#my face is still covered so it still helps but its like barely a net positive lmao

[depresseddepot]

I'm trying to find ways to slowly ease my way into taking walks (debilitating social anxiety) so I was going to download pokemon go again but my phone is too old :(

[celosiaceo]

“You Shall Not Murder”

Characters: Leander, Hyacinth (Unnamed MC)

Word count: 3000-4000 words

Tags: blood, descriptions of violence, mild gore, death

Scratching at the muscular hand clasped over their mouth, Hyacinth tried to scream for help, knowing none would come. Dragged down the cold damp stairs by the hair, they stumbled against the grip. Once they tried to bite the strong hand that almost strangled them, Hyacinth got thrown into the opposite wall of the cellar. Leander approached slowly while they heaved for air, coughing as they tried to scrape themself off the floor.

“All bark no bite. For someone with the gall to carve all those spells on my door, you go down easily, Hyacinth.” Leander clapped the dust off his gloves, watching as flakes of dust descended from the walls and onto the fallen priest. “Much too easily. I could humor your audacity again, I had for way too fucking long, but everyone’s patience runs out eventually.” He loomed over Hyacinth’s crumpled figure, his eyes glowing in the shadow of his frame over the orange lamp.

Hyacinth was almost certain they heard a crack or two when their back and shoulder hit the wall, but they were too disoriented to know for certain or feel much pain. At the moment of the collision, their vision snapped to white, and now was blurry while they tried to scoop themself back up.

While making pitiful attempts to return the air knocked out of their lungs, Hyacinth stared up at Leander with half-open eyes. They could only discern the green glow that his eyes emitted even in the darkness, his words only being half intelligible past the ringing in their ears. Hyacinth tried to say something in return, but could only wheeze and let out a choked cough while pushing themself up by the arm.

“You seem just so insistent on fucking up my every plan, squirming in the way like a pathetic goddamn animal. Look at yourself. One kick could end you. And that’d still be overkill.” Leander growled, his expression staying void of emotion despite the clear rage in his voice and how the leather of his gloves stretched over his clenched fists. Hyacinth managed to sit, and were now taking heavy breaths with their chest and shoulders moving in wide frantic motions to cover for their greedy need for air. “Come on. Get up, you little freak. There’s no more miracles left to keep your miserable ass alive.”

Hyacinth stumbled up while leaning their side on the wall. They stared into Leander’s eyes with horrified desperation, clinging onto hope with delusional determination. “You… Blas…phemer…” Hyacinth croaked, wobbling while they tried to stand on their own.

Leander only chuckled. “Best start praying now, priest.” With a firm step forward, he crushed Hyacinth into the wall with his forearm pressing into their chest with his elbow and fist pinning the priest’s arms in place and rendering them immobile. They gasped for air just before Leander’s other hand would clasp around their neck. It’d barely take him any effort to snap Hyacinth’s neck into two if he wanted to, but no, he wanted their death to be slow. He wanted the priest to try to plead to be forgiven for everything they’ve ever done to foil his plans and destroy his ambitions. He wanted to watch life drain from their eyes. But not even this detrimental and thoroughly hopeless situation dissuaded Hyacinth from fighting for their life.

As much as they could, Hyacinth thrashed against the much stronger arms. Tears streamed down their face, the priest was getting dizzy and their limbs felt like they were being stabbed with thousands of invisible needles, their vision blurred into static with colored shapes floating across it. Leander only scrutinized their suffering as if it were an entertaining display, like a spider watching a moth thrash in its net.

“Give up now, priest. Didn’t you yourself say you deserve a slow death? Why’re you struggling?” Leander questioned with venomous amusement. His eyes hadn’t shifted from staring into Hyacinth with an overwhelming power. Hyacinth stared up at the ceiling, tears soaking their face while they kept wriggling beneath Leander’s arms.

“Not by… a sinner’s… hand…” The priest croaked, digging their nails into Leander’s forearm, since that’s as high as their hands could reach. Hyacinth could barely feel their legs while flailing them around as much as possible. Despite not believing that they’ll be saved, Hyacinth tried to fight for their life. Just so the Gods won’t judge them for sinfully becoming willing to give up their life in their last moments.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. And wouldn’t a sinner deserve to die by fellow sinners? Isn’t that what you are? Do you think you’re suddenly better than me? Don’t flatter yourself. We’re cut from the same cloth.” Leander mocked, making Hyacinth’s back sear against the wall as he raised them off the ground by the neck. They cried out, eyes squeezing shut. A tremor broke out throughout Hyacinth’s body, limbs trembling as if they were outside in the middle of a blizzard. The static clouding Hyacinth’s eyesight broke out into stars and flickering specks of white.

“I’m… so… much… weaker” They wheezed, kicking their legs in the air while feverishly gasping against the crushing pressure over their neck.

Leander laughed biliously, otherwise not moving a muscle. “So? It is what it is. The world’s unfair. Woe is you. Are those your last words? Shitty choice.”

“No… chivalry… in killing… the weak… fraud…” Hyacinth prayed to the Gods that Leander’s ego was the right button to push to keep them alive. It was the only button of his that the priest knew, since it was precisely what put Hyacinth in danger with Leander specifically. Everything was going dark, Hyacinth’s whole body felt numb, as if their soul was beginning to depart from their body.

Leander’s expression twitched with anger, his eye gave a dangerous glint. Is this where he tightens his grip and Hyacinth dies to the crunch of their vertebrae?

Suddenly, Leander pulled his hands away and Hyacinth fell back to the moist floor. They coughed for breath violently, ragged breathing desperate to come back to normalcy as their body starved for air, hot blood rushing back to frozen limbs.

“You want this to be a fair game? You know what? Fine. Go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.” He stepped away and stared Hyacinth down with infuriated amusement while parting his arms almost as if to offer an embrace. The glow in his eyes flickered like a prideful flame. Hyacinth figured that by playing with his food Leander could delude himself into feeling charitable.

Hyacinth’s body shook in resemblance of a seizure, but they tried to fight the convulsions to get up. After a minute of silence and hungry breaths, the priest pulled themself with their side leaning against the damn wall. They still couldn’t look into the green eyes, feeling like Leander could devour their soul if they dared to challenge a glance.

“I’m waiting. I have no doubt that you have what it takes to even us out.” He smirked with a smug air around him. Leander’s wide frame stood in the sickly orange light of the lamp now, blocking the only way out of the cellar. Hyacinth had no choice but to try something that’d most likely end up a pathetic display.

Suddenly, the dimming light was snuffed out, undoubtedly by Leander’s magic. Only the two cold emeralds glowed in the dark aside from a few cracks in the ceiling. The air burned through Hyacinth’s lungs while they tried to calm down their raging heartbeat and come up with anything remotely rational as their head was beginning to get swarmed with darker thoughts. The priest could barely think in the first place, frozen in place with only the thoughts of somehow running out of the dark cellar. Hyacinth couldn’t fight Leander if they tried, completely hopeless against the much more muscular man who was also tremendously more versed in the battle-adapted magic than Hyacinth could hope to be.

Was this the end of it, then..? Was this a dead end? Did Hyacinth have no way out of this except maybe making an embarrassing display of themself before embracing death? Were they just buying time for their last prayers before they’d stand before the gods’ Divine Judgement..? On second thought, maybe this was a fitting end for Hyacinth after all, no matter how much they wanted to disagree with Leander. Maybe the priest didn’t deserve a chance to cure themself and absolve their sins as much as that would be possible. Perhaps it was finally time to come to terms with their inevitable death and succumb to the cruel serpent eyes of a blasphemer. For him killing someone so weak, especially an obstacle in his hubristic plans, was nothing. Maybe if Hyacinth gave up, death would come quicker than they deserved.

But then, in a moment of clarity, Hyacinth had a realization. Alas, there was one other option. Leander seemed to fail to notice the ritual knife that was well hidden in the barely visible pockets of Hyacinth’s thick robe. And he couldn’t possibly notice it now in the darkness. Their thoughts began to immediately go to the crude blade that was their ritual knife, and immediately Hyacinth went pale. No. They couldn’t deface the very knife that was forged for them, the knife that they consecrated in extensive rituals with their own blood, the knife that signified their connection with the divine through magic… Murder in itself was one of the greatest sins one could commit, but committing such with a sacred knife? The gods would send them straight to hell for such an insult upon them. If in the past Hyacinth was possessed by rage and never directly got blood on their hands or their knife, but it would all be different this time. This time, they’d be coming to the decision themself, there’d be no one else to blame. Hyacinth gulped, their knees wobbled in terror. A whole life could be used as an incredibly powerful catalyst to a spell, which would turn the killing into an offering to the gods. But would it not be just as insulting to present them with such a rotten soul for their past blessings?

They must’ve begun to space out due to indecisiveness, eyes welling with tears of horror, as Leander angrily sighed and stepped closer. “Well? I’m waiting. Don’t test my patience. Go on or tell me you were wasting my fucking time again.” His voice was firm, his patience was clearly running thin. Hyacinth gasped for air even though they were no longer choked, torn between the priestly urge for a deservedly slow death and the human instinct of self-preservation despite the weight of unabsolved sins on their shoulders. “Useless fucking bastard. All this time you were wasting my time and money, but I kept forgiving you. I was being kind of you and this is how you fucking repay me? Wasting your second chance to make your death less pitiful?” They remained still, breathing faster while contemplating. Hyacinth could die and end up paying for all their sins in hell for the rest of eternity. Or they could persist and live, only to carry such a heavy sin if not an entire insult to the very gods they’re worshiping until they die, and end up with even more sins weighing their soul down into the nether.

“Why’re you even here, huh? You killed someone with that curse of yours and made a run for it not to face the consequences? And what for? Just to stalk and beg the doctor for forgiveness instead of praying to your gods? I bet they’re disappointed in you. One shitty priest you are, Hyacinth.” Sarcasm kept pouring past Leander’s lips with pure venom dripping from his voice. Hyacinth's hands began to shake with anger. He now stood so close that Hyacinth could hear Leander’s breathing.

The glow in his eye flared in a hubristic certainty of their failure. Leander provoked them and, in doing so, felt invincible. He was always the one in power. He always prevailed. He always got what he wanted. He always walked out of the water dry. He was immune to consequence. Immune to guilt. Immune to satiation. Immune to divine punishment.

Hyacinth’s eyes darted up to his, an eldritch rage began to rise like a flood of fire in the yellow-red eyes. Leander further opened his arms while a near demonic grin twisted his lips, the expression for once reaching his eyes.

“О Пресвятые ангелы, О великие Боги, О Богоматерь, я на��еюсь ВЫ сможете простить мой грех…”

“Saying your last prayers? Good. Let’s get this shit over with, you’ve taken up enough of my precious time with your nuisance of an existence—”

The thick high-quality fabric of Leander’s shirt bloomed with blood as it got pierced by the crude, almost dull ritual knife. It blindly squirmed through the muscular with a struggle, but Hyacinth barely felt the strain on their bony arms now. Leander’s eyes for once widened with shock, a pained cry ripping its way out of his throat.

“What— what the fuck are you doing—” Leander growled and swung an arm at Hyacinth in the dark, only for them to lunge just beneath the hit and rip the knife out of his stomach. Leander inhaled sharply, staring at Hyacinth’s silhouette with disbelief and shock, except this time their eyes mirrored the prior blankness of his instead of the typical fear. Just as he stepped back and gripped at the bleeding wound, Hyacinth swung from below and into his shoulder, the momentum easing the blade in just below his collarbone. Leander keeled over as Hyacinth wriggled the blade out, his breathing choked when he began to frantically cough for air. His glowing emerald eyes acted as beacons, not letting Hyacinth lose their target. Leander made clumsy attempts to knock Hyacinth off, but the darkness aided the priest in avoiding most of his attempts even in the narrow space. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” Leander mumbled in irritation laced with fear and stumbled back, only to trip over the stairs and fall over the cold stone. Hyacinth stood over him, silent. The priest’s grip on the knife whitened their knuckles while their face was tense in blank rage. Like the day their curse was revealed, an incomprehensibly deep fury took over their whole entire conscious being.

Just as the first hints of blood sprouted onto Leander’s lips, Hyacinth fell over him, stabbing the knife into his chest. He gripped their throat again. “You can’t kill me.” He croaked, and tightened his grip over the priest’s neck. Hyacinth coughed and heaved, struggling with pulling the knife out again. Once the metal parted room his skin, Leander made a hurt bloodied wheeze, and put all their effort into stabbing his arm instead.

“Молчать, богохульник.” Hyacinth mumbled against Leander’s scream, their voice devoid of its usual stutter and quietness. Blood spilled like a fountain from his pierced arm, spraying most of their face with the crimson that matched Hyacinth’s robe. Leander, blinded with pain, writhed and attempted to punch them again or kick his legs and get them off, now dizzied with blood loss, only for Hyacinth to take the weakened punches and not reduce their violent vigour at all, the pain not registering. They stabbed into Leander’s chest, the knife nestled somewhere below his collarbone.

Leander’s eyes became hazy, the absinthe greenness infusing with death like with dissolved sugar. The spark of the emeralds began to fade out in its entirety, the ubiquitous glow of the poisonous orbs was dying out. And Leander himself felt it too. “Please… we can… talk…” Leander coughed, only more blood dripping down his chin while he tied to collect himself. Hyacinth ignored his pleas and kept stomping out the fire by planting more and more stab wounds into Leander’s chest over and over, until they couldn’t feel their arms. By then the begging and foolish self-preservation attempts and any noise from the mage had long died out, but the light of the lamp slowly came to life again, only to reveal Leander’s lifeless body.

Hyacinth stood up at long last, their posture somewhat shaky from exhaustion. Their shoulders rose and fell with ferally deep breathing. Hyacinth’s knife, robes, arms and face were all soaked with Leander’s blood. The puddle of dark red flowed over the cellar's wooden floor from under the body. The soles of the priest’s wooden sandals became submerged into it too, and yet all Hyacinth could do was stare. Observe the lifeless mangled body of the blasphemer with his eyes glassy like tumbled gems, but never truly take it in. Their yellow-red eyes seemed dull, blank, dead like Leander’s despite the seething rage that was still somewhat searing their flesh from the inside.

Reaching into their robes, Hyacinth got out a small crude wooden tablet, and carved a sigil into it — a dianthus, a baptisia, a hyacinth and a lily within an 8-pointed star. The scratches in the wood were laced with the red, an offering to the Gods. After engraving the divine forgiveness and protection spell into the wood with reddened lines, the priest dipped the tablet into the blood, the lines of the engraving soon getting filled with the vital catalyst. After wiping off the excess blood, Hyacinth stuck the tablet back into their pocket along with the knife, and stepped over the limp corpse to get out of the basement. Hyacinth’s expression didn’t even twitch all the while like it was an unpainted mask, which depicted neither the outrageous tragedy of the murder nor the gleeful comedy of the weak winning against the strong despite all odds.

The priest took off their sandals after making their way up the stairs, now they were in the back room of the Wick. The party was still loud, Hyacinth could hear the music and laughter even louder now than before. Without a second thought, they slipped out of the tavern through the back door. The priest washed the blood off the soles of their shoes in a puddle and slid the sandals on again, deciding not to do anything about the soaked robes since blood stopped dripping off of them. Hyacinth quickly wiped their face, the feeling of dried blood cracking over their skin reminding them of its presence. The small alley in front of them split off, a distant turn to the left just before the alley’s dead end, and a nearer turn to the right. Hyacinth didn’t particularly care where to go, all they knew was that the stench of alcohol was making them sick, as was the smell of rust all over them, so they needed to leave.

[Head for the closer turn]

[Head for the further turn]

[grungekitty-77]

Blood // Water by Grandson

This one got longer. I hope it's decent. It is my first ever ROTTMNT fic.

TW: vomit

Oh right! @erriots

--

Raph had lost his lunch, and Leo was barely refraining from following him.

"Dad..." Mikey said in heartbreak.

Donnie was gripping his staff hard enough to feel his knuckles grinding. He was furious not just for himself, but on his little brother's behalf. After how far Mikey had gone to redeem him; he turns around and begins to commit atrocities again!

"That conniving, deceitful, traitorous.…"

Donnie struggled for the word he wanted to use. Nothing felt strong enough. His immense vocabulary wasn't quite enough to cover his feelings. He had to settle for a subpar word and hoping yelling it loud enough could make up the difference.

"JERK!"

It didn’t make up the difference.

Mikey whimpered next to him.

"I hate to say it, but I told you guys. He dropped me off a roof." Leo yelled, trying to channel his hurt into any other emotion within reach and landing on anger.

He was aiming for humor, but he was flexible with where he landed.

"But....he changed. He was family" Mikey said

Raph wiped his face clean and reached over to rub his youngest brother's shell.

"You did your best, Bro. Sometimes bad people just wanna be bad. You can love em all you want, but it's not always gonna be enough."

The sound of a metal door scraping against tile made them all turn to see the traitor of the hour step into the lab. Still wearing his uniform, hair net and all.

"Oh. Hello boys. I didn't expect to see you here." he said cheerfully.

As if nothing was horribly, gut twistingly, wrong. As if there weren't suffering human test subjects in states that could be argued as worse than death gasping for oxygen in tubes lined against the wall.

"A bunch of brand new mutants starting causing trouble all over New York. We tracked them back to this place. And weren't we surprised to see whose name was on the wall." Raph said, angrily pointing to said plaque.

Because of course he had to put his name on it.

"I figured you'd find this place eventually." Baron said as he casually changed out of his work clothes.

He threw a lab coat on, which looked ridiculous with the hair net he forgot. Nobody was in the mood to tell him.

"Now that you're here, you can help me." he said, walking past them to the table.

"Help you!?" Leo yelled, still settling for anger while his humor took its vacation.

Mikey started to hope Barron was about to ask for help with his apparent relapse. Mikey could do that. He could support the stuffing out of his dad until he got his dark impulses under control again. He helped him once and he could do it again. He would do it again. Anything to bring his family together again.

But before he could explain any of that, Baron spoke again.

"We can take the time to locate much more suitable subjects with you four helping. It will be so much more efficient than allowing the oozqitos to infect at random. We'll have a suitable army in no time." he explained.

He wasn't even looking at them while he spoke. He was mixing chemicals and working on his project like it was nothing more than a birdhouse.

"Hold up!" Raph yelled, throwing his hands in the air "I think we need to rewind a little bit. Because there is no way we are helping you mutate people!"

He ended his words with a soft growl.

Baron finally started to look concerned.

"What are you talking about? With this new Earth Protection Squad after us, it only stands to reason that we take necessary measures to insure our victory." Barron said sternly, straightening his back like he was giving a lecture.

All four turtles stared at him in every shade from disgust to shock.

"ON WHAT PLANET DOES THAT MEAN MUTATING INNOCENT CIVILIANS!?!?" Mikey screamed, gesturing wildly.

Baron's eyes got cold.

"On this one. And the humans are by no means 'innocent'. They are the ones hunting us!"

"A select group of humans is hunting us. Not the entire species!" Donnie corrected him "And did you forget that we have human friends!? Are you suggesting April is culpable in the EPS?"

"Of course not! O'Neil is one of the good ones." Baron said dismissively.

"'One of the-'!??!?!... Did you really just say that!?" Leo yelled, hardly believing he heard such an old racist line from Baron.

"This is a nightmare." Mikey whispered.

"I'll admit, I didn't foresee this...hostility from you." Baron said, stepping forward. "I am only taking measures to ensure our survival."

"Draxy, you have officially been demoted from 'Dad' to 'Racist Uncle'." Leo snarked. "Keep going and you're getting uninvited to Thanksgiving!"

His humor returned! He had missed it.

Baron shook his head and began closing the distance between him and his sons.

"You are being blind! We must be proactive if we are to-”

He stopped suddenly, his face screwing up in confusion and disgust. He slowly looked down until he saw what he had stepped in.

“What is this?” he asked in a careful tone.

Leo saw an opportunity for sass and took it.

“Oh that? Funny story actually. You see when we saw what you had been doing down here, we were so disgusted Raph tossed his cookies like he was trying to go pro!”

Huh. That came out more angry again. It was a weird day for Leo.

“I see…” Baron said.

He was standing in a puddle of vomit, wearing a hair net and lab coat, and his sons were glaring at him like he was a threat to them. He felt safe counting it as a new low.

What was there to say?

“I only wanted to protect you.” he said quietly.

“With protection like this, who needs danger!?” Leo bitterly laughed.

Oh, so the humor was back again.

Raph was shaking his head.

“This….none of this is right.” he said.

Baron seemed to shrink.

There was silence. A long stretch of nothing charged with tension and regret. Regret for actions taken. Regret for compassion extended. Enough regret to choke on, and if that didn’t do it the silence would finished the job.

Before any of them could snap from the stress, Baron spoke

“What can I do?”

Donnie shook his head and sighed.

“I’m not sure what you could possible do that wouldn’t just make everything worse.”

Mikey let out a frustrated moan.

“This sucks!” he shouted.

Everyone agreed.

--

I had fun. At the end of the day, that was my primary goal. Second was to make someone happy. Third was to stretch my writing a little.

[safyresky]

Happy June 13th on July 2nd, apparently ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Year Six

Just managing to avoid detection, Jacqueline escapes! Only to find herself face to face with a very shocked and concerned Blaise and Winter. Preferring to avoid explanations, Jacqueline hides in the Pole in the hopes of working with Bernard to somehow put a stop to Jack's plans…

I'm getting very bad at going by this particular ah, aesthetic, aren't I?

Anyway! Frostmas Y6 is now up on ao3, freshly swept and tweaked here and there! It's all neat and tidy and up to SafyreSky Industries 2024 Standards so that's lovely! Check out Year 6: 2024 Edition HERE on ao3 and, yes, ff.net has been updated to match :)

What's 🆕 NEW 🆕 for Year Six?!?!

Word count has swung up: went from 16k to 21k. All I did was add a bit more dialogue lmao, WHOOPS!

Once again YEETING any instances of third person POV! It's all Jacquie baybe

hehehe. ANYWAY

Made the motivations STRONGER; upped Jacqueline's "ANNOY JACK" mode to MAX HIGH HEAT BABY!

Also refined the B-Man/Jacquie chat where he's like "hey man what are friends for" and she's like "😲😲😲 we're FRIENDS?!?!?"

YEAH JACQUELINE. ALWAYS HAVE BEEN

(this may or may not be one of my fave memes lmao)

And I think that about covers it NO WAIT I LIED! A Year Six BTS HERE.

(As a heads up it IS a little bit (a lot) personal—a literal diary entry prefaces the post because there was a nasty gap between Y5 and Y6 bc of some personal shit? So heads up! I did make it VERY clear where personal shit ends and BTS begins so you can skip the Dani rambles and get right to the BTS rambles :)

Frostmas? You are saying. This thing again? Aren't you the Crystal Springs person? What's Frostmas? I am SO glad you asked. Let me share the summary!

The Twelve Years of Frostmas

Nobody but he and I knew the truth. Jack wasn’t supposed to be Santa; I wasn’t supposed to be Jack Frost. He thought being Santa would fix everything. He was horribly, horribly mistaken. [My take on Jack’s reign as Santa during the Escape Clause. MAJOR OC involvement AND First Person POV from said OC. Finally cross posting THIS behemoth! Enjoy!]

Intrigued? Take it from the top: [ao3 | ff dot net]

And here's a Year Six snippet for you, chosen with utmost care (MAXIMUM ANGST) in mind :)

"You know, I really didn’t think you’d do it!”

“Do what?!”

“Freeze that elf! I never even thought you’d agree to it! And when you did I thought wow, she’s really ready to go far for this whole fake freeze thing,” he laughed. “And then! You actually did it?! A little extra, but, I’m a fan of the style that went into it. You took the ice sculpture thing and, and ran with it!”

“Then why keep me here too? What, you still think I’d go to the Council with everything? That I’d stop this?”

“Uh, duh. What do you think I am, stupid?”

I opened my mouth to reply in the affirmative.

“It was rhetorical. Don’t answer that.”

I shut my mouth and pulled a face.

“Besides! I’ll need your help getting all this ready! What with your easy access to our shared heritage. It’ll take AGES if I attempted to do this on my own. Between decorating and the airport—"

I could barely focus as he began listing everything he needed my help doing, and continued walking. I could feel the beginnings of a sprite sleep clawing its way to my eyes as I stifled a yawn, trying to keep my two feet moving forward as I followed Jack down the corridor.

“—and I simply cannot do this all in time if you're out and about all willy-nilly. Also, just in case you're that good.”

“That good?”

“Y’know, actually faking it! Willing to go the distance to keep this up! Then the moment I let you go you’d run to the Council and we can’t have that.”

“Okay so, let’s say, theoretically, I WAS faking it. How would all that—” I gestured back towards the steps, where ice-Mason still sat beyond the walls and halls and twists and turns— “Convince you otherwise?”

“Because it’s exactly what I would’ve done.” The full impact of what he said hit as he turned around, surveying me with an unreadable look. “And you did it.”

I came to a grounding stop, my heart falling in my chest.

Jack chuckled quietly to himself. “Exactly. Now, I’ve got tons to do! We will chit chat later, Jacqueline—I’ll make sure your rooms are done up for your stay. Ciao!”

And, shooting me a smile and double finger guns he disappeared, leaving me alone in the corridor as the crushing weight of what I had just done—and what I had agreed to do—came falling down on me.

I stood in the hallway, motionless. The sounds of the chaos of the Workshop dulled before disappearing completely, nothing but a white noise as the world faded out from me and I realized that yes, Jack would've done it.

And I had done it.

I was turning into Jack.

---

>:D ANGST!

Check out Year Six HERE. ENJOY! 😘😘

[kindersurprisebacterium]

To the Surface (Keigo Takami/Reader)

WC: 2.4k

CW: vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, merfolk

Gender neutral AFAB reader

Claustrophobic. The feeling rose in my chest as thick netting wrapped my body. My limbs became tangled within the mass of fibers. The water began to swirl around me as the net slowly receded from the water. I emerged from the depths, panic wracking my brain as my body, as well as a cluster of fish, were taken aboard a small fishing vessel. I was dropped onto the deck, saturated wood cushioning my fall. A pair of hands quickly worked to untie the netting, setting me free from my confines. 

“I apologize. I didn’t see you swimming.” A man spoke. As my vision focused, my eyes met a pair of aureate pools of honey and a head of messy blonde hair tucked under a toboggan. “I’ll grab you a quilt,” he spoke, rushing off to a cabin. As I waited for his return, I scanned the deck in front of me. The hatch to the hull was open and the pungent scent of fish caught my attention. An assortment of mackerel and anchovies were contained within ice boxes near the bow. 

“What were you doing so far away from shore?” He asked, handing me a pelt of fur. I extended my hand to grab it. He suddenly pulled back, eyes fixated on my fingers. I followed his gaze, settling onto the webbing between my fingers. I quickly curled my fingers into a fist, bringing my hand close to my chest. 

“I’m sorry, I would really like to cover up, could I have that pelt?” I asked, scanning his face for any trace of a response. His lips were parted, eyebrows raised, and eyes furiously flicked across my body. Without a word, he handed me the pelt. I wrapped the fur around my bare body, tucking my limbs into its warm expanse. 

“You’re not human, are you?” He took a step back, eyes still shifting over my body. 

“Please don’t harm me,” I pushed my heels into the deck, moving my body back against the taffrail. He kneeled in front of me, taking hold of my hand. His fingers traced along the webbing between my fingers and trailed up toward my ulnar fin. He pulled the cartilage back, fanning the fin out to its full extent. Then his hands were on my head, moving my head to the side and exposing my gills. And then to my calves, running his fingers along my fins and up to my knees. His hands parted my knees, eyes focused on what lay between my legs. I swiftly pushed his hands away and tucked my body back under the pelt. 

“I’d appreciate some decency.” I huffed. 

“What exactly are you?” He asked, sitting back and crossing his legs. 

“I don’t know the name of my species, and I haven’t quite cared to ask.”

“Can you live on land?”

“I’ve got lungs similar to those of humans, and I have taken up residence on land before, so yes.”

His eyes shifted around the boat, lips pursing and eyebrows furrowing. He sighed, fingers tapping away on his knee. 

“I’ve had some troubles lately finding fish, if you can help me find waters with larger populations, I’ll give you free food and a bed to sleep in.”

I grinned, nodding my head.

I resurfaced near the hull of the boat and grabbed onto the rigging, pulling my body out of the water. 

“They’re moving south!” I shouted from the taffrail. “Follow me!” I let go of the rail, dropping back into the water. I stayed close to the surface, making sure he could follow my wake. I held my legs together and used the motion of my hips to drift through the waves. I watched as the sails began to tilt, and the bow began turning in my direction. I dove under the water to trail the school of yellowfin tuna. Far enough to not frighten them, and yet close enough to keep an eye on their movements. They were still a hundred meters out and swimming with leisure. The ship began to catch up to them, traveling faster than they could swim. At thirty meters I surfaced, grabbing onto the rigging and signaling for Keigo to throw the net. The black fibers disappeared beneath the surface. I followed along with it, watching as the school became trapped within the net. Only a few stragglers had managed to escape the grips, swimming away to safety in an erratic manner. I hoisted myself up onto the boat, grabbing the deer pelt to cover my body. The net slowly rose from the ocean, revealing the haul of tuna it had contained within its grasp. Keigo shouted, a beaming grin upon his face. 

“Holy shit! I’ve never hauled in this many fish at once!” He remarked as he took down the netting. The fish began spewing out of the confines and spreading out across the deck. I lifted one of the fish, carrying it toward the ice chests. 

“Mishima is pretty close by, we could sell those fish while they’re still fresh. We’re going to need the space for more.” I said, dragging another fish onto the crushed ice. 

“I’ve got an entire hull full of storage, let’s keep going.” He placed his hand on my shoulder.

“I want you to anchor so I can show you how to track fish.” 

He skimmed the surface, snorkel sticking out of the water. I swam down deeper into the water, near a passing school of red sea bream. I gestured toward the school as they moved closer to the coast. His hand signaled me to the surface. I broke through the tension of the water just in front of Keigo. 

“I can’t see anything.” He said, spitting out his mouthpiece.

“Take the snorkel off and come down further. I promise you’ll see. You can hold your breath, right?” I asked. He sighed, undoing the fastenings of the snorkel. He tossed the equipment behind him. With a thud, it disappeared behind the railing. I took his hand, watching as he took a breath. I pulled him under the water with me, dragging him behind me as I swam after the cluster of bream. I pointed to a nearby rock, and back to the bream. A hand tapped my shoulder. He pointed a finger up at the surface, and then to his mouth. I pulled him closer, pressing my lips to him and cycling oxygen through my gills, I exhaled a breath full into his mouth. I pulled back, looking at his face. Golden eyes met mine, still glistening as bright as glitter even beneath the goggles. I pulled him further, pointing to another rock, and back to the fish, and holding up my fingers. Counting up from five. Once it reached five, I gestured back to another structure, and then to the surface. I pulled him along behind me as we reached the top. He gasped, intaking fresh air. 

“You count for time and use nearby markers to guess the distance, that’s how you can find how fast they’re going,” I explained as we paddled back to the boat. “You can use that to guess how far ahead to throw the net, that way they’re in the net by the time they approach it.” I grabbed onto the rigging, looking behind me to watch as he approached the boat. His hand cupped my cheek, lips diving in to meet mine. I kissed back, my arm wrapping around the back of his neck. He pulled back, eyes skimming my face.

“How about we stop for the day? I’m getting hungry anyways.”

“Sharks aren’t that threatening of an encounter. Most of their bites are exploratory. If anything does happen I can usually outpace them.” I explained. He set down a plate in front of me. Freshly cooked salmon with a side of potatoes.

“As promised, here’s your portion.”

The plate smelled absolutely delectable. Fresh hints of oregano and thyme pricked my senses. 

“I didn’t expect you to cook for me, Keigo,” I said, staring down at the dish in front of me. “It’s been quite some time since my last cooked meal.”

“Well, what else would you eat?” He shrugged.

“I usually just eat raw food, but thank you for treating me like a human.” I smiled. 

Sleep was something that didn’t come to me. I spent the night shivering in the top bunk. I could feel my pulse start to slow to a crawl, limbs going still as my body froze. As a desperate attempt for warmth, I crawled from the top bunk, fingers barely managing to grip the rungs of the ladder as I lowered myself to the floor. I reached a hand out toward Keigo, not sure of how to wake him. With a finger I tapped his shoulder, causing him to stir from his slumber. 

“I apologize for this, but I’m freezing, can I by chance share your bed?” I asked. My limbs were quivering, trembling from the ice running through my veins.

“You must be cold-blooded then, I should’ve assumed.” He spoke with a sleep-laced voice. He pulled aside the cover, making room for me. I crawled into bed, curling up beside him. His arm curled around my waist, pulling my back into his chest. 

“You’re freezing,” he muttered as he grabbed a pelt from the foot of the bed. He placed the extra layer on top of me. His hands moved underneath the blanket, trailing over my arm and down to my hand. He held my hand in his, squeezing tight in an attempt to heat up my fingers. I laced my fingers with his, intertwining them as much as the webbing between each digit would allow.

“Can I Kiss you?” He asked from behind me. I shifted in his arms to face him. He touched my cheek and slowly leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to my lips. I kissed back, slowly moving my lips against his. His hand began to inch down my body, skimming across my gills and down to my shoulders. His touch dropped to my waist, fingers clutching onto the hem of the shirt he’d given me. I grabbed his wrist, moving his hands to the waistband of the union suit covering my hips. His fingers slipped below the fabric, skimming across my skin. His index parted my lips, sliding between them to stroke at my clit. A warmth spread across my body as he rubbed tight circles on my skin. My lips broke from his, a thin trail of saliva forming as I moaned. He moved to my neck, tongue darting out to lick across my gills. Shocks of pleasure wracked my body. My hips bucked against his hand as the stimulation turned my body into a quivering mess. The fingers on my clit moved down my cunt, circling around my entrance before pushing in. He groaned as he started up a quick pace, fingertips curling upwards. His thumb circled around my aching clit, adding more, burning tension to my quaking body. His licks turned to harsh sucks as he moved further down to my collarbone, peppering bruises across my sage-tinted skin. 

“Are you warm enough, yet?” He asked, lips pressed against my clavicle. 

“I’m close, so close,” I mewled between desperate pleas. He withdrew his fingers from me, focusing on tracing tight circles over my clit. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure enveloped my body, pulling my limbs tight. A cry bellowed from my chest, rocking the room as I came. My body went slack, my chest heaving as I pulled air into my lungs. I pushed the boxers down my legs, kicking them off of my feet. Swinging my leg over his hips, I situated myself on top of him, core brushing against his stiff cock. 

“You act as if you’ve done this before,” he said, biting down on his lip. 

“The best part about being a different species is that it never takes, why wouldn’t I enjoy the perks of that.”

I tugged on the waist of his long johns, pulling the fabric down his hips, just far enough to let his cock slip from the material. I wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft, holding it still as I aligned myself. I slowly sank down, feeling a dull burning as he stretched out my insides. I sharply exhaled, thighs shivering as the head of his cock brushed against my cervix. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me back up and guiding me down at a quick pace. I gripped the headboard, using it as leverage to follow the pace he’d set. His jaw hung slack, noises escaping from his throat with every thrust against his hips. My eyes squeezed shut as the head of his cock pushed against a spot within me. Pinging, throbbing lust boiled within my depths as I fucked myself on his cock, tilting my hips back to drive into that pulse point inside of me. My hands fell from the headboard, my torso falling into his as my strength evaporated, leaving a heated puddle of a fish in his arms. His knees rose from behind me, hips taking up the brunt of the movement. His nails dug into the skin of my thighs, holding me still as he pistoned his hips into me, reaching further than I had before. Stimulation overwhelmed my body, static and haze taking the place of thoughts in my brain. Saliva pooled in the corners of my mouth, making a mess of his shirt and seemingly driving him further into longing. 

“I’m gonna-“ his speech was cut off by a growl, hips stuttering as he spilled his seed inside of me. My vision clouded, eyes going cross as I came, cunt clenching around him, milking him dry. His hips twitched, fucking the mess of fluids deeper inside me, and then stillness. I lay on his chest, relishing the feeling of fullness between my legs. As my mind cleared of fog, I couldn’t help but notice the warmth covering my body, a stark contrast to the frost that bathed my skin a mere half hour ago. I pressed my lips to his cheek, lips curling into a smile as my face settled into the crook of his neck. Besides the warmth, a new sensation arose within me, fluttering around in my chest. A sense of comfort and peace. He pulled the scattered blankets back over our partially-clothed bodies, tucking in for a warm rest.

Masterlist

[ejaydoeshisbest]

Chapter 4

"This is my favorite spot," you said, as you led me to the cave. It was like a mythical sea beast about to swallow us whole. Back in the city, we avoided places like these, unless you were a stupid teenager hiding from the world. They were always ready to erupt with the angst they bided in their bellies. Or you sought these places when you felt you were lonelier out there in the world and wanted solace.

There was a claw in my chest, pulling me from going with you, but you seemed to be the good sort. Maybe it was how sure you were as you held your net on one hand, and with another hand still loose on my arm. I hadn’t realized that I was letting you guide me all the way here. My eyes scanned the spot where your fingers curled around my bony wrist. I was fair-skinned compared to your tan. But a childhood under the sun did not hide the subtle scars running along your arm.

They were marks of adventures from growing up here, I knew. My classmates boasted their grazes and scabs as if they were prizes won from scuffling in the playground. Yours must be a daily, natural thing. I have a feeling you will earn more for days and months and years to come. I couldn’t help looking at one particular spot near your neck, though. It looked different from the others.

I was still not moving. You were patient with me. “What are you thinking of?” 

“That there may be a giant squid or octopus about to grab us and take us into its lair.”

You chuckled. It was the first time I made someone chuckle. “Ha! I wish. Then nobody would come to bother our waters, and they’ll leave this place alone.” You tugged at my arm. “There’s nothing inside but smooth rocks and more water. You’ll like it. I’ll show you.”

You were the type of boy who smiled more often than frowned, I imagined. When I was younger, my classmates all teased me about being the most sensitive amongst them all; a shy plant drooping at the slightest touch of insult. Our advisor was exasperated every time I hid in the corner and cried. They all pushed me to bear the taunts because that was how I got tougher, they said. I thought that was how I simply survived; to be reduced to a role for all my own childhood and even beyond: a butt for all the sharp, pointed jokes. So maybe that was why I nodded and followed you inside. You led me again and gripped my arm tighter, and I felt my ears drown in the waves as the darkness covered my eyes.

It still felt like we were sliding down the mouth of a beast. I told you as much, and you smiled and squeezed my arm back for reassurance. There was a moist, cool breeze moving past us; salt air collected from the sea.

“To be honest,” you began, voice echoing in the pauses between the waves, “I pulled you from the sea because you looked like you were about to jump in. And you have on a nice clean shirt, too. I'm not sure how easy it is to wash stuff out of that kind of white.” Your practicality tickled me. I smiled in the dark. “But seeing as how you’re shaking now, maybe you wouldn’t have dared after all.” He shrugged. “Still, your face…” and then you trailed off.

“My face?” I caught my breath when our bare feet stepped on soft weeds. I thought it was a tongue sliding between us. My toes gripped them so I wouldn’t slip.

"I kind of get the feeling that I've seen you somewhere before,” you said. We stopped, and I heard steady droplets falling from all around us. You turned towards me, close enough so that I could see the whites of your eyes. “But, you're a new face. And, well, not many people here wear the kind of clothes you’re wearing. Are you from the mainland? Are you from the city? Is that where your home is?"

A simple question that seemed to stump me in the moment. Should I nod yes, that I came from the city since that is where I stayed, even though I didn’t actually belong there? I didn’t call that place my home. We lived in a silent apartment with two bedrooms. My father’s bed is bigger but emptier. I only see Papa for two hours each night and an hour in the morning when he walks me to school.

Should I tell you that I had once lived here? That the trees here witnessed my wailings and tantrums? But that was a memory long gone. I am still trying to remember who my lola is though my heart insists that I already know her. There are notes in the air that I cannot hear; a deaf, distant siren lamenting the sweetness of my lost time with her.

“It’s okay if you won’t tell me. I understand.” Your voice was so calm it moved me. “You won’t have to say a word if you don’t want to. You can think whatever you can think here, and feel whatever you feel.” There was a shy smile on your face. “I’d rather you here than in the sea where the waves can take you.”

Then you jumped again and I thought for a second you would leave me here alone and swim away. But there you were a couple of steps away from me. You dropped your questions as if it was nothing but one of the droplets of water that dispersed in the dark. You did a little twirl and splashed your feet in invisible water. You had dropped the net beside me, and now you were reaching your hand out again and nodding at me to come join you.

Whatever was pulling me back, the friendly pull of your smile was stronger. I shivered when I stepped into the pool of cool water and you laughed at the face I made. It felt like I was intruding on a secret, but you grabbed both of my wrists this time, your thumb on my bone, and led me gently toward the middle of this pool, the water engulfing my feet. I was like a babe trusting his guardian not to let him sink.

“It doesn’t go any deeper,” you reassure me. “You’re safe. Here, we hid a lantern between the rocks over there.” You let go of my arm as you ducked into the dark. For a moment, there were only shadows and outlines, and then the suddenness of light struck my eyes. I squinted to see you holding a lantern in your hand.

There was a flat stone in the middle of this pool. You placed the lantern on top; how you lighted it with matchsticks in this damp place was beyond me.

The light showed the charm of this cave. To some, it would all be simply smooth stones and a wide shallow pool at the center. There were no words to describe why this was your favorite place. I only felt it. The warm glow of the lantern reminded me of stories told under thick, soft blankets. Whispers about a prince off on his journey. But when I saw that the droplets of water came from a high ceiling with rocks reaching down, I thought they looked like teeth about to close in on us.

Our shadows were plastered on a smooth wall. Yours was a giant near the light source, looking down at me. Your shadow made a motion to pat my head. I did laugh a little then, when you said, “There, there.”

You left the lantern on the stone tablet and weaved around the columns of stones to show me how safe it was. I watched you walk around me, and I stilled. I allowed the sounds of distant waves, occasional breeze, and loud water steps to fill my ears.

“This cave will not swallow you,” you said as you approached. You stopped a couple of paces away. “You’re part of this world now. So long as you’re here and don’t make a mess of things, no monsters will come get you.”

“That sounds like a warning from an elder.”

You winked. “Worked for us even now. Some of the older kids don’t disturb shrines or groves here.” Your face changed, suddenly. You sighed. “Wish I could say the same with the greedy bunch throwing dynamites in some parts of the beach here, and those cutting down trees in the mountains. I wish they'd be the ones swallowed by sea monsters.” 

Even if there was an edge to your voice, there was still a hint of hope. A touch of jest. I did not know what to do, and I was afraid to ask, so of all the silliest things I could have done, I stepped closer towards you, the water sloshing around your feet. I slowly raised my hand to make the shape of a fish, swimming around freely.

“I saw wings on a fish when I came here. Out there in the sea. They had the sun in their scales. Maybe they wanted to flee from the group you mentioned.” And then I dared to say more because you said that I could say anything I wanted. Words leaped from my tongue faster than I could cage them. “I wish I could be like them. The flying fish. To have gills and scales so that I could go into the quiet depths of the ocean when sometimes the wind is too harsh, and to go deeper into where corals sprout when there are storms. And if I got tired of the sea, or saw that the sun was kind, I would fly whenever and wherever I pleased. And it wouldn’t matter if everyone looked and pointed at me. And I wouldn’t listen if they told me to choose between being a fish or a bird or to stay in the water or be with the wind. I’d simply fly or swim away to my own peace, at my own pace.”

I quickly dropped my hand when your shadow did not move. It had no eyes, but I could feel the weight of its stare. The chill set in and I knew that I’d done something wrong and you would look at me the same way all the others looked at me and I braced myself for when you would push me away and run to get your lantern, leaving me here alone in the pool. I was afraid to look at your face.

“My name is Jiro,” you said as you turned towards me. The light hugged one side of your face as shadows clung to another.

A moment of stunned confusion passed before my weak hands pointed to my chest, where my heart was beating. “Mikha. Short for Mikhael.”

My fears melted away when you clasped my shoulder and told me how nice it was that you spotted me rooted in the sand. It was like my heart caught the rhythm of the waves while floating in this still pool.

I told you that I didn’t talk much, and I didn’t know what to talk about anyway, and by the way your eyes glanced to the side, I could tell that you were unsure to pry me open, brave as you were. So, you embarrassed yourself with stories of your adventures; how you caught a slimy fish that stank your hands for half a day, and how you collected hermit crabs because you thought they were drowning. The steady sounds of both droplets and surf went on as your hands moved with the tempo of your stories, morphing into shapes that wiggled and darted.

You coaxed me just a bit. “They say you can tell most things to a stranger. If anything is bothering you, you can let it out here with me.” You gestured to the cave. “Or you can let it out here. You can talk to your shadow if you want.”

A cave that holds secrets. Back in the city, people vandalized places like these. They mark them as if they were their territory with spray paints. They can’t bear leaving something so empty without so much as marking them with vulgarity.

It did seem easier talking to you. I never got more than a few sentences out to my classmates when we were all new to each other. After they found out I was boring and labeled me as the weird harmless alien, I didn’t feel the need to talk at all. A fitting label: ALIEN. They were speaking in a language I did not understand, talking about things in the world I had no interest in or knowledge about. They talked about cars and watches and cartoons, these kids who have whiter, cleaner clothes than I could ever wear, washed by maids or old distant aunts.

I have never encountered anyone like you who takes someone to their favorite spot on a whim. If only there were ten of you in our school, then it would be a brighter place.

I opened my mouth, and I told you about the games I liked and the books I read. I told you I liked ube ice cream the most and that I would like to learn how to swim, too.

Our stories filled the empty cave. Our chuckles mingled. It was like your favorite place was welcoming me too when I heard my voice bounce off its walls. Maybe I would hear myself when I come back here. Once or twice our hands collided as snippets of our different lives played out through shadow.

It was easy with you. There was a naturalness to it, how my words connected with yours, like a tail of a kite or two rivers joining, or like thread tied to thread.

Then you hopped behind me and our shadows on the wall merged. You told me to stay still as your hands waved behind me, conjuring a person with wings, then with tails, then with four arms that flexed and two heads that laughed.

When we looked at each other, that was when I pulled away. Because just as I was about to be familiar with the ease of your smile and the calm way you guided me... just as I was about to return your smile with my own under the lantern’s soft glare, the shadow from half your face reached towards me, and it threatened to erase all of your features if I didn’t step away at that moment and leave you alone.

It said that this moment was pleasant, but it will never be mine. After the exchanging of stories, there will be no new ones together. You will be gone and I will be alone once more. You will go back to your adventures hunting crabs and fish. The tenderness of the sea will hold you and I do not know what will happen to me. You will dive where I cannot reach you, just like my mother has done to us.

We are strangers, as you said. Your kindness may be true tonight, but will it remain so when the daylight reveals me for who I truly am? The night has some mystery in bringing people together, I’ve heard it said. What would happen if that spell broke and all you would see under the sun’s glare was a weird alien crawling from the deep?

My mouth shut like a clam disturbed and I felt the pool pulling my legs to the bottom where I could not resurface.

You called my name. I did not turn around. The waves were in my ears again. I saw bubbles escaping through my nose and mouth. I needed to breathe. You twisted my shoulders so that I faced you. I told you that I thought I was drowning. You told me I was fine. I looked at the steady brown of your eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I said, and in shame, I turned away. I wanted to bury my head between the rocks.

“You’re not alone. You have me here. This whole place is beautiful, you can count on almost anyone to help you if you’ll allow them.”

You held my gaze. I let you help me up. The droplets falling from the ceiling returned. The pool was shallow.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

You shook your head. You looked thoughtful. “You looked like how I was when I first started swimming. I was so scared of the sea before, which sucks when your whole life is near the beach. So, people started teaching me how to befriend the waves.”

“You were afraid?” My voice was again small.

“At the start, sure I was. I mean, even now I wouldn't test the waters at night.” You shrugged and showed your hands. “But how will you learn if you don’t at least try to face your fears? It’s either that or be afraid of the waters forever and sink.”

“And now look at you. You’re practically made for the sea,” I said.

You chuckled. “I think that nobody’s made to be anything. I think we have to try and discover what we like and keep doing what makes us good people. That’s what Nanay Gloria says, anyway.”

I was about to smile at your words when you mentioned the name. It couldn’t be... there were many Nanay Glorias everywhere, it’s a common enough name for their generation.

“You don’t mean—?” I began to say before you cut me off.

“You’ll love her. Everyone in the community does. She’s actually waiting for her grandson today. Could not shut up about him for a week. Wish I could have met him today.”

I blinked. “You just did.”

I didn’t think you could get any livelier, but something about what I said pulled all your limbs up as if a string drew you upwards. Your eyes lit up and you raised your arms, about to spill another story. I was laughing, eager to listen to what you have to say. Maybe I could remember my lola better through you. But footsteps from outside closed your mouth. We turned towards the opening of the cave.

Papa emerged from the darkness and saw us. Your arms were still reaching towards the cavern ceiling. I was slumped against a boulder, my feet circling in the pool. We all looked at each other, surprised, friendly, confused.

“Uh, hello,” my father began. He’s been looking for me, everywhere. I did not realize that time had passed inside these walls.

I stood. “Papa, this is Jiro.”

On the way back, we told each other what happened, retracing our steps in the sand. Papa told me it was good sense that we walked where the waves didn’t wash up our footprints.

Lola was looking over the beach. She waved at all of us; her frown disappeared as soon as she saw you with me. She embraced you like she did me. You hugged her back as if you were lying down in a patch of soft meadow grass. You looked more like her grandson than I did, all smiles and warmth.

“Good,” Lola said as she looked down at both of us. “You sure know how to pick your friends. Jiro is a good kid.” You beamed. Then lola brought her hands to her hips and added, “But this one hasn’t been visiting me as lately.”

You raised your hands up. “The fish are biting, Nanay! And you’re busy too with the festival of flowers.”

I felt my father’s hand on one shoulder, and Lola’s on another. Yours was there just a while ago. We were about to go home and you were standing still, the waves rolling behind you. We looked at each other, beamed, and shyly you trailed your foot across the sand. I waved at you, and you waved back. As we headed towards the home I do not remember, I thought you told the wind to whisper in my ear: come back tomorrow. I must have imagined it. I would like to, though.

Tomorrow, maybe. Then maybe the rest of the days while this alien skin of mine roams this island.

[shaineinin]

Little BIG Fan of Life

a personal narrative

In between the pages and chapters of my story, there was a specific moment I could mention that may break other peoples’ hearts, but it undeniably speaks contentment and hypocrisy at the same time. This page in my book incredibly changed how I perceive life as it is right now. There is a certain reason why no matter how life tries to burn this book of life, I will always try to persevere and bring my family the victory they always deserve.

It was one cold night after dinner with my family. Happy, complete, and hearty dinner that my Mom cooked. It was a simple moment in our everyday routines in the province, nothing new or perfect. After that, we continued and just proceeded with our daily chores to work at before resting and packing up to bed. 

However, little did we know that at that moment, our old, rusty, and recycled electric fan full of tape and a backbone of a stick, was almost destroyed. Despite that, that fan helped us most of the nights when there were a lot of mosquitoes and our mosquito nets couldn’t carry the job anymore. Before that happened, I was always skeptical and curious as to why we couldn’t afford to buy a new fan instead of settling for the old one. My father would always tape its parts back so it could continuously do its job. I can’t think of anything in mind why he didn’t save himself from having more chores. 

Truth be told, I was ashamed back then. Most especially when my friends or classmates visit our house and see our electric fan covered with tape and seems like it can barely breathe, I want to get eaten by the floor. I would then change the subject after they noticed it or would crack a joke to ease the shame I was feeling.

Getting back to that situation, when the only fan that our house had was completely knocked out, I didn’t know what to feel. I remember my little sister calling my father to say the news. The saddening news that made me realize something in life.

I can recall how my father tried to revive it for the last time while making that irritated face with crumpled brows. I  can still hear how he said, “Ano ba ‘yan, ngayon pa talaga nasira. Walang-wala na nga e”.

After I heard that, the silence in our dining slashed bedroom was all around that it could even break my eardrums. I was dumb to notice all along how my family, especially my parents are struggling to bring food to our table. Yet, I was ungrateful. I didn’t know how to appreciate little things. I was careless of their feelings and emotions. I was focusing only on myself and I ended up regretting most of the times that I could've used to show how I love them.

They were rattling between heaven and earth for us to survive, which I didn't realize way back then. Now, these pages in my book of life will forever hurt, but it will be a great reminder. A reminder to appreciate little things, sacrifices, and hard work of one another in the family. The family whom I will always try to protect at all costs.

[starredeclipse]

When Powers Fail Me

[My friend suggested this prompt]

[Prompt: They waited in an oppressive silence, listening intently. It had been two minutes and the pebble had yet to echo up from the hole they dropped it down.]

"Well this is bad…" ChillPaw meowed to the others when the silence became too much to bare.

"Seven minutes.." RainyPaw meowed as she counted the minutes.

"Yeah…yeah it really is, who's idea was this again?" EchoPaw asked as she stared down the deep black hole ears posed to hear for the pebble.

"Thirteen minutes.." RainyPaw meowed as she counted the minutes.

"I'm pretty sure it was you're idea EchoPaw, you wanted to test out these new powers of ours and fly to the ledge down in this giant hole in the ground and now….our powers aren't working now!" CalmPaw said matter of fact and EchoPaw sat up straighter.

"Oh…" she meowed with realization and looked over at RainyPaw who hadn't spoken for a while.

"Thirty minutes…and it's still going." RainyPaw meowed before they all looked at eachother "pretty sure if we jumped we uh…you know. This hole seems bottomless…..and climbing is a no go. So that just leaves us with only one option." RainyPaw announced and her sisters looked at her with puzzled eyes.

"Really? We scream and yell until either, one our powers decide to grace us with its presence again or two someone finds us." RainyPaw revealed and the other two went "Oh" at the same time.

They all looked at eachother and tried to get there powers working and when that didn't work they all started screaming for help. Occasionally they all stopped screaming when they made eachothers ears ring "This excellent hearing is a curse" ChillPaw grumbled covering her ears with her paws.

"Its the curse of the Caracal" EchoPaw meowed before her sister added "And maybe the Serval? They had pretty good hearing too" RainyPaw meowed before they heard a voice from above "Um…do you cats need some help?" The voice of Stellar came from above them. How far had these three flown?

"Yes! Please! We're stuck down here!" EchoPaw practically screamed and her siblings were holding there ears again.

"Oh okay um…one minute, HealingWish help me make a net." Stellar meowed and after thirty minutes which ChillPaw finally heard the pebble echo meaning it reached the bottom.

Stellar lowered down a net tied with a bunch of thick vines and a different voice called down to them "Get in but only one of a time" HealingWish meowed and the apprentices did as they were told, each one got lifted to safety and although they were thankful, they were also spooked by Stellar being a snow leopard but they eventually became fascinated by the leaders large size and strength.

"So how did you get down there?" WildClans med cat asked the three sisters.

"Well uhm…it…its hard to explain…" ChillPaw started out with "and you definitely won't believe us if we told you" RainyPaw added and the three nodded in agreement.

Stellar sat down with a curious glint in her eye and a smile on her face "Oh we might just surprise you" the leader chirped which brought on the following conversation.

"So you three are basically The Griffins Sisters and you all can turn into Griffins." Stellar summarized easily.

"Is that what those are called?" EchoPaw meowed with curiosity.

"The Griffin Sisters…I like that" RainyPaw chimed in.

"Well until our powers decide to let us use them we are stuck here until we can fly home" ChillPaw told everyone and the two other sisters became scared…what if they never get to return?

"You can stay with us then, we've got plenty of prey, a cozy and nice place to sleep, and apprentices that you can hang out with in the mean time." Stellar meowed and the sisters became excited again because…they've never gotten to explore a unknown clan before, they couldn't wait to tell mom there story when they get home!

But unknown to The Griffin Sisters, Neko the Red Tailed Hawk had followed them the whole way and so he would report his findings to the kits mother Cordel.

[hellfire-in-hawkins]

You're a Part of Me

**Inspired by this post from @ahoysteviex **

For some reason, I can't get over Steve & Robin being platonic soulmates, so have this little blurb that's been floating around in my noggin for weeks.

(all flashbacks are written in italics)

Steve shot up in his bed, cold sweat plastering strands of his hair to his forehead. He had been clenching his fists so tight that there were now small semi-circle cuts in his palms from his own nails digging into his skin. He couldn't breathe. "Not again.." he whispered into the darkness of his room, "I can't go back there again.." Tucking his knees up to his chest and pulling his blanket tight around him, Steve clenched his eyes shut as he desperately tried to push the images away.

Silver hallways that twisted and turned in on themselves, a never ending labyrinth of terror. A cold needle presses against his flesh and suddenly he's on fire. Drugs course through his body and suddenly his brain is smothered in a fog so dense, he can barely remember his own name. Screaming. Somewhere in the distance there's screaming. Steve can't make out the words, but even in his impaired state he recognizes the voice.

"Robin.." he chokes out. His throat is on fire. Every inch of his body hurts. "Robin..j-just hang on..I..I'm coming.." he whispers, blood falling from his lips as he chokes and coughs, struggling to stand.

"Robin..please.." Steve sobbed. Tears fell down his flushed face as his bitten and chapped lips whispered her name like a prayer. "Stay with me, Robin..please. I can't," his voice cracked, small gasps ripping from his lips as he slammed his fists down against his mattress, "I can't do this without you!!"

His heart was breaking inside his chest as the memories flooded his mind.

Her body felt so weightless in his arms; she was nearly gone when he found her. Blood covered nearly every inch of her skin, her Scoops Ahoy uniform nearly destroyed, the only signs of life were her jagged, uneven breaths and the faint whispers of Steve's name that fell from her lips. In an instant, his arms were around her so tightly that he was sure he'd break her in two. Dragging her body into his lap, his tears and blood dripped onto her skin. He buried his face in her hair, whispering comfort to her as if willing her to stay alive.

His head was swimming. Darkness began bleeding in at the corners of his vision. His hold on Robin faltered, although he never fully let go..fingers clinging to her life a safety net. His head fell against the cold tile as he collapsed beside her, eyes focused on the door at the far end of the hallway. And just as he felt the last of his strength fall away, he heard voices..the voices of his friends, sent like angels from heaven. "Robin.." he coughed, as Nancy and the others got closer,"Help..help Robin."

Steve's door creaked open and his eyes immediately jerked in its direction. A small frame silhouetted against the darkness. He blinked a few times and by the time his eyes were opened again, the small lamp next to his bed was on. "Robin.." he whispered as she sank down onto the mattress next to him. Her arms immediately went around his waist as she laid down, curling around him as best as she could. Steve leaned back against the headboard, still stiff as he sat in silence. All he could focus on were her cold hands against his sides.

Usually Steve hated how cold she was, but in this moment Robin was all that was keeping him grounded.

"Hey, Stevie.." Robin mumbled softly. She curled her body around Steve, arms holding him close and face nuzzled against his side. His scent was subtle, laundry detergent and traces of his cologne; that scent filled her lungs and she relaxed in his warmth. "Wanted to make sure you were okay," she whispered. Robin could feel Steve's eyes as he looked down at her. She could feel him tense under her icey fingers. But she also noticed his breathing settle as he slowly relaxed into her embrace.

Steve ran a hand through his messy brown hair, pulling the blankets up around them both as he sank further into the bed. "Fucking nightmares again, Robs," Steve grumbled, burying his face into his pillows. "Russia," his voice cracked a bit, but he continued, "you..you didn't," his breath stuttered as Robin pulled him closer, nodding in understanding. "I couldn't save you..I didn't. I didn't save you this time."

Robins fingers found their way to Steve's face, cradling his cheek as she swiped away his tears. "Come on now, Stevie..we all know you'd never let anything serious happen to me." She smiled softly. "You're the hero of our little group," Robin leaned her forehead against his. "The babysitter, the one who keeps everyone safe. Platonic soulmates forever, remember?"

Steve chuckled a bit at that. Platonic soulmates..a thing they'd come up with after the Starcourt incident. A few too many beers and drunken confessions led to a dynamic they can't quite understand. But the kids and Nancy and Eddie..all their friends, all the people who matter seem to understand their unspoken bond even when they can't seem to. "Forever, Robs," Steve whispered back, yawning softly as he settled more info the blankets.

Robin turned slightly in his arms. With a click, the room was bathed in darkness again. Her hands had warmed and there was no icy shock when she cuddled up to Steve this time. His breathing had slowed and his body finally felt relaxed. So she decided to stay.

A small huff, Steve drifting off but before he slept he mumbled, "You're a part of me, Robin..I'll always keep you safe." And then he was out, soft snores filling the room as Robin shoved his shoulder playfully.

"You're such a dingus," she giggled softly, "but I love you too, Stevie." And with that, they slept peacefully until sunlight began streaming thru the windows.

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

[writteninkat]

Greed | Ushijima x reader

summary: "I didn't like how my teammates watched you a while ago." He admits, his hands clenching on the counter.

"I don't think they understand how you're mine and only mine." He whispers against the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling shivers down your spine.

f!reader

word count: 3.5k

warning: 18+, name calling if u squint (???)

a/n: this is a reminder that you are amazing, you are loved and you matter. | masterlist for 100 followers event

The boy's volleyball team never paid any attention to the girls as they were always busy with their own training and the two teams played and trained in their own separate indoor volleyball courts. But today is a little different. The floor of your team's court needs changing so the girls and boys have to train under the same roof for a week, and it'll be the first time seeing each other play.

Toshi knew you play volleyball, he knows you were the ace, as a matter of fact, his whole team knows as well. But they didn't know you were this good.

You throw the ball up high in the air, jumping as high as you can and throwing your hand forward, slamming it at the ball. The impact of your hand at the ball always felt so good, the heat and sting of it always gave you some kind of adrenaline and you loved the feeling.

The ball is hit so hard your teammates at the other side of the net barely had any time to react before it hit the wooden floors, giving your side a point.

You smile widely, catching the ball the coach throws at you for a second chance at serving. "Y/n calm the fuck down!" Your teammate yells, "We're not playing for real right now have some mercy!"

"If you can't receive my serves, how are you going to receive the serves from other school who'll surely be better than me?" You yell back, doing another jump float, your form tricking the other team as if you're doing another hard serve, causing them to step away from the net. Your palm then simply pushes on the ball, resulting it to barely go over the net. The players at the other side dives in to try and save the ball, but it hits the ground a second before they do.

The whistle is blown and your side of the court wins. "Y/n! You're a menace to society!" Your teammate jokingly yells, fake-crying on the floor making you giggle. You walk over to your duffel bag on the bleachers and take out your towel, oblivious to the many pairs of eyes on you.

Your short shorts always rode up your thighs and sometimes even ass whenever you played, so you hated wearing the uniform but your long shorts were jn the washer right now, you didn't really have much of a choice. Your uniform hugged your body perfectly, every curve and every hill accentuated by the two pieces of cloth around you.

Your boyfriend's team are bewildered by your skills. They never expected you, so sweet, so gentle and so kind towards them being able to produce such monstrous serves and spikes.

"Y/n!" You hear Tendou call, creating an immediate smile across your face. You loved Tendou, after dating his best friend, the two of you became so close and it's as if you two are best friends too. You watch him run towards you, volleyball in hand. "I never knew you played so good."

"You guys are too busy to watch me play. Why? Wanna join me sometime?" Tendou smiles at your offer, immediately nodding his head. "Yes! Please! Let's olay at my hou-"

"There's no way Y/n's playing with you." Wakatoshi says involuntarily, his eyes widening at his words as his teammates give him questioning stares. He never raised his voice before, nor has he spoken without being spoken to. "Unless! Unless I play with her first." He covers it up, looking away with the faintest blush across his face.

You tilt your head to the side, putting two on two together before smirking. Ah, my adorable, jealous boyfriend. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?

When practice finishes, you go your separate ways from the team. Unlike them who had homes to return to, your home is three hours away from the school and no way in hell were you traveling a total of six hours a day just to get feom and to your house. Getting a dorm in the campus seemed a much better idea, plus, it helped you spend more time with your boyfriend.

A hand snakes its way around your waist and despite sweating for three hours tonight, you can still smell a combination of the scent of your boyfriend's perfume and his shampoo. He smells minty and fresh from his shampoo and at the same time he also smells of lavender and sandalwood.

He continues to wrap both his arms around you as he stands from behind you, his forehead on your shoulder. "Want me to give you a massage once we get back?" You ask, placing a hand on his forearm.

Wakatoshi doesn't speak for a moment and you were beginning to think he fell asleep, but moments later he lifts his head up and takes another step forward, your eyes widening as you feel him poke at your ass.

"I just realised I've never seen you in your uniform before," He breathes out, "You look so sexy baby."

Heat rises up your face, your boyfriend's never said anything like that before. Sure, he once complimented how good yer legs look in shorts or how he likes seeing you so 'comfortable' without a bra on, butbhe's never been straightforward like this.

You can feel yourself creating a pool of slick in your underwear. God, this can not be fucking happening...

"Let's go to my dorm." His voice is an octave lower and he sounds out of breath. "Girls aren't allowed in your dorm building."

"I know most of the people in that building and they know me, they won't tell. So come on," he pulls at you, leading you to his building. He looks back at you, neediness and lust filling his eyes. "I need you right now."

Toshi didn't need to sound like he was begging, you were still going to follow him, but now that he sounds like he wants you so bad he can't control himself anymore, it's making you wanna run to his dorm and rip his clothes off.

You bite on your lower lip, letting him lead you to where his room is.

As you pass through a hall, you smile and wave shyly at some of the familiar faces you see, they look as if they've just seen a ghost. But can you blame them? Ushijima Wakatoshi is currently leading a girl to his room. This is the first time, it should be recorded in the hall of fame or something.

Once the both of you reach his door, which is at the bery end of the hall, Toshi takes his ID card, about to swipe it to unlock the door until he stops midway. He turns around and looks at you straight in the eye, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I don't want to be force you."

You blink at him once, twice, thrice- you take the card from his fingers, quickly swiping it on the lock. You push your boyfriend inside the dorm before looking to your right where the boys in the hall still have their undivided attention at you. "It'll probably get loud, you guys play some music or something." You yell before entering the room and slamming the door behind you.

Immediately, you push your boyfriend onto the wall, leaning in to press your lips on his. Finally, being able to touch your boyfriend after a long day of tiring practice feels to freeing and good. A shiver runs up your spine when he licks your bottom lip, asking for entrance. When you grant it to him, he pushes his tongue inside your wet cavern, immediately exploring it like he's a curious speleologist.

His one hand grabs your waist, immediately being able to grab almost half of it given your size differences and his other hand cups your jaw, tilting your head to the side to gain better access.

Your hand travels down to the waistline of his sweatpants, pushing your hand inside, feeling strained cock from inside his underwear as your fingers skillfully stroke it.

"Mmmm-" You hum, pushing Toshi off lightly. "We need to take a shower first, we've been sweaty for hours." You tell him, your hand still going up and down his shaft.

He sighs, pulling your hand out of his pants before pulling you inside his bathroom. Inside, he pins you against the wall, his lips on yours as he begins to lift your shirt, only breaking the kiss when a piece of clothing has to come off from around your heads. He pushes your shorts down along with your underwear, letting them pool around your ankles. He pulls your body closer to him, the tip of his clothed cock pressing against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

With one hand, he clasps the lock of your bra behind you, letting it fall on the floor along with your other clothes as his other hand begins toying with your pussy.

"You feel so wet down there. Was it when my teammates were staring at you?" He growls, making you lift a questioning brow. "What... What are you talking about?" You breathe out, sucking in your bottom lip in between your teeth as you grind your hips against his hand, greedy for more friction.

"You like it when my teammates are watching you? Watching as those small fuckin shorts get caught in between your ass? Hmm?" Toshi pushes a fingers inside making you mewl, your walls clenching around it, wanting more. "You like it when people watch you?"

You shake your head, moaning out profanities as you dig your nails on the skin of his shoulders, still rolling your hips and still wanting more of him.

"N-no, no! I only want you to watch me, Toshi!" You whine, moaning loudly once again when he pushes yet again another finger. He scissors his fingers inside you as your walls clench around them hungrily, greedy for more. "You're fucking mine, you got that?" He grits, thrusting his fingers inside you, hitting the particular bundle of nerves again and again leaving you screaming in pleasure with just two of his fingers.

"Yes! Yes, oh yes! I'm yours, Toshi! Fuck!" Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling yourself shake as you cum around his fingers, your cunt squelching around them. You breathe heavily, rolling your hips as you ride out your orgasm.

Toshi takes his fingers out, causing you to whine unconsciously when your hole begins tightening around nothing. He places his hands on either of your lower thighs, pulling you up and hugging your legs around his waist as he leads you to his shower.

He puts you down, making sure you can stand by yourself before hooking his thumbs on either side of his sweats, pulling them down, letting them pool around his ankles. Your gaze is immediately on his member, it's looks so hard and red, the size much bigger than usual and precum is currently seeping out of it.

"Like what you see?" Toshi smirks, this whole side of him completely taking you off guard. You love it. You twist the shower knob on before getting on your knees before him. He steps forward towards you, watching you as you take his dick into your small hands.

You look up at him from below, opening your mouth as widely as you can, rolling your tongue out. You begin by giving his precum-covered head some kitten licks, cleaning it up beforetaking half of his length in your mouth. You hollow your mouth, pushing your head lower as you feel his tip already hit the back of your throat.

"Yeah, take that dick like you want it for dinner. My cockslut..." He hisses, taking you by the hair. He tugs on a fistful of your hair, causing you to roll your eyes back in pleasure and moan loudly, the vibration stirring your boyfriend up even more. He begins thrusting his hips slowly, throwing his head back as you play with his balls and the rest of him that you couldn't take in your mouth.

"That's right, lap up my cock so fucking good, angel. That's right- ah! oh god..." His breathing becomes irregular and his thrusts slowly become more frantic. The tip of his dick continues abusing the back of your throat and tears begin to pool on the corners of your eyes, your cunt dripping wet at the thought of your boyfriend face fucking you at this moment.

Your hand plays with your pussy, drawing circles around and on the clit, chasing after Toshi so the two of you can cum together. "That's right, you're mine. This mouth is mine, and I'm not fucking sharing you with anyone." He seethes, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier by the second until he thrusts particularly deep inside your mouth, the tip of his dick going down your throat as he cums inside you, hot liquid going down your throat has your pussy clenching around your own fingers.

He pulls out, watching as you swallow his load until your mouth is empty of his white seed. The corner of Toshi's hand twitches into a smirk as he wipes a thumb over your bottom lip, immediately you suck on it as you look up at him teasingly.

"Let's wash up, darling." He pulls you up, taking his shampoo bottle and squirting a small amount on his palm, wiping it on your hair continuously until it begins to bubble up. He then proceeds to pour his body wash all over your body, hands roaming around you.

He presses kisses on the shell of your ear as he massages and squeezes your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples before going down and washing your slippiery folds. He copies what he did to your breast down to your ass, kneading them like fine bread before guiding you when the water is hitting. As you wash off the soap suds, he pours the same kind of shampoo on his head, combing his fingers through his soap-sud covered hair before following it by lathering his soap all over his body. His hands go up and down his well defined abs and pecks, teasing you as he slowly trails it down to his shaft.

He watches you watch him clean himself, letting you pull him closer to you, letting himself be hit by the running water. Once all the soap is rinsed off, you step away from him and take a towel, drying off your hair infront of the mirror.

You watch in the reflection as Toshi walks out of the shower and towards you, his usual indifferent expression across his face. He runs his haze down your figure before pulling on your towel, setting it down on the counter.

He leans forward, trapping you between him and the counter as he places both of his hands on either sides of your body. "I didn't like how my teammates watched you a while ago." He admits, his hands clenching on the counter. "I don't think they understand how you're mine and only mine." He whispers against the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling shivers down your spine.

"Why won't you make me yours?" You challenge him, looking at him dead in the eye. He looks at you for a second, two seconds, three- he spins you around, pressing his lips against yours.

"You're playing a really dangerous game, darling, and I'm not in the best mood tonight." He growls through the kiss, his tongue more aggressive and lips harsher than usual. "Show me how to play it, maybe I'll get to know the rules and it won't be as dangerous as you say it is." You shoot back, running your hands all over his naked torso, feeling ever elevation and dip of his sculpted chest and abs underneath the pads of your fingertips.

Toshi growls into the kiss, turning you around once again and pushing you down on the counter. He presses his tip against your dripping folds, slowly entering you as to not hurt you in any way. He lets you adjust to his size for a few moments and the moment you begin rolling your hips, he combs his fingers through your damp hair, pulling on it and forcing you to see yourself being fucked in front of the mirror.

He thrusts relentlessly into you, the tip of his cock hitting places your fingers never hit before. Your jaw hangs open as you moan loudly, taken in a trance at the feeling of your boyfriend abusing the certain bundle of nerves inside you.

Toshi lifts a leg up on your side, the feeling becoming more and more overwhelming as his thrusts become deeper, much faster and harder. Your walls clamp around him tightly, making him click his tongue. "Yeah that's it, this pussy is all fucking mine, isn't it."

He pulls at your hair, letting go of it before cupping your face, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. "Look at you. Look at how lewd you are right now. You feeling good clamping down on my cock like that?" He asks, his thrusts never once slowing down. The feeling becomes overwhelming to the point where you couldn't form words, and instead you nod your head as to not make a fool out of yourself.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel the knot tighten in your belly, your jaw hangs open as drool begins to drip out the corner of your mouth. Your boyfriend breathes heavily into your ear, "Wanna cum? You wanna cum right now?"

"Ye-yeah... yeah fuck...wanna...wanna cum... let... let me...cum...." You lose your capability to form coherent sentences and capability to talk. "I'm fucking you so dumb right now, aren't I?" Toshi smirks, shoving two of his fingers inside your mouth, pressing them on your tongue as he watches you make a mess out of yourself.

Your moans fill the bathroom completely and you feel yourself hanging by a thread, simoly waiting for a word, that one ward that'll have you releasing so hard your legs are for sure going to give out. Just one word-

"Alright my darling, you deserve this." Toshi growls into your ear, letting go of your face in the process. "Cum."

You cum all over his cock, your clenching walls trying to milk him of his own release. Your back arches and toes curl as your boyfriend continues thrusting inside you, thrusts becoming sloppy and uneven as well as his breath.

Once you finish, he pulls out, cumming all over your ass, hot white ropes of his release reaching all over your ass, back and some even on your hair. He moans loudly, throwing his head back as he presses his length on your ass. The two of you stay there panting for a good minute, soaking in what you just did before Toshi begins pulling away. He looks at his artwork on you, mentally patting himself and telling himself 'good job' before he snakes an arm around your limp body.

"Come on, I'll wash you up." He carries you back to the shower, once again going through the process of soaping your body to make sure you're clean before setting you down on his counter. You flinch and hiss at the contact of your pussy on his counter, it hurt.

Toshi kisses you all over you face, muttering apologies about being too harsh in return you tell him it wasn't his fault at all. He dries up your body and hair, letting you brush your teeth before carrying you to his bed. He dresses you up in his clothes and takes out your special kit- basically a box full of skin care products in case you slept over.

"I'll do your skin care for you, just lay down and relax yourself. He says, sitting cross legged on the floor as he rummages through the products inside the box. You look at him, smiling to yourself and asking yourself how the hell you got so lucky to score someone like him. "Do you want charcoal or a strawberry mask tonight?" He asks, holding up two of your favorite mask packs.

You place your hand on his cheek, caressing it softly. "I love you." You whisper out, his eyes widening as it catches him off guard. Toshi feels his heart sink to his tummy as butterflies flutter and dance all over it. He smiles, a faint blush across his cheek. "I love you more." He kisses the tip of your nose.

Toshi then proceeds to just stare at you for a few moments before looking like he snaps out of his trance. A deep blush takes over his face as he buries his face on your chest in embarrassment. You laugh loudly, asking him what was going on.

"You're too cute, I'm never sharing you or this side of you to anyone." He mumbles against your chest, making you smile widely. He turns his head to the side, eyelids halfway down, "I'm greedy for you and only you. Never sharing you with anyone, ever."

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

part v

~

cw: homophobic encounter.

~

November

November shadows, 

shade November change

November spells sweet memory, 

the season blue remains

~

“Lo!” Finn called. “Guess who just got traded to the Rags.”

Cool dread spun its way into Logan’s chest at full force. He felt the point of one of his hips knock against the counter. “Quoi?”

“Marshy and Morgs!” Finn said, and the appeared around the corner into the kitchen, red hair a mess. “Like, together. Like us.”

“These were Harvard teammates, yeah?” Leo asked, spooning sugar into Logan’s coffee.

“Like us?” Logan said. “They’re dating?”

“Oh, no,” Finn laughed. “I just meant together, like, at the same time. Around the same time, I guess I should say.”

“Wow,” Logan nodded, which prompted Finn to imitate the way he said wow, drawing out the W’s. Logan smiled, lifting his cup to his mouth. “We could visit them over the next free weekend maybe.”

“Damn, that’d be a blast to the past.”

“What are they like?” Leo asked, leaning into Logan’s side.

“You’d love Will. Will Morgan, Morgs,” Logan said. “Really level-headed, probably the nicest person I know. Marshy…”

“Percy Marshall is one crazy motherfucker,” Finn said, and poured his own cup of coffee, black.

Logan leaned into mock-whisper to Leo. “And Finn gets insane when they’re together.”

Finn shot him a look, but continued. “Best way to say it. He’ll party until the sun, he’s crazy superstitious—worse than Cap and Loops combined—and he’s also,” Finn slid onto a stool. “One of the hardest working guys you’ll ever met. Probably the hardest working.” Finn’s smile was one Logan’s favorite one, made even more so by the fact that he got to see it directed at Leo. “Until I met you, that is, Nut.”

Leo let out a pleased laugh and let Logan brush a hand through his hair. “Well, they’re in our division now. I’ll get to meet them.”

“Oh, man, we’re in for a fucking treat when we play New York next,” Finn grinned. “Gonna hit the town hard.”

Leo snorted. “You guys might.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “I know everyone we need to know.”

“And I can finally tell you,” Logan began. “That the first time you dragged me around New York knowing ever person you saw, I loved you.”

Finn blushed a little and let Leo pull him to settle in the V of his legs from where he was leaning back against the counter. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them.”

Logan nodded, but part of his chest pulled. He cleared his throat. “Ouais. Also…”

When he paused, Leo tapped their socked toes together encouragingly.

Logan shrugged and looked down into his coffee. He thought of Finn’s quick breaths when they took the Cup back to Harvard. He thought of kissing him in their old room. He thought of everything before. Percy and Will were a part of all of that. Not directly, maybe, but Logan knew what seeing them again would do.

“Memories,” Finn said, and Leo nudged him.

“Don’t say it for him.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Memories,” Logan agreed. “Good and bad.”

~

Remus missed the net three times in fifteen minutes, and only barely managed to keep himself from breaking his stick against the boards. He would be embarrassed afterwards if he had, but could it really be so much worse than the way that he felt now?

He accepted Thomas’ fist bump as he passed him going into the locker room and sat down heavily in his stall. The game had been close, but the Devils had won out in the end. He glanced at some of the assistant coaches, who were murmuring together. There was no guarantee it was about him, but it still felt as thought it was. Sirius was talking with Evgeni, Evgeni’s loud laugh warming up the room. Remus stripped out of his sweaty uniform quickly and was headed for the showers with a towel around his waist when someone slapped him on the back.

“It’s decided,” Logan’s accent came from beside him. He wasn’t bothering with his towel, which was slung over his bare shoulder. The fleur-de-lis tattoo on his hip—and everything else—was on full display. “Me and Talker are taking you out tonight.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?”

Logan just smiled. “No boyfriends. No hockey. We have a day off tomorrow, so no pressure. Just some drinks.”

“And some pool, maybe,” Thomas said, coming up to Remus’ other side. “What do you say, Loops? Fun, eh?”

“Okay, one of you is butt-naked right now and the other is in a three-piece suit. I’m going to say yes and shower, all right?”

Thomas gave a whoop, and Remus couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he dropped his towel in the change room and turned on the hot water. He felt like a sling-shot lately, being catapulted one way, and then in the opposite direction. He guessed he should feel thankful that his friends could pick him up like that, and he did, but another part of him caved in beneath the sheer affection.

I’m letting you down.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and looked over his shoulder when he felt a gentle, quick kiss against the back of his neck.

“Bonsoir,” Sirius said with a soft smile, and went to the shower head beside him.

“Hi,” Remus smiled back. “Beautiful goal tonight.”

He watched the water lace over Sirius’ tan skin, darkening his hair further as he pushed it back, away from his face. “You’re beautiful.”

“Hey, Olli,” Finn called across the showers, making Olli look over at him. “You’re fucking beautiful, man.”

Olli just squeezed shampoo into his palm. “I know that, Harzy.”

Sirius’ laugh echoed through the showers, joined by others, and Remus let it warm around him like the steam.

“Apparently Tremz and Talkie are taking me out tonight,” he said to Sirius as they walked back into the locker room.

“Tremz,” Sirius called over to him. “Ouch.”

“Pas de capitaines,” Logan waved him off and went back to looking at whatever Leo was showing him on his phone. Sirius laughed and looked back to Remus.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Wake me up when you come in if I’m asleep.”

“And go to bed without a kiss?” Remus glanced down at the towel slung low across Sirius’ hips, then back up to his bright silver eyes. “I’d never.”

Sirius smiled and kissed him, but Remus felt the unspoken settling between them. Sirius had stopped bringing up wanting to help with Remus’ shortcomings on the ice. Remus knew he had brought that upon himself with refusals after refusals to talk about it, but now it felt more like a thing. An object. An ugly vase in the corner of the room.

Maybe he really did need to go out tonight.

Thomas settled in his stall beside Remus. “We’re gonna go to Red’s, yeah?”

Remus nodded as he pulled his gray t-shirt over his head. He held up his dark jeans. “I can wear this, right?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m not wearing this thing,” Thomas picked at the lapel of his suit. “Noelle already screen shotted the snapchat I sent her. Why keep it on now?”

Remus just laughed. “All right, Talkie. Lead the way.”

Red’s bar was shoved up against the side of a larger block of buildings in Gryffindor. Remus glanced up, one or two stars were poking through the increasingly cooling loud cover. Inside it was warm, though. Foggy in the way some rooms get when there are lots of happy people in them. Logan had chosen a long-sleeved, dark gray cotton shirt, so thin that Remus could see each ridge of his defined muscles and his necklace, too.

“What the fuck happens when that thing gets wet?” Remus snorted, plucking at it as they waited for their drinks at the bar.

“I’ll pretend we had a fight,” Thomas said. “Throw a drink on you, find out.”

Logan just eyed them suspiciously as they leaned against the bar. “You guys are strange.”

Thomas just flagged the bartender, stretching the white material of his thin knit sweater. He ordered a whiskey, Logan a rum and coke, and Remus opted for a lighter gin and tonic. They still had a game on barely 72 hours. Not that anyone was that much of a light weight, but he didn’t want any assumptions being made, any photographs taken that could put him in a worse light than he already was.

“I know what this is, you know,” he said after Logan and Thomas’ intense COD debate had gone on too long. They both looked over at him, the picture of innocence. Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Media’s a bitch,” Thomas said. “That’s all this is. Hockey’s hard. You can’t help that you live with Cap, who makes it all look like a piece of cake.”

Logan laughed. “I think Cap would disagree. He stinks after games, mon dieu.”

Remus and Thomas shared a look. “And you don’t?”

“Finn likes it,” Logan smirked. “Gets him going.”

“Are you sure its the stench and not the muscles?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Logan waved him off. “I’m not talking about this with you two. We’re here for Loops.”

Remus groaned. “Guys…it’s not…I mean every player goes through this, right?”

They both nodded.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “But it doesn’t help that some people—“

“Assholes,” Logan amended.

“Right. It doesn’t help that some assholes don’t think you deserve to be here.”

Remus tilted his glass towards him. “Yeah.”

“We just think…” Logan began uncertainly, tongue poking out to wet his full bottom lip. “Look, I love Cap. He’s like a brother. But he’s intense. For him…sometimes hockey solves hockey.”

Remus wavered. “Yes and no.”

“We just thought you might want some other ears,” Thomas offered a smile. “I mean we can’t offer a feel good night of lovin’ to make you feel better…”

Remus snorted. “Right. You know, Talkie, that’s exactly what Sirius calls it.”

Thomas cracked up, too. “But we can offer drinks. And, you know…”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Ears?”

“Right,” Thomas nodded. “Look at Tremzy over here, finishing my sentences.”

Remus let his smile die down a little. “I…thanks, guys. I mean, I love talking to Sirius, but I also…he is the Captain. He’s a representation of all of us. I feel a little…” Remus took a slow breath, not sure if he was even ready for the words to come out of his mouth. “I feel a little like I’m letting him, and you all, down sometimes.”

“Aw, Loops,” Thomas said, voice softened.

“I know,” Remus sighed. “It’s just…it creeps in sometimes.”

Remus watched Logan swallow. “I get it. If there’s anything I can understand it’s guilt.”

“Tremz,” Remus said comfortingly. “I guess I should listen to my own advice here, but it’s not your fault. I can be ears, too, you know.”

“Is this…” Thomas said quietly. “Carrot?”

They both stared at him. “Carrot?”

“Code names,” Thomas whispered, even though the tables were noisy and the bar was somewhat empty.

Logan laughed a little, and nodded.

Remus waited. Logan gathered thoughts slowly, carefully. Interrupting, he’d learned while talking with Leo, tended to scatter them. He was also happy that the spotlight wasn’t entirely on him anymore.

“I found him at Harvard,” Logan began, swallowing dryly despite the drink in his hand. “And I was a mess. And then we spent that year apart, and I was a mess. And then I found him again, in Gryffindor, and I was a mess. I fell in love with Leo and I was a mess.” He looked at them, eyes pleading, then back down at his drink. “I am so, so happy now. It worked out. I can’t believe my luck. I wake up so fucking happy every morning. Every little look at them, my life with them, is incredible.”

Remus and Thomas waited some more. Thomas sent Remus a half smile across him, then leaned his cheek on his fist.

Finally, Logan finished. “But I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t a mess without them.” He closed his eyes, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, it really does. Tremz, I get it.” He tilted his glass, making his ice cubes stir the liquid inside. “You’re someone when you’re with who you love. But you gotta be your own someone, too.”

“Ouais,” Logan was already nodded. “Right, like…Re, you’re you, no matter what. Leo, he’s the same way. Finn, too.”

Remus sighed. “I’m not so sure right now. But I think what you’re saying makes sense. Tremz, you’re allowed to want that for yourself. It’s not a slight to the boys. At all.”

Logan laughed, still laced with frustration. He rubbed at his eyes. “But I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

Remus smiled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a pretty level-headed duo in your corner. I mean, Finn’s Finn.”

Thomas snorted. “Might take him a second.”

Logan smiled and it was fond. “Yeah.”

“But Leo…” Remus snapped his fingers. “He’ll get it. They both will.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the bar. “I’m not asking for space. I don’t want space. I don’t want anything to change I just want to stop feeling like I’ll crash and burn by myself.”

“Me too,” Remus admitted. “Maybe in a different way, but…me too.”

“I don’t know if I feel like I’m gonna crash,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “But hey, life’s tough sometimes.” He smiled and raised his glass. “Friends.”

They clinked their glasses together, laughing, the conversation turning to organizing a pick-up game in the park that weekend—if it didn’t snow. 

“Gotta use the big WC, gents,” Thomas said after a while, picking up his crutches. “Then pool?”

“Who the hell calls it that?” Remus snorted.

“Me,” Thomas called over his shoulder, politely excusing his way through the crowd with his charming smile and causing a few longing looks to follow him at his back.

Logan drained the last of his rum and coke. “You don’t feel like Cap’s putting pressure on you, do you?”

Remus looked at him, eyes widening for a moment. “God, no. No, he’s been nothing but supportive. It’s mostly me, I think. He even wants to talk about it. Sometimes I just…can’t.”

Logan nodded. “Good. No, good, I just thought I’d ask. When I first met him, he’d get like that with me sometimes. Wanting to run extra drills or talk through tape. I snapped at him for it a bit. This was before he was really who he is now.”

“Parents were lingering in him,” Remus nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

A man came to lean against the bar beside Remus, then, and Remus shot him a smile that he hoped looked friendly rather than uneasy. The guy was really in his space. He shared a look with Logan, who’s shoulders were rounded a little in alert, green eyes narrowed in on the guy.

“You’re Lupin, eh?” the man said.

Remus sighed softly, looking down at his now watery drink. He should’ve known.

“Yep,” he replied, and looked at the man. He had two friends, hovering a little ways back.

“What’s going on this season, huh?”

The worst part was that the man was smiling, as if he thought this conversation was going to go well.

“I mean, I know you’re with the Captain and all,” the man said. “But, I mean…come on. Some of us care about how the team does.”

“Excuse me?” Remus replied.

The man tilted his head, looking mockingly regretful. “It’s not just about you.”

“Okay,” Remus said, keeping his voice flat.

“What he do to get you there?” the man asked, leaning in like they were friends. “I mean, like…some type of reward, or does he already give you those at home?”

Remus flushed. “I think we’re done talking.”

At least his friends had the decency to look a little nervous.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Fuck off, man,” Logan said in a low tone.

“What,” he sneered. “You got yourself a boyfriend, too, Tremblay?”

Logan was on his feet then, stools screeching back, taller than the man, stronger. Remus’ arm shot out against his chest, keeping him and his balled fists back. The man’s friend stepped forward, too.

“Whoa, Mike,” one of the friends said, hesitating. “That’s not why we…that’s not what this is.”

“Oh,” Thomas scoffed, announcing himself as he made his way back to them. He somehow made his crutches and boot look threatening. “Wrong type of harassment for you, my guy?”

The fans’ eyes went large. “Talker…”

Thomas just stared at them, and Remus watched him go from Thomas Walker with his friends to Thomas Walker on the ice, defensemen. Enforcer. “Only my friends call me that. Sit down at your own table or get out.”

Thomas shouldered through them, one crutch landing briefly on Mike’s shoe, who only just bit back a groan. Thomas was all bright, sharp grin as he sat down, leaning his crutches against the bar again. He waved the bartender over, then looked at Mike who was still standing there.

“Do I have say it again for you?” Logan snarled. “Trust me, you don’t want me to.”

Logan sat down slowly as the three men backed up and turned away. Remus pressed a thankful hand to his shoulder, also meant to calm him down a bit.

“Well, that was fun,” Thomas sighed. “Jesus. We take you out to forget about it and those three show up.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, though his heart was pounding. “I’m surprised that was the first time it happened. Had a close call at the grocery store the other day.”

“Another round?” Logan asked. “Then pool?”

“Ouais,” Remus smiled, in his best impression of Sirius.

~

Most of November passed without change. Remus felt the stagnant ball of frustration in his stomach. He and Sirius cooked together, slowly mastering more and more recipes. Remus lived for the triumphant look on Sirius’ face when a dish came out just right. He went out with Logan and Thomas, with James and Sirius, Finn and Jackson and Kasey. He never felt more at home than when he was tucked against Sirius’ side at a team dinner, watching Logan toss food into Finn’s mouth from across the table, hollering when he caught it and then ruffling an embarrassed Leo’s hair, who was shushing them.

The weather had officially turned to Gryffindor winter, biting harsher and harsher with each night. It got to the point where Marlene started bugging them all about the Christmas video—for the fans, she kept insisting. Come on guys, it’ll be fun!

Evgeni seemed to be the only one who was truly game for it.

Remus wasn’t unhappy, but the media was growing more and more aggravated with him, the fans’ patience was running thin like ice, and now Arthur had started sending him glancing looks until, finally, he pulled Remus into his office as the boys were packing up.

The ball rolled around Remus’ ribs, fighting for space with his heart, and he sat in the leather chair across from Arthur’s desk.

Arthur took off his glasses, which was a bad sign. He didn’t say anything for a long time and Remus didn’t have the courage to make him.

“I know,” Remus finally said, and then his throat choked up. “I’m…”

“I don’t want any apologies,” Arthur said. “And, God, Lupin, I didn’t bring you in here to yell at your so get that look off your face.”

Remus blinked through the scarce relief and looked down at his hands.

“Media’s being real tough, I know,” Arthur sighed. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Remus said. “I’m just…it’s not connecting, I…I don’t know. Maybe I could put in more time one-on-one with one of the coaches. Or ground work with the trainers. I know we’re about to go on the road. Maybe tomorrow morning before practice.”

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. “If you’d like. But overworking yourself isn’t gonna help if that’s not the issue. Frankly, I don’t think skill is the issue. You’re a beautiful skater out there. You’re wicked fast and can misdirect hits like I’ve never seen. But…”

“No net,” Remus mumbled.

Arthur looked regretful. “No net.”

Remus nodded. “I’m working on it. I’m doing everything I can.”

“I don’t doubt that, Remus. Really. Don’t think I do. I’ll be seeing you at the Dumais Thanksgiving, yeah?” Arthur asked.

Remus nodded, spared a smile. “Of course.”

Arthur smiled back and rose. He clapped Remus on the back as he opened the door to his office again. “Good. Try and relax over the break, okay? I know it’s short, but sometimes its less work that pays off. It doesn’t always have to be more.” He looked up. “Ah, another young rascal I’ve had to say that to.”

Remus looked up to see Sirius’ smile, his dark hair curling against his neck, but otherwise tucked under a thick black winter hat. Every muscle in Remus’ body eased at the sight of him. He wanted to wrap himself up in Sirius, tuck himself inside of his winter coat and never leave.

“Cap,” Arthur gave him a nod. “See you for Turkey. Who you’ve got for the big game?”

Sirius just shrugged. “American football. Who cares?”

Arthur made a wounded noise—and another one came from Leo and Thomas down the hall as they were bundling up for the cold. Evgeni was holding Thomas’ crutches for him as Jackson helped him into his coat. Remus cracked up and took the warm palm Sirius held out. They walked down the hallway that smelled familiar and warm, under toned by the scent of carpet and cleaner that, had it been any stronger, would have been unpleasant, but it just added to the familiarity.

The garage door rattled shut behind them as Sirius unlocked their back door, letting them into their warm kitchen. Remus shook out of his coat, hanging it in the closet and rubbing his hands together. With his coat and bag, he tried to drop everything else at the door. This was his and Sirius’ space. This wasn’t a rink, or a locker room, or the press room. Theirs. The word was warmer than the heat Sirius had set to come on a half hour before they got home.

“I’m starving,” he said. “What do you feel like? I maybe want pasta.”

“I feel like you,” came the reply from behind him.

Remus’ smile was slow and he turned to see a glint in Sirius’ eye. “What is it, the cold weather? You’ve been all riled up after games lately.”

Sirius just grinned, hands squeezing Remus’ hips. “I love watching you out there.” He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek, his neck and his nose, between each phrase. “I love your face, I love your feet, I love your shoulders, and the way you bite the finger of your glove while you watch the game between shifts.” The kisses got considerably more heavy, lingering and accompanied by the the brush of a tongue and teeth. “I love the way you cradle a puck and the way you tape your stick. The way your hair sticks to your neck.”

Remus just smiled, eyes closed. “I’ve been playing like shit.”

“Nu-uh,” Sirius said, and Remus whined a little at the next nip, letting Sirius rock him back against the kitchen counter. “Slumps are normal. You play amazing. Just no points. Shit and slumps,” Sirius said, and Remus’ mouth went dry as he was lowering himself to his knees. “Shit and slumps are different.”

Remus let out a laugh. “Aren’t those the words to turn a guy on.”

Sirius just grinned and bit at his pants zipper. “I love you.”

“Better choice.”

Sirius carefully pulled Remus’ zipper down. “Can I? Here?”

Remus only reply was tugging Sirius’ hat free to get at his hair, the thick strands weaving between his fingers. He could already feel himself getting interested, pressing against the slip of his boxers by Sirius’ proximity alone.

“Sirius Black,” Remus sighed as Sirius nuzzled against him.  He stroked over his hair, overwhelmed with how much every part of Sirius meant to him. “I love you.”

Sirius took one of the hands Remus had in his hair by and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Remus let Sirius’ mouth fuzz his mind out, moaning softly at his hollowed out cheeks, laughing at the gentle nips to his hips and thighs. After, Sirius kissed him against the counter until both of their stomachs growled. Remus pressed his mouth against Sirius’ flushed hot cheek.

“I feel like a million bucks, thanks, baby.”

Sirius just smiled, tucking himself away.

It was true. Remus felt home. Settled. Almost as if he could forget the conversation today. Maybe even like he wanted to go down the the basement rink, just for fun, which he hadn’t felt like in a while.

“D’accord,” Remus sing-songed. “We have pasta or chicken or both.”

Sirius grinned. “Both.”

They were mostly quiet as they cooked, bumping hips, iPhone playing softly through their speakers. Remus watched the way Sirius kept his fingers carefully curled away from the knife, like Remus’ mom had taught him that summer. His tongue peaked out of the corner of his mouth, the same way it did when he was carrying a puck up the ice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked softly as Remus minced garlic.

Remus glanced over at him, then kept his eyes on his fingers, so close to the sharp blade. “Um. Coach says it’s not my fault. He says I’m playing well. It’s just…pointless.”

“C’est pas—”

“No, not like pointless, like, pointless. Like I’m not getting net.”

“Ah.”

They smiled at each other, Remus’ a little shakier.

“Yeah.”

I feel like I’m letting you down.

“I feel…” Remus began, and the words caught. “Um. I mean, it’ll get better. It has to.”

Sirius’ expression flickered, but he nodded. “Mhm.”

“Do you feel like a white sauce?” Remus asked, turning to the refrigerator. “Go well with the chicken.”

“Sure,” Sirius nodded. “Sounds perfect, mon loup.”

Remus took a long breath as he opened the refrigerator doors, maybe taking longer than necessary to find the half & half. He was angry at himself. He didn’t know why the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He didn’t want pity, he supposed. He didn’t want Sirius to feel like he had to comfort him. Remus closed his eyes.

He’d do better.

~

Leo and Finn had their shoulders pressed together, each with their own book in their hands, when Logan opened the apartment door.

“Got the cream,” Logan raised the shopping back, and Leo all but leapt from the cushions.

“Yeah you do,” Finn said without looking up.

“Thank you,” Leo slid on his socks in his rush to get to Logan. He pressed his palms to Logan’s cold cheeks, kissing him in a quick burst. “Thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Logan smiled as Leo scurried back into the kitchen to finish making his part of the the American Thanksgiving dinner Pascal was hosting.

“I can’t believe I ran out,” Leo said, stirring something on the stove.

“It’s fine, Le,” Logan said, shrugging out of his jacket and following him in. “Happy to get you whatever you need.”

Leo turned, a touched pout on his face, and Logan beat him to it this time with a slower kiss of his own. Leo tasted like the caramel he had had them all taste test earlier and Logan licked into his mouth eagerly.

“I love you, too,” Logan mumbled.

Leo’s expression softened in the way it always did when one of them said that. Maybe Logan wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe his luck.

“Want to peel sweet potatoes?” Leo asked with a hopeful grin, and Logan laughed.

“Sure, soleil.”

Finn gasped from the couch, eyes on his book, glasses on his nose. “They kissed. I fucking knew they would.”

Leo gasped, too. “No. Harzy, spoilers, you’re faster than me.”

Logan looked between them. “Are you guys reading the same book again, like, next to each other?”

“Sorry,” Finn said, but he was gripping the book like another secret might spill out. “And yes.”

Leo pressed a peeler into his hands with another kiss, this one fast and skittering across his cheekbone.

“I love both of you,” Logan sighed as he picked up the first potato. “You’re weird.”

Finn closed his book without marking his place and heaved himself up with a groan, cracking his back. He came to sit at the bar counter across from where Logan was peeling.

“Thanks for the help, Harz,” Logan said.

“I don’t like it when my hands smell like potato.”

Leo laughed. “Sweetheart, how’d you ever survive on your own?”

“Take out,” Finn and Logan answered at the same time.

“And catering,” Finn added. “I think the NHL is used to boys who can’t cook. Marlene just slid the caterer’s card into my hand without a word.”

Leo just shook his head. “She tried the same thing on me. Honey, please.”

Logan and Finn shared a smile, both turning to gaze at Leo’s back.

“How much time do we have?” Leo asked.

“Like, two hours, babe, you’re good,” Finn said.

“Do I have time to ravish you in your glasses?” Logan asked.

Finn raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, these old things? You want to wear them?”

Logan dropped his peeler and walked around the counter. He spun Finn to face him on the stool and Finn’s feet hooked around his calves, holding him there. “Non.”

Finn smiled, leaning forward to nip at Logan’s bottom lip and pull.

“Tremblay, potatoes.”

Logan groaned and Finn gave his butt a firm slap as he pulled away. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

~

“Uh, hey dad,” Cole cleared his throat. “It’s me. I just um. I’m in Pascal Dumais’ house. Can you believe that? Uh, I just wanted to say…you know, happy Thanksgiving, and all that. Maybe you can come out to a game soon? Yeah…let me know, I can get you tickets. Okay. Okay, see you. Merry—or happy Thanksgiving. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

Cole sighed as he put his phone down and looked around the Dumais’ sitting room. It was tidy, with food laid out every table, ready for guests. Cole, after that phone call, already felt tired.

There was a knock on the doorframe and he turned to see Layla, smiling at him hesitantly. She held out a glass of a deep colored wine. “I thought maybe you’d want some.”

“Oh, I can’t, uh…” Cole began.

Layla snorted. “Me neither, but…” she glanced around the tall-ceilinged living room. “Who’s gonna tell? Dumo? Please.”

Cole laughed a little and took the thin stem from her fingers. “Thank you.”

Layla nodded, bending for a cheese and cracker. “That sounded a little tough. If you don’t mind me saying.”

Cole pocketed his phone. “It’s not really. Well…maybe now it is. But I don’t think of him that way, of this that way. He’s a good father.”

He sounded defensive even to himself and sighed. “When he decides to be.”

“He hard on you?” Layla asked. She took a seat on the couch and Cole glanced around before settling on the ottoman of one of the fat leather chairs. “About all this?”

“Hockey?” Cole said, then laughed. “No. No way, he doesn’t give a shit about ice hockey. My mom got me into hockey. My dad still hopes I’ll be, like, I don’t know…I don’t know what.”

Layla frowned. “It’s not like you could’ve been a money-bags doctor and chose to paint watercolors instead?”

Cole cracked a smile. “Yeah…Yeah, he sort of skipped around a lot before I actually started getting good.”

“Oh,” Layla said softly.

The doorbell rang. And then rang again and again, like someone was jamming their finger into it repeatedly.

“Tremzy!” he heard Katie shriek a moment later.

Warm voices filled the hall.

Cole rose and, after a moment, offered Layla a hand. She smiled, letting him pull her up. “It’s not as sob-story as it sounds.”

“I get it,” Layla nodded. “My older sister skipped altogether when I was little. Still don’t know why. I know it’s not the same but…”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said.

Layla just smiled, one of her bright ones, and wrapped her hand—gold rings and all—around his arm. “Come on. Shit’s about to get wild.”

“And delicious,” Cole said, turning towards the smells coming from the kitchen.

Layla laughed, and Cole wanted to hear that sound twenty more times.

[bonelessghoul]

the witcher and the sea (2)

Summary: A lot can happen in just one day. For the Princess and the Witcher, as a newfound trust finally begins to form between them, she only becomes more persistent in breaking every rule and challenging him. As Geralt adapts to Skellige and tries to find a plan to stop the Drowners with Moira’s help, more secrets of the Princess’s life come about and their new bond is put to the test when her friends are found to be in danger. But the Witcher soon realizes that one cannot say no to a Princess.

Words: 8.8k 

note: heyooo not really sure how many people will read this but hope those who do enjoy it!! Please give your feedback, reblog, like, and all that fun stuff. I tried to make this a little longer and more packed than the last part so I hope you all like it :)

Part One |...| Part Three

The morning came earlier than Moira would have liked with Saorise and a few of the handmaids entering her room at the crack of dawn with gowns for tonights feast.

“Good morning, Princess.” Saorise chimed.

In response, Moira turned on her side to face away from the curtains that were drawn open and she pulled the thick, silky blue blanket above her shoulders as she braced for the chilly air that came in from the open doors to her balcony.

“The guests won’t be arriving til noon, Saorise.” Moira groaned.

“That may be so, but your brother Eist has returned from Cintra.”

While she still wished to catch a few more hours of sleep, Moira sat up in bed and rubbed her crusted eyes as they adjusted to the pale morning light from the overcast skies. She hadn’t seen her brother all week and part of her found the motivation to spring up out of bed knowing he was arriving earlier than expected.

Saiorise was grabbing her a subtle dress to wear for the day from the wardrobe opposite of her bed, but Moira’s eyes were focused on the ones the handmaids brought in that were resting over chairs. They were surely sent by Birna who, despite dressing like a crow, picked out dresses that resembled the Turiseach’s colors of blues and silvers alike. Her eyes had immediately found the one in the middle.

It was the least tacky of blues, resembling the color of the ocean that reflected grey skies in its variety of tulley and netting. The corset was a light shade of blue, but hardly noticeable underneath the gold and silver sequins over the dark blue floral like fabric that spanned across the bust and just below her waist. There was a cape attached to it, hard over her shoulders and neck but the sleeves attached to it were sheer and the same color as the dress itself. That too shared the same dense silver and gold embroidery as her dress, and short silver chains connected it to the top of her corset.

Every little detail of the gown that Moira took in only made her eyes widen more and more with admiration.

“If you want me to get out of bed, Saorise, I think I would like to put on one of those dresses now.”

“Would you like us to prep you for the evening now, my Lady?” one of the maids asked.

Looking over at her Mage as she slipped out from under the covers, bare fit hitting the icy cold floor, the woman shrugged at her.

“Well, at least you will be spared from Birna harassing you to get ready today.”

Moira took a quick bath to freshen up, the sea breeze that blew in through her open balcony surely waking her up when her wet skin met the chilled air. But once she slipped into the gown and took a seat by the vanity her late sister once used, it was easier to listen to the duties she would have today as the guests arrived.

The Mage sat beside her, occassionally stepping outside while one of the maids went over the schedule of events.

“You will have breakfast with the King and Queen, the Jarl, and your nephew Crach will be joining as well.”

The other two maids were poking and prodding with her hair and face which made it slightly more difficult to hide her disgust at her nephew.

“The nephew that only bothers his uncles for whenever he needs favors and conveniently forgot my birthday last year. Lovely.” Moira said, only able to roll her eyes.

Saorise quickly turned though and walked into the room, shooting her frown.

“It’s not polite to speak of your nephew that way in front of the maids, Princess.” Saorise sighed, but there was an unmistakable look to her Mage’s face that only showed she couldn’t stand him either.

“Ladies, you remember the story of my precious nephew tattling on me to my brothers when I first picked up a bow and arrow, correct?”

“Yes, my Lady.” they said.

Moira beckoned her hand out to the women. “See? They know he’s a little rat.”

A few of them giggled and Saorise couldn’t hide her knowing grin either.

“After breakfast, the Queen has requested you help her make preparations for the court and then you two will stand with King Bran and Eist to greet the visitors. It seems you will be the one guiding everyone to the guest rooms.”

As the maid went down the list of her tasks, Moira’s mind drifted elsewhere to the Witcher. After their conversation yesterday evening, it had been mulling over in her thoughts and she was intending on speaking to him today if she even had a second or more to breathe. He was a hard man to read, and she tried to imagine all the ways she could approach him after making such a fool of herself. But even still, she was eager to find him at some point.

“And Moira, please don’t find any excuses to miss your duties today. If you even get a fingernail dirty I will know about it.” Saorise said, drawing her from her thoughts.

Moira frowned at her. “I would never do such a thing.” she assured.

Only moments later, the pair walked downstairs to the throne room which seemed all too empty with just her brothers standing around and guards posted like statues not too far away. But when Moira could hear Eist’s voice, a smile spread across her lips as her pace quickened to try and sneak up on him from behind.

But to no avail, Eist turned around with open arms before she had the chance.

“My dearest sister!” Eist beamed.

Eist looked younger than Bran, his hair darker like hers and his face unscathed of any aging despite all the battles he lead Skellige through. He was certainly dressed like a royal of Cintra though and maybe it was being on the sea for his travels that made him seem lighter with every moment, but his smile certainly had everything to do with Queen Calanthe.

“Hello, Eist.” Moira said, embracing her brother. “Tell me, are you finally married?”

His smile remained as he shook his head and sighed. “Not yet.”

Bran had been standing there, waving them over. “Come on, let’s eat. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Are you implying we start drinking now, my King?” Eist asked, raising a brow at him.

Moira laughed as she followed behind the two of them towards the long stretch of the dark wooden table where they would all be sitting this evening looking down on the room that would soon be filled to the brim.

“I think that is the best idea you have had. Perhaps you should visit Cintra more often.” Bran replied.

Without any commands, the servants from the kitchen were already at their table before they sat down with a freshly cooked breakfast of eggs, bread, and fruit. The two men had large pints of mead whereas she had wine, which she wasn’t sure would mix well for her food but Moira would not deny herself a drink.

“Where is Birna this morning?” Moira asked, leaning her head slightly forward to glance at them.

Bran swallowed his food and put his hand up.

“She was speaking with the Witcher after I had introduced Eist to the man who will put our people at ease. I think she will be very thrilled to see you wearing one of the dresses she had made for you.”

Moira’s brows raised as she sipped her wine.

“I’m sure she would be. Why did she need to speak with Geralt, though?”

“I see you’ve already learned his name.” Eist mused, looking at her suspiciously before turning towards Bran. “I still can’t fathom why you brought him here, brother. Our men are well suited to contain this problem that may I remind you, happens every year.”

Moira opened her mouth to question why Eist would care if she called the Witcher by his true name, but her family had always been wary of those who possess such abilities with the exception of their Mage. She was even more curious to know why Birna needed to speak with him but she refrained from asking any more questions at all.

“Eist, you cannot deny there is something off about all of this.”

“Maybe so, but how much do those of his kind ask for with such simple tasks?”

“The Isles have never been at peace as they are now! Finances are not a problem.”

As the two bickered the political nonsense Moira never cared for, she raised her glass to one of the servants who went to get her more wine. If this was the forecast of her day, she knew she was going to need it.

“Well on a lighter note, Moira, I have a present from Calanthe.”

Moira’s face contorted slightly as she sipped the freshly poured wine.

“A what? From Calanthe?”

Before she could even move, Eist had pulled out another bow and a fresh satchel of brand new arrows from the empty seat beside him and Moira’s jaw hit the floor. Immediately, she jumped from her seat and rushed over to her brother, marveling at the strong wood it had been carved from, glossy and shining from the mere daylight at every angle.

“Calanthe had this made for me?” Moira asked, her voice light as a feather while the excitement that ran through her squeezed at her heart.

“She knows a warrior when she sees one. While she’s never agreed with how Bran and I have raised you, I secrelty think she adores it.” Eist chuckled.

Moira’s eyes didn’t leave the new toy she had been gifted and she started to turn away, walking to return to her room while the two brothers called out her name.

“Moira, we have things to do today!” Bran called out.

“Then he should have shown me this tomorrow!” she casually replied, glancing back at him.

As she left the court, Saorise had been walking in her direction and Moira had nothing but the giddiest grin upon her lips.

“Where are you going?” her Mage asked, pausing as she kept walking.

“I’ll be back in time for the guests, don’t worry.” Moira chuckled.

The exasperation from Saorise’s face did not go unnoticed, but everyone knew there was no stopping her from trying this out now and let her go on her way.

Once she returned to her room, Moira immediately picked up her old beaten arrows and gently placed the new ones from Cintra upon her bed.

There was the nagging thought of knowing she had to help Birna with the preparations for tonight, but she easily dismissed it when she picked up her new bow and went outside. From her room, she could see the tiny harbor village down below. It seemed so much closer than it really was with the ships docked and the roofs of every home and establishment. Her favorite part was how she could see the way this part of the Isle curved, the mountains surrounding them like they were extensions of her own arms. There was even the rocks just a couple miles out that stuck out from the water like the back of a serpent.

Sometimes she felt as if she could shoot an arrow and it would land right on its surface.

But for now, Moira leaned upon the stone barrier between her and a very miserable descent to the gardens beneath her.

Sometimes, she would shoot at nothing. Other times, she would simply aim for a particular tree or somewhere down below just to mess with the guards. Moira was tempted to use her new arrows as her old ones didn’t feel right with this newly carved bow, but she knew she had to get rid of them sooner or later and did so by freely shooting them from her balcony.

Even though the air was cold, her newly tailored gown kept her warm enough and didn’t hinder the focus she needed in every muscle and breathe she took.

But as she came down to her last arrow, Moira caught side of a white haired figure all the way down to the left. From here, she could not make out Geralt’s face as he stood at the near opposite end of the castle at the stables, but she could see the indivudal stacks of hay under the wooden structure that held his horse Roach. Birna was nowhere to be seen, and she was still curious as to what they spoke about earlier, but knowing that she was gone made her more eager to mess with the Witcher.

She wanted to talk to him soon, and she still drew a blank as she did since last night when it came to what she wanted to say. By the time she would make it down there while he was alone he would surely be gone.

As the gears turned in her head, Moira quickly turned away from the balcony to rush back to the vanity and she searched for a piece of parchment and something to write with while anxiously hoping Geralt would still be standing there.

Once she found what she needed, she quickly scribbled down a simple little note, tying it to her last dainty little arrow as fast as her fingers could before rushing back out to the balcony. To her relief, the Witcher stood there presumably feeding roach from what she could make out from here. Placing the bow and drawing back, Moira sucked in all the air she could fill in her lungs and narrowed her eyes upon the wooden post that was only a few feet away from the two.

Maybe this would be a bad idea if there was a sudden breeze that suddenly ended with a dead Witcher or a horse and she halted for just a moment.

But when Geralt slowly started to turn away from Roach, Moira didn’t hesitate when letting go of the bowstring and still held her breath as she watched it soar across the air.

From the stables, Geralt had caught sight of the Princess a few moments ago aimlessly playing with her bow and arrow. Of course, she was not looking as he occasionally glanced up at her, his mind unable to wrap around the freedom she had with her title. Geralt didn’t know the brothers that held such power of Skellige, but what he knew didn’t surprise him one bit with what he’s learned about the Princess over the past day.

Roach made a soft little huf and swayed her head.

“I agree, Roach. She is hiding something about the Drowners.” Geralt responded, feeding her one last apple before turning away.

The horse made another sound, a bit harsher this time but it didn’t diguise the sound his supernatural hearing could only pick up. It was like the hum of an insect, except more high pitched and in the seconds it took to come close enough, Geralt turned around to hear the head of an arrow sink its way into the wooden post not too far from them.

“It seems this Princess also has a death wish.” he muttered with a frown on his lips as Roach became slightly startled.

Moira winced, guilty for causing the beautiful creature to become scared and quickly turned away to her room.

But Geralt, curiosity hidden under his firmly pressed lips watched as the little piece of parchment slipped off of the arrow and into the dirt. When he walked over to it to read it, his eyebrows raised, lightening his face ever so slightly.

“I will tell you what I know tonight. Say a word of it to my family and the next arrow will be in your head, Witcher.

Moira.”

By the end of it, Geralt could not hide the way the corner of his lip ticked up just a little, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Maybe this would all be worth the coin after all, he thought.

~~~

The day passed rather quickly and people from all over Skellige soon filled the castle.

Moira’s usually empty home came to life and she loved every second of it. Ever since Bran became king, court was hardly as fun with how much work he put into keeping the peace between the Isles but when he did decide to make things more interesting, it never failed to be a wonderful time.

But Skellige, the rowdy bunch that never missed an opportunity to dress up and drink til the sun rose the next morning, still maintained a decorum of formality to impress the royal family that ruled it and Moira was not used to it. As a child, everyone greeted her like the adorable little Princess she was and she would run off with her friends in no time but now there was a growing discomfort with every man that kissed her hand and girls she once called friends already married and staring at her with looks that could kill.

“Keep smiling, Princess.” Birna whispered, nearly breathing down her neck.

Moira whipped her head back to look at her, wearing a deep navy blue gown that was almost as detailed as hers but much more delicate. Whereas Moira looked like she could run into battle with the tiara upon her head, Birna did radiate a certain elegance that she never knew possible in Skellige.

Together though, the two of them standing before the entire population was a sight to be admired as they all gathered to greet them.

“I am smiling.” Moira hissed the second another family had passed them.

Birna raised an eyebrow at her before she turned back around.

“The dress you picked looks very nice. It’s probably why every girl looks like they want to kill you and every man wants to get down on one knee.”

Moira scoffed, still maintaining her smile as one of the men from Ard Skelling took her hand. She had to force her politeness as she curtseyed for the man who was twice her age.

“It’s almost as disturbing as you complimenting me.” Moira said as the man went away.

Moira had to give some credit to the man her brother chose to love. What they had was genuine, something that didn’t happen often in this world. Despite their relentless fights, with the mother and sister she never truly got to know gone, Birna had done her best to mold her into the woman she was today even with resistance from Moira.

As her brothers, Birna, and Saorise turned to take their seats, she shared a secret grin with her Mage who had overheard her conversation.

“Who knew she could be so nice to me?” Moira said under her breath, wiggling her brows as they ascended the stairs.

Saorise laughed gently. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess. You know she will tear you to shreds over something so little at some point tonight.”

Moira agreed and just as she reached the top of the stairs, her brothers and Birna already at their seats, a new face had walked down the aisle of already seated members of the court,

“My king, you have one more guest tonight.” a guard said.

Moira turned around, Saorise still trailing behind her a few stairs below her, and just over her shoulders the Witcher himself entered and a similar feeling to the first time she saw him just yesterday evening washed over her.

She froze midstep, watching as he strode over towards them, and everything within her seemed to tighten like a coil.

Geralt’s eyes were as gold as the chandeliers above them, and she watched as they quickly scanned over her dress and suddenly she could feel every inch of fabric on her skin like fire. She wondered if he felt scrutinized by her when she looked at the hardened armor as black as night that he wore, curious about the silver pendant around his neck.

As every hair on her began to stand, feeling pulled into some world where she forgot that the entirety of Skellige’s most important families surrounded them, she was quickly drawn back to reality when her brother Bran breezed by her to greet the Witcher halfway.

It almost made her laugh at how short the Witcher made everyone look.

“Why is he dressed like that?” Eist asked, his voice low.

“He’s a mutant. Of course he wouldn’t know how to dress appropriately for court.”

Moira glanced back at them.

“That’s a rude way to speak of the man who’s going to rid of us our Drowners problem.”

They dismissed her easily and ascended the stairs to take their seats and Moira took one last glance at Geralt before following them with Saorise.

Once above all of the guests, she watched as every head in the court turned on the Witcher as Bran led him up to their table, their whispers hardly going unnoticed. After knowing how he could hear her heartbeat, she wondered if he could hear the things they were saying.

But when Bran picked up his pint, tapping one of the butter knives against it, every whisper and sound from the small band ceased.

“People of Skellige! I welcome you to this wonderful occasion which I am sure you are all wondering what it’s about.” Bran announced, his deep voice filling the hall. “I’m sure you’re all even more curious as to why we have a Witcher in our presence.”

Looking over at Geralt who stood there with a straight face, she could sense his disdain for the show her brother was putting on. Or perhaps he just always looked like that.

“As many of you may already know or have heard whispers about, An Skellige has been plagued by an uprise of monsters that have once kept quiet and has been harming the people of our villages. I want to do what is best for my people, even if those of you from the other Isles may not be affected, I want it to be known that everyone’s safety is a matter I take seriously which is what led me to my decision in bringing a Witcher here to prove that to you all.”

People began to clap, and Moira did too.

“But even in this troubling time where many of the people of An Skellige may be concerned, I want it to be known that the Witcher will slay the beasts that think they can attack people of Skellige nonetheless!”

The claps got louder, the men cheering now which brought a smile to Moira’s lips.

Bran then turned to the Witcher.

“Geralt of Rivia, I welcome you to Skellige and will provide anything you need to do what it takes. Now, lets eat, drink, and show this Witcher what it is like to celebrate amongst us!”

The Witcher had a smile on his face now, even if it seemed like he had to put it on for show. Her brother was always one to put on a show, so she was glad that he could at least pretend to enjoy such attention while it was all on him. To her relief though, he sat on the opposite end of the table from him and once food was served, her stomach was in too many knots to properly enjoy it.

“You think you could make it a little less obvious that you’re infatuated with him, Princess?” Saorise said.

Moira sipped her wine and glanced at her mage.

“You are imagining things, Saorise.” she dismissed.

The woman grinned at her, a taunting grin at that.

“I haven’t seen you look at anyone that way since Rotty came back from those long months at sea with the rest of the navy.”

“That was a pathetic little crush I had when I was fifteen!” Moira cried, laughing as she looked at the woman. “Plus, every woman here is oggling at the Witcher. I’m here to help him get rid of the Drowners and nothing more because he will be on his way traveling and slaying monsters across the Continent.”

“You like danger, Moira, and I fear that Geralt of Rivia is a very attractive piece of danger to you.” she said, sighing with exasperation.

“I don’t see a problem with that.” she shrugged, glancing across the table to catch another look at him.

The moment people finished eating, it wasn’t long before guests started to fill the open space of the floor to dance in pairs to the light music the band played.

After a couple glasses of wine, Moira even dragged Saorise out to the floor with her and they linked arms and danced together like she was a child again. Even Eist joined after forcing Bran and Birna to come down with him and for a moment, she forgot that she needed to speak with Geralt.

The one thing Moira adored about her family depsite all of their bickering was that they were not the type of royalty to remain seated and look at their people through their noses. They were more than ready to drink and dance amongst their people like they were all one big family which they all were more or less.

It was why she never feared being a traditional Princess.

Moira eventually backed away from the crowd, stearing more towards the open balcony windows so she could catch the cool air while still remaining in the ballroom itself.

As she stood on the outskirts of it all, admiring the crowd that sung and danced together, she noticed Geralt come up beside her out of the corner of her eye and immediately straigthened up.

Everything from the way he stood to the way his eyes seemed to scrutinize the guests gave her the impression that he didn’t quite know what to do, aside from the obvious part of how much he did not fit in.

“I sense you don’t really like big parties being thrown in your honor?” Moira asked, staring up at him as he scanned the crowd.

The Witcher heaved a sigh as he looked at her with a lighter expression compared to his unnervingly blank face.

“I never really have parties thrown in my name. Kings and rulers typically keep my presence hidden and the job they have for me secret.”

“I’m almost surprised by that. So, I assume you don’t typically like these royal parties then?”

Geralt looked back out at the people of Skellige and her family in particular, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“It is not necessarily my cup of tea.”

Moira snickered, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the column she stood near.

“I didn’t take your kind as the type who would drink tea anyway.”

“You’re right. We prefer to keep a stash of the blood of the monsters we slay anyway.”

She quickly turned to him, her mind letting her believe that he was serious for a moment by the way he didn’t even blink.

“Wait, really?”

“No.” Geralt said, looking at her with raised brows that seemed to pull up the corner of his lips as well.

Nervously, she let out a laugh, and Moira shook her head as she looked down at her shimmering gown.

“Well, speaking of monsters, I do believe I owe you an honest conversation about the Drowners.”

“It appears you do, Princess.”

Moira frowned at him. “Call me Moira.”

Geralt nodded. “Understood.”

Taking a deep breath, her memory of the Drowners unfolded as she tried to figure out where to start and still cover her tracks.

“We have a pretty skilled navy and army here on Skellige. So, when the Drowners started to claim more lives than they normally do in the winter, my brother decided to send them out to patrol the area. My best friends are in the navy and I grow restless in the castle so I decide to sneak out and help them.”

“That’s very bold of you.”

Moira glared. “I am very skilled with weapons. I grew up with two brothers who didn’t ever really know how to raise a little girl without putting a sword into her hands for fun.”

“Your aim with a bow and arrow is impeccable but I think Roach would disagree.” Geralt mused.

“In all fairness, I did not mean to startle your horse. It was mainly a jab at you for being so forward last night. Anyway, you’re getting away from the point!”

“Carry on.” he said, nodding at her.

“One night, we were patrolling one of the streams that go through the woods. It isn’t that close to the village, but it connects to the bay just off of Urialla Harbor where we’ve seen them the most and thought that’s where people have been getting snatched up. What we found out was true, and that they have been traveling from the bay in numbers I’ve never heard of.”

“That’s when you got attacked.”

“Yes.” Moira sighed. “The waters were covered in mostly ice, which is why we didn’t expect to see them, but since that night we’ve went back to that area and have probably killed about a dozen already.”

Moira knew she was keeping a major part of the story out, but it was a secret buried so deep that no one other than Saorise would ever know. But she was comfortable with what she told him and hoped he wouldn’t pick up on what she left out. Technically, she wasn’t lying.

“That bay you mentioned, has there ever been anything else there?”

Moira shrugged. “Just a couple of weird caves but nothing out of the ordinary. It’s a place where everyone goes in the warmer months.”

Geralt seemed to be trying to connect the dots in his head, but when he nodded, she was slightly relieved.

“Any ideas yet?”

“Not really. I can slip out tonight and try to find out more for myself.”

Nodding slowly, Moira wanted to interject and offer to come with him, but Saorise had been approaching them.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Witcher.” Saorise said, bowing her head towards him before turning to her. “You, Princess, cannot be seen hiding in the corners of a celebration thrown by your own family.”

Glancing at Geralt who seemed to be amused at this, she sighed heavily and started to walk with her.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Moira said, glancing back at him.

“Thank you, Princess.” Geralt smirked.

Before she could snap at him, Saorise had pulled her to dance again and the two were back to how they were except this time, she looked at Geralt every chance she had as he still stood in the same spot she left him.

“It was only a matter of seconds before Birna scolded you for talking with him.” Saorise said, pulling her away again.

Moira shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

As Moira danced with her family again, she had unlinked arms with Eist and thought she would be jumping into a dance with Bran but instead found her nephew Crach joining her and her mouth was instantly filled with a bitter taste.

“Oh, look who it is!” the young man boasted.

Moira smiled at him cockily as they continued the dance routine.

“How unfortunate it is to see you again, my dear nephew.”

Crach shared a strong resemblance to Bran with a face full of light colored hair and the same eyes the whole family had. But he had the brain of a boar and certainly embodied the arrogance of once. She never imagined how her fair sister could have conceived such a pest.

“You’re breaking my heart, Moira! We’re still family you know!”

“We may be family, but you are a royal pain in my ass who in fact, does not seem to care about family.”

They switched positions again, and she was eager to find another partner, her head on a swivel as she was practically flailing around and missing steps while she danced with him.

“What were you doing talking to the Witcher? You know Birna would have a fit for not speaking to an eligible bachelor.”

Moira rolled her eyes.

“Not all of us have the luxury of escaping to live with another family in the Isles, Crach.”

“Maybe you should finally marry and leave Skellige entirely. Ever think of that? It’s not like it’s hard, Princess—but wait, it seems you still think you can be a soldier.”

Striking a nerve in her, Moira snatched her arm a way from him, causing a ruffle in the flow of Skellige’s most traditional jigs as she now stood in the center of it aflame with anger spewing towards her nephew.

“Don’t judge me when you know all the women at every brothel in the Isles, you little rat.” Moira seethed.

Crach put his hands up in defense, giggling like a little boy as he did so.

“I mean no ill intent, Moira. Don’t get so riled up, you know that isn’t attractive.”

Moira stepped forward. “I’ll show you riled up when I shove my—”

“Princess.” said an unfamiliar voice.

Moira sharply turned around, her blood pumping with more heat towards the pest she called a nephew only to find Skjordal Drummon, the jarl of one of the clans that rivaled Crach and his family on Ard Skellige. The man was at least fifteen years older than her and it showed, but his mere presence made her go cold as he looked down at her with a hunger to his eyes that every man had tonight.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Skjordal.” Moira said, her voice strained as she straightened herself out.

“May I have this dance? My absence on this island has suited me well I suppose, and it’s an honor to have returned to witness such elegance and grace you have grown into.”

“She would love to!” Crach said, gently pushing her forward.

Moira’s heart was racing, unable to process the sickening comment her made to her still even as her hands became intertwined with his, making her skin crawl. Every fiber of her being wished to have whipped around and hit Crach with all her might, but instead, she was left with the repulsive feeling that made her stomach churn as Skjordal gleefully pulled her into the dance routine.

The seconds felt like long, brutal minutes as Moira kept her attention elsewhere as they danced, waiting for the song to switch by the band so she could run away from the way his hand squeezed hers and the other rested on her back. She was choking on her own breath as she kept her chin tilted up for formalities.

Skjordal had a daughter that was almost her age, having been sent off to the Continents a couple years ago with a new husband.

It sickened her that he was trying to pull her in every chance he got as the song continued on so much so that it began to make her dizzy.

As her gaze remained on anything else, she kept making eye contact with Geralt.

From the outside, he could sense her discomfort after being irritated by her nephew and shoved into the arms of a man old enough to be her father. She was looking for every chance she could to escape, and Geralt would be lying if he said the sight of it didn’t bother him.

But that was the fate of most princesses he encountered, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised to see it happening to Moira.

Before the song could even end, Moira had forced herself to pull back and she quickly put her hand up to her head to give the impression that she was exhausted.

“I must say, all this dancing has me feeling quite ill. I think I didn’t eat enough this evening.” Moira laughed faintly. “I appreciate the dance, Skjordal. We will have to do it again later!”

In reality, her face was as white as snow as it was slowly draining of its color as that of a truly ill person, but she was also flustered to finally have gotten away from the dance. If she continued any more then she would have surely fainted in the middle of it all.

Before the jarl could even answer, Moira slipped away, just catching a glimpse of the offense he took to her leaving, and she wanted to run to the kitchens for any water she could find. As she breezed through the dense crowd, she only started to feel more irritated from every drunken Skelliger that brushed up against her, every touch making her want to scream.

What nearly set her over the edge was a firm but dainty hand grabbing her elbow and pulling her back, bringing her face to face with Birna.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she yelled in a hushed tone, her eyes wildly angry, yet still perfectly shielding her body from any wandering eyes.

Moira was confused though, yanking her arm back.

“Do not grab me like that, Birna.” Moira said, backing away. “We may be family but you are still no more than my rotten sister in law and that doesn’t give you permission to—”

“Family looks out for family, you spoiled brat.” Birna snapped, stepping forward again. “What you did by running off from a member of the Drummond clan was embarrassing! Your brother has done nothing but bring the Isles together in no way that anyone has ever seen. What will they think when Skjordal runs off and tells everyone you made a fool of him that way!”

Moira was at a loss for words, her chest rising and falling as every possible curse flooded her mind.

“He’s a man, he wouldn’t admit to being made a fool by a princess.” Moira said, picking the softer of responses for the sake of the night.

Birna laughed darkly, shaking her head, a gleam of sadness to her desperate eyes.

“You don’t get it, Princess.” she scowled. “You don’t understand how brutal men can be when they don’t get what they want.”

Tears immediately stung her eyes. Little did the precious Queen know, Moira knew all too well how brutal a man could be even without doing a single thing to provoke it. It was something she was not shy to whether she acted like a Princess or not.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Moira said between gritted teeth.

“I know enough to know that your brothers have guided you to believe you won’t be married off someday, and it should have already happened! You cannot sit here and think you are exempt from this path, and you cannot let the men of Skellige believe that either if your brother’s reputation as king means anything to you!”

Moira was trembling, every word suffocating her more and more.

She felt helpless against Birna who knew all the right things to say to pick her apart and get her to listen.

But that frustration that built up in her was growing, so much so that the winds outside began to pick up. It was as if the tide was at her fingertips.

Her eyes immediately scanned the room for Saorise as the fear of her own strength began to creep in with that deep hum from her blood.

“Who said anything about marriage?” Moira scoffed, trying to downplay what was truly happening outside the walls.

“You are a naïve little girl, Moira. If you don’t think your brothers know you are overdue for starting your life as a true woman, then you are deeply mistaken.”

The tears that stung her eyes made the Birna and the chandeliers beyond her head blur. Blinking them away, she glanced outside through the windows and saw that snow started to fall.

Moira could feel the storm within her, every gust of wind with every breath and every word Birna spoke fueling her imagination that every snowflake was like ice shredding against her skin. It was dark, even for Moira, but it would be worth releasing the numbing buzz that ran over every inch of skin. She had the strength of a thousand oceans in her mind and if she even blinked the wrong way, Moira swore that the waves could swallow the whole island.

“If you think I’m going to whore myself out to any man of power that walks through these doors like you did, you are deeply mistaken.”

Without another word, Moira turned away, knowing that it would be too much for her to stay around and stormed out to the balcony where she prayed no one would bother her as she hid off to the dark corner that wasn’t touched by the light of the party.

The brisk air was welcoming to her, the gentle snow that seemed harsh with the wind calming as she took deep breaths. Her hand rested against the stone where ice seemed to have covered, and that bone deep chill seemed to bring her fuzzy mind back to reality.

Anyone would have guessed that it was a gust of wind bringing some extra snow off the roof of their castle.

“Moira…” said a gentle voice that belonged to her mage.

Looking down at her feet that stood in the small dusting of snow, she felt a single tear roll down her cheek from the waterfall she was trying to hold back.

“I just want to be alone, Saorise. I have it under control.”

Her knuckles were as white as the gentle coating beneath her from the way she was gripping the stone railing.

It hurt her to push her away, especially knowing that her mage was the one who helped hide this mysterious magic that flowed through her blood. But of all people she would understand and if she could convince her that she had it under control, she hoped that it would keep her convinced that her family would never know.

When Moira heard her footsteps walk away, she felt it was a little easier to breathe.

But then, when she heard another pair of footsteps return, she sharply turned around.

“I said I wanted to be—”

Moira paused at the sight of Geralt who was looking at her quizically.

“It’s you.” she sighed, a cloud of her air pushing through her lips before she turned back around.

Staring out at the forest that looked like a black abyss at night, she knew that she had very little chance of hiding from him now.

“That was quite a show you put on.” Geralt said, coming up beside her. “You’re lucky none of the members of this court are sober enough to put two and two together.”

Moira scoffed, chuckling humorouslessly as her head tilted back.

“I wish I could say I had no idea what you were talking about, but something tells me you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

Geralt leaned back on the railing her hands rested upon, arms folded across his chest, and he shook his head at her.

“Not a chance.”

They stood there in silence, and yet the chaos that stirred within her as she tried to come down from the events that occurred over the span of ten agonizing minutes somehow seemed to disappear with him being there. Maybe it was the comfort of someone who knew nothing about her. Either way, she was almost glad he found his way to the balcony.

“Did you freeze the waters in the Isle?” Geralt asked, not in an accusing way which took her by surprise.

Moira thought back to that night when the Drowners attacked her and her friends and she could still feel that rush of power that took over her when they became too much.

“There were so many, and they ran. I got caught up trying to fight them off and once the one lunged at me, it sort of just happened. The entire stream was frozen over in an instant, half of their bodies still crawling out just frozen in time.”

“Hmm.” was all he said.

She raised a brow at him. “Wonderful response.”

They stood in silence once more and the guilt started to eat her away.

“Did I cause this?” she asked.

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Moira turned her whole body to face him. “I need more than a few worded answers, Geralt.”

He sighed. “The Drowners are simple minded creatures. The ice would turn them away, not bring more to fight through it. I do not think your seemingly unhinged magic caused it but something else. I just have to figure out what.”

Moira could sense that now that he knew all the pieces to the puzzle, he was slightly troubled as well trying to figure out what exactly the missing piece was.

“Did you just call me unhinged?” she asked.

“I don’t think I could call it anything else, Princess. How exactly does one in your position go her whole life hiding something like that?”

Moira scoffed at him.

“Did it ever occur to you that these things might not be welcomed in Skellige? That my family would ship me off to those cult like schools where girls become mages? Saorise told me of them, before she got lucky with my family she said it was hell.”

Geralt shrugged.

“There are worse fates.”

Moira crossed her arms, the cold finally seeping in through her dress now.

“And tell me, what do you know about fates, Witcher? You get to freely roam the Continent every day of your life, collecting money for risking your life. I am doomed to marriage and children and my people despise me because I don’t want any of it.”

“Like I said, there are worse fates.”

“You are truly a man of words.” she said mockingly.

They fell in silence again, which was more comforting than them speaking and she could find peace and their newfound trust. At least, she felt as if she could trust him a little more now after what took place tonight. It was such a shame it had to be ruined but she was relieved that she could find herself talking freely with someone other than Saorise.

“I’m going to take Roach out to the bay and see what I can find.”

Moira’s head perked up from where she stared at the dark ocean in the distance.

“I can help.”

Geralt’s head sharply turned towards her.

“No.”

“Did I hear you correctly?”

“Not used to being told no?” he retorted.

“That isn’t fair. I just told you everything. I deserve to help. I’ve been out there every night since before you came here.”

“And tonight you can peacefully sleep knowing I’m going to handle it.”

Moira watched his lips curve and she started to notice a pattern with the ways she could get him to crack that stubborn face of his, and it all seemed to be when he got a rise out of her. But even still, she couldn’t help but stare at him like he had two heads.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

“It’s Moira.” she said under her breath, watching as the Witcher left her on the balcony.

~~~

The following morning came with a heavy pit in Moira’s stomach from the moment she woke.

It was the calm after the storm following the events of last night, and the princess laid in bed staring out through the glass doors of her balcony, having left the curtains drawn last night by accident. It was another overcast morning and she could see the leftover dusting of snow on the stone and the mountains beyond it from where her head lay. But despite the echo of her terrible evening still resounding through her, there was something off about what today would bring and she couldn’t quite figure out why.

By the time Moira dragged herself from her bed, she slipped into more comfortable attire and hoped the guests were gone by now before making her way downstairs where she would hopefully find her brothers. If they weren’t already awake in the throne room discussing plans for the coming days, she had a few other spots in mind and wouldn’t be surprised if they had still been sleeping in.

As Moira neared the open doors to the throne room, she could already hear more than just her brothers voices.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Moira immediately entered the room without hesitation, finding her brothers, Geralt, and three men dressed in the Skellige navy uniform with one looking more wounded. A warning seemed to arise from her deepest thoughts before she even knew what was happening, and immense worry began to fill her as she made eye contact with the Witcher who didn’t look any more pleased than the rest of them.

“Ah, Moira.” Bran greeted, seated slumped in his throne while Eist shared a dismal look at his side. “It might be best if you come back later. I can have one of the guards bring you breakfast to your room, if you’d like.”

Moira raised a brow at him.

“You only offer me breakfast in bed when something is wrong.” She frowned.

Suddenly, one of the navy men turned around and she immediately recognized Arnie who stood there with a bruised face and his arm held in a swath to keep it stabalized after injuring it and her heart sunk. She could see a terrible heartbreak written on his face and she immediately approached him, hugging him carefully as her worst fears started to rise in her mind.

“Where is Rotty and Orin?” Moira demanded from her brothers, glancing at Arnie.

Eist sighed, looking down before turning his attention back to her. “Your friends, as well as three others from our forces were trapped on Undvik after unsuccessfully trying to fend off the ice giant.”

Two of her three closest friends were now missing, and she felt the crushing weight of it the way it was written across Arnie’s face.

“Will you be sending more men to try and rescue them?” Moira asked, her voice tight.

The thought of them being gone was not one she could easily believe. Maybe she couldn’t except it, but she felt it deep in her soul that it was not possible.

“Moira, dear…” Eist said, his eyes sad as they looked at her.

“No.” she laughed, shaking her head. “They are not only my friends but your men. How could that not be your first course of action?!”

“Moira, you don’t understand what happened. There was an avalanche and we got separated.” Arnie said, his bleary eyes looking at her.

The boy she knew as the weakest link between his brother and their friend Orin who might as well have been a brother too now looked strong. He was strong in his own ways compared to the two, but now standing alone, she could see just how much his face changed as he accepted their fate.

“But you’re not going to try?” Moira asked.

“We have plans in place but we need time to figure out our best course of action.”

There was not a doubt in her mind that she would go there herself to find them. Even if she had to go against her brothers wishes, Moira would not live with herself if she wasn’t the one to make the tough, irrational decision to go and at least try whether they were alive or not.

Turning on her heels, Moira didn’t even spare the Witcher a glance as she left the room in silence.

Once alone, her imagination got the best of her as she pictured Rotty and Orin buried under the snow, frozen to death by now or worse, torn up by an ice giant she’s only ever read stories about. Tears pricked her eyes, but she swatted them away as the plan unfolded in her mind. By the time she got back to her room though, she hadn’t realized she was being followed until she went to her wardrobe and saw the Witcher standing in her doorway.

“Nice room.” Geralt said, leaning upon the door frame with his arms crossed. “Do you really think you are going to take on an ice giant on your own and save your friends even if they’re alive.”

Moira wanted to ignore him, in no mood to hear a lecture that anyone else would give her at any given time. She raided her closet for the clothes she would often wear when searching for Drowners at night with her friends and goes behind the tall, wood bordered screen to change.

“I know Witcher’s don’t have many friends, and quite honestly, I do not have many myself, but I will be damned if my brother thinks he can take his time constructing a plan before sending another crew out. Hell will freeze over before I lose them.”

Aggressively, she switched out of her clothes and into her new ones, hands shaking as she did so and not wanting to think of what faces Geralt was making on the other side of the screen.

“I don’t doubt your ability to freeze hell over, Princess.”

Groaning, she peaked her head out from behind the screen. “Moira. And I could do without the snide comments.”

As she finished changing, she quickly added, “You can play hero and tattle to my brothers about me all you’d like, Geralt but I am going no matter what anyone else has to say.”

“I don’t have to tell your brothers because I already offered my services to solve this problem.”

Moira froze for a moment, stepping out from behind the screen, watching as he came further into her room.

“I suppose you didn’t mention I would be tagging along, did you?”

The Witcher frowned at her, arms dropping at his sides.

“You can’t fight a monster on this scale.”

“And you can’t sail a ship as far as I am concerned.”

Moira reached behind her bed to grab her sword, as well as her new bow and arrow which clearly impressed him.

“I suppose you’re not going to take no for an answer?” Geraly asked.

“You can’t tell a princess no, Geralt.”

There was a pit embedded in her stomach from the moment she woke up, and it made her feel sick now knowing that lying and sneaking behind her brothers’ backs to this extent was not something she’s ever done before. But as she stared at the Witcher, there was a mutual understanding and despite the way this tore her apart, Moira couldn’t help but acknowledge that this thrilled her more than anything.

~

[hotwings0203]

Yandere Dabi or Mr. Compress as pirates or aliens same anon.mind control nsfw for aliens. But for the pirates they capture a angry siren princess?

Tw:noncon, gangbang implication

When you’re lugged up in hard wiry net, you’re furious.

When you thrash and turn out of the water, different voices jeering at you, you bare your teeth back and let out a shrill scream that makes them cover their ears and yell at you to shut the hell up.

You take one last look at the blue ocean beneath you, and you swear the waves are reaching up in a farewell salute.

Your body is tangled in fishing net, some of it cutting into your arms, some of it into your now/forming legs. You don’t beg them for mercy. You’ve seen jellyfish with a worse sting than this whole situation.

But when the crew goes quiet, and they part like the Red Sea for their captain, you got silent too.

For the most abominable pirate stands before you, in all his black clothed-glory under the setting sun, a black hat tilted low on his face so that you couldn’t see all of it except for weird burnt patches around his lower face.

He wore a black trench coat with white engraving on the sides, a white ruffled shirt underneath the accessory. His boots had bits of actual skulls where his laces should be, and something tells you to keep quiet when he pulls out his sword.

He brandishes it before you and laughs when you flinch back, hissing in retaliation.

“And what have we here, boys? A little fish out of water?” The blade goes under your chin and tilts your head up, his own cocking to the side and scrutinizing your wet, naked body.

“Put me back, you vile bastard. I’ve done nothing to you or your crew. You’re in my waters-“

“-is that right? Well, why didn’t you say so?” He grins and lifts his head up. You finally see his face, half of it covered by spiky white hair with black tips, similar to the flag their ship proudly waves.

He steps back and spreads his arms wide. “Well then, little minnow. Go on, swim away!”

The brute laughs when met with your incredulous face.

“I’m serious! If you own these waters like you said, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble leaving this ship.”

You say nothing, but stare at him for a minute more before slowly entangling yourself, eyes never leaving his smirking form.

You’ve gotten through one tedious knot before you feel your legs being pulled tightly away from your body, as if someone were trying to take your lower half off.

You cry out and land on your hands. When you whip your head down you see one of the men fisting his hand around a stray clump of wires and pulling experimentally.

“Stop! What’re you doing?” You try to choke out but your wrists are pulled in the same fashion to the point where you feel your oceanic ichor being cut off from circulation.

Three, four more areas across your chest, up your bare cunt, around your throat are pulled this way and that, your limbs being eagle-spread.

You can’t even use your voice to sway them from torturing you, all you can do is let spittle fly out of your gaping mouth as your face slowly begins to flush in color.

The sea breeze casts its gentle hand across your ruddy cheeks as you see spots.

A seagull flies above you and hovers for a moment, contemplating helping its princess before seeing one of your fingers twitch in the opposite direction, an order to keep it moving.

It flies away, and a lone tear runs down your face.

The captain slowly walks in between your open legs, turning and shaking his head at you.

“What’s wrong princess? I thought you were so big and bad, weren’t you gonna show me who runs these waters?” He nudges his tie against your fleshy cunt and you shakily inhale.

“F-fuck…y-y-“

He clicks his tongue and the knots around your pussy and tits squeeze harder, the material rubbing uncomfortably against the sensitive areas.

All you can do is gasp for air as he unsheathe his sword again and taps it on your clit. The men around him are practically salivating as they watch the show.

You’ve never been so degraded, so humiliated before.

Captain Dabi hawks up some saliva and expertly spits it right onto your bound tit, exactly on your swelling nipple.

The crowd cheers as he takes his hat off and bows, leering at you as hands descend and start rubbing it into your slippery flesh.

With one flick of his hand, he grants his men permission to do as they please, and with a general roar dozens of limbs begin etching their mark onto your body.

He leans against the banister and smiles at you handsomely.

Everyone is shouting and grunting for a turn on your sob-wracked form, but you can still hear his gravely voice.

“Tell Mother Ocean she’ll get her precious daughter and land back when I’m dead.”

[bakatenshii]

Rapture

Oikawa Tooru x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.8k

TW: 18+, smut, incest, dub/noncon, mild somnophilia

A/N: I started writing this in my notes bcos I wanted to get out a cheeky Oikawa drabble for his birthday, didn’t wanna commit to a proper fic bcos fuck knows I’ve been writing my first ever fic for over a month. Technically this is my first official fic I finished! So much love for my wife @blahkugo for listening to me sob and whine about this & beta-ing it, also to @lookslikeleese who created this brainchild of Tooru-nii with me. 

rap·ture

/ˈrapCHər/

a feeling of intense pleasure or joy.

(according to some millerian teaching) the transporting of believers to heaven at the Second Coming of Christ

Blood is thicker than water, in all forms and shapes and sizes. The guilt of blood lays thicker, sweaty and clammy, threatening to matte his perfectly coiffed hair. The guilt lies limp on his childhood bed, delicate legs dangling just a hair away from toeing the carpet.

You couldn’t reach when you were younger, he’d always help you down with all the gentleness of a protective mother and its cub. Long slender fingers tucking under your armpits to lift you from his stiff mattress to stand you on the soft carpeting.

Guilt, in the form of his baby sister laying vulnerability-up, presenting to him in taunt, as if it’s a gift from Satan himself. You won’t know, will never know, It promises. You’re out cold, too many cups of trashy house-party drinks in, your night was bound to end up like this one way or another— exposed and defenseless in a man’s bed. You should be lucky it’s your own big brother’s.

He curses himself for still having been awake when you called him at half four in the morning, curses himself for staying up studying tapes of his opposing team. Bad habits die hard. You were loopy, slurring your words, and all he could hear were the warm familiar sound of ‘niichan, niichan’ tinkling through the static. He had the keys clanking in his hands before he even registered the other voices across the line; deep, low, predatory— of men.

The drive there felt like a blur, tunnel visioning only on the number plate you’d sloppily sent him three times, each varying in one digit. It wasn’t even the right address, it didn’t match your location on his phone.

He saw crowds, loud bass reverberating through to his sleek car that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of beat-up sedans and trucks. He saw limbs, too many limbs, entangling together in a frenzy of sweat and lust; limbs on curves and humps of silhouettes, limbs on your small frame leaning into the corner of the dimly lit room. Then he saw red.

He couldn’t hear the shouts and hollers of his name, crazed fangirls pawing at him for an autograph, a picture, any type of affection from The Oikawa Tooru himself, international volleyball superstar with too many sponsorships under his belt. He reached out an arm towards you, and you clung to him like a magnetic pull, whole body suctioning onto his and tittering out a string of ‘niichan came to pick me up’ and a fit of giggles.

His first conscious breath was taken once he got you in his car. He didn’t want to look at you, didn’t want to assess the damages lest he drove his car straight into the dastardly party if he saw any hint of protrusion. He didn’t; you were fine. You seemed fine, too. You were all-too happy to see him, bragged to him ‘I bet them that you would come pick me up if I called you.’

You told him you missed him, ‘missed niichan so much, he never even bothered to call when he came back to Japan’. Tooru sighed, half part relief, half part guilt. He told you he couldn’t bring you back to his hotel, had to bring you home, because imagine the scandal if he got papped.

It was a lie, he couldn’t give a damn if he got papped, he could easily have explained that it was his own sister; he couldn’t give himself up to the safety of his own enclosed room. His room with no security net of Mum and Dad threatening to barge in, his room where he was free to do whatever he wanted.

He drove you home.

You begged him to pick you up and carry you upstairs, because your feet hurt, they’re so sore from dancing all night. He complied, using all his decade-molded muscles to pull you into his chest and his heart sank to his gut at the realization that you weighed like nothing to him; just like you had when you were younger.

You were bigger now, grown, an adult, but he had grown all the same. It was like a cruel joke— no matter how much you grew, he’d parallel your growth so he would always be just that much stronger than you, that much bigger. The perfect size to protect you. The perfect size to hurt you.

He was directed to his own room rather than yours, with the excuse that yours was too close to the master bedroom, too risky to wake your parents up. His feet moved before his mind could stop him, muscle memory bringing him to the space he’s barely stepped foot in since he was eighteen.

It was too familiar, whole body transcending back to his childhood, back to the innocence of your relationship before he’s tainted it with his twisted perversions. His arms laid you down on his bed, hands finding the straps of your heels to pick off before you thumped back onto his bed, sprawled out and fast asleep.

He’s been staring at your vulnerable placid silhouette splayed on his bed for what feels like minutes, hours. He can’t bring himself to tuck you in, can’t trust his limbs to function how he instructs them to. His skin crawls at the gust of wind kissing the sweat embalming his body, but he doesn’t let himself strip off the suffocating layers. He wants to bask in the physical manifestation of his disgust, nausea, let it remind him of his twisted perversions he can never, ever indulge in.

You shiver, and he jumps. Your tiny body is quivering in chills, begging him to warm it up. He moves with the grace and caution of a robber on the prowl for an expensive jewel, gently snaking his arms under the crook of your knee and top of your spine, lifting you up and away from him like he’s terrified— disgusted, by you.

He lifts the covers and daintily drapes it over the small rise and fall of your chest, pinching the top with only two fingers. A deep breath, a moan, a soft ‘niichan’, and he thinks his heart has stopped completely.

He’s frozen, the hammering in his chest arguing that no, he’s still very much alive, and spares a glance down at you. Your eyelids are fluttering, lips softly pouting, and unmistakably still asleep. He’s mid sigh of relief when he feels a small hand wrap around his arm, and for the second time that night he thinks he’s died.

All the gravity weighing him down disappears as he lets himself be tugged down onto the bed, the weight of his body crushing your tiny one, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s too scared, he’s horrified.

He can feel two dainty arms loop around his neck and cage his head into the side of your face. He can feel the palpitations in his chest, heart hammering straight into yours, tangling with your soft cadenced beats, reaching in and provoking it to waltz to the same fatal rhythm. He can feel his trousers strain and his blood run cold.

Deep breaths to the count of the tick and tocking of the clock on the wall. He feels blurry, vision blotchy, skin prickling with every flood of blood traveling south. He wills it to stop, begs for it to spare him, he’ll behave, he’ll never let his mind wonder to you ever again, he promises.

God is all merciful, but God has long given up on him. Satan wants to watch his world burn, collapse, and dance in the ashes of his crumbling dignity. It teases him with the hilt of your soft body moving to press into his, crawling into his arms caging you in, willfully entering the den holding a ravenous lion fighting its own fangs.

Your eyes flutter open, gaze finding his with striking precision, and smile. It’s the same smile you’ve given him his whole life, the trust and love carved into every quirk of the lip. It shatters his dignity, stomps on it with childish fervor, and Tooru chokes on the breath coming out.

He feels you nuzzling closer, can feel your hair tickling his chin, and prays for forgiveness to any God willing to listen. None do— he’s too far gone. His hand’s reaching to cradle the back of your head as he plants the softest kiss on your cheek with all the practiced grace of a man begging for salvation.

Your eyes stare straight into his with undeterred conviction, glazed over with equal parts alcoholic daze and pure, unadulterated adoration. There’s not enough oxygen traveling to his brain to justify his actions, no amount of repentance would excuse his sins. His lips press into yours, so gently it feels like a mere ghost of breath, quivering in prayers for forgiveness.

A shift; small warm body squirming under his arms, shuffling closer. It catches the tent between his legs, and his whole body twitches like it’s been stung. He barely chokes down the whimper that threatens to come out.

He can feel your hands locking behind his hair, pulling your body infinitely closer to his, smushing your soft tits into his hard chest as he feels the breath sucked out of him by the Devil himself. There’s no more feigned chastity, all abstinence launched aside as he feels a little tongue prod at his lips. They open to let yours in, sucking on it as if it’ll bring his very breath back.

He doesn’t let himself wonder if it’s okay, he knows it’s not; it’s wrong, so wrong, on so many levels. He’s given up trying to please a Holy deity, Satan can take him whole if it means he can ravish in his sick twisted fantasies. He slots a leg between yours, letting the two pairs tangle and waltz to the symphony of your matching heartbeats, finally synching in a virulent tempo.

Breaths turn to pants, turn to unmistakable moans, and Tooru has to pull back to clamp a hand over your mouth in warning. The imagery of his long slender fingers covering more than half your face sends jolts down his body at the same time he realizes it’s him whining out so desperately.

He looks back at your face, beady, glassy, needy eyes peering back at him in sheer devotion, and he shuts his eyes in pure agony as his heart clenches in pangs of guilt, while his adulterous cock twitches in revelation. The warm soft breaths fan his palm, lips puckering underneath to peck softly at his fingers in hopes of escape; he thinks he might cum untouched.

His hand yanks back in shock, in horror, in disgust. But your hands clasped firmly behind hair pulls him back in, and he whispers out a prayer before a soft, “We can’t.” His eyes bore into yours, begging for mercy, begging you to let him go so he can suffer for his sins.

You don’t respond, not immediately. He feels his face pulled into yours and a distinct moisture building up on his thigh wedged between your much smaller legs. Wet— the suction on his tongue, the grinding on his leg, everything’s wet, and damp, and he thinks his mind might be drowning.

He can hear whines, pitched in desperation, and he’s certain they’re from you this time. His arm moves to grip at your hips, cupping your supple mound to shift it up the sheets and press your cunny against his straining erection. His hips buck on instinct, grazing the drooling slit covered only by a thin piece of cotton.

His mind goes blank, vision patching, and it’s too fast, too much, “please, Tooru-nii”— he’s crying. There’s tears stinging the corners of his eyes while he chokes out a string of ‘no, no, no’. He can’t slow the erratic humps against his lil sister’s cunt, the fingers digging into your hips marking you with patches of blooming purple and green, ‘I love you, niichan’.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction; he yanks his body back, takes sharp inhales of breath, until he can open his eyes to look at you again. Panic and nausea coat his tongue where it once tasted like you, but he’s met with the same look of pure adoration you gave him before he tainted your body with sin.

He realizes your hands are still straining to reach the back of his neck where they were before he wrenched his body away. They’re laying gently on his shoulders, twirling lazily at the strands of his hair curling around the base. Tears are flowing down his cheeks, or maybe it’s one single continuous tear, and his body is wracked with guilty desperation.

There’s no malice in your expression, no accusatory anger, and most of all, no disgust. Your face is painted with bliss, and joy, and love— Tooru snaps.

He’s pushing your shoulders back until they meet his singular pillow, and crawls down to nest in the space between your thighs. Large palms hook under your knees and push back until they touch your shoulders, and he moans when he sees your arms reach out to hook them in place obediently.

He wants to cherish this moment, burn the image into his brain for years to come, however many he’s spared, but his loins burn with years of yearning. He grants himself one glance at your tiny frame spread open for him, revels in the sheer devotion in your eyes, and plunges his face into the drenched cotton covering your core.

You moan out his name in a wanton reaction as he inhales your sweet toxins like he’s trying to drown— he is, he has no reason to live past this moment he sins, no right to live as he indulges in his sick perversions.

He can feel each shake and tremor of your thighs above his head as he sucks and licks at the soaked cotton, rendered nothing but an useless scrap now. Each suck is paired with a deep whine, echoing through his now-barren room. With one swift move he pulls off your panties and let it dangle between your ankles hanging above your bodies. Slick lines drip from the wet rag, stretching to connect back to your drooling pussy.

Five seconds— that’s how long he allows himself to marvel at your leaking slit, lips pink and puckered around the clenching hole. His cockhead drenches through his pants, so painfully hard a soft breath could send him tumbling over.

But he doesn’t allow himself to touch it, it’s not about him; it’s about you. Your devotion, mercy— your sheer, unadulterated, unwavering love for him. It’s about you; you deserve the best, you deserve it all, you deserve someone that’s not him.

He licks up, tongue flat, and slowly follows the dip between your folds until he suctions onto your swollen bud. His lips give it a soft peck, before wrapping around it and enclosing it in the hot heat of his mouth.

He has half a mind to snake his hand up to clamp over your mouth, stop the loud moans and sobs from coming out, but each wail shoots jolts of arousal straight to his leaking dick; he can’t bring himself to shut it down, despite how good you look with his long fingers wrapped around your face.

With every long lap, he pulls more cries out of you, and by the time he prods his tongue into your needy hole, you’re clenching down on him, sucking back on the muscle. You’re close, he can feel it. His tongue fucks into you without any of the mercy you’ve graced him, hips rutting into the bedsheet in tangent to your growing squeals.

The palpitations hammering in his heart synchronizes with the pulse of your cunt, weaving into a fatal rondo before everything stops; his hips, your cries, the air closes in on your writhing bodies as he paints his pants in shame and sin.

He allows his peripherals to roam your body; thighs indented with tiny crescents by your dainty fingers, mouth agape with your cute pink tongue lolling out— he swallows down his guilt, letting it scorch his insides before coating his cock threatening to twitch back to life.

He watches your hands drop down from their determined grip, thumping lightly as they hit his bed. He gingerly folds your legs back onto the flat surface before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. He can feel your arms shake in attempt to reach out and cuddle him in, but give out to fatigue.

Your eyes flutter closed, lips molding back to that soft smile ever-present in his presence, and he thinks he hears a faint whisper of, ‘I love you, Tooru-nii.’

Placid, limp, he watches as your body loses energy and drains into the mattress below. It slaps him in the face, presents him with a trophy, a golden star stamped with a big fat ‘Sin’ calligraphed on. His world collapses around him, buries him in the debris of his crumbled dignity, and the Devil dances.

[mizunetzu]

Tooru Oikawa x Affectionate Tall Male reader? Like the reader is a middle blocker and tends to ruffle his hair a lot and Oikawa just gets really flustered all the time because....dumb gay boy in love 💞

Ok but Oikawa getting flustered >>> anything else

——————

Drabble - Oikawa x Affectionate! Tall! Male reader

⚠️Warnings - none

Pronouns - Male, he/him

——————

“Dumb Iwa-chan! Baka! Baaaaka!”

Oikawa pulled his under eyelid, sticking out his tongue in the direction Iwaizumi walked off to. He was left standing in the middle of the court, balls scattered around him and the net standing tall and lonely.

He was about to start dramatically yelling at the door again, until two large hands covered his eyes. Oikawas throat went dry.

“Guess who, Kawa-kun.”

Oikawa felt his knees go weak when the person moved his hands to wrap around his shoulders even before he could answer. He did his best to smile all confidently.

“(Y-Y/n)-chan! Oh good timing I...I was just complaining about Iwa-chan not wanting to help me practice my serves.” Oikawa puffed out his chest and closed his eyes. He felt (Y/n’s) chest vibrate with every chuckle that came out of him, as well as his arms tightening from behind him. God, he was so warm. Please offer to help him on his serves. Please please please-

“Y’know, I can help you practice your serves.”

Yes! Oikawa grinned, the same grin he showed off to his fangirls and fan club. He turned around.

He turned around with the expectation that (Y/n) would sadly remove his arms and step back from him, but (Y/n) stood firm and Oikawa wriggled back to face him. His arms were still wrapped around Oikawa’s shoulders, this time huddling him into his broad chest.

“U-uh...aha-“

(Y/n) brought his right hand up to caress the back of his head, his other hand snaking down and worming its way around Oikawas waist. Oikawa held his breath, tensing up ever so slightly.

“Your hair is so frickin’ soft...lets stay like this for a while, yeah?” (Y/n) closed his eyes and slotted his head on top of Oikawa’s. It didn’t help that he was one of the tallest guys on the team either, because now Oikawa had a front row seat the to the smell of (Y/n’s) colonge sprayed that morning on his neck, barely noticable under his natural body’s scent and wearing off throughout the day. But Oikawa could smell it, and god did he want to bury himself in (Y/n’s) stupidly long arms. 

(Y/n) swayed left and right with Oikawa stiffly holding his breath from underneath him, now being able to feel the vibrations of his alluring voice as he hummed a tune he found on a commercial stuck in his head at the moment. He continued humming and rocking Oikawa in his arms, as if he were trying to lure him to sleep with his voice alone.

Oikawa suddenly sputtered, a cough he suppressed from the breath he forgot he was holding. He must’ve forgotten to take a breath in once (Y/n) wrapped him up so gently in his arms. Speaking of that, (Y/n) loosened his grip on Oikawa, finally taking that step back to examine Oikawa’s flushed face with concern. Oikawa couldn’t tell if his face was red because of his stupid crush or because he forgot to breathe.

“Oh, sorry.” (Y/n) grinned, ruffling Oikawa’s hair with his dominant hand. This time, Oikawa made sure to breathe, but the warm, tingly feeling pulsing from his head from (Y/n’s) callused hand made him shrink back a bit. 

“P-Pra..haahct-tice...”

“Oh! Yes, yes, that’s right! I agreed to help you practice...” (Y/n) bashfully retracted his hand, rubbing them together as he walked past Oikawa to pick up some stray balls he found on the ground. He swooped them up into his long arm’s, and Oikawa couldn’t help but fantasize about his long arms around him again. 

(Y/n) looked back. Oikawa was standing there, dumbly staring at (Y/n) with a blank, red face adorning his once cool features. “You good, man?”

Oikawa’s eyes momentarily widened, before he shook his head off and plastered a forced smile on his face. “Totally fine, (Y/n)-chan!” he said, making (Y/n) smile in return. When (Y/n) turned back around however, Oikawa dropped his smile and replaced it with a flustered pout.

'Dumb (Y/n)-chan! Baka! Baaaaka!'

——————