your sword."

"Huh?"

Ombretta pulled out one of hers, "Pull out your sword." she repeated, her walking became more slow and cautious as they neared a clearing, the likeness of two bokoblins standing within the clearing, their backs to them. Slowly, Ombretta inched her way behind them, getting close enough before trusting her sword forward, her blade going through one. The other one let out a single squawk before Link's blade followed Ombretta's.

"How did you know that these two would be here?" Link asked as he pulled his sword out, sheathing it.

"I didn't." Ombretta replied as she followed Link's movements, watching the two bokoblins turning to black dust. "I just...had a weird feeling. Almost like I knew that there was danger, before I really knew myself?"

"Weird."

"Tell me about it."

"Hey!!"

Both Link and Ombretta looked to the right, to the small hideaway vendor or rather, to the lone bird sitting within the hideaway vendor.

"Buy something! Anything!" The bird squawked, waving it's wings about.

"I didn't know there was a vendor here."

"I didn't either until that day that Talo was captured." Link walked towards a large vat, filled with what Ombretta assumed to be lantern oil.

She watched as Link pulled out the empty bottle from before, dipping in the vat of oil. After making sure he put the right amount of money in the box, Link walked back to Ombretta, sliding the bottle back in his pouch.

"There! Now we have extra, just in case."

Ombretta rolled her eyes once again, continuing to the temple, only to stop at the sight of a golden wolf just sitting in front of the narrow path, just staring at her, nothing like she had ever seen before. She slowly inched closer to the wolf, who just sat there unbothered. She jumped back once the wolf suddenly moved into an attack stance, growling but not at her.

But to the man beside her.

Both of them pulled out their blades, watching even for the slightest movement. Ombretta put her blades up to block as the wolf made a lunge at them or specifically, at Link. There was abruptly a flash of a blinding light, causing Ombretta to promptly shut her eyes tightly. She opened them after a few moments, the light slowly fading away. She scanned the area, looking for any signs of the golden wolf, but couldn't see any traces of it. Seeming like it just disappeared along with the bright light.

"That was odd, don'tcha think?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing at the lack of response. "Link?" She asked once more, looking to her left.

She let out a gasp as she saw her friend laying on the ground, still as a board. Instantly, she fell to her knees, barely acknowledging Midna popping out of the shadows, pressing her ear to his chest. Relief washed over her as she felt his chest rising, a heartbeat under her ear. A slow one but a heartbeat nonetheless.

"What was that about?"

Ombretta shrugged as she lifted her head off his chest, giving Link a shake, frowning at the lack of movement from him. "I don't know. He's alive, that's all I know. Something tells me that wolf isn't an ordinary wolf..."

"So, now what?"

Ombretta sat back on her heels. "We wait."

She didn't know how long she waited, Midna having gone back into Link's shadow after a while. But finally and to Ombretta's relief, a small groan escaped his lips, his face scrunching up before opening his eyes.

"Link! You're alright!"

"Yeah..." Link drawled out as he slowly sat up, rubbing his forehead. "I'm alright..."

"What happened?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that the wolf turned into a skeleton that I had to meet in battle, called me a disgrace and taught me a sword technique?"

All Ombretta could do was blink at Link, scanning his face for any trace of a lie.

"I'm not kidding."

"Well....I'm glad you're okay at least?" Ombretta dragged out as she stood up, helping Link stand up as well. "I believe you, but wow that's a lot in thirty second."

"Tell me about it." Link shook his arms, rolling his head around his shoulders. "It was...really weird."

"To say the very least. Are you okay to continue?"

Rolling his shoulder one last time, Link nodded, "let's go."

They made up the narrow winding path up to the temple once more, quickly cutting down the two bokoblins standing in front of the temple's entrance, which was covered by a large silk web. Ombretta swallowed thickly the more she stared at it. She didn't want to meet the thing that made that.

She looked to Link, who had pulled out his lantern, it already flickering to life. With a final nod, Link swung the lantern at the web, the flame quickly catching it, the web disappearing within seconds. The familiar feeling of dread settled into her stomach once again, but with a single deep breath;

They stepped in.

[janekfan]

Oooo for prompts how about: season 2 or 3 Jon's got terrible stomach pains and ends up having to ask Tim for a lift to the hospital, but Tim cuts him off bc Tim is aaaangry that he's asking for a favour. And maybe he says some horrible stuff that discourages Jon from asking anyone else for help. But then oh dear a couple days later Tim finds him collapsed bc Jon had appendicitis and bc he couldn't get to the hospital it ruptureddddd. If it's up your alley!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406324

It’s like you were reading my mind!

“T’Tim?” Looking up from his phone screen, he scowled at the sight. Jon was hanging off the door to his office with a white knuckle grip, panting open mouthed and pale. Seemed he’d come down with whatever flu took Sasha and Martin out. They’d been home sick since before yesterday and abandoned him here alone with their boss, who for all he promised to change, to be honest with them, was still insufferable. “Tim--”

“What?” Jon flinched, ducking his chin to his chest and dropping one arm to wrap around his middle.

“Sorry, I. I’m not f’feeling very well.” Rolling his eyes, Tim went back to scrolling with a scoff.

“Probably the flu.” Stubbornly, Jon had yet to move. Tim wasn’t quite sure he was able to the way he’d begun shaking.

“D’doesn’t. It doesn’t--” He cut him off, angry at being interrupted. Angry at Jon making himself Tim’s problem, like he didn’t already have enough of them.

“Have you eaten?” Trembling fingers slipped, tightened, clutching at the molding.

“No, no. I’m. I think--”

“Then eat something. Get some sleep. Do all the normal things people do to take care of themselves. You’re not a child, Jon!”

“I kn’know. Think. I th’think I need…ah.”

“Don’t go bothering Martin about this either. I’m serious, Jon.” He fixed him with a firm glare. “He needs to rest. Go home. Drink water. Eat food. Stop making yourself our mess.” Somehow, he made himself even smaller, hunched into himself and barely upright.

“Y’you’re right. M’sorry.”

“Yeah.” Tim hefted his bag from where he’d stowed it under his desk. “You always are, aren’t you?” He avoided glancing behind him where he was certain he’d find Jon’s eyes wide and sad and lined with shadow.

“Mm.”

“Right. I’m going home.”

“Night, Tim.”

Jon waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before allowing himself to fall the rest of the way to the floor, tucking his knees up and curling into himself on his side. The cement was cool against his cheek and even though he was completely alone in the Institute, Jon bit into his bottom lip to keep the pained whimpers scraping his throat raw from becoming too loud. Despite what Tim said, this didn’t feel like the flu. There was no way to escape the agony twisting up his insides with a spaghetti fork. Earlier that morning he thought it was just a bad stomachache but it worsened so quickly he’d been bent over his desk for the past few hours working up the wherewithal to move.

He didn’t want to go to hospital alone.

But, Tim. He’d thought.

Maybe.

Hot tears slipped over the bridge of his nose when he closed his eyes against the white hot fire poker digging around in his side. Tim was right, of course. He couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself. Always making his problems their problems. A spasm of misery swept over him leaving nausea in its wake and he groped blindly for the nearby bin, hunching over it only to end up with the echo of his own ragged breath in his ears.

“Nngh…” Fumbling in his pocket, Jon groped for his phone, intending to call 999 and bear the hospital on his own and finding, tragically, that he must have left it on his desk. “Damn…” There was no way of getting to it now, the thought of moving in the slightest causing more stinging tears. What he’d give for Martin. He’d never have left him here, even though he didn’t deserve his help or his kindness Martin would offer it freely and Jon would take advantage and take from Martin and take and take and take until there was nothing left. His teeth clattered together as the fine sheen of sweat cooled in the chill air of the archives. It was freezing and he was hurting, folded up on the floor just inside his office and if he didn’t know he was completely alone already, he’d have thought someone was stabbing him over and over and over again but there was no one and he writhed, a worm stranded on the pavement after the rain. If Tim found him tomorrow, would he care? Would he just shut the door and pretend Jon wasn’t there?

Jon wouldn’t even blame him if he did.

Vision blurring in and out of focus, Jon fixed it on the glare of the emergency lights flooding over the cement, breath shallow and fast in an attempt to spare himself more pain. Any relief was wishful thinking and Jon let lead-lined lashes flutter shut, exhausted, curling tighter, hugging harder, choking on the pathetic noises and certain he was about to go mad.

Worse, and worse, and impossibly worse, and Jon once more attempted to reach his desk, extending an arm as far as possible before the knife buried in the very core of him twisted any further. Incandescent, the pain seemed to peak, stealing the air from his lungs, the sight from his eyes, any sound from his ears other than the blood rushing like lava through his veins, louder in crescendo, deafening.

And then nothing.

Tim shouldered open the door, briefly surprised when it was still dark, and figured Jon had listened to some advice for once in his life and gone home to recover. Thumbing through his feed, Tim dropped his bag and leaned back in his chair to put his feet up on the desk. As he reclined he noticed Jon’s office door yawning open in his peripheral vision, turning to look and wondering why the light was off. Jon never left his door open when he left, too suspicious to risk any of them getting a look at whatever he did all day. Tilting back too far, Tim nearly flipped the chair at the sight of a patent leather wingtip attached to a slender socked ankle, scrambling back to his feet to stumble to his knees at Jon’s side. When he touched the sleeve of his button down it was soaked with sweat; he was burning up under his hands and curled up so tight Tim couldn’t see his face, shivering violently with harsh chills and before he did anything else, he dialed 999.

They’d be here soon.

Eight minutes if the news could be believed.

And Jon would be fine.

Is this what he’d been trying to tell him last night? That he needed help?

“Jon, hey.” Even shifting aside the mess of curls escaping from their tie only revealed a flushed cheek and gently Tim began to pull him apart, trying to unwind his arms only for Jon’s bloodshot eyes to spring wide with a hoarse shout at the attempt.

“S’stop, stop…please...” Gasping, breathless, and to Tim’s horror, Jon began to cry, whimpering when he tugged at him once more.

“Jon!” He flinched as though he’d been struck, slamming his eyes shut and trying to comply and gagging on the next sob to claw its way out of him.

“Sorry...s’ssorry…” hiccupping between swallowing damp gulps of air. It stopped his whining, those awful noises he’d been making only because he was forcing back the tide because Tim yelled at him. He hadn’t meant to, he’d never seen him like this, face nearly grey with pain and streaked heavy with tears. “T’Tim, it, it hur’s.” Slurred apologies strung together on an awful garland of stifled groans and wretched mewling, teeth grit together so tight Tim thought he’d see them fracture.

“They’re coming. Just, just hang on.” Awkward silence broken only by Jon’s keening shattered further when the paramedics flooded into the space, shifting Tim out of the way and asking questions he had no answers to.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long has he been ill?”

“I don’t know. Last night he was, we’ve employees out with the flu, I thought...” trailing off Tim was embarrassed. Last night, he’d looked bad. Last night, he’d asked for help.

“Ah!”

“Jon!” Insistent hands were prying his arms away, uncurling him and touching him and Jon didn’t like to be touched by people he didn’t know and he was crying-- ”Stop, you’re hurting him!” And Jon’s weeping was so full of pain that Tim felt it in his own chest, squeezing his heart, constricting his lungs, and he took up his hand as it flopped limp over the edge of the gurney he was curled on top of, small and trembling, drenched in sweat, narrow back heaving in his effort to breathe. “Easy, Jon. It’s alright.” They slipped out, these familiar, comforting words he’d not said to the man before him in what seemed like over a lifetime.

“40.3.” Crammed in the back of the bus hurtling through congested London streets, paramedics shouted numbers, readings, words Tim didn’t understand between them, one slipping an IV catheter into a dusky blue vein and the other strapping an oxygen mask over his face while Tim kept hold of him in a careful grip as they tried and failed to get Jon’s attention.

“Hullo, sir, can you tell me your name?”

“It’s, uh, it’s Jon. Sims.” Tim supplied when it became clear he was too feverish to do so himself. 40.3. 40.3. 40.3. A neverending and continuous chant.

“Mr. Sims? Jon? Can you tell me where you are?” Unintelligible mumbling and nonsensical syllables punctuated Jon’s eyes rolling back beneath salt damp lashes.

“Wh’what’s wrong with him?”

“Burst appendix, looks like.”

“That’s bad.” Of course it was bad. Had he left him there before or after? A dozen hours lying on the floor, infection raging unchecked. It was a wonder he hadn’t just--

“It is. He’ll be in an operating theatre soon. You can wait for him if you’d like.” They lurched to a stop, Jon’s gurney rushed so quickly into the hospital it tore his hand away from Tim’s.

If they’d known more about their relationship, he doubted the doctors would have let him see Jon so soon but as it was, Tim, hands fisted in his jacket pockets, ducked past the curtain concealing the little bay in ICU from the rest of the world. Even drugged to the gills or perhaps because of it, Jon dredged up a proud and wobbly smile for Tim when he recognized him.

“Din’t call Martin.” And honestly, what was he supposed to say to that? Anger and irritation at Jon’s witless proclamation bubbled up, near blinding.

“No. You didn’t. Should have.” His boss looked so confused, upset, his expression twisting up and tears glossing his eyes.

“But.” Did he remember being in the back of the ambulance, Tim holding his hand, insensate, dying? “You said.”

“I know what I said!” A machine attached to Jon somewhere via a lead or line and hidden under an ugly hospital gown beeped a warning, for what he couldn’t know.

“Oh.” Moisture spilled over when he blinked, streaming down each cheek and getting lost somewhere in the wild tangle his nurses hadn’t had time to tame. “I. I’m sorry. I thought--”

“You didn’t.” It was cruel and mean and this was just stupid, fighting with Jon while he was barely out of majory surgery and clinging to the last instructions Tim gave him, proud that he’d followed them and looking for approval, raw emotions naked on his face. Why Jon would look to him for anything now. Hadn’t he learned? There was no going back to what they had before. There was no going back at all.

In the end, Tim called Martin. And when Jon woke next it would be to someone glad to see him, happy to fret over him. If nothing else, Tim could give him that.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jon jumped at his desk, pressing a hand over his healing incision with a gasp. Martin had been by, if the pair of pills and still steaming cuppa were any indication. He’d likely be by again soon to make certain Jon took the antibiotics. He didn’t look well but he was being looked after.

“I did.” Rather than the irritation as was his wont, Jon merely sounded tired, resigned. “And then--”

“You should have tried harder!” And Jon matched his bitten off volume, neither one wishing to attract Martin’s attention.

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to know!” His palm was still laid over his stomach. Tim knew he’d refused the good painkillers so he could work after spending over a week doing little else besides sleeping in between Martin’s check ups. But the spark was back in his eyes, however drawn his features, and he looked prepared for a verbal sparring match. Deeper though, hidden under all pretense and mask, Tim recognized the hurt, the abandonment there in the cant of his mouth, the set of his shoulders. “Trust me, you needn’t worry about me asking again.” And just like that the spark was gone, replaced by the exhaustion ground into him by this place, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, swiped his eyes quick enough he probably thought Tim hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, well. Next time tell Martin before it gets that bad. Or better yet, go to A&E--”

“Yes, yes, yes, so you don’t have to deal with me.” Jon turned away and back to his statements, a clear dismissal that Tim ignored, choosing instead to linger in the doorway and watch him pretend to read over the research notes. “Lesson learned.”

“Always did take you longer than most.” The barest hint of a smile crossed Jon’s face, tainted with melancholy, and Tim pretended not to hear him as he left.

“Thank you, Tim.”

[lailyn]

Take My Breath Away Part 3 (Complete)

(TW: Paraysis, Angst, Sap so sticky it'll give you sticky eyes)

The first few weeks after Loki awakened from his month-long sleep were the hardest, on Loki and Stephen both. 

Stephen had anticipated hard times ahead, had even braced himself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for Loki's reaction upon discovering the true extent of his disabilities. 

Given the choice, he would rather face Loki's wrath than this complete and utter silence; if not for the despair in Loki's eyes every time he tried to move his legs and failed, Stephen would have thought Loki had slipped into a catatonic state.

Hell, catatonia would have been easier to handle than this stony muteness. If open communication had been scarce before, it was nonexistent now. 

If brought food, Loki would eat. In the absence of it, Loki would not ask.

Carrying him to the commode for daily toileting was solely Stephen's duty. That was the only good thing about Loki's muteness; the only evidence of his displeasure was a deep frown that began to leave permanent lines on Loki's face the thinner he got.

Loki did not ask if the paralysis was going to be temporary, and Stephen did not tell him that it was likely to be permanent. It was not important. 

Then suddenly, out of the blue, Loki began to speak. 

That night it rained heavily in New Asgard. Having bundled Loki up in his furs, Stephen settled down in front of the fireplace as was his routine; getting into bed with Loki still awake was unsettling, the way his sunken eyes would follow Stephen everywhere, saying everything and at the same time, nothing at all.

"Go home, Stephen," a voice, rough from disuse, pierced the silence, and he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Loki," he gasped, heart beating at a hundred miles per hour. 

"Go home," the pale figure on the bed repeated, before it closed its eyes and said nothing further till days later. 

Wong had paid them a visit, bringing news from the Sanctum and arms overflowing with gifts from Bruce and Tony.

All is well, his fellow Guardian assured him. Take as much time as you need. I've got your back. 

Stephen had never been more grateful for the very few people in his life he could call friends. 

*********************************

 

 "Who is Jonathan Pangborn?"

Stephen paused in the midst of upending the last scoop of protein powder into the tumbler and slowly raised his face with dread.

"Wong mentioned the name when he came to visit yesterday." 

"He...was a patient of mine.” Stephen closed the lid over the tumbler and gave it a good swirl before making his way back to the couch. “Well. Not really. I turned him away because his spinal cord was permanently damaged and there was nothing modern medicine could do."

He waited until Loki took his first sip of the liquid breakfast before speaking again. "The Ancient One got him walking again by teaching him how to manipulate dimensional energy to his advantage."

Loki did not raise his face, but the almost imperceptible spasm of his fingers as they tightened around the tumbler gave him away. 

"You do not approve?" he asked quietly. 

When Stephen did not answer promptly, Loki decided probing further was the only option left to him. He did not expect his boyfriend to be forthcoming to begin with, but Stephen’s reticence was wearing him thin nonetheless. 

“There has to be an explanation as to why you are refraining, when such treatment exists.”

Stephen sighed and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Did Wong tell you how Jonathan Pangborn lost it all back and is now worse off than before?”

“Are the Masters of the Mystic Arts aware of just how little faith their Sorcerer Supreme has in their own métier?”

“The sorcerer who ripped the magic out of Pangborn and left him lying on the floor of his garage for days was a Master of the Mystic Arts,” Stephen retorted. 

Loki looked up in alarm.

“I will not have that happen to you,” Stephen vowed. “I will have you back on your feet and at your full strength even if it kills me. And I will do it my way.”

And that was the last time they ever spoke of Pangborn and the last time Loki doubted Stephen over some well-meaning but unsolicited advice.

*************************

 

 Stephen wiped Loki’s front first, suppressing the urge to count each rib as he worked his way down. The once toned, if not a little lean, torso had lost most of its musculature and as he followed the groove of Loki’s concave abdomen, the lump in Stephen’s throat grew. 

Before emotions could take over him and render him ineffective, Stephen moved on to Loki’s back. He lifted Loki’s hair off his neck and carefully wiped him down starting from the nape down to the base of Loki’s spine. 

He worried that he had been taking too long when he could sense Loki shivering; Stephen was just about to wrap a clean towel around his lover’s shoulders when he realised that Loki was weeping.

“Hey,” Stephen walked his knees across the tiles and crouched in front of Loki. He peered up anxiously. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

Loki shook his head. He could hardly speak for the deluge of tears draining down the back of his throat from the futile effort of holding it all in. 

“This is beneath you,” he wept.

What could Stephen say when no words existed that could assuage the pain in both their hearts? What reassurances could he give that Loki would not find empty and invalidating?

He could not very well ignore Loki and say nothing, could he?

It was an impossible situation. Keeping silent was a crime in itself, as evidenced by Loki’s apocalyptic downward spiral into despair and self-loathing. 

“Just leave me,” Loki begged. 

Stephen shook his head. “No way.”

Of course anyone could perform this task. Any of Loki’s servants could. 

But would a servant be as gentle with Loki, as empathetic, as unconditional? 

Loki hung his head low, his hair falling over his face. "I will not have you debase yourself like this, Stephen."

Stephen combed Loki’s wet locks away with his fingers. 

"Do you remember the first Broadway show I took you to?" 

Loki nodded, his thin shoulders hitching with silent sobs. 

"Live in my house…" Stephen began to sing softly, quietly. "I'll be your shelter.." 

He pulled the towel off Loki's shoulders and over his head.

"Just pay me back in one thousand kisses…"

He dried Loki's face with the towel gently, "Be my lover, and I'll cover you…"

Loki's face crumpled, and because Stephen simply could not bear the sight of more tears, he grabbed the back of Loki’s head and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Don’t take this away from me, Loki. I need this.” 

He kissed Loki’s lips and cursed the salt he could taste on his tongue. “I need you.”

*************************

 

 “Stephen.”

“Hmm?” Stephen paused in the middle of flexing and extending Loki’s knee. They had skipped only a day of rehabilitative exercise and already the limb felt stiff and disjointed. 

He carefully placed Loki’s leg on his lap and turned his full attention to his lover, who had been staring at the ceiling for the past fifteen minutes. “What is it, Loki?”

“I don’t blame you,” Loki said. 

Stephen knew better than to ask as to what Loki was alluding to. There was no bigger elephant in the room, certainly not since Loki had fallen ill.

“It was my choice.”

The gentleness with which Loki delivered his acquittal was something Stephen was not expecting and it threw him for a loop; his rebuke came across brusque and sharp in response. “I shouldn’t have let you.”

“It was my choice,” Loki repeated adamantly. “I will not ask if you knew this was going to happen - "

"I didn't," Stephen insisted. "Loki, I swear, I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter," Loki said, his tone soft despite the flatness of his voice. "Given the choice, it is one that I would make, again and again."

“Even after everything?” Stephen demanded. “Honestly how can you care so little for yourself?”

“I am not sorry for what I did, Stephen,” Loki said stubbornly. “This is a necessary pain.”

"Why?" Something surged in Stephen and it felt too much like rage to be anything else. "Why do we have to be this?"

"Surely it doesn't surprise you anymore?" Loki sighed, closing his eyes.

He did not like seeing Stephen upset. It was not the first time Loki's self-sacrifice schema had driven a rift between them, and it would not be the last.

"It was just the flu, Loki."

His eyes still closed, Loki reached up a hand, relying on memory to brush his thumb along the high arc of Stephen's cheekbone. "It was not necessary for you."

Stephen's vision blurred but no matter how much he blinked, it would not clear. "Is that how you justify this?"

Loki's hand fell away but Stephen grabbed it on its way down and held it up again, palming it in place. If Loki would not see him cry, he could damn well feel the tears for himself. 

“Do you ever think about what it feels like for me, seeing you like this?" Stephen asked, his voice cracking. “It breaks my heart, Loki.”

Loki clawed the suede couch and pulled his upper body up with a strength he did not know he possessed. Just as he was about to fall backward from exertion he caught Stephen around the waist, and Stephen his back. 

They held each other in the awkward position for what felt like hours, neither pulling the other up or down, both suspended in perfect balance. 

“For that...I am truly sorry,” Loki whispered. “Forgive me.”

Stephen laid Loki back down on the couch again when the trembling became too tremulous to ignore. “I already did.”

He picked up Loki’s slim ankle and dotted feathery kisses up the bone-thin shin, “I always will.”

All of a sudden, Loki gasped and bucked violently.

“What is it?” Stephen asked, running his hands frantically all over Loki’s body, expecting to find some source of pain. Instead he saw awe and delight. 

“I can feel that,” Loki breathed out. 

“What?” Stephen asked, just as breathlessly. 

“Kiss me again,” Loki ordered. 

Holding Loki's foot aloft, Stephen pressed a kiss to the bony ankle, all the while keeping a doubtful eye on its owner. 

The enraptured expression on Loki's face was all the confirmation Stephen needed and before he could stop himself, he lunged. 

"What does this mean?" Loki pummelled Stephen with question after question. "Is this good or bad? Am I getting better? Stephen, what - "

But he could not complete his sentence for apparently simply embracing was not enough; the utterly speechless Stephen needed to kiss him too, this time on the lips.

"Oh, Loki," Stephen's merry laughter rang sweet and clear as bells, the sheer relief permeating every note. "Loki, Loki…"

 *************************

 

It did not take long for the news to spread. Either there was a hidden camera somewhere in the room streaming live feed to every mutual friend they knew, or Stephen's network of social contacts had now included Loki's brother.

Thor appeared not a day later, his guarded optimism cutting through the shadows like a beam of warm sunshine. 

"Is it true?" He boomed.

Loki maintained a straight face, tipping his chin in the direction of his wiggling toes.

Thor's nose flared as he visibly struggled to contain his emotions. 

Loki sighed and reluctantly stretched out an arm, finally taking pity on him. "Brother…"

Thor closed the last few yards to the couch in a sprint.

"I worried you," Loki murmured. 

"You fool," Thor said affectionately, accepting the unspoken apology by tightening his arms around his brother in a fierce embrace. "You didn't worry me one damn bit."

 *************************

 

“I can do it, Stephen.” Loki grabbed the glass from the tray with one hand and physically pushed Stephen backward with the other. “I’m not an invalid.”

Stephen warily watched Loki take a few gulps at once. 

"Hey, easy - " He was about to warn Loki to take it slow, when he was unceremoniously shot down with a scathing glare. 

“Say ‘easy’ one more time and I will smother you in your sleep.”

Stephen smiled. Loki’s threats were some of the most colourful he had heard in all his career. “Beats ripping my heart out and serving it to me still warm and beating.”

“That was yesterday,” Loki grumbled.

Some twenty minutes later, he proudly presented Stephen with a very empty glass. It was the first meal Loki had eaten in its entirety without coughing or choking, and Stephen could not contain his joy. 

“Stop kissing me!” Loki flailed amid the flurry of kisses Stephen was showering his face with. 

He must have been reduced to laughing, for never had he seen Stephen look so spellbound. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Misty-eyed, Stephen fingered the corner of Loki's mouth. "Never thought I'd hear you laugh again."

"It's a one-time thing," Loki said, but his facial muscles were starting to betray him again; now that he was regaining strength day by day, they were back to their mischievous selves, and Loki found himself quickly losing to their autonomy. 

"I can't stop smiling," Loki grumbled, "but this isn't me." 

"Sure." Stephen's own wistful smile widened into a grin. "I totally believe you."

 *************************

It was on a bright, sunny afternoon a few weeks later that Loki decided he was going to walk. 

"Outside," he requested. 

Despite making the fastest progress Stephen kept saying he had ever seen in a patient in all his years as a neurosurgeon, Loki had been far too embarrassed with his still-unsteady gait to venture beyond the confines of his bedroom.

"Are you sure?" Stephen asked quietly.

"Yes," Loki said with a calm confidence. "I am ready."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I want to be where people and noise are plenty."

Stephen laughed at the strangely-worded yet quintessentially Loki request. 

A New York minute later, they found themselves wading through the crowd at Times Square.

It was hardly the most relaxing stroll, but Loki had asked for chaos, and there was no place on earth more chaotic than the Big Apple.

The thought of Loki ambling slowly amid unapologetically impatient New Yorkers had worried him initially, but for some reason, people veered out of their path, parting around them without so much as a dirty look. 

Still, Stephen kept a steadying hand on the small of Loki's back. A powerful thing, force of habit. 

Before long, they reached the theatre district and Stephen's mind flew to the time when they first started seeing each other and how Loki would drag him to see a new play every chance he got. 

"Stephen, look." Loki's face lit up in multi-coloured lights from the billboard overhead. "Rent is showing again."

"Huh." Stephen could not believe his luck. "They must have revived it."

"Perhaps we should ask inside if they have last-minute tickets," Loki said slowly, trying to hide his excitement. "You...could ask nicely for a discount?"

When Stephen did not answer, Loki looked down to where Stephen had suddenly dropped to one knee.

"Stephen?"

"I'm just doing your laces," Stephen mumbled. 

Loki frowned. "But I'm wearing...loafers…"

His heart stopped.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loki whispered, every drop of blood draining from his face.

"Loki Odinson…"

Stephen's voice quaked but the hope in his eyes was as bright as the gleaming band in his hand. "Will you do me the honour of being my husband?"

Loki could not breathe, could not think -

What was happening to him?

"Come on, dude, just say yes!" A voice he had never heard before jolted him out of his stunned reverie.

Stephen was still staring up at him in earnest, and Loki had never seen a face as kind, eyes as gentle. 

A crowd had formed around them but in that moment, there was only him, and Stephen, and the promise of love everlasting and a 

"Thousand kisses," Loki vowed, tears quicky filling his eyes, "You...will take payment in kisses, yes?"

Stephen answered serenely, "Yes." 

"Then...yes." 

The crowd around them erupted in wild cheers as Stephen leaped to his feet and slipped the ring onto Loki's hand, which was shaking harder than Stephen's for once -

"A thousand sweet kisses," Stephen gloated and he leaned in to claim their first kiss as the newly betrothed. "Starting now."

[kkysolo]

Stuck On You / Prologue

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader Setting: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, dystopia, modern, gangs. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, war, gang violence, emotional hurt/angst, codependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance). 

Available here on AO3, and under the cut. 

Summary:  The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years.  You desperately cling to what's left of him, hoping that he'll come home, praying that things will fall back into place. 

And then he does. And they don't. Because life is different when you're a scoundrel in the midst of a class war. 

A/N: Please don't mind me, posting another WIP.  I might continue posting this on here as well as AO3. 

This piece (particularly reader's experience of Ben being missing) is heavily inspired (and named after) Stuck On You by Failure. You can find it here if you want to give it a listen. 

This is just the prologue, and won't give much insight into the worldbuilding. That will come in the following chapters. Also, I'm writing this with the assumption that phones will still be a thing in 2084, though they're only still used by the poor.

Then: New Year’s 2083

The way you tore across the dilapidated bar, seething, irate - the force behind your movements astonished your friends as you shoved past them, beelining for the toilets. You hated the holiday season. It was New Years - it was supposed to be a good night, a fun night. But these fights, these senseless, petty arguments and drunken tears, they ruined it. Every single time.

You slammed the ruddy green cubicle door shut behind you, taking your phone out of your purse and sliding down onto the cool tile. It was wet, damp with fluid from the leaking lavatory that stuck to your dress. The tears came, then. Heaving, wretched sobs that ripped from your chest before you could stop them. You clawed at your knees, pulling them close to your chest as you felt that familiar crack in your lungs, that awful lump in your throat. For two years, you’d been numbly pandering through life with a canyon-sized gash in your chest - right between your lungs. A hole you couldn’t fix, a wound that wouldn’t heal. Always open, always weeping, always infected with ruminations of what could have been.  What would have been, if he hadn’t left.  Disappeared. Vanished. Gone. 

Everyone in town had bets down on when you’d get together. You’d been friends since high-school, completely inseparable. You clung to him - your world, your dreams, your future, it all revolved around him. Because to you, nothing was worth doing if he couldn’t come with you. If he couldn’t be a part of it, like he’d been a part of everything else in your life. An ever steady presence, calming and strong throughout the most turbulent of times. No matter the unrest, no matter how society changed and faltered, you always had him. And oh, how you loved him. How you dreamt of him. 

You’d still call him, sometimes. Just to hear his voicemail. Just to hear that casual, “Hey, sorry I missed you”. 

You're sorry, too.

His mother kept up his phone payments, just in case. Just in case he turned his phone back on. Just in case he needed it. Just in case he wanted to call. She couldn’t afford it, not really. No one had enough credits to just throw them at something that wasn’t even being used. But she paid it, all the same. 

You’d text him, too. Just little things, here and there. You’d never get a reply, of course. But you hoped he’d seen them. Hoped he’d seen your birthday wishes, your happy holidays and “do you remember when…?” messages. Whenever your hometown got rezoned, whenever you were swept along to another derelict flat, another house-share in ruins, you’d text him the coordinates. Just in case. Just in case he’d come home. Because where was home, really, to any of you? In a world where land and ownership was reserved for the wealthy, your only home was in each other. In your friends. In your family. In your sense of belonging, wherever it may have been.

And though you called and called and called, you’d never left a voicemail. You almost did, a couple of times. But never knew what to say. You tried, you really did try not to think the worst. You tried not to think of his towering frame withering away in a ditch somewhere, lost among the scrap metal and copper wires. You tried not to think of  his pale skin pulled too-tight over rotting bones, succumbing to maggots. No, you didn’t think like that. You couldn’t.

Your cracked and glitchy phone screen was barely visible through your haze of tears, but you didn’t need to see it. You knew his number off by heart, had done since you were a girl. He never changed it. He worried you’d forget it, if he did, wouldn’t be able to reach him if you needed him. 

The sad irony of that fact made your wails come harder. 

With trembling hands, you held the phone to your ear, shutting your eyes for a moment and relishing in the sounds of his voice as his voicemail greeting played. You sniffled, inhaling shakily in a poor attempt to control your ragged breathing. 

“Hey,” you whispered after the beep. “Hey, it’s um. Me, I guess,” you sniffled again, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. Every breath was laboured, your lungs felt as though they were burning, like you were inhaling smoke. “I just..I wanted to hear your voice. I just…” you sobbed, then, unable to compose yourself. You’d been so good at that, before. Once upon a time, in another life. Or at least, what felt like another life. “Ben, I-I need you, I can’t do this without you, I-I’m so t-tired of trying t-to do this w-w-without you. I can’t, I c-can’t do it,” you took another unsteady breath, hoping, praying, that he’d hear you. That he’d find you. “Just...p-please, Ben. Please come home, I miss you”.

You dropped your phone back into your lap, letting your head fall into your hands as you let yourself fall apart. Your heels slid on the tile, your lungs crackled with effort as they desperately fought to breathe through your howls. You’d learned early on that the only way to manage the pain, the tears, the hurricanes that came tearing out of that trench inside you, was to let it come. Let it pass, let it wash over you in tidal waves. It would dwindle eventually. The storm would subside, leaving behind its wreckage, its carnage. You didn’t bother with damage control. There wasn’t much of a point. The next storm was never far off. 

As you felt yourself begin to settle, you heard a faint knock on the other side of the cubicle door. Your name was called softly, followed by another knock. You took a deep breath, yanking at the discoloured toilet roll to dab at your face and running nose.

“One second,” you called hoarsely, picking yourself up off the floor and straightening your dress. You’d ripped your tights somewhere in your frenzy, and you pinched absently at the ladder you’d created as you collected yourself. You had no idea how long you’d been in there, how long you’d been crying. But if the scratching in your throat and the pounding between your ears was anything to go by, it had been long enough. You took another breath as a poor attempt of maintaining composure before swinging open the door, revealing a concerned Rose. Glowing, ethereal as always, even in the darkest of bars. 

“You look like you need a hug,” she murmured, stepping closer. She held her arms out timidly. Bless her heart, she tried. Always, even when you pushed her away. You felt yourself well up again, blinking the tears away as you stepped into her embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you miss him.”

She knew, she always knew. 

“I need him, Rose,” you whined, your words muffled as you spoke into her shoulder. “I need him.”

“I know, sweetie,” she hugged you tighter, “I know.”

You sniffled, pulling away as you reached for more tissue. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dabbing at your eyes. “I’m sorry that I’m always such a fucking wreck when I drink.” 

“Hey,” she held your arm softly. “Don’t be sorry. No one can tell you to heal.”

You nodded, chucking the tissue into the toilet. “Christ, what a mess.” 

Rose smiled, tugging at your arm softly. “Y’know, Jon sent me in here,” she said, her tone subdued. “He’s worried.”

You rolled your eyes. Jon was jealous, always had been, of your missing best friend. A man he’d never met, a man who could well be dead, owned more of your heart, more of your soul, more of your attention than he ever could. And that was fair enough, you knew that. You couldn’t argue with his statements, or how he felt. But the way he’d yell, the way he’d cry when he sensed a storm coming, when he knew you missed Ben a little more than usual. The way he’d tell you to get over it, to let go, to accept that he was probably dead. It boiled your blood. He didn’t know Ben, he’d never met him, never saw that cheeky glint in his eye, never heard his airy laughter. He’d never been hugged by him, or sang to. He’d never gotten to know his stupid jokes, or his obstinate, mercurial attitude that could be so fucking frustrating but so inherently Ben. Most importantly, though, he’d never seen how Ben looked at you. How he held you when you fell asleep on the couch, how he’d carry you to your bed before hugging your mother goodbye. How he’d dance with you, how he’d laugh with you, how he’d just be with you. It infuriated you, when Jon would insist that you let all of that go. To accept that he wasn’t coming back. Because you couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t. 

When you returned to your group, you avoided his gaze, settling in beside Rose on the opposite end of the table. Never one to back down from a potential fight, Jon approached your seat, tapping your shoulder and eyeing you expectantly. He wasn’t a bad person, Jon. He was kind, and he loved you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to love him, you couldn't bring yourself to care for him the way he cared for you. And maybe you deserved this, all of this endless pain, for stringing him along for all these years, using him as a distraction to alleviate your ache. You lived with constant guilt, constant shame for what you were doing. But you couldn’t stop, couldn’t get out. You worried that if you did, you’d crumble completely. You wished you didn’t need a crutch, you wished you felt enough empathy for Jon to leave. But you didn’t. All you ever felt was Ben, remnants of him sticking to your bones like a thirsty parasite, draining you of all emotion.

“I need some time,” you said plainly. “I just...Please. Just leave me alone.” You shook your head, your eyes glued to your half-empty rum and coke. Rum and badly brewed beer was the only alcohol available in the rezoned land. It turned your stomach sometimes, but a drink was a drink, at the end of the day.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t meet his eyes as he left, only saw him slip out of your peripheral vision and into the sea of people around you. 

When you crawled into your damp bed that night, alone and still in your dress, you’d never felt so misplaced, so lost. So hollow. So full of nothing that it terrified you. But when you slipped into a dream, into a world far kinder, far simpler than your own, you swore you could feel him. Swore you felt his arms, his hair, his breath. So you clung to it, anchored yourself to his broad frame and allowed yourself to melt. At least, in your dreams, he still clung to you, too.