#mind . › HOW UNDYING THIS ACHE . THE WEIGHT OF WORLDS . ❜

[starcunin]

@softersinned 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 ﹕ [ 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 ] : sender and receiver are having sex half - clothed.

ִ �� 𖤐 finally   ,   astarion   thinks   —   𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔   𝒊𝒔   𝒉𝒐𝒘   𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔   𝒊𝒔   𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅   𝒕𝒐   𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍.   and   it’s   not   as   though   he   didn’t   enjoy   the   intimate   moments   shared   between   the   two   of   them   before   ,   he   did.    for   the   most   part.    it   just   felt   —   necessary   then.   it   felt   transactional   in   his   mind   ,   like   it   was   something   he   had   to   do.    how   else   was   he   to   worm   his   way   beneath   her   skin   ,   and   into   her   heart ?   he   hadn’t   expected   for   her   to   do   the   very   same.    he   hadn’t   expected   her   to   care.   

but   she   did   —   she   does   —   with   such   devastatingly   loving   devotion   that   he   still   doesn’t   feel   worthy   of.    but   he   wants   to   be.    he   aches   to   be   everything   she   needs.   without   stori   ,   quite   literally   [   without   her   entire   absolute   world   take   over   plot   in   the   first   place   ]   ,   astarion   would   still   be   a   slave   to   cazador.   sure   ,   they’ve   got   a   much   bigger   mess   on   their   hands   now   because   of   it   but   —   astarion   will   forever   be   grateful   for   the   existence   of   this   bhaalspawn   and   her   evilly   genius   mind.    𝒇𝒐𝒓   𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓   𝒕𝒐   𝒂𝒍𝒍   𝒐𝒇   𝒉𝒊𝒔   𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓𝒔.    and   he   vows   to   do   everything   in   his   power   to   help   free   her   from   her   urge   ,   to   offer   the   same   kind   of   solace   that   washes   over   him   now.

but   of   course   —   it   would   be   a   lot   easier   for   him   to   do   if   he   had   completed   the   ritual.    the   foes   they’ve   yet   to   face   ,   murder   gods   and   elderbrains   ,   it’s   only   slightly   intimidating.   and   he   was   upset   with   himself   at   first   ,   upset   that   he   squandered   his   one   chance   at   ultimate   power.    his   once   chance   at   walking   in   the   sun   for   eternity.    but   the   things   sacrificed   pale   in   comparison   to   this   —   right   here   and   now   with   the   other   spawn.    and   if   he’s   being   honest   ,   though   he   knows   what   they   are   up   against   is   astronomical   ,   he   whole - heartedly   believes   they   might   just   be   stubborn   enough   to   succeed.    killing   cazador   was   already   a   feat   he   didn’t   think   possible   ,   and   yet   here   he   is   ,   𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡   𝐡𝐢𝐬   𝐧𝐞𝐰 - 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝   𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦.

and   he   does   feel   powerful.   

he   feels   powerful   ,   and   rapturous   ,   and   fucking   liberated.   like   someone   has   finally   unlocked   the   shackles   on   his   wrists   and   his   ankles   ,   releasing   him   from   his   fear   and   his   misery.   it’s   a   relief   greater   than   anything   he’s   ever   felt   ,   like   a   heavy   weight   has   been   lifted.   and   he   can’t   think   of   a   better   way   to   express   his   undying   devotion   to   the   bhaalspawn   ,   other   than   this.    she’s   been   patient   ,   and   she’s   been   considerate.   she   has   been   everything   astarion   never   expected   and   so   much   more.   and   as   much   as   he   knows   stori   wants   this   ,   he   wants   it   ten   times   over.    for   once   ,   it   doesn’t   feel   tainted.   

even   as   astarion   pins   the   bhaalspawn   into   the   loose   dirt   of   his   grave   beneath   them   ,   dirtying   their   nice   clothes   ,   he’s   never   felt   anything   purer   than   this.   like   it’s   their   first   time   ,   like   it’s   the   first   time   he’s   ever—   like   nothing   and   no   one   before   her   ever   existed.    and   he   doesn’t   care   if   anyone   is   around   ,   he   didn’t   even   bother   to   make   sure   [   truly   ,   though   ,   how   many   people   are   lurking   the   graveyards   in   baldur’s   gate   this   late   in   the   night—   or   ,   early   in   the   morning—   however   you   want   to   look   at   it   ?   ].   

astarion   can   hardly   contain   his   desire   and   his   enthusiasm   ,   reaching   beneath   the   high   slit   in   stori’s   dress   to   hastily   remove   her   underwear   ,   dragging   the   flimsy   fabric   down   lacy   thighs   and   clumsily   slipping   them   off   at   least   one   booted   foot   so   that   he   can   spread   her   thigh   apart   with   his   knee.   he   kisses   her   again   ,   deeply   and   hungrily   ,   before   shimming   his   own   trousers   down   his   hips   ,   until   he’s   freed   from   the   confines   of   the   restricting   fabric.   

he   claws   one   hand   in   the   dirt   beside   her   head   ,   pulling   himself   against   her   as   the   other   hooks   beneath   her   knee   ,   wrapping   her   leg   around   his   waist.   he   releases   a   breathy   moan   against   her   face   as   his   nose   brushes   against   hers   ,   just   feeling   how   warm   and   slick   she   already   feels   just   against   the   side   of   his   cock.   vermillion   hues   lock   onto   hers   ,   eager   to   watch   her   face   as   his   dirtied   hand   his   buried   in   wild   ,   copper   curls.   gods   ,   𝒉𝒆   𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔   𝒉𝒆𝒓.   𝒉𝒆   𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔   𝒉𝒆𝒓   𝒔𝒐   𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉.   he   hasn’t   wanted   anyone   as   badly   as   this.   he   needs   her   like   a   mortal   needs   air   in   their   lungs.   

he   doesn’t   tease   her   but   a   couple   more   times   ,   slowly   pumping   the   hard   length   of   his   cock   against   her   wet   slit   ,   his   unnecessary   breath   ragged   against   her   lips.   but   finally   ,   a   gentle   smirk   touches   his   mouth   before   finally   burying   himself   inside   of   her   ,   in   one   long   ,   deep   thrust.   he   watches   her   face   closely   ,   his   own   lips   agape   as   a   low   ,   drawn   out   moan   escapes   him.   and   it   feels   even   better   than   that   first   burst   of   blood   jutting   into   his   mouth   when   his   fangs   pierce   through   someone’s   flesh.   ❛   fuck   —   ❜   the   swear   leaves   his   throat   like   a   prolonged   sigh   ,   his   voice   breathy   ,   almost   a   whine   as   he   fills   her   as   deeply   as   he   possibly   can.   

his   fingers   tighten   around   her   hair   in   fist   ,   not   quite   pulling   ,   just   holding   it   firmly   ,   as   his   hips   begin   their   slow   thrust.   he   kisses   her   ,   hard   and   feverishly   ,   fangs   dragging   over   tongues   and   lips   until   he   can   taste   the   sweet   metal   of   her   blood   ,   that   absolutely   intoxicating   flavor   he   can   only   get   from   her.   the   thrusts   don’t   stay   slow   for   long   ,   not   with   how   badly   he   aches—   he   yearns.   his   fingertips   grip   into   her   thigh   ,   and   even   though   they   are   mostly   clothed   ,   the   friction   of   her   body   against   his   drives   him   absolutely   wild.   his   lips   move   from   hers   ,   trailing   down   her   scarred   jaw   as   he   uses   his   nose   to   coax   her   head   to   the   side.   he   wants   to   taste   her   ,   the   line   of   her   neck   is   so   deliciously   inviting.   

his   moans   are   deep   and   eager   ,   with   each   thrust   of   his   hips   rougher   than   the   last.   he   lets   his   fangs   scrape   over   the   soft   ,   pale   flesh   of   her   neck   ,    ❛   gods   ,   𝒊’𝒗𝒆   𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓   𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅   𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆   𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔   𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚   𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆   ,   ❜    his   words   ring   truer   now   than   they   ever   have   before   ,   as   they’re   groaned   against   the   bhaalspawn’s   supple   skin   ,   before   finally   biting   down   —   quickly   and   sharply   —   and   his   mouth   is   soon   flooded   with   her   intoxicating   taste.   it’s   a   full   body   and   mind   kind   of   ecstasy   —   as   her   moans   ring   through   the   darkness   of   the   graveyard   ,   only   encouraging   him   to   bite   down   again   ,   blood   pouring   ,   his   hips   aggressively   pounding   her   against   his   grave   ,   the   toe   of   his   boot   digging   into   the   dirt   with   his   heel   pressed   against   his   headstone   as   leverage.   

[charmingbrute]

"For the burden of a hero was never an easy one. As the mantle weighs heavily upon your shoulders, my friend… I hope you continue to walk. Walk. Walk with a smile on your face, walk no matter how hopeless things may seem. I have watched over your progress with my fading consciousness - and you know not how it pleased me when you would look up to the sky. Looking for something. Always looking for something. When you direct your eyes upward to the moon, I hope you think of the future. "You" used to do that, a soul tasked with too much.

But you are yourself, are you not? The shining star at the bottom of the abyss. Hold that bleeding heart proudly, steel yourself for what is to come. As much as "You" complained, never once have "You" ran from a challenge. Never once have you turned your back on the truth.

The path of the savior is a lonely one, but I shall be with you always. I promised "You" as much. The hero never falters. The hero is never truly lonely, for the moon is his guide. Steel yourself, for you must be righteous. The brightest dawn is yet to come, and you shall bring it forward. I will not be here to witness it, but you must smile.

In time, we shall meet again. My dearest Ares. My dearest friend and beloved champion. And when we do meet again... I hope you will greet me with a smile, and tell me tales of adventures long past."

Oh, he would walk. Walk, for there's little choice to be had. Walk, for it's the only way to live on. He had stopped thinking about the weight of the world upon his shoulders, his body already numb to it. It became a part of him, the vessel thinking that no one else but him would've survived through it. It's not as though he sought the sky for answers, answers as to why it was him who must be burned with it at all. The gesture was always made in desperation, in not knowing where else to look, what God he should speak his prayers to. Somehow, the sight of the moon gave him comfort in times of need.

Don't call me that name...

But then it came, like shadows of the night. Foreign feelings flooded him, setting him alight. Where it came from, how it came to be, he didn't know. Only that it set a mournful flame in his heart, a failure to this 'friend' who was supposed to be a stranger to him. The memories seeped through, filling every crevice of his mind. And what sorrow did he find at the end of it, his soul recognized. The weight upon him did surely last although he couldn't name nor place the past. There were attempts to resist the haunting pull of it all, its melancholic sway, but as it held him captivate, it only continued to swirl. It's a mournful dirge that echoed. A song that not even the gentle hands of time could slow. Is this what... Emet-Selch felt?

Please... don't call me that name...

The Warrior of Light clutched at his chest, unable to give them another glance. He wanted to smile for them. Gods, he wanted to. He couldn't even move his lips to utter a word, to tell them how grateful he was to be guided, for he knew damn well it was not him that they're looking at, but his soul. His damned soul that existed way longer than he's ever had. The soul that had seen horrors unknown to him, the soul that had known love for the Star and those that inhabit it. His heart ached, pain undying creeping to him, begging him to communicate what the soul could not. To tell them that 'he' was regretful. To let them know that 'he' has not changed. That even now, 'he' fights and breathes for the sake of the Star as 'he' is wont to do.

'He' would never yield. Not even once.

Tell him I have loved him.

No.

Tell him I have not forgotten.

Stop.

Tell him I am here still.

He can't.

"I will..." Who? Certainly not him.

You can't be serious, can you?

[sukirichi]

cold (m.)

request. soft nsfw scenario with gojo and his s/o on winter ♡

cw. cockwarming, sleepy sex, dom! gojo, “kitten” as a pet name, overstimulation, creampie, slight nipple play, explicit smut

note. sorry for the late request completion, but here it is, thank you for requesting on my milestone event! i’m not sure if this was “soft” enough since i got carried away, but i hope you like it!

Flakes of snow crumpled outside, heaps of stark white outlining the pavement and frosting the green leaves that had now been concealed from view. From outside, you could see the neighbors’ dogs happily chasing one another, their paws sinking from the cold. Smiling to yourself, you buried deeper in the covers and into your main source of heat, who was still snoring softly as he enjoyed his rare day off’s from work.

Twisting to your side, you cupped Satoru’s face, feeling warmth blossom from your chest and onto your palms. He looked so pretty like this – crystal hair and lashes relaxed, dusting just above his eyelids and his glossy lips still moisturized even from the biting cold.

You ran a thumb to his lips, thinking how unfair it was that he looked so ethereal even when asleep.

It was a nice sight to see your boyfriend out from his teacher’s uniform, clad in black sweatpants and an equally dark sweatshirt that now hung low to expose his defined collarbones. Tempting, he was, especially since his arm was lazily draped over the curves of your hips, large, rough hands cupping your ass even if he’s in dreamland. You wondered what he’s thinking about – you, perhaps? hopefully. It would be a shame if he had something else in mind, and in a sudden wave of jealousy, you snuggled closer to him, your head buried in his chest.

From above you, Satoru stirred. His movements were miniscule, unsure, and still sleepy for the first few seconds, until his wandering hands grazed over your skimpy shorts (mostly as an excuse to absorb his warmth skin-to-skin) and onto the plump flesh of your ass.

“Morning,” he croaked out, voice still heavily laced with sleep. “What’re you doing there, kitten?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head and pecked him on the lips, taking the man by surprise, though he didn’t pull away. Both of you enjoyed each other’s presence in the moment – with him smiling sleepily at you, his fingers tracing patterns on your legs that are mingled with his, and with you grinning up at him like you were the happiest person in the world. And well, you were. “Baby,” you started, using your most docile tone that you knew always had him weak, accompanied with wide eyes and a puppy pout. “I don’t want to leave bed but we need to eat soon. We’ve been sleeping for like, half a day already.”

Satoru’s cerulean eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think we’ve been doing more than just sleeping and that’s why we can’t leave the bed. You see, my little kitten has unfortunately bound me to the bed with her deceiving nature as a temptress.”

“Stop!” you whacked his chest playfully, your cheeks only burning further with heat the louder he laughed at you.

It was true – the laziness and comfort the cold brought, along with the need to just be impossible close to each other made getting out of bed seem such like a daunting task. If that wasn’t enough, he’d also taken you in different ways, keeping up to his word that he would fuck you on every corner of the house if that was what need be. As a result, your legs ached. Satoru took the liberty to carrying you pretty much everywhere, but it also came with the price that he’d pull your undies down just the next second, stuffing either his fingers or cock deep into your heated cunt.

Satoru effortlessly captured your wrist to stop you from your measly attacks, grabbing you until you were draped all over his body. With your weight on top of his, legs straddled on either sides of his waist, you regarded one another with so much sensations – of adoration, of lust, of need, of love.

Your boyfriend leaned upwards, pressing his forehead to yours until he was close enough to graze your nose against his. “I want you,” he breathed out hotly, his hands already on their way to squeeze your perked ass. “It’s too cold – warm me up?”

“Nasty little bugger,” you teased, but made quick work of shoving his pants down anyway.

Thanks to his teasing and your overall undeniable attraction for your boyfriend, your body felt like it was incessantly burning, but you had a duty to please him, otherwise he’d be whiny and bother you the rest of the day with his neediness. So with a roll of your eyes that was accomplished with faux annoyance, you slipped his cock out of his boxers – unsurprisingly, Satoru was already hard – and slipped him inside your mouth.

Satoru sighed, whispering finally under his breath as he relaxed back on the pillows. You let him stay there, cock hard and throbbing, but he didn’t seem to show any indication he wanted to fuck. After last night’s activities where you accidentally scratched the leather couch open from when he took you from behind, ass cheeks sore and bruised from the roughness of his palm’s impact onto yours, he must be really tired, and your legs still trembled until now.

You settled on your side to make yourself comfortable. Eyes closed and breathing softly, your mouth was the only thing that kept his cock warm. He twitched every now and then, his soft, curled hairs tickling your cheek.

His fingers began to thread your hair for some light patting; silent appreciation for how sweet you were to him. A few minutes passed where the both of you stayed there, almost on the brink of falling back to sleep again from the laxness winter always came with, until Satoru groaned, pushing your head off away from his cock. Blinking up at him, your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks in confusion.

Satoru didn’t speak.

He simply pulled you towards him, but twisted your body before you could kiss him. His actions made you huff in disappointment, and your boyfriend chuckling under his breath did nothing to alleviate your protests that you warmed his cock up for him but wouldn’t even let you kiss him.

“Hmm, I just want things to be fair for us,” he hummed against your neck, fingers splayed out over your belly. Satoru’s hands were cold from under his oversized shirt that you wore, and you tried to push him away, though the guy was too stubborn to let go. In your irritation to make yourself comfortable, you failed to register that he was already tugging your shorts aside, groaning deep when the tip of his cock slid over your wet, pussy lips. “Fuck, kitten, no panties? You were really that bare around me the whole night? I bet you’re not wearing a bra too.”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Easy to taunt as usual, his cold fingers trailed up from your stomach and onto your erect nipples, which he rolled playfully between his digits. Gasping from the stark contrast of your warm skin on his chilled ones, you ended up falling back on his arm under your head, shivering and clenching your jaw the longer he toyed with them.

His chest reverberated against your back from his laughter. You hated how sexy he sounded even when he wasn’t remotely trying to be tempting.

“You’re so cold.”

“Push me away then,” he smirked onto your hair, leaving little butterfly kisses over your cheeks that he could reach. Scoffing in protest, you cuddled closer to his arm and pushed your ass back to his erection to shut him up. “Oh,” he chuckled, “Did I make my kitten mad?”

“Shut up and put it inside me.”

“Your wish is my command, kitten.”

Your eyes shut tight as he slipped himself inside you, his long cock stretching you so good. Each inch of his cock slid in wonderfully, your walls accommodating and hugging him like he was meant to stay there and only there. The both of you released contented sighs now that he was seated deep inside you, his pelvis flat on the curve of your ass. His hands remained cupping your breasts as he mumbled sweet nothings into the crook of your neck, his body finally warm and your positions comfortable.

You would’ve happily fallen asleep like this – your head on his arm, his body locked around yours so tightly that you felt safe and protected, the curtain of his affection like a midnight lullaby to soothe you into slipping.

Then he started moving.

It started slow at first; slow, experimental thrusts that felt more like he was just wiggling to make himself comfortable. You chided at him for it, but the idiot only chuckled, complaining that you were ‘too tight and suffocating him.’ After telling him he could pull out and be deprived of your heat, he immediately shut up and only hugged you tighter, playfully sinking down his teeth over your neck to snarl, “Never. This little kitty is mine.”

You knew he was teasing you. It was evident from the way he slid in and out in an excruciatingly slow manner, as if trying to see if he could pull out those soft moans from your pretty lips that were wrapped around his cock that was now inside you just seconds ago.

Of course you wanted to moan. Of course you wanted to bask in this pleasure; his dick throbbing inside you, your walls clenching around him that granted you sharp intakes of breath from your rather unbothered boyfriend – but you just didn’t want to. Sure, maybe you were being bratty, but didn’t he love it? Besides, it only urged him to be a little rougher with you, a little meaner, to move a little faster and fuck you a little harder. It didn’t really take much to be reduced into the lovely kitten that mewled and clawed at his wrists.

This was something Satoru knew very well, and it really wasn’t beyond your boyfriend to push you over the edge.

Even with your back turned to him, you could feel his devious smirk hot on your skin, his nimble fingers slipping down to play with your clit. Now that elicited a whimper from you, and his snickers did nothing to alleviate the torturous pleasure he fucked you with.

Satoru kept flicking his fingers side to side until your clit throbbed between his fingers, the little bundle of nerves red and swollen just for his taking. Just as you were losing mind, he pushed your hair away from your neck and dipped his tongue into the shell of your ear, where his masculine groans and restrained pants harmonized beautifully with the little please’s you kept chanting over and over again. His cock was also relentless as he fucked into you, his hips godly into thrusting right at your sweet spot that had you viewing your room white like the snow that padded outside.

“Hnggr – T’Toru, too much—” you gripped at his wrist in an attempt to slow him down a little. He felt too good and too hot; at this pace, you couldn’t guarantee you could prolong your orgasm a little more, and you didn’t want to cum too early. “Baby, I—”

“You’ll take it,” he insisted, the grip he now had on your hips close to bruising. However, there was still that fact that you were his precious kitten that lingered at the back of his mind that prevented him from going too rough to you. The last thing he wanted was to break you, especially when he planned on fucking you until your pussy took in the shape of his cock and he’d fucked you too stupid that you remembered nothing else but his name. “You’re a good kitten, aren’t you? You can take it. Hold on a little longer for me.”

Your moans only turned to spur him on. You lay there limp like a ragdoll as he used you as he pleased, his hips snapping deep into yours until your mouth had fallen open, too shocked and drunken in pleasure to form a coherent thought.

“Feels so good,” your walls tightened around him, fingers laced around his veiny wrist that was still very much planted between your legs.

Satoru ignored the feverish manner of you rubbing your legs together, attacking you and ravishing you however he desired simply because why not. He was everywhere on you – his cock stretching you out and reaching places not even your toys could ever wander, his fingers rubbing and rolling your clit, his tongue and teeth leaving marks on the abused patch of skin on your neck and shoulders the longer he marked his territory with his scent on his signature. Not that he needed to since you would forever be his, but he didn’t want to take the chance.

“Fuck, kitten, so fucking tight for me,” he praised before his other hand gripped your boob, the pleasure too burning and overwhelming that you tipped your head back, knocking back on his chest where his heartbeat jumped and skipped even from underneath his shirt. “Oh, you always make me feel so good, always warming me up, huh?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, now please, I wanna cum,” you whined desperately, catching his lips at the same time his pace increased and made your body tremble. “Satoru,” you cried in between the kiss, hoping that he’d listen to your please this time. “Baby, too much, p-please?”

“Cum for me,” Satoru encouraged, rolling his hips in time with you meeting his cock thrust by thrust. He held onto your boob like it was his lifeline, everything he was doing igniting fireworks to explode within you. With one final, teasing pinch to your engorged clit, Satoru pushed you to the edge and you came around him, hard. The aftershocks of your orgasm were ridden out the longer he fucked himself deep into you, withering down fucked-out mumblings of please, it’s too much left unheard by his ears. Your walls clamped down around his cock the longer he stimulated you, and you were crying around him from the sensations bursting within you, the tears dripping down to his shirt.

Finally, his thrusts grew sloppy – a sign he was close. Satoru stilled his hips inside you, buried to the hilt and his skin flushed hot next to yours before you felt him spill his seed right into your warmth.

The feeling of both your cum dripping out your pussy lips were halted when Satoru pulled one last thrust, shushing you with a kiss when you moaned brokenly from the movement. You panted in his arm afterwards, holding onto his bicep and the sheets for dear life. He refused to pull out as he gathered you into his chest, kissing your tear-stained cheeks and wet lashes with a tenderness so alien to his dominance in bed.

“Shhh, shhh, you’re alright, I got you, kitten,” he soothed, brushing your hair away from your damp skin.

The heat on your bodies were immediately replaced by the biting cold, and you kissed him back once you were settled, sighing into the sweetness of his mouth and everything that was Satoru.

“’Em tired,” you eventually mumbled, too exhausted to bother cleaning up the mess he’d left between your legs.

You were thankful that he hadn’t pulled out yet, otherwise his load would drip further down your thighs and make a mess on the sheets – something you didn’t want to be bothered with.

As if sensing that you needed to be pampered now more than ever, your boyfriend nodded behind you, wiggling his lips one last time to make himself comfortable inside you. His warmth was comforting and more than welcomed, so much so that you momentarily forget his cum was still inside you. Satoru didn’t stop in caressing your skin, rolling the knots of your shoulders until you were growing sleepy before him, legs and bodies in a tangled mess similar brought about by the winter’s result to crave heat. And in the presence of your boyfriend, you were once falling back to into dreamland, but not before Satoru left one last reminder.

“Rest as much as you need, kitten,” Satoru whispered into the hollow of your ear, his tongue poking out to slowly coax you into the blissful lull of slumber. “You’re gonna need it for when I keep fucking you until winter passes.”

[loth-wolffe]

YOU KNOW I HAD TO COME IN WITH COMMANDER FOX,,,, THE LAMP PROMPT PLEASE (5th) <3

- your murder husband

anything for my murder husband<3

The lamp prompt

Pairing: OUR BELOVED COMMANDER FOX x reader.

Word count: 1,1k (sorry it's just,,, i love him your honor) not proofread we die like men.

Warnings: makin out with the Commander 👀. i think i wrote the word shiet once (1) but i don't remember if I deleted it or what. there's also the possibility that a certain someone is going to steal something. implied sexy times at the end but nothin wild.

a/n: i didn't kill him anna don't worry i love him too much. hope you like this hubby<3

It was one of those days, where you felt the urge to do this particular something, an itchiness in your mind you needed to scratch, but this wasn't something you had in mind when you first wake up.

Fox was standing in front of you, a few inches away because there just wasn't enough room in th supply closet you had dragged him into less than two minutes ago.

"I need to tell you something," you say, hands starting to sweat with the thought of oh shit, you're actually doing it.

He doesn't move, and you hate that damn bucket he never seems to take off. The amount of times you had seen him without it in the Senate building were few, maybe two times, and only because he needed some caf in his system.

"Could you–" you stare at the black visor, and you shiver at how intimidating he looks, he tilts his head just a little, and it's unbelievable how even with a covered face and an undying silence, he can say so much. "Could you take that off, please?" you gesture the helmet with you hand, and you're surprised how quickly he follows.

It usually takes you more convincing.

But maybe it's your pleading eyes, or your nervous tone, maybe it's how you have pulled at your lobe six times now in the past minute.

You're met by two brown eyes, gentle, kind, with little expression lines on each side, his curls wiggle as they cascade down his forehead, they look messy, uncharacteristically tousled, he must've forgotten to gel his hair, the helmet not doing much to keep them in place.

It's worse, now that you can see his expression, because now, when you say the words out loud, you'll see the rejection in his face first.

"Uh," you smile awkwardly, "could you put it back on? It's making me anxious."

He says your name, a warning without a threat behind it, he's rushing you, in a way, but you understand, he doesn't have much time to spare, and yet he's making some for you.

"Right," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I..." you start, sucking a breath as you say it and letting it get caught on your throat as your eyes find his.

Expectant, awaiting. He looks beautiful, with his gray hairs starting to grow on the sides, and that wild single curl on his forehead that reminds you of a superhero from a movie you once saw, and he stands there, having no idea of all the things he does to you.

Your name rolls off his tongue again, and you swear you could hear it forever.

"Sorry," you chuckle, cheeks warming with embarrassment because only you, and only now, could forget what you were about to say with just taking a little glance of him.

In your defense, he is the prettiest man you had ever laid your eyes on.

"I don't... I don't really know how to say this, but–"

"Is this about the lamp I broke yesterday?"

You blink.

"What? No, it's– wait that was you?" He smiles sheepishly, and your heart jumps in your chest at how cute he looks.

He should be in prison, you think, for making you feel like this.

"I was going to replace it."

"You..." and you could've said so many things, you don't have to, you're okay, there's no need, you're the love of my life please marry me, but you don't, instead, you go, "don't even have credits."

He scoffs.

"The chancellor is renovating his office."

"You were going to steal, to the Chancellor, your boss, a lamp?"

"It's not stealing if he's going to throw it away." His tone is as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and you can't help but laugh. He's too pure sometimes, and your heart aches for him because he deserves so much better.

His commlink blinks with a new call and dread fills you, you haven't told him yet, he can't go.

When he's about to answer, you spill it, like some kind of word vomiting, quick and unstoppable.

"I love you."

Fox stops mid movement, index finger so close to the comm's button, eyes flying to find yours in case he hadn't heard right.

"What?"

"I uhm, I love you."

And before you know it, his lips are on yours, a sound that it's something between a moan and a whimper scapes from his throat, and it's everything you both hoped for, his lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they feel like heaven.

He explores your mouth with what feels like the time of the world, taking his time to savour every single movement, drunk on your touch.

A little groan leaves him when your fingers tug the small curls at the nape, and you wish to stay like this forever.

"I love you too," he mumbles into your mouth between kisses, "always have," his hand curls into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, "always will."

It's not long before the comms crack to life, an awkward Commander, the Chancellor requested to see you, is heard from the other line and you suppose is a shiny.

He pulls away for enough time to reply a quick, sharp "copy that" before reconnecting your lips together, pushing you against the door.

And you could've thought about how different it's his voice when he speaks to anyone that isn't you, so authoritative, unyielding, and so tender with you, so willing, but it's the weight of his body against yours and the faint smell of his cologne that makes your head dizzy and you can't think straight.

You look at each other, and he pecks your lips, you think it's his goodbye, but it isn't.

"One more."

And he does, taking his time to get familiar with your touch, with how your lips feel, how they taste. It's intoxicating.

"Okay," but he can't get enough of you, not when you're so close, when he just got you. His lips find yours again. "I have to go." It's more for him than for you, his words floating in the air as they are left ignored when he dives in for another kiss.

"Fox," you murmur, a little, lovesick smile threatening to spill between his kisses, "you'll be late."

"I'll come over to your place later" He says, but it sounds more like a question, between sloppy kisses traveling from your lips to your neck and back, a breathy yes leaving your mouth as he finds that sweet spot in the skin of your throat. "Good," he says, lips brushing yours and it's embarrassing how addicted he already is to your kisses, to your touch, "can't wait to taste you properly."

taglist: @foodandbooksplease @dottiechan @ladykatakuri @tacticalsparkles @lightning-wolffe @hellothere-generalangsty @beskarprincessjenny @badbatch-simp24 @milppa @obi-bae-kenobi @rowansparrow @queencousland101 @dagobahbound @huntersbandana @kavecika @paige6768 @baroclinicinstability @murdertoothpick @ahsoka1 @kybacrystal @smoldjarin @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @amaryllis23

[lordabovehelpme]

Reality- Din Djarin x Reader

This is the highly requested part 2 to Wonder! I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: The mandalorians wonders start to become reality.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He can’t take his eyes off you. Your chest rises and falls with your rhythmic breathing. Your eyelids stay shut and your face looks serene.

The Crest stays silent as it flies past stars and planets. He turned auto pilot on long ago, something he rarely does, just so he can watch you. You had insisted on staying beside him as you fly to the next planet with the next bounty. But about an hour in and you passed out like a light. A smirk forms on his lips as he remembers your stubbornness as you tried to fight off your sleep.

Yet here you are, curled up on the copilot seat, looking as peaceful as ever. His fingers itch to reach out and trail across your form, to make sure you’re really here and not just a mirage of the night. Thoughts rush through his head, thoughts of pulling you into his lap. Thoughts of pressing soft kisses to your skin. Thoughts of holding you and never letting go.

But for now, he can’t.

Your soft snores bring warmth to his heart. What if he did just reach out? You surely wouldn’t know.

So he does.

His hand slowly rises from his lap and reaches out to your arm, aching to touch your skin, to run along the flesh that keeps you safe and sound. It’s like a magnet is pulling his fingertips closer. And when he finally faintly touches your skin, he can’t help the hitch in his breath.

He watches you, waiting for you to wake up and scold him. But you don’t, so he grows even more confident. His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and he almost gasps at the tenderness of the moment. It’s amazing how perfectly your cheek fits in his palm, as if you were made for him.

Thoughts start to sing out, assuring him that you were meant for him. That when the maker made you, you were made with the mandalorian in mind. Thoughts of you being his and the joys of being able to hold you.

But you shuffle slightly and he reaches back as if you burnt him. His head snaps back towards the dashboard, waiting for you to question him and declare your hatred. But it never comes.

He lets out a sigh and turns back to look at you. But he is met with your two very opened eyes.

In a panic his heart rate spikes and he snaps his head back towards the dash and places his hands on various levers, moving as fast as his body will allow. He curses and scolds himself, praying you didn’t notice him.

He can hear you stand and when you walk into his view he nearly cries, trying to get the ground to open up and take him away forever.

But instead of yelling at him, you just plop down in his lap and curl up against his chest.

His mouth hangs open and his hands stay frozen in mid air, his mind is suddenly silent. He is completely unsure of what to do. Your arms slide around his waist and pull yourself closer to his chest as you tuck your head away in his neck, perfectly slotted between his shoulder and helmet.

After a few minutes his mind flips back on and it screams at him to hold you. So he does. He wraps his arms around your back, still slightly unsure of this new intimacy. Under his helmet his mouth finally closes and instead a wide smile is formed on his lips.

All those nights of him wondering what it would be like to hold you don’t even shine a light on what it really is like.

His hands idly move up and down your spine, basking in the softness of your skin. But then he realizes how uncomfortable the beskar must be to you. So his hands leave your back quickly and start to unlock the various clasps on his chest.

You lean back and look up at his visor, confusion written all over your face. He nearly melts at your gaze. Once all the clasps are done he pulls the chest piece from his body, revealing a dark undershirt.

“Here, cyar’ika. It’ll be more comfortable.”

He watches as your eyes lock onto his chest. Shivers spark up and down his bones when you touch him. He nearly moans when you dig into his muscle with your thumbs. You nod, showing your appreciation, and wrap your hands back around his waist, your fingertips clenching the duraweave. But this time he helps guide your head to his neck, and pulls you close into his chest.

He’s so unsure if this is actually reality or if he is just dreaming again. He tries to take in every detail, even the small ones. He knows he’ll come back to this memory in the future. This is the one that will plague him every night when he wishes to be able to hold you again. When he wishes that you were truly his own.

He tries to sear everything into his mind. Your soft snores, the way your hands grip his shirt, the plush of your thighs on his own. He loves the comforting weight of you on top of him. He loves how he can feel your breath on his skin, eliciting bumps to rise on his sensitive skin. He loves how you keep your arms firmly wrapped around him, just as he keeps his own wrapped around you. He loves all of it.

In a thoughtless haze, he slides his leather gloves off, allowing his naked fingertips to trail over your skin. He runs his hands under your shirt and starts to trail your spine. His nails slightly scratch at your skin, not harshly but rather offering the most comfort he can.

He’s moving without thinking, just trying to get the most of what he can out of the moment. His heart swells with love that he knows he should not hold. He harbors an undying warmth for you, a warmth he knows he’ll never be able to shake.

His hands move to slowly lift his helmet from his head. Once his lips are revealed he presses them against your head, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo. The scent that haunts him as you walk past him. The scent that floods his helmet whenever you’re near. The scent that he hopes will linger on his shirt once you wake up and leave him.

When you leave him.

He nearly cries at the thought.

Instinctively his hands pull you closer, vowing to never let go.

He knows he would never keep you against your will, but for now he can dream. He can pretend that you’ll always stay in his arms. He can try and convince himself that you’ll stay right here where he can keep you safe; tucked away from the horrors of the world.

Kiss after kiss is pressed to your head as he promises to protect you the best he can. His soft words may not reach your mind in your slumber, but they still hold the same power. The same promise. The same love.

Because right now he realizes that his wonders have started to become reality.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys! I’m sorry for being so inactive recently. I’ve been in a little bit of writers block recently, but I was able to write this sequel. I hope you guys liked it.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment. I love hearing what you all have to say.

Love, Lordy :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi @coldlilheart @remmysbounty @t3a-bag @all-along-the-resolute @impala1967666 @rosiefridayrogersunday

And I’m tagging you amazing people who wanted a part two or showed interest: @deceiverofgodss @cciolatte @ficcrypt @humansohuman @phantomreadsandreblogs​ @particularmariana​ @orivodika​ @mother-of-dragons-dany

[athys-obelia]

the third time tlp!claude spoke to tlp!athy was minutes before her execution. he had last heard her words laced with a unique urgency, desperation, but this time - this time, she almost looks apologetic. it brings an odd wave of rage over him, and he grabs her chin to force her gaze into his-

"this weak, pathetic child couldn't actually be mine, could it?" claude scoffs, "the irony is detestable."

she doesn't respond, staring into his eyes listlessly, without a spark of recognition. as if he were a mere stranger.

claude raises an eyebrow. so full of words she had been last time, demanding love, demanding attention, demanding all he apparently gave penelope's daughter. "no last words, princess?"

athanasia's bottom lip trembles, a single tear rolling down her cheek and onto claude's hand grabbing her jaw. "perhaps in another life," she starts finally, eyes shimmering. her voice does not shake however, and claude vaguely remembers this sort of quiet resilience from somewhere else.

perhaps i will love you, in another life? he guesses.

"perhaps you will speak to mother," she says instead, staring into his eyes chillingly, "perhaps you will tell her it is not worth it, not worth her. perhaps in another life you will save her."

and he stills. claude's grip slackens, he steps backwards robotically. athanasia's mother?

the executioner takes it as his cue. the princess slumps downwards, both her and the blade prepared.

athanasia's...

"your majesty..."

...mother?

claude's hand runs over a young girl's flat stomach. "you're...we're-? ...what did you just say?"

a crowd has gathered to watch the demise of the princess. the commoners have never once seen either of the princesses, though they have heard of one. a quiet, forsaken daughter of the emperor, different from her tyrannical uncle, from her fearsome father, a sound future empress. but athanasia's blonde hair has been so dirtied, claude wonders whether the people recognize her at all.

long, blonde hair. it had been so...golden before.

"your majesty, i love her already. you will, too, won't you?"

so golden and soft between his fingers. he had forgotten the weight of his sword, and even the rough edges of the throne with his hands running through her hair.

"she should look like me, i think. she should look like me, and possess a mind as sharp as your majesty's. a lethal combination, don't you think?"

why has this girl lived as long as she has? if he hates her so much, why allow her existence to continue? why not end it when she was but a babe? how easy it would've been, to kill...

"the undying. athanasia."

athanasia's eyes are closed as she waits. and she looks so familiar claude has to remind himself to breathe.

"the nobles, the concubines, from anything and everything. i want you to protect her as you've protected me, my love."

the executioner's sword rises, and he brings it down once, halfway, as if to practice. claude's breath hitches. water - he's parched, voice stuck - is there anyone around to get him some water? is there anyone left?

the crowd looks away, almost ashamed. but the emperor's eyes are fixated onto the princess' vulnerable head, unblinking.

"what do you mean? of course she is worth it."

there is no hesitance in the executioner's hands, however.

the blade falls.

"she will love. she will live beside your majesty, see the world for what it truly is and-"

no, stop it, who allowed you to even touch-

"-and still, she will love freely. our daughter will be a lovely princess."

everyone is looking at him, he knows. shock painted onto their faces, all of them. even the executioner seems slightly scared.

why?

felix's tone doesn't carry the gentleness of a longtime friend anymore. no, he sounds much like the cold knight of crimson blood. "what is it, your majesty? even on lady diana's deathbed you hadn't cried, so why now?"

a pale, shaking hand reaches for him - diana's. the babe in her arms is quiet, not aware of the tears flowing from her mother's eyes. desperation in his eyes, claude holds his own hand out, watching in utter horror as hers falls to her side before he can hold onto her. limp.

the child cries. he has long lost his tears.

the emperor of obelia walks back to the palace, stunned mute as he stares at his only daughter's blood staining his stark white robes. diana is always right.

he knows this when every night, he dreams of two fairies with gold hair and shining eyes. he knows this when these dreams seep into his waking hours. he knows this from the constant ache of a phantom limb, from the shadows that follow him to his deathbed.

he knows this when he kills the undying princess, and she lives up to her name.

[kuroos-moon]

『 Sugawara Koushi Takes Proper Care of You 』

➪ a/n: thanks for this req this had me flustered tbh, hope u like it!! 🥺

➪ warning/s: NSFW 

➪ smut starts after the cut

wc: 2k words

The weight of today’s workload took so much of a toll on you, your eyes were tired and your back ached terribly. There was simply too much to stress about and fatigue was so harsh on you that you just wanted to collapse the moment you enter your shared apartment with Suga. 

“Y/n? You’re home really late today,” he pops up from the kitchen, still wearing an apron. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I- there was just lots of things to do,” you frown as you make your way before him, and he automatically presses a kiss on your forehead as you do so. 

“It’s alright, come and have dinner with me then,” he smiles at you with warm eyes, a full-on plan to run you a nice warm bath and give you a soothing massage already wired to the back of his mind. 

“I’m sorry, Koushi,” you smile apologetically, “I’m just really stressed out right now, I don’t have the appetite.” 

Of course he’d be worried, looking at you as you enter your bedroom without another word. Screw dinner, he thinks to himself as he removes his apron and follows you inside. 

“Let me give you a massage, love,” he whispers as he hugged you from behind. “No it’s f-

“Y/n let me take care of you,” he gives you a sad and worried smile, making you give in. He turns you around to face him before he starts to undress you, and you raise a brow. 

“I’m applying oil,” he explains with a small chuckle. You just stare at the lovable doting man before you as he slips your buttoned shirt off, planting a soft lingering kiss on your collarbone in an attempt to make you feel relaxed, but it did the opposite. 

It made your breath hitch and your thighs unconsciously press together, and this wouldn’t go unnoticed at all by the ever so observant former setter who could read you like the back of his hand. 

Maybe it wasn’t what you wanted right now, although it was another effective way to rid you off your stress, but he decided to test the waters first. His gentle touch on your waist slowly and draggingly travels up to the hook of your bra before he strips you off of them as well. 

He notices you gasp almost inaudibly when he ‘unintentionally’ brushes a finger at the side of your breasts, and the look in your eyes told him you wanted it, you wanted him. 

“Perhaps the massage can wait,” he says in a soft tone before he pushes you down the bed with one hand now loosely around your neck, the other resting beside your head to support his weight. 

He didn’t have any plan at all to be rough with you, but he knew how much you liked it when he held you by your throat like that. 

“Koushi,” you mutter in surprise, and he gives you yet another warm smile. “Do you want me tonight, y/n?” He asks, and you gulp, your chest starting to heave at how hot he was. 

Sugawara Koushi is the CEO of asking consent, I take no criticism. 

“Do you?” He repeats, leaning down with his mouth beside your ear as his breath tickles your skin. You whimper in response when his thigh brushes against your core, but he needed your ‘yes.’ 

“Please,” is all you get to say, your head clouded with desire as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses at the side of your neck. He hums, “please what, y/n?” 

“Take care of me,” you breathlessly say, and he smiles, leaning away to look at you. “I’ll take good care of you,” he softly says, a glimmer of affection in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you. 

He definitely drove you wild and crazy, making you forget all the care for the world as he tantalized you with his warm stare and soft sinful lips, not to mention his gentle and slender fingers that started to travel south across your smooth and sensitive skin. 

You let out a soft moan when his mouth moves down to your breasts, and unlike the initial kisses, he was sucking harshly, running his tongue over your mound as his hand squeezes your other breast. 

“Koushii,” you whine, squeezing your thighs together more desperately in an attempt to relieve your needy and dripping cunt, and he knew all too well how worked up you were by now, you’ve always lost to him in foreplay. 

You run your hands over his clothed back and whine at the insufficient skin to skin contact; making him chuckle at you before pulling away to remove his blue sweater but leaving his shorts on, “shall I take it all off?” He asks, both arms on either of your sides to support himself. 

Your eyes fall to look at his now bare stomach, his toned build and bulging cock which was beyond evident in his shorts making you wetter to the point wherein your underwear’s soaked. 

Filled with desperation, you push him off of you and straddle him, your head falling back at the feeling of his cock pressing against you. He observes you as you grind against him so desperately like you’re in your heat, but the last thing he wanted tonight was for you to be on top and do the work. 

He should be the one to work on you. Channeling his inner soft dom, he flips you over, pinning your limbs with his. “Koushi, please,” you beg, feeling miserable as you can’t even do as much as squeeze your thighs together. 

“You’ve been really tired y/n,” he says in a low voice, tightening his hold on your wrists and inching closer to you until his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, “so I’ll be the one to take care of you and drive you over your edge tonight,” he breathes. 

He had you tamed this easily, no longer resisting his hold, and he took that as a sign that it was okay for him to let go. “You could only be patient,” he mutters, not at all self-aware that he probably took pleasure in seeing you whimper as he squeezes your throat, before he slowly runs his hand down all the way your lower stomach and finally tracing a finger against the waistband of your panties.

“Koushi, please, touch me,” you grip his hand, making him draw his gaze from the wet patch on your undies. “Already?” He teases, but not at all meaning to draw this on for long. 

“Too cruel,” you mutter, and he stops running his fingers against your inner thighs. “Cruel?” He repeats in surprise, he never meant for you to feel as if he won’t give all of himself to you then and there, he simply had in mind how your orgasm satisfies you more and more the longer he had kept you waiting. 

He doesn’t say anything more before slipping two digits inside your underwear, feeling up how wet you were. You gasp when he runs his finger through your slit, and the moment you’ve opened your mouth, he slips his tongue inside, your hands quick to wrap around his neck. 

You moan into the kiss, his middle finger starting to rub circles against your clit as his tongue wrestles with yours aggressively, making it hard for you to breathe with the sudden pleasure of it all. Another loud moan escapes your lips when he inserts two digits inside you, his long fingers hitting your spot in an instant. 

“Koushi,” you gasp, the pace of his fingers moving in and out of you was still slow but it hit just the perfect spot so well that you become a whimpering mess, desperate for him to go faster. He looks at you as you fist the bedsheets, leaving your hole empty as he plays with your clit again. 

It was obvious that he took confidence on the magic his fingers did to you, and although the night was all about you he can’t help but palm himself through his shorts as you cry for his name, his thumb abusing your clit so much that you’re quivering underneath his touch. 

He groans before sinking down between your legs, his hand he used to palm himself with now holding your leg still while he used his elbow to restrain the other to keep your legs wide open for his feast, all the while fucking you senseless with his mere fingers. 

“Koushi- ah- I’m cumming,” you manage to say, and he speeds up the pace of his fingers, splotchy noises filling the room along with your moans. Your walls start to spasm and your nails now dug on the skin of his wrist, he knew you were really about to cum. 

He pulls his fingers out of you just a second before your release, “no!” You cry, tears blurring your vision. “Koushi, no,” you plead, but your cunt was clenching around nothing anymore as he brought his fingers inside his mouth to taste you. 

“Koushi,” you’re crying now, about to touch yourself but he stops you. 

“Be still,” he says, before sinking your underwear further downwards. “Koushi why, you- you said you were going to take care of me,” you sob, and he coos at you from between your legs. 

Sugawara Koushi knew just how to take care of you, he’ll redeem himself of your rejected orgasm later on when he pounds mercilessly inside of you and gives you what you deserve. 

He may have seemed sadistic to you, he knew that, but what he also knew was that he was going to make this the best night of your life after days of tiring workloads, so your crying now would all be worth it in the end, he’ll make sure of it. 

He lifts your leg up over his shoulder before he kisses your cunt open-mouthedly, your clit twitching against the inside of his lips and your toes curl. You were up for the real deal though the moment he started using his tongue, pressing the wet muscle flat against your hole before running it all the way up your clit. 

You whimper as you grip on his hair, your legs fighting to tightly wrap themselves around his head but he has them remained wide open, his tongue mercilessly flicking your clit over and over again and applying more pressure every second. 

He sucks on every inch of your folds, collecting your wetness at the tip of his tongue before swallowing them. An especially loud moan fills his ears the moment he slides his tongue inside of you, so he continues to thrust his tongue in and out, occasionally lapping on your folds before inserting his tongue inside all over again. 

The knot on your stomach grew tighter as he draws his thumb to rub your clit frantically, your walls clenching around his tongue and your ankles coming to lock around his waist. “I’m close, ah, Koushi, I’m close, it feels so good,” you moan, tightening your grip on his hair to the point that it hurt him. 

With one last flick on your clit and the curling of his tongue inside you, you finally get to cum, Suga making sure to prolong your orgasm for as long as he can by rubbing your clit harder while he sucked on your release that dirtied the sheets and the corners of his lips. 

Once he got you all cleaned up with his mouth, he lifts himself up and hovers over you, “good girl,” he smiles, before leaning in to kiss you. 

He groans into the kiss when you palm him, and just as you expected, he pulls away and holds your hand to stop you. “Isn’t it about time we took care of that, Koushi?” You smile up at him, and at the sound of your worn out voice from all the moaning and sobbing, his cock twitches. 

He couldn’t even stop himself as he grinds himself against your thigh, resting his forehead against yours. “Fill me up with that pretty cock of yours, Koushi,” you whisper, and you don’t have to say anything more before he pushes your legs wide open once more. 

“Of course, I’ll take care of you until the sun comes up.”  

Thank the heavens it was the weekend after that. 

________________________________

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh​ 

[loveless-scribes]

100 Days, 100 Drabbles: Day 7

I really struggled to write at all today. My mind was so dry. I considered just skipping a day and reading instead cuz I wasn’t feeling it, even tho I have another ShikaIno simmering, but instead... I typed up this summary of an idea that’s been simmering in my head today. Let me know what you think!

----------------------------------------- Day 7: Stolen Goods

She was tempted down from the lowest clouds to the highest mountains. But for all his sweet words, she did not allow her feet to touch the earth. Months, the human spent, serenading her. He recited poetry, he picked the most fragrant posies of the mountain wildflowers, and in the long nights where he sat beside the fire without a notion of the fact that she had hidden in the clouds closest to him, he sang such tender songs of love, her chest was filled with an ache so sharp and sweet it spread throughout her body.

She giggled under cover of the clouds, hugging herself. It felt exhilarating to be so loved. She went cloud surfing less often now and met her kin only when they passed her as they flew down to earth. But none of that bothered her for there was a man on the peak of the tallest mountain vowing his undying love to her.

Each passing day, she skirted lower and lower. One night when he slept, she clung to the fog of the nearest cloud and brushed the earth of the mountain peak with her toes. It felt strange beneath her untouched feet, uncomfortable to the point of being painful.

It was almost a year to the day since they had first seen each other that his mournful, longing eyes overpowered her fear. She threw herself from the last cloud of the sky, straight into his waiting arms.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…” he murmured into her hair, embracing her tightly. She threw her arms around him, hoping he would never let go. He rubbed her back, he kissed her cheek, he cupped the back of her head, burying his long, firm fingers in her hair. Every one of his touches made her dizzy and lightheaded, she felt almost as if she were back among the clouds.

His seeking touches grew bolder and when his mouth drew closer to hers, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to him.

And oh, the delirious pleasure of being taken up by another as if you were the last gulp of water on earth, the last bit of air! The simple delight of being so desired, so cherished left her defenseless and at his mercy, trusting him so completely that she did not notice his hand inching past her head until he had firmly gripped onto her halo, and with a sharp yank, tore it from her being. Her half-formed moan quickly devolved into a scream of pain.

The man stumbled backwards, away from her. She reached up for the space where the symbol of her divinity had been but felt only a horrid nothingness. Tears flew freely from her cheeks as she turned to the man, shell-shocked and wide-eyed. How could a being of truth and divinity have guessed that the world beneath the clouds is one of treachery?

As if someone had spilled a tub of ink over her head the silvery-white color of her long hair was consumed by a penetrating black, just as the blue of her eyes devolved into a darkness like the new moon itself.

“P-please…” she murmured, reaching out her hands despairingly. An attempt to fly towards him was fruitless, for her wings were molting faster than leaves fell from the autumn trees. The man, alarmed, turned tail and ran down the mountain path – her halo in hand.

The Gellan maiden struggled to her feet and sought to take chase, but her legs had never carried her weight before and the stony mountain path was so painful she fell again and again. Sobbing desperately, she crawled towards the direction the man had fled, but she had scarcely crossed any distance at all ere he had disappeared entirely from view.

The wail that sounded from the peak of the mountaintop could have split the sky in two. She sobbed and wept like a creature most wretched. Robbed of her halo, deprived of her wings, lost and alone far from everything she knew.

The man, in the meantime, hastened back to his hometown, hoping against hope that he had made it in time. For far from the kingdom’s tallest mountain was a village where his beloved lay dying. He flew over the fields on horseback, riding a horse to death in his haste to return to his dearest betrothed. The second horse nearly fared the same until the village gates came to view.

Throughout his travels, the man held firmly to the Gellan’s halo, fearing the desperate, blighted creature would tear it away from him the moment he was inattentive. But in a manner most curious, the halo seemed to shrink the longer he travelled. He was overcome with anxiety that it would disappear entirely before he reached his darling wife.

At long last, he reached her bedside, and by this time she had worn away until she was nothing but skin and bones. He clutched her hand and wept to see her so greatly aged by sickness. When she spoke, she rasped, “Darling, my fortune is great, that I may see you again.”

“Do not speak, dearest,” the man replied, “I’ve not yet given up hope.”

The woman smiled as one does at a child who tells fanciful tales. Now by this time, the halo had shrunk to a size so small it could scarcely fit a finger, so he placed it on the third finger of her left hand, hoping his sacrifice would not have been in vain.

No sooner had he slipped the golden halo onto her finger than a bright glow engulfed the room. His wife’s hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes regained their usual vigor, the skin of her hands was as smooth as the softest silk, and even her hair resumed the soft sheen it had once had. His dearest wife gasped in wonder, and sat up from her bed, her body soft and filled out, her expression overjoyed.

The couple fell into one another’s arms, both laughing and weeping at their good fortune. They spent many years one another and had many children together. They watched their children grow and have their own children, then watched those children grow and have children of their own once again. And so on again.

The fantastic story of the lady’s return to health spread far and wide until it became a custom to place a golden band on the third finger of the left hand of one’s betrothed. And so, the two of them lived happily ever after.

Until one day…

One hundred and fifty years after the mortal man had abandoned the Gellan creature on the mountain peak. After she had learned of bruises and broken bones, of illness and pain, of hunger and thirst, when her soft flesh had turned into lean muscle, when she had learned to subsist off the berries and mountain game, when she had overcome her loneliness with more loneliness, her grief with more grief, still, she wept relentlessly.

Her brethren, flying nearby heard of her sorrow, and at last, took pity on her. “If you retrieve your halo from the wretched thief,” they promised, “your divinity will return, and you may seek vengeance however you like. You will find your crown on the hand of his beloved.”

The maiden of the Gellan was no longer a creature divine. Trust broken, body sullied, hopes dashed. She no longer laughed like the strings of a harp. She clenched her teeth and was as silent as the ominous portent of death.

She would take back what was hers. Her black eyes flashed violet. And she would not return to the skies until she had driven him into the ground and robbed him of all he held dear. Her heart hardened further still as she made her way down the mountain.

They say she is to blame for sudden deaths, for inexplicable separation, and for sudden indifference after fervent true love. They say she carries a band around her neck and the sound of clinking gold precedes her, the sound of the many golden bands she steals from couples that once loved each other, but she remains on the search still. For a man most treacherous, and a woman living off of divinity stolen.  

[helaintoloki]

A Little Tenderness

pairing: Ben Hargreeves x reader

notes: this is a 1.5k long shameless self-indulgent comfort piece because I am in need of some tlc from my ghost boyfriend

warnings: lots of fluff, slight angst, subtle mentions of depression, etc.

Featherlight kisses brush against your goosebump ridden shoulders and rouse you from your unrestful slumber. It had been a very difficult night, and you’re not sure how you had managed to pull through it, but here you were with the sun shining in your face and Ben’s gentle smile being the first sight to greet you as you wake.

“Hey,” he says gently, pressing another careful kiss to your forehead before carefully nuzzling his nose against your own in a manor he hopes comes off as comforting and not creepy— he’s still learning, but he loves you, and you have to appreciate that. “How are you feeling?”

You let out the quietest of groans before yanking the covers over your head and shielding yourself from the outside world. You really don’t feel like getting out of bed nor do you feel like you have the energy to do anything other than sleep the day away. Unlike those who’ve sat in the very same position before him, Ben does not walk away nor does he scold you for being childish. In fact, his kind smile still remains as he ever so gently peels away the linen shield you’ve wrapped around yourself and gives you a pointed though understanding look.

“I know you’re feeling bad, but it’s only going to get worse if you just stay in here all day,” he says gently. Gentleness is the only way to get through to you, because though you may be stubborn and though you may insist that you can take care of yourself, you still crave the affection and compassion from a lover who can treat you with tenderness and care. That’s why you chose him after all, and that’s why you’re both still here together. “We don’t have to go anywhere or do anything if you don’t want to, but at least get up. You can take a nice warm shower and I can make breakfast. We can take it slow today, step by step, does that sound okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence as you stare at him, throat beginning to sore and eyes beginning to water as you struggle to get the words out, but Ben is patient as ever as he awaits your response. With his warm hand cupping your cheek and calloused thumb brushing away the single tear that manages to escape, you finally utter the quietest, “yes,” he’s ever heard.

“Attagirl,” Ben praises fondly, and without another word he’s helping you up out of bed and scooping you gently into his arms before carrying you into the bathroom. You accept the display of strength and affection with open arms, burrowing your face into his shoulder and clutching tightly to the fabric of his pajama shirt until he sets you back on your feet and turns on the water so that it can warm up.

“Arms up,” he says quietly, and with your arms raised over your head Ben is able to carefully slip off his own shirt from your body and toss it aside into the hamper. When he undresses you like this there aren’t any underlying intentions nor erotic desires floating about in his head. It’s tender and gentle and pure, it’s him devoting his energy into making sure you’re taken care of, it’s his quiet way of showing you how much he loves you without having to put it into words, it’s something that’s very Ben-like and it’s something he knows makes you feel seen and safe.

“I’m going to get started on breakfast, alright? Come see me in the kitchen when you’re done,” he instructs once you’re undressed, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head before excusing himself from the room and allowing you the privacy you deserve.

The water is warm and soothing against your aching muscles, and though your troubles won’t instantly wash themselves away down the drain, it does help improve your mood just a little bit. It’s harder to feel bad about yourself when you’re clean and refreshed.

Ben is waiting in the kitchen for you just like he said he would be, a glass of apple juice— your favorite— and a bowl of strawberries sitting at the center of the table for you while he works on making you pancakes. His cooking isn’t the best, and the pancakes are often lumpy and somewhat undercooked, but you appreciate his efforts and can never bare to tell him otherwise. He had told you offhandedly once that his mother used to make the best pancakes, but you didn’t ask questions nor try to pry any more information out of him. He’d lived a different life before he met you, and he liked to keep his new life with you separate from the one he’d lived in the past.

“Feeling any better?” He asks from his place at the stove, removing his gaze from the pancakes to glance over at you for just a second. Water drips slowly from your poorly dried hair and onto the black cotton of his sweatshirt you’ve stolen for your own comfort but he doesn’t mind it in the slightest. You look absolutely precious in his eyes, and sometimes he can’t help but wonder how a monster a man like him could ever be lucky enough to have someone as special as you.

“A little,” your murmur over your cup of orange juice whilst carefully picking the leaves from the strawberries. A plate of mushy pancakes is set in front of you and you offer Ben the best smile you can muster, immediately taking a big bite of the lumpy breakfast food and swallowing it down without any trouble. They’re the best pancakes you’ve ever had in your life, and maybe that’s a biased statement considering the fact that the chef is your boyfriend, but you don’t really care. As corny as it sounds, they’re made with love and they’re made just for you, and the food begins to fill the empty pit inside of you with some much needed warmth.

Ben insists on doing the dishes afterward, but you stay planted beside him in front of the sink and watch with tired eyes as he cleans up the mess. There’s something comforting about the domesticity of it all, and your heart hurts from the undying, unconditional love it holds for the man in front of you. In your eyes he is the perfect partner, Ben can do no wrong— not that he ever has— and you wish every day could be as peaceful and serene as this one. When he looks to you with that same adoring smile of his you know you’ve found your safe place, and after putting in the effort of standing upon your tip toes does he gift you with a sweet, soft kiss. His lips taste of syrup, plump and sweet and graceful as they glide along your own before pulling away so that he may return his attention to the work at hand. You love him, and you can never say it enough nor truly ever be able to express the extent of your appreciation for the man beside you.

When all is said and done you find refuge together on the couch, curled up in the corner with your weight laid upon him and your head resting against his chest as the rhythmic beats of his heart and careful comb of his fingers through your hair begin to lull you to sleep. He holds a book in his unoccupied hand and reads aloud to you for he knows that sometimes too much quiet can make you feel unsettled. But you’re safe now, you’re protected and cared for in the arms of a man the world had once deemed the Horror, but you’re not afraid of him nor do you care about the secret creature hidden within his chest. Just as he gave you peace, you gave him acceptance and understanding. It was easy to say you’d both been through bad times, but there had also been good, and now together they would always be nothing less of spectacular.

The day is nowhere near over, and you still have a long way to go before you can even begin to feel completely sane again, but with Ben’s arm lazily draped over your waist and his steady heartbeat drumming in your ear you know you’re going to be okay. Because you have your anchor, the man you love, and what could be better than that?

[cummingforkylo]

kylo pulling you into his chest when he comes back tired from a mission for sleepy cuddle uggghhhh 😥😥

Hi! I kind of merged this request with the other one from you: “SLEEPY CUDDLES WITH KYLO THAT TURN INTO SWEET SLOW SEX PLS” 

I struggled my way through this one because I WAS HAVING A MENTAL BLOCk. But finally, here it is:

DreamlandRating: Explicit, NSFWCW: SexWord count: 1,072Prompt/Summary: Sleepy cuddles and sex with Kylo

The bed was so comfortable tonight, warm, soft, it felt like it was cradling you, wrapping around you. You felt like you were sinking into the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, happily not really dreaming of anything. In the bleary twilight of half awake and half asleep you felt a weight on the bed. It was heavy behind you, you couldn’t pull your eyes open enough to figure out what was going on. You couldn’t turn your body towards the weight even though you wanted to because you had an idea of what it as. The bed was too comfortable, you were too cozy and sleep was so inviting. Kylo wrapped his arms around your waist and he tugged you back into his chest. He pressed his forehead into the back of your shoulder and breathed in, you felt him curl around you. His big frame enveloped yours, his body was hot and the hands that ran up and down your belly were even hotter. You blinked, trying to force away the sleep in your eyes. You were trying to wake up, you wanted to roll over and see him but the sleep weighed you down, the comfort of the bed was too much to ignore. Kylo tangled his arms around you, his legs around yours. You stretched and his arms tightened around you, you felt his muscular arms contract. Was he really here? Were you dreaming? You had thought he was still on a mission.

“You can keep sleeping,” he said softly, you didn’t want to sleep. You wanted to feel more of his body, you wanted to feel more of his muscles contract. He felt real, he felt solid but his voice was so far away, you couldn’t be sure. You pressed your ass back into his lap, he was only in underwear. He must have stripped out of his clothes before coming to bed. His cock was hard, pressing into your ass and you shimmied yourself back. That had to be real, that couldn’t be a dream, could it? Could your unconscious produce such a realistic version of his cock? Kylo’s hand moved up and down your stomach, moving it lower and lower with each stroke. You knew exactly where it was headed but you had no energy to help it along or tell him to stop. His hand tucked between your legs and you immediately sighed, it felt like relief. His fingers softly ran along the crotch of your undies, but the more they danced along the fabric, the more you were unsure if it was a dream. It felt too good and too fleeting, to hard to hold onto. You took a deep breath and leaned back into him. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he breathed into your ear but his fingers kept stroking along the lips of your pussy, still covered with fabric. Your body started to respond and you roused more, but the whole world around you seemed unreal. You wished there was nothing between his fingers and your delicate, soft, sensitive pussy. You managed to turn yourself over to face him,

“Well I can’t sleep anymore.” You whispered, he leaned into you, his forehead pressed against yours and he kissed you softly on the lips. His tongue swept into your mouth stealing the kiss from your sleepy mouth. You sighed into him, reaching up and pressing on his shoulders, pushing him back. The room was dark, a haze of sleepy voices, the rustle of blankets and the brush of skin on skin. This was the symphony of dreamland. You had to be dreaming, nothing in real life felt so good, so heady and sensual. He fell back against the bed and you rolled onto of him. You already wanted it, from his gentle touches, to his kisses and the way he felt underneath you now, it was enough really kindle the fire in your belly. You straddled him, reaching down and tugging the waistband of his underwear down. His breath let out in a huff as you wrapped your fingers around his cock. It felt so warm, it had to be real. But maybe you just knew his body so well, your mind has memorized the way his cock felt when it was hardening. You stroked your hand over it, not really caring if it was real, or not. Your voices were quiet when you had been speaking, as if you couldn’t disturb the dark surrounding you and now your he tried to keep his breath quiet too. There was no one and nothing you had to worry about waking up but for some reason, under the blanket cover of night, you wanted to keep your voices down. His big hand caressed down you side, gliding over the skin, catching against the curve of your hip and he pulled you forward, making you rock against his cock. You sighed and stroked him languidly, tiredly, you wanted it quickly, easily, right now.

He must have sensed that because one of the hands guiding your hips dropped to the side of your undies, pulling it over the side. You leaned forward, sitting up on your knees and he guided the tip of his cock to your entrance. Real or not, the opportunity to feel all of him was right there. So close. You sat back on it, sinking down onto his cock. It pressed inside of you, stretching you open and sending tingles all throughout your sleepy body. If this was  a dream, you wanted to live in it forever. You rocked up onto your knees and then back down again, taking the whole  thing into into your cunt. You tightened around his length, eager to take it again and again and again. He thrust himself up to meet you, his movements almost as lazy as yours.  He wanted it, but he didn’t want to work for it. You wanted it and the more it thrust into you the more you wanted to feel his cum fill you and then pass out against his chest. You bounced your hips up and down against him, finding a rhythm that worked for you. His breath gasped out against your skin, making you feel even stickier than you already did.

“Oh…yes…” You moaned,  still keeping it a hushed whisper. The movements made you ache with need, but you weren’t sure what for, an orgasm seemed far off, and you were too tired to chase it. His orgasm, however, was a tangible thing, you could feel it mounting in him. In the tense way he pressed his hips up, in how he grabbed your hips, waist, ass, and in how his brow furrowed and his lip curled. You rocked yourself up and then down, taking him deep inside of you again and again. You wanted his cum, you wanted to feel it inside of you. Your walls tightened around his cock, gripping at it, pulling him in.

“I’m going to-ah, ah!” he gasped and he held you down, pressing himself up into you as he came. You felt his cock twitch inside of you as his hot cum spurted inside of you, filling you up.  So real. Or at least, so distinct. You fell forward against his chest, rubbing his bare arms and sides. You couldn’t move, you didn’t ever want to move from this spot. His arms wrapped around you, cuddling you into his chest and you could already feel your eyes closing again. You were thrown back  fully into dreamland and you didn’t know if him whispering his admiration and love for you was in reality or in your dreams.

[sadaakirah]

Swelter

"Mikasa."

He meant to warn, but it comes out more breathless than he intended.

"Lieutenant, I do not need to tell you how inappropriate this is,” he said with finality - his voice even, flat and devoid of any other slip-up.

This is Part 1 of 3 parts and there will be smutty-smutty-smut in Part 2.

Part 1 is rated T.

[Part 1 ]

Mikasa watches the remnants of the cadets ushering out, sweat glueing their black uniforms onto their tired, aching bodies. Lieutenant Ackerman, baptized as slave-driver/a beautiful but deadly force to be reckoned with, by these new recruits, is no exception.

Violent hues of blood orange rays make their last attempt to scorch the training grounds, as a watchful half-moon bides its time in the violet skies. Mikasa is tired, more so from this heat than the exhaustion.

Her white blouse moulds itself to the hard planes of her abdomen, back and the soft slopes of her chest. She wipes the sheen off from her forehead, and lets out a sigh when the cadets have had their eyes turned away from her.

She could only imagine the vexed face her Captain would make at her filthy sight, but she had an appointment that could not be delayed. The thought of his irritated face alone was enough motivation for her to keep time.

From the vantage point of his private office, a pair of gunmetal eyes wait for the grounds to finish emptying. Captain Levi has a diminutive twitch in the corner of his mouth, one which was a scaled down version of the smirk that now embraces Mikasa's own lips.

Levi watches as the half-Oriental woman makes a bee-line towards the castle, with calculated, purposeful strides.

Any moment now.

With eyes now back to the task at hand, he plucks a pen out of a well-worn book, and flourishes his signature onto the document addressed to Commander Arlert.

Levi Ackerman.

In a world unreservedly trying to right itself after the war, one where his kind would never be persecuted, he now proudly carries the clan-name his mother once did.

Standing with half his weight on an elaborately crafted chair, a muscular back faces the oak door, while a pen impatiently taps aginst his desk.

Knock-knock-

A pause follows the dull percussion. The pause is no longer than one exhale from a breath he did not realize he was holding back.

And another knock - as expected; as was her customary cue to enter.

Levi does not bother to ask who is at the door. His guest surfaces into his office from the hallway and clicks the door shut behind her with lithe, calloused fingers.

"Come in," he intones, voice seeping with sarcasm and the tiredness of the duties of that day.

"Done with training the new brats already, Lieutenant?"

When her nimble footsteps stop behind him, he schools his expression down to one that does not relay how he spent the better half of his tea-time watching Mikasa pummel new recruits into the Earth. Looking over one broad shoulder, Levi spares her a bored glance.

His mind half-cradles the curious desire that she had felt his eyes with all their less than innocent intentions, boring into the back of her black hair, down and up and down her drenched breasts and along the pale sliver of occasionally exposed hip, through the better part of her lessons.

"Mhm," Mikasa replies. "They seem promising," she admits, freely giving appreciation where it was due.

"Hn," Levi delivers the same curt acknowledgement as from when she had taken down the Jaws Titan.

They indeed seemed promising. New recruits- new flesh for a world anew, which harboured no need for child soldiers, trying to set itself upright, where man with his politics and ideologies was the worst enemy and not man-eating titans. And on second thought, a world promising enough to start a life anew if he dare; if he dare think about it.

"Did you finish up with that document?" Hot breath fans the side of his temple. "I need to submit it to Armin by tomorrow morning."

Awaiting his answer, Mikasa unsticks her white blouse from her heated skin, to and fro in waves, allowing the cool air of the room to fan away the sheen in the dip between her breasts and the precipice of her clavicles.

"Brat," he bites out at the sight before him.

"Go take a shower. You're stinking it up in here."

Levi shoots her a schooled glare when she doesn't stop. It was one full of underlying challenge, one he has worn many times on sparring grounds when his thighs had locked Mikasa's waist into their rightful place between them.

A look of irritation flashes pass her face momentarily with his words.

He flippantly returns to the well-worn book with a flick of the hand that had been wittled down to 3 fingers.

Levi's attention is not caught by the title of the book, nor the inscriptions staining its weathered pages.

He waits. And he bides his time.

Any moment now.

A pair of arms snake their way down his broad shoulders, along his rippling biceps, and finishes their descent when fingers brush across his scarred knuckles.

He could practically feel his Lieutenant seething down his back and into his core. With a nudge from her knees, she pushes her Captain's form closer to his ornate desk, as those arms box his frame in between them.

Her pert and moderately-endowed breasts mould themselves against the vast expanse of the solid and compact muscles of his back. Her jaw-length hair tickles his temples.

There’s a touch of surprise that crosses over him, and he does not know what to say.

He slowly looks back at her, his grey eyes peering out under sooty eyelashes.

The sight and sound, or lack thereof, of Humanity’s Strongest made speechless, was satisfying, and Mikasa did not hide her mirth from him.

They were standing so close; inappropriately close.

If he wanted to he could count the number of her overlapping black lashes, the drops of sweat on her forehead, and the almost imperceptible quiver of her cupid's bow. Eventually, she speaks first.

"I do not stink," she states matter of factly with a look of indignation splashed across her beautiful face.

She didn't, he knew that. A many a thing was dirty and unhygienic to Levi, but a beautiful Mikasa Ackerman bathed in dying sunlight, soaked shirt , dark eyes challenging him, was not one of them. But a prideful man like him would never say it out loud for her ears.

"And absolutely filthy."

Unlike her, he is patient. Levi makes some sort of smirk, finding no reason to answer her with complete sentences.

It was probably less than a second, but he catches it painted across her aquiver eyebrows- the moment of conception of an especially childish idea.

"What is it Captain Levi - Can't handle a bit of sweat?"

He meets her challenge with a halfhearted glare, as she runs her arms up and down his biceps making sure to leave half-mooned indentations in the exposed skin of his well-veined forearms. Her breasts push up and into his toned back.

Mikasa's lips ghost along his neck with promise of more to come. No doubt she feels elated at having irked some of his irrational compulsion for absolute cleanliness.

However, the very feelings shoot molten ichor down his spine and straight to his groin, kindling a different sort of compulsion.

The book is long-forgotten.

"Mikasa."

He meant to warn, but it comes out more breathless than he intended.

"Lieutenant, I do not need to tell you how inappropriate this is,” he said with finality - his voice even, flat and devoid of any other slip-up.

If it hadn’t been for the slow rise and dip of his Adam's apple, Mikasa would have faltered. The sight of an annoyed and dirty Levi coated with the sweat he hated the most, should have been enough petty vengeance for her for one day.

She studied the hard planes of her Captain's face. His brows pinched, and his once grey pupils blown out of arousal - two stones of heated charcoal.

An oh so familiar fire ignited low in her belly, one that had always reserved undying, crackling embers for this one man.

Levi heard her swallow.

Nonetheless, Mikasa did not falter; could not falter.

Thank you for reading!

His previous biting taunts and his beautifully traitorous face pressed her on and press on she did.

Part 2

My very first Rivamika fic, and I guess I decided to write smut (not in this chapter), with a bit of fluff and plot. 😷 Set after the war, slightly dom!Mikasa, and a slightly sub!Levi who really likes to egg her on.

[syifrae]

Through his stomach

@winteriron-week

Day 3 “But I did it” 

Read on AO3

Tony had a secret admirer. Not only that, but he had the world’s best secret admirer because this secret admirer was seducing him via food.

It had started a few months back when Tony had returned from a particularly stressful day at work, fielding calls and actually attending meetings (I mean, he had to go to some otherwise Pepper would literally strangle him). Tony felt tired and hungry and his feet hurt and his head ached and there was just a general aura of blegh all around him.

He had just about managed to drag himself through a shower and into some comfy pants but the thought of having to make food was just overwhelming. He lay in his bed for what felt like hours arguing with himself about the pros and cons of getting up to make something. Of course, he could just order food but for some preternatural reason any time anyone was ordering takeout in the tower Clint found out. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but on occasion, it could result in heavy debating over what to order and half your food disappearing into the apparently bottomless void that was the archer’s stomach.

Right now, though, Tony just really wasn’t in the mood for any kind of human interaction. He loved his teammates, don’t get him wrong, they had become his pseudo-family and he would, at any time, lay down his life for any one of them, but right at this second, he couldn’t stand the thought of having to interact with them.

He knew it was a cruel thought to have, but on the one hand, he’d have to pull up a front that he was fine -which would take a hell of a lot of effort given the facial expression and body language skills of some of his teammates- or let them see how…blegh he was feeling. Neither option seemed appealing to him. One would drain him of all remaining energy and the other would result in (well-intentioned) questions about his mental and emotional state, which again would drain him of all remaining energy.

Just as he was thinking he could risk calling in for pizza and hope against hope that the resident vent mole wouldn’t notice, he heard the ding of the elevator. Tony sighed. How on earth had Clint known he was thinking about pizza? That shit was unnatural and vaguely disturbing.

Only he didn’t hear footsteps, instead, there was the familiar whirr of gears and excitable beeps from his favourite (but don’t tell the others) bot. Sure enough, his bedroom door was pushed open and in trundled DUM-E, carefully carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something on it.

The smell wafted through the room as Tony scooched up the bed to accept the tray off of the bot.

“Uhh, J?” he began hoping his AI would know what he meant. How is DUM-E up here? Why does he have a bowl of what looks like soup with a side of charcuterie and garlic bread with him? Did DUM-E make it himself? If so, how? Was it safe to eat?

Luckily for him, he had the best AI in the world (if he does say so himself-which he does) and JARVIS somehow knows all his questions and answered them so succinctly.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous has prepared a dinner for you and asked DUM-E to deliver it as you appeared fatigued. It is a courgette and almond soup with garlic ciabatta and sourdough toast, assorted cured meats and a mango chutney. It has been safely prepared and monitored on it’s journey, and does not contain motor oil.”

Tony breathed in deeply at the exquisite smell coming from his dinner tray. This was the perfect ending to a low-grade-shitty day. Once everything JARVIS had said was fully registered in his mind he quirked his head in question.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous?” he mused, “Well, I mean it’s gotta be someone living in the tower, right? That narrows it down. Plus, it’s gotta be someone who can cook,” That thought leads him to an ever-diminishing list of suspects and he rather thinks he knows who it is.

Tony ducks his head, a dusting of pink colouring his cheeks at the thought. He digs into his gifted meal with gusto, suddenly it seemed like the weight of the day had simply rolled off of him, and he had regained some of his earlier energy. If the person who he thought it was wanted to stay in the shadows for now who was he to put a stop to it? Especially when it might cost him more nights like these with a delivery of home-cooked ambrosia.

And so it had continued.

Not only when Tony had had a bad day either, but almost every other day it seemed he had some new delivery of food. Be it a sandwich left by his elbow to remind him to eat during his workshop binge, a cooked meal when he had had a long day, a tray of cookies, cakes or brownies left on the counter in his penthouse, a selection of petit fours delivered to his office as it seemed just-because. And sometimes they even came with little post-it notes!

They weren’t much to go on, just little ‘thinking of you’s or ‘hope you enjoy’s or ‘looked like you needed this doll’s. With each delivery, Tony’s crush deepened until he was halfway in love with his ‘secret’ admirer, despite the fact that they both seemed to reluctant to acknowledge any of it in public or around the team.

However, Tony was only so patient- ask Pepper or Rhodey, it was a miracle he’d lasted this long in the first place- and he was now determined to… Well not exactly confront, that felt too aggressive a word to use, he was going to gently but firmly (very firmly) encourage his admirer to go on a real date with him. It felt like it might be a bit premature to declare his undying love and devotion to a man he wasn’t technically in a relationship with after all.

This idea however all came clattering down around him when he entered the kitchen at around three am exactly three months and four-day post initial food delivery. He hadn’t even realised anyone else was awake, he hadn’t meant to even be on this floor but JARVIS was a tattletale and would ping an email to Pepper if the coffee machine in his penthouse or workshop was used between 11 pm and 6 am.

It was just dumb luck.

Or unluck as the case may be. Because there in the kitchen, pulling a tray of very familiar looking and smelling chocolate orange and hazelnut cookies out of the oven, was Steve.

It was the wrong one. All this time Tony had believed that Bucky had been his admirer, his personal chef and his culinary hero. All this while, and if he was honest with himself for a long time before that, Tony had been slowly but surely falling in love with their resident one-armed-wonder, and given that he was 87% sure that that was who was making the food he was fairly confident that feeling had been mutual. To learn that all this time it had been the wrong supersoldier was devastating.

Tony felt like the bottom had dropped out of him and his heart had dried up all at once. Not only was he wildly, catastrophically wrong about who had been delivering him all these preciously prepared and lovingly made gifts, it also meant that he was wrong about Bucky reciprocating his feelings.

Not only that, but he now had to confront the idea that it was Steve, not Bucky, who cared for him and how the fuck was he supposed to let Captain America down? I mean yeah they had moved past their first meeting hiccup, gotten over their brief subsequent future hate/resentment/hero worship issues and had become the closest of friends. Or at least, that’s what Tony had assumed. And while his inner sixteen-year-old was very much still attracted to the pinnacle of human perfection, Tony just could not see Steve in that way. Objectively yes, he was handsome and kind, down-to-earth, generous to a fault and stubborn as a mule when it suited him, but to Tony that was just Steve.

Steve was great! Steve was an amazing friend! He’d be happy to talk up Steve as a wingman and be confident that nothing he would say would be a lie because Steve was just that awesome a person! But he was not attracted to Steve himself!

Continuing his approach to the kitchen Tony tried to mentally prepare what he was going to say. How he was going to gently thank Steve for his gifts but let him know that any feelings he had were purely platonic. He was mentally debating if he could get away with not telling Steve that he didn’t know it was him who had been the one behind the culinary delights. On the one hand, it would make him look like an utter dick for letting it go on this long without letting Steve know it was a doomed seduction. On the other hand, it seemed cruel to tell Steve that he was hoping that the man’s best friend (practically his brother) would go out with him instead. Knowing Steve, he’d be extremely supportive and then not show anyone how he was devastated and dying inside.

“Hey Steve, I didn’t realise you were up so late,” He began, coward that he was trying to put off the uncomfortable conversation that was to come.

Steve looked up from the sheet pan where he had been carefully inspecting the cookies, a look of surprise on his face showing that he’d been so concentrated on his task he hadn’t picked up on Tony’s approach. And wow, seeing how dedicated he was just made Tony feel worse about the whole thing.

“Oh, hi Tony,” the other man glanced down spying the coffee cup clutched in the inventor’s hands, “You know that cheating by getting your coffee down here only means that Pepper will be madder when I’m the one to tell her.” He teased.

And god did Tony feel like the world’s biggest tool again, even when Steve was being mean it was just because he cared. Why did it have to be the wrong supersoldier? Why was his life like this?

“Listen, Steve.” Bracing himself for what was coming Tony stepped further into the light of the kitchen, making sure to give the other man 100% of his attention, it was the least he deserved. “I think we need to talk. I am so grateful, really I am, for all that you have done. They were some of the finest and most delicious things I’ve ever tasted in my life, and that comes from a guy who regularly eats at Five Michelin Star restaurants. The deliveries have been a source of joy and comfort, they have never failed to lift my spirits and I have adored each and every one. I want you to know that I will always care very deeply for you,”

Steve had an odd look on his face as Tony tried his best to be brave and plough on, it wasn’t fair to let this go on any longer and he had to get it all off his chest in one go or else he’d put his foot in it.

“I don’t know that I could ever see you in that way. What I feel for you is more of a platonic bond, and a lifelong one at that, but there could never really be any romantic feelings on my part.”

Steve looked downright confused and embarrassed now.

“Uh, Tony that’s great?” He replied, head tilted in that lost puppy look he sometimes had when he couldn’t quite get his head around something. “I’m not entirely sure where all of that came from but uh, I love you too buddy.” Steve patted Tony on the shoulder, looking for all the world like Tony had lost his mind.

“Look Steve, the secret is out alright, I know those are the cookies you made me the other week. I can recognise them well enough, they are just about the tastiest goddamn things I’ve ever put in my mouth and I’ve dreamt of them twice since. I know it’s you who’s been making me food, and I just wanted to let you down eas-”

“But I did it.”

The voice came from behind, cutting through Tony’s very messy 'it’s not you, it’s me' speech, nearly scaring the life out of him and causing Tony to jump about three feet in the air and clutch at his chest as though that would slow the rapid staccato of his heart.

“Wha?” was all that the dumbstruck genius could eke out.

“I’m the one who’s been making you food, doll. It was me, not Stevie here.” Bucky replied from where he was stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“But- he… I just saw Steve taking the cookies out of the oven? He was even checking them over to make sure they were right?” Tony blurted, head pinging over to Steve as he heard the man huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, cause Buck here hadda go pee and the last time he put me in charge of getting his shit out the oven I got a whooping because smooshed a cookie with the glove. I ain’t making that mistake twice.”

It took Tony a second for everything to sink in. He had a moment post reshuffle in his brain of who had done what that he was mistaken after all. It wasn’t the wrong supersoldier.

“So, wait. Does that mean that you’ve been my secret admirer? Not Steve?”

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky said, shifting his weight and loosely crossing his arms in front of him as if to protect himself. “You mean all that you said about it being good?”

Tony had never heard, nor expected to hear such uncertainty from the other man. Carefully making his way over to Bucky and making sure to telegraph his movements as he did so, Tony lifted his hand to cup Bucky’s cheek.

“I meant every word. And I’m so glad it was you.”

The smile that Tony could feel growing on his own face was mirrored back to him. Flickering his gaze between Bucky’s ocean eyes and his lips he slowly tilted forward, allowing Bucky to decide if he wanted to close the gap or not.

Tony’s heartbeat fluttered as he felt the soft press of lips against his. Something in his chest settling at the feeling of how right this all was. Steve on the other hand was apparently feeling indignant.

“Hey, wait a minute! How come I’m not good enough but this lug is?”

[rotten-games]

The Wolf | Arke

No thoughts, only werewolf Arke. This is the first of four Halloween shorts I made that came out early on my patreon. The rest will be coming out scattered throughout the day ;)

The woods are silent tonight, the moon scarcely filtering in through the canopy as you traipse through the underbrush. The lantern on your hip just barely lights the way in front of you, the magic flame within undying even in the oppressive dark of the forest. Any sane person wouldn’t be here tonight of all nights—even any idiot would know to stay clear—but you’re on the hunt, you have been for years, trailing a creature intent on destroying everything it touches with claws and teeth and red hot anger.

You’ve been training for this moment for years now, you’re not going to let a little superstition stop you. Not now, not after so long.

The silver blade in your hand weighs heavy, even as stained with blood as it already is. You’ve killed many a beast by the end of your blade, and this one will be no different. This one should be no different.

You feel your entire body seize as a twig snaps somewhere in the darkness behind you, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through your very bones. Fear grips your heart but also… anticipation. He’s here. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, readjusting your grip on the blade and spinning with a practiced ease. The creature is clumsy and loud, but it isn’t blind in the dark like you are, and it’s had your scent for years, ever since it cornered you one night and gave you that scar that mars your stomach. How you survived, you’ve no idea, but that night only cemented your ire.

Jumping into a sprint you let loose a mighty cry, met only with a roar filled with mindless, frothing wrath. Heavy footfalls crush the plant life underneath the creature as it tears through the forest and as you run you can see its golden eyes shining between the trees as you turn to ensure you’re followed. A wild grin tears your face in twain because you know you cannot defeat it with strength or speed alone, no. You need your wits as well.

Trees buckle and bend under the sheer force of your prey bounding after you, a distorted howl echoing out through the woods like a strangled cry for help. The unwary would fall pray to such a call, as is by the creature’s design. Dodging and weaving, jumping felled trees and ducking underneath arching branches, the mindlessness of your pursuer worms its way into your mind until you’re not sure whether you’re running the beast into a trap or running to get away.

Just ahead there’s a clearing, you know this because you were here during the day just to set it up. Maybe you’ll succeed; maybe it’ll work and at the end of the night the creature you’ve been chasing for years will be dead and you can finally return home. But you doubt it.

The creature has eyes only for you, and by now your energy has waned. It’s gaining on you, hot jaws of death snapping at the back of your neck. It’s just a few paces ahead, it’s got to be, just a few long strides and you’ll—something trips you up; maybe your foot catches on a tree root or maybe the beast catches up for good, but either way you flounder as you fall, your mind doing flips as your balance utterly dissipates. Your ankle is wrenched by the motion and then you taste dirt.

Your prey becomes your predator and you become the prey as it lunges at you, the weight of years feasting on cattle baring down upon you mercilessly. Golden eyes meet your own and for the first time in a long, long time, you feel fear shoot through your veins like ice. The Wolf is here.

The acrid stench of rotten flesh and gore infiltrate your nostrils, suffocating you as the hulking brown-furred beast pins you into the dirt and huffs its overheated breath into through its flared nostrils. Slowly its long tongue unfurls from its jagged-toothed maw, thick globs of saliva dribbling down its chin and splashing onto your face as it inches slowly nearer, as if it’s savoring the moment it finally gets taste your flesh once more.

There’s no humanity left in those eyes, nothing mortal, nothing alive but the unending hunger, the bloodlust that drives the beast ever onward. Yet, there’s a flash in those eyes, a stutter in the motions, something you could almost mistake for… hesitation. Not even in that moment you’re given can you move; your body is utterly petrified, your arm, hand, fingers, unable to move to even attempt to scrambling for your blade.

It’s so close; if only you could reach it. If only you could… your own anger flows through you like wine at a soiree; generously and without end, those golden eyes matching yours in the sheer ferocity behind them. Yet the creature does not move, it does not lunge to tear your throat out. You’re not dead. It simply… watches you, golden eyes glowing in the dark, framed by a shaggy, blood-matted pelt. The claws that pin you, however, they sting, and already you feel blood seeping into the earth below you. A low growl rumbles through the beast’s chest, your entire body vibrating  with the sound.

It almost sounds… human. Oh, it’s monstrous in it’s own way, certainly, but there’s a familiarity to it, like a distant memory of an early-morning embrace amid the sheets, tired grumbles as you push a man out of bed, golden eyes pleading for just five more minutes. Your body goes slack under the weight of the beast, blood blurring your vision as claws sink into your tender flesh. It hurts, more than just physically, as if your soul is being torn from your very body with the memory. You’re stuck, and you have little choice but to accept it. And think, think, think.

Yet why hasn’t the beast struck you down? Why aren’t you dead? Is it waiting for something? For you to scream and cry and you both know that’s never how you’ve been? No… this feels different. Slowly, your try to reach for your blade; the hilt is right there at your fingertips and if only you could—the creature growls like it knows what you’re doing and pushes you deeper into the blood-soaked earth.

For fear of your bones cracking under the weight of your captor you freeze, body trying its best to relax into the hold as if you aren’t at the volatile mercy of a bloodthirsty beast. You inhale sharply, and try to reach for a name you haven’t allowed to leave your lips in years. “Arke?” The beast freezes, bulky muscle going rigid, its hold tightening momentarily like a twitch. Your heart jumps, whether it’s for joy or fear you don’t know, but it writhes uncomfortably in your chest and you suddenly want to throw up.

He’s still in there.

“Arke it’s me, you remember me, right?” You try to slap on a smile but your face is loathe to obey, your body shivering as if in fear. But it’s not fear, and your breath isn’t laboured and harsh, and your eyes aren’t starting to sting with water years in the making. You’re choking on your words now because the emotions you’d thought were locked up are mangled in your chest; they’re ugly and mutated beyond belief after being suppressed for so long. You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to love the man. And you want to kill him. Because this is not Arke. It can’t be Arke. The creature huffs a hot breath across your face and you swear you see its body pulse. You manage to find your grip on your blade but you don’t have the strength to stab the creature, you don’t have the strength to stab him.

“Please tell me you’re there.” You find yourself whispering, unable to do anything but tremble and fight back the tears. The creature pulses again, its maw twitching open in a strangled whine. It’s like the world blurs in that moment, as if you can’t quite tell the difference between the wolf pinning you down and the man in your thoughts, your dreams, your past, grimacing in front of your face. Golden eyes flare almost amber, the weight that held you down releases you and suddenly you’re free. You can breathe again, but the creature is cowering up against a splintered tree that shines moonlight down against the bloody being before you. Arke, to be certain.

The wolf whines and scratches at its muzzle as if attempting to tear it off entirely, as if trying to release itself from its monstrous prison. There’s no anger left within the beast, just fear and hurt and loneliness. In the light now, despite how strong it makes Arke’s kind, a ragged scar, an ugly mottled burn, is highlighted down the better part of his side. You drop your lantern, rolling it away, and suddenly you’re cast in your own darkness. “Arke,” You take a step forward only to receive a low growl, a warning not to take another step. Yet you do, murmuring his name in that way that always comforted him. Eventually you’re barely a meter before him, curled up and whining by the felled tree. You kneel. “Come on, let’s go home.” He doesn’t budge, golden eyes squinting dubiously. Indeed, you’re not sure he should go home with you; he’s killed a lot of people. And even if he was forgiven how would he readjust to life outside the hunt?

You can’t help but hiss as your open wounds continue to bleed, and suddenly you can’t climb back to your feet. You’re weak, like there are ropes around your limbs that tie you to the ground. As you press your now shaking hands to your body they come away covered in thick blood. Your vision blurs. All you see is darkness.

A bird chirrups loudly above you as you’re slapped awake by the sunlight, an ache in your bones keeping you exactly where you are. Your skin stings and itches from little bug bites, your hair a disheveled mess matted with blood and saliva and—Arke! You can only curse when your attempt to sit up ends in pain; it lances up your sides and throbs in your head, but at least you’re not dead. Yet. A low grumble radiates out a bundle of cloth beside you, black fabric stretched taut by… broad shoulders? Arke pops his head out from under your coat, his mouth covered in dried blood and golden eyes bleary with sleep. The two of you stare at one another for a long time, perhaps too long. He’s… human. His body is covered in mud and blood, and his hair and beard have grown in too much, but he’s human. Yet despite that, all you can say is, “You took my coat.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Arke’s voice sounds hoarse as he looks down and wraps it around himself even tighter. Underneath there’s nothing but scars and wounds still open, hair where there wasn’t when last you truly saw him. He’s gaunt, you realise, his muscles doubtlessly there but… he doesn’t look healthy. “I… um.” His hand wipes some shaggy brown hair from his face but flinches as a sharp claw nicks his cheek. When he growls his teeth are sharp and there’s something animalistic in the way his body rumbles with the sound. You guess you were wrong, he’s no human.

“The bite,” Is all you can think to say, gesturing to the horrible scar that mars his forearm—the fool thought he was helping some stray dog. “I thought it was meant to make you…”

“I don’t know what happened. First I was me and then I was an animal. Even when I transformed back every morning the wolf was still controlling me,” Arke coughs behind a knuckle shoved into his mouth, angry teeth gnawing the joint raw as he struggles to find the answers you both seek. Eventually his hand falls away and so do his eyes, guilt morphing his brows into something horrible and ugly. The burn you now see extends up his neck and along his jaw, the mark you left on him those years ago just as ugly as the mark he left on you. “It was only anger and… and… You should have killed me. You should kill me.”

“Do you want to die?” This isn’t a normal conversation, your mind protests, but it feels as if you’re talking to the monster that you’ve stalked for years; you can’t remember how you talked to Arke, how you acted with Arke, how you loved Arke. Maybe a part of you should feel proud for bringing him back, but you’ve trailed him for so long it feels like you’ve just lost your prey to another hunter.

He’s silent for too long, as if afraid of the answer, but eventually he shakes his head. “No. But I did. When I was the animal.” He swallows, then tentatively reaches across to check your wounds. He’s clumsy with his claws “You should get to a doctor. There’s one in town, I’m sure and—”

“Come with me.” You blurt out, snatching up Arke’s wrist as he tries to pull away. “Come with me.” You repeat. An ache courses through your body but the heartache would be worse. At least physical pain dies, at least you eventually get better. You’re not sure you could stand another loss. There’s a low growl at the back of Arke’s throat, lips curling over sharp teeth as if to snarl out of reflex. “Arke, please, I can’t do this again.”

It looks as if he’s about to protest but his hard stare turns tender as he sighs in defeat. His arm goes slack in your grip, years of being apart coming back to him all at once. “I missed you.” He admits almost silently.

“I missed you too.”

[reidingdays]

bau as songs from folklore

tw: mentions and allusions to drugs, death, grief, blood

the 1: jj painful and blinding optimism. hope. knowing where you've come from and how it has shaped you. going about your day. growing. letting go peacefully. curiosity. sneakers ambling down pavements with your earphones in. sunshine and leafy trees. recognising your worth. it’s alright now.

cardigan: spencer darkness like a blanket. the scratch of a needle against a nostalgic vinyl. a reassuring weight on your chest, like an old cat. pouring over somebody like the final page of a book. oxymoronic. something destined. something borrowed. stars aligning in a clear night sky. making excuses that blur logic. leaving like a father. wise beyond your years. belonging. abandoning. lingering, longing fingertips.

the last great american dynasty: rossi winding narratives. extravagant retellings and rumours. keepsakes. red wine and sunlight streaming through high windows. board games. banter and feuds. family heirlooms. a big house by the sea. breezy. loud laughter. chosen family gatherings. captivating, collected words. a warm afternoon. a cat in a sunbeam.

exile: morgan walks in solitude to clear your head. exuding love to give. leaving your home behind. an understudy, overlooked, discarded. a foot soldier. a protector. bloodied knuckles. dashed expectations. finishing a film that should have ended long ago. demolishing a wall, then demolishing the whole house. balancing on breaking branches. irreplaceable. risking it all. compartmentalising. stolen innocence forced to confront reality. 

my tears ricochet: emily haunted ghosts. sobbing 'let me in, i'm come home!'. a chill inside your bones. a set jaw. inky midnight blue skies. rain storming against rattling windows. a hollow shell. echoing choirs. unrequited love. silent tears streaking down a face. drowning your jewels in the ocean. the past catching up to you. digging up an empty grave. an aching chest. sacrifice. brave, shaking hands. three walled coffins. screaming at the sky.

mirrorball: garcia a used spectacle. shattered glass that still sparkles. whimsy. try, try, trying. tarnished but that’s what makes it glitter. a balancing act. soft prisms of light painting the walls. floating around a party. resilience. towering heels. a rainbow smile, fleeting, shining, beautiful. something rare and special. offering hope to those that need it most. people pleasing. insightful. reliable. in a seventh heaven. 

seven: tara protective, undying love. an unfinished childhood. before i learned civility. clipped wings. manners. a misty forest, gnarled branches, changing leaves, appropriate footwear. evolution. investigative. an open perspective. weeds are flowers. intelligence, elegance. violin bows. tamed wild horses. are there still beautiful things? 

august: luke simple things in life. honesty and naivety. longing, worshipping. strumming a guitar in the summertime. salt on your skin. twisted bedsheets. wonder and hope. falling too far too fast and not caring for the consequences. sleeping in. reminiscing. warm sand beneath your feet. warm arms around your waist. carefree chases along the coast, towels streaming like kites behind you. no strings attached. childlike laughter. frisky hands. driving with the roof off.

this is me trying: hotch learning strength is vulnerability. shiniest wheels now they're rusting. crumbling walls, opening cage doors. letting out demons. depending and dependable. faintest smiles. turning up at your friend's front door in the pouring rain. accepting defeat. learning softness. heads resting on shoulders. short temper. doing better. keeping up appearances. strictest with yourself. for once in your life, undoing your tie. hugging your son.

illicit affairs: spencer secretive, private. preferring your alone time. withdrawn. a drug that only worked the first few hundred times. chasing the impossible. frustration. self-destructive. loss and disregard. me for her. cover me. ripping off a tie, ripping off a kevlar. don't call me kid. desperation. mercurial highs. volatile, bitchy, snappy. lonely.

invisible string: matt a fairytale ending. going with the flow. the pattering of little feet against hardwood floors. fingerpainting with primary colours. trusting. looking through an photo album. awe. tied together for all eternity. forgiving and forgetting. being thankful. reflection. bedtime stories. full dinner tables, full tummies. making birthday cakes at 3am with the love of your life. doing it all over again.

mad woman: elle sharp tongue, sharp claws. do not trespass. taking your time because they took everything from you. vengeance. justice. a panther prowling the back alleys. fuck you forever. holding grudges. ruthless. terrified. biting back. constantly looking over your shoulder.

epiphany: spencer floating, dreaming if you're lucky. just one single glimpse of relief. alchemy. overcast. service and sacrifice. unspeakable traumas. silver linings to clutch onto. gentleness. holding hands with strangers. lifelines. comfort. humanity. cloudy days, white haze, an intermittent white light. sleepless, drifting. like the tide, breathing in, breathing out. at peace.

betty: jj open, brazen, communicative. country girl. no holding back. admitting your shortfalls. saying sorry. last chances. pining. would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden? grand gestures. speaking your mind no matter what chaos it may chance.

peace: emily no longer a lamb, but the fox that kills them. hardened, but doubt still clawing at your insides. is it enough? saving face. a rapid heartbeat. flickering fire. chosen family. dying for your loved ones in secret. calamity hanging like a shadow over you, inescapable. taking the fall. fighting to keep your head above water. knowing that it’s worth the strife.

hoax: blake smoke and mirrored metaphors. analytical armour. burying your nose in a crossword. worn old volumes you’ve read countless times over. cynicism, stoicism. incomplete, no longer whole. giving everything you've got. a loss echoing in every chamber of your heart that no other sadness in the world would do. you know the hero died so what’s the movie for? enduring. leaning on loved ones. healing in private.

[kristallioness]

Awakening and healing

Summary: Aang and Katara help each other deal with the aftermath of the coup.

Word count: 2,200

Author's note: I blame this post by the Pentapox After Dark community on Facebook. You all should know by now that these medicine/healer-themed prompts are my weak spot (and I'm very pleased that you're exploiting that weakness). So in return, I shall warn you that this story contains quite a bit of angst, mixed together with some tender moments. Set post Coup of Ba Sing Se, when they're on the captured Fire Navy ship in "The Awakening". The scene picks up from the moment where Aang realizes that Katara had brought him back to life, and she tells him he needs to rest. There's also a reference to a heartwarming headcanon I wrote about in "An undying habit". You don't need to read that one to understand what's going on here, but I highly recommend it. *promotes*

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She let him loop one arm around her shoulders for support as they wobbled towards the bed. It'd merely been a few hours since he woke up from his near month-long sleep. His muscles weren't strong enough to carry the light weight of his body too far yet.

"Gentle.." Katara murmured in a motherly tone, stooping down a bit to help Aang lower himself onto the mattress. She could hear him breathing heavily through the aches that plagued his torso.

Her warm hand pressed against the fresh dressings that she'd wrapped around his chest. Just slightly below the angry scar hidden underneath on the back, which she'd finished healing a couple of minutes ago.

She held onto his hand with the other one, her grip as tight as his own, not wanting to let go until he'd settled down. If it was up to her, she would never let go again.

"There.. Let me help you with that."

She reached for the crumpled blanket on the footboard and flung it open, allowing the thin cloth to fall down and cover him up. Not that he'd get cold, since these chambers on the ship were hot like the inside of an oven...

But Aang wanted to be nice to her. If anything, she deserved to be around him after everything they'd been through. He let her bustle about until he felt that she'd done everything to help him feel as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.

He winced when she eventually perched on the edge of the bed. His spine seemed to be extra sensitive to any sort of movement after the intense healing session.

"Are you okay?"

Aang groaned, letting out another deep breath ever so slowly to get through the pain that tingled its way up to his shoulders.

"Ugh, I'm in a lot of pain, Katara."

She gave him a weak smile as she adjusted the top of the blanket, folding it over down to his stomach.

"Are you just saying that to get attention from me?"

"Yes, medical attention," Aang said sternly, grimacing again when he pulled his hands out from under the blanket and rested them on the dressings that covered his middle. Katara's smile turned into a frown and a small blush creeped up on her cheeks. She'd completely misinterpreted the situation.

"I'm sorry! Does it hurt anywhere? Do you want me to heal-"

She kept apologizing and examining him for any evident injuries she might've missed. Her nervousness started getting on Aang's nerves as well. He didn't mean to get her in such a tizzy.

He stopped her by grabbing her wrist to get her to stay still. They stared into each other's eyes in utter silence for what felt like a full minute, neither one daring to make a move. He spoke up, a bit more tenderly this time.

"No, you've already done enough."

He gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze, but that didn't convince her. Katara didn't wanna give in so easily. She pulled her hand out of his grip, her face full of seriousness and concern.

"Nonsense. Tell me, where does it hurt?" she insisted. Aang slowly averted his gaze, tracing the path along her extended arm and onto the hand she'd placed on his right shoulder. He moved it around in a circular motion, trying his best to hide another grimace.

"My right shoulder."

Katara gave him an assuring nod, summoning some more water from the bowls she'd used during the healing session. The cool liquid that she waterbended beneath her palms lit up as she began healing his shoulder.

The truth was, it didn't just hurt in his right shoulder. But if that gave her something to do and stopped her from worrying so much, it was worth it to let her focus on only one thing at a time.

It was relaxing, watching the gentle movements of her fingers tapping the skin around his shoulder. Those healing hands had clawed their way out of the catacombs and safely onto Appa's back so they could escape. So she could save him. She was like a guardian spirit to him. Without her, he wouldn't even be here.

"So.. what happened that night? After I.."

Aang paused, swallowing to take the time and phrase his words in a way that wouldn't break her heart.

"..Fell? What happened in Ba Sing Se?"

"Shh.." she hushed him like a little child, but remained silent, too. Sadly, that's what they still were - young kids torn into a world of devastation and destruction. And out of all the people on that ship, she'd single-handedly witnessed the worst of it. The sight of the world's supposed saviour, the last airbender, the only living descendant of his people, their leader and moral compass, their friend, her best friend.. No, the potential love of her life, dying right in front of her.

Aang patiently waited for her answer, allowing her to continue healing in the meantime. But Katara never mustered enough courage to retell the events to him. Not yet. She'd just gotten him back, and she wasn't ready to relive those feelings of despair again.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay? It's a long story."

Aang's heart sank for her. She didn't even wanna look him in the eye when she spoke to him. What sort of hell had she been through these past weeks? And was he the reason why she seemed so cross with everyone around her, including her own father? That wasn't the same sympathetic Katara he knew before.

Aang couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed. Ashamed of having made her suffer so much because of him. Because he hadn't been strong enough to protect her, or Ba Sing Se, or the Earth Kingdom. And it was all because he'd chosen her over his own spiritual needs. Because he loved her. He loved and treasured her so much that it'd cost them the fate of another nation. It was an incomprehensible mess, to say the least.

She noticed a cloud of worry come over him when he knitted his brows, nuzzling the side of his face into the pillow to focus on her hands doing their work once more.

"Aang?"

He looked into her blue eyes, as if he wanted to say something to her. He would've wanted to pour his heart out to her. About what'd happened, how he was forced to choose between her and the sake of the world, what he truly felt for her. But his thoughts never escaped his lips. At least she'd gotten his attention.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head against the silky red material.

"No. I need to think about some things."

Katara nodded solemnly as she finished healing his shoulder. She waterbended the leftover water back into the bowl. After that, she cupped his cheek and leaned in closer to whisper.

"Like I said, you need to rest," she agreed. Aang closed his eyes just as she got closer. He felt her leave a tender kiss right in the middle of his forehead, probably on the tip of his arrow. Maybe the old Katara was still in there somewhere.

He stared back at her while she repeatedly caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. The soothing sensation started to make him weary. He yawned before asking.

"Aren't you going to your own room?"

The corners of her mouth curled into a fond smile.

"Don't worry, I will. I just wanna stay here with you for a little longer."

Aang didn't mind her keeping an eye on him. Knowing that he was surrounded by her company, as well as his friends and allies, put him at ease.

His mind was reeling in so many ways that right before he began to doze off, he realized he hadn't heard her leave the chamber. But he did hear her shift on the bed, and a moment later, he could feel something heavy on his bare chest.

He opened an eye to peek at what was happening. He startled a bit when he saw the crown of her head right below his chin.

"Uhh, Katara? What are you doing?"

She was taken aback by the sound of his voice. Katara hastily sat back up and turned her back towards him, desperately trying to hide her flushed face behind her hand.

"Nothing! I'm so sorry! I was just, uhh.. force of habit."

Force of habit? Did she do this all the time when he was unconscious? Aang wasn't entirely sure whether he should feel flattered or creeped out. But since she seemed more flustered than he was, he figured it was the former option. He felt bad for making her feel uncomfortable.

She was fiddling with her braid when he slipped a hand out from beneath the blanket to poke her thigh. Katara was still blushing furiously when she turned around to face him.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He entwined his hand with her own, the one she'd hid her beautiful, but crimson face behind, giving it a slight tug to invite her closer.

"Please, stay. I'd feel safer with you here, watching over me," he begged, clenching their hands together. He managed to earn that loving smile out of her with that gesture. If she hadn't been blushing so hard, he would've witnessed her cheeks turning red again.

She scooted over to him, uttering one final word for the night.

"Okay."

Katara felt relieved that he hadn't asked her to leave him alone after that awkward mishap. She'd gotten used to being by his side almost all the time, so much that she'd forgotten to keep her guard up around him now that he was awake. She wasn't sure how she could fill that empty feeling inside if she had to go and sleep in a separate cabin.

This time, she was careful. She waited, tenderly stroking the short hair on his head until he fell asleep. Once she was certain that he was out cold, she went to pick up her Fire Nation cloak. Having buttoned it together with the brooch above her chest, she returned to the only bed in the room, and simply lay down beside him.

Katara pulled the red cape over herself like a blanket and got as close to Aang as she could, so she wouldn't fall over the narrow edge of the bed he'd left her, in case she turned around through her sleep. But it had to do.

She let her hand run down his cheek one last time before she rested it above his heart. He was back. After weeks of care and observing him breathe and lie completely still, he was finally awake and moving about. She still couldn't believe it.

Katara thanked the spirits for bringing him back to her, to all of them, to the rest of the world. She didn't know how much longer they.. Correction, how much longer she would've survived without him.

As the corners of her eyes became misty, she no longer had to hold back her emotions. She wept silently, without him or anyone else seeing or hearing. The only proof being the small damp spot on the pillow, where her teardrops ended up by rolling down the side of her cheek or dripping over the crook of her nose.

Even when Aang wasn't staring into her eyes or talking to her, or pretty much doing anything, he still had a way of getting her to open up to him. She considered that to be a remarkable power. This was the first time she'd cracked since they'd left Ba Sing Se.

Katara rubbed her wet cheek into the pillow and sniffed, so her nose wouldn't get too clogged up from crying. She gazed at his face from the top of his short brown hair to the bottom of his chin. That was the mental image she wanted to remember and take along with her as she began to drift off into her own dreams.

By the time her weariness got the better of her, she could no longer recall the last time she'd slept so peacefully. No more nightmares about failing to heal him with the spirit water. No more restless nights when she felt it was her duty to watch over him all night long, in case he stopped breathing and nobody would notice. No more worrying about whether she'd done enough as a healer. Just the two of them, sleeping together for the whole night without fear.

Aang could only echo her joy. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was Katara sleeping right next him, her hand reaching out across his chest. He didn't know whether she'd intended to cuddle up to him or she'd been too tired to go to her own bed, but it was a sight worth waiting for.

He tenderly stroked her cheek in return, to which she moved her head and nuzzled her nose into the pillow, but luckily she didn't wake up. It was the best sleep she'd gotten in the last couple of weeks.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ma'am anon: if you're in the mood for angst may I suggest more early Chris or some Antoni angst??? treat yo' self to whatever your heart desires, just suggestions

CW: Burns, verbal and physical abuse, conditioned responses, PTSD/trauma recovery after pet whump

"Beg, love."

The voice, deep and thickly accented in a lilting upper-class way, follows him in his sleep, through his days. It haunts the back of his mind, chases him into the kitchen and whispers in his ears in the shower. 

He hears whispers of the voice when he folds clean laundry, when it’s his turn on the chart to scrub the bathroom that week. It prickles along his neck, makes the hairs stand up in alarm, when he’s in the middle of telling Chris a story or pouring his perfect clear, chilled vodka into a glass to drink. 

Through it all, when he is smiling or frowning or scared or happy, he knows there is a voice that murmured, “Beg.”

He knows he did. He knows it was never enough.

The begging - whether whispered or pleaded or screamed or cried - was never the right kind, never quite what the man was looking for. He would beg, and then the man would click his tongue against his teeth and murmur, “Not quite right, boy, but we’ll get there. Left arm.”

And he would hold his arm out, trembling, for the man to take with thick fingers that wrapped around his thin wrist while he sought out the undamaged spot, the bit of skin still unharmed. 

He would focus on the lit cigarette hanging off the man’s lip, the smoke settling into his lungs in a heavy weight, a smell that clung to his hair and clothes and yellowed the walls up by the ceiling with time. 

Focus, and wait for the man to reach up to take a long drag, remove the cigarette, and deliberately press it into the unmarked skin, listening to the wails, the crying, the simple hisses of indrawn breath, that he received in return.

“Perhaps next time,” The man would say, and give him the scraps of affection that his whole world revolved around.

Maybe a pat to the head, or a caress to the side of his face. Sometimes, if the man was very pleased with how well he had taken the burn, he would let him sit at his feet while he drank his afternoon or evening tea.

Nothing else, but it was all he had to look forward to.

When he was done with his suffering, he’d call in the girl - like him and not like him. She suffered, too. In training he had been taught that they didn’t, the ones like her, but she had all the same shadows in her eyes that he had in his, and worse ones, too. 

Once the girl was there, he would be dismissed, and go to nurse his wounds alone, in the little room off the master bedroom he’d been given.

Beg. Not quite right. Perhaps next time.

The words follow him because they’re burned into his skin. Each little circle of scarring represents one of them, and there are so many scars. 

He has made himself a man of small, quiet smiles and compassion, of pots of soup bubbling on the stove and an endless willingness to help and do whatever he can. He carves back his accent from the blocky stone they’d built of his tongue.

He had sworn, once, in the language they had taken from him. A hissed иди трахни себя had been met with the worst moment. The hardest begging. The most desperate pleas.

The man’s horrible disappointment.

And a lit cigarette put out on his tongue.

Antoni is a calm man. He smiles, gently, serenely. Cooks the foods that let him rebuild the pieces of himself that were lost. 

He is there with a hug and good advice, with eternal undying support and loyalty to the people who gave him a place to stay when the burn on his tongue - the worst and last time he let the man put a cigarette out on any part of his body - was still new.

He doesn’t know why the rest of the burns weren’t bad enough to make him leave. He doesn’t know why the burn to his tongue was the only one where he couldn’t stay.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t ask the girl if she would leave with him. All he knows is that he saw a chance, a moment, and he took it. 

And now he sits on a couch with Jake at the other end and Chris between them, cradled under Jake’s arm but with his bare feet pressed against Antoni’s leg as if desperate to hold onto them both, and knows that his serenity is a mask he wears, and no one sees the face underneath.

Antoni watches TV, laughs at the right moments, makes popcorn with parmesan and rosemary, and thinks about the next time he’ll sit with the therapist alone, or even in group, maybe, and say, I still hear it.

Safe, perfectly safe, and free. It doesn’t matter. The burns ache and itch as if they’re new, even his tongue sometimes itches like the burn hasn’t faded, even though he knows it had. 

He rubs at his arms through the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. Sometimes at night, alone, when Chris is in Jake’s room, he’ll take off the shirt and run fingertips over circle after circle after circle of scar, some of them pink still, some of them a faded, silvery beige. Some rougher, some smoother with age. The oldest scars are between his shoulder blades. The newest scars, other than his tongue, were pressed in a circle around one wrist, like a bracelet he can never take off.

He only looks at the scars when he is totally alone.

Then he slips the shirt - and the mask, and the smile - back on and pretends that everything is fine. He is healing, it’s true, but... still, in the back of his mind, the voice.

“Beg.”

He knows, if he heard Mr. Davies again, he would.