#take care of them the way they deserve BEING FORCED TO SIT HERE AND HELPLESSLY WATCH MY BABYS SUFFER GRHSJVSKSVSK

[fangirlforeversthings]

Why do the characters who did their whole life nothing else than giving, giving others love, support, appreciation, friendship, etc. only get the worst pain and suffer known to mankind back in return.

IN WHICH WAY IS THIS FAIR??!

EVEN ALLOWED?!?!?!

[blindingdutchy]

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

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

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

read switch here!

cry baby | t.holland

{pornstar!tom x pornstar!reader}

word count: 2,254

warnings: smut ofc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cut!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[leoneliterary]

Ok anyway since I'm drunk iy's only fair to ask this. How wpuld Nari react if MC (drunk, ofc) started sobbing about how Nari"s too good for them (while being carried away) and she deserves much better than just soms criminal?? This self deprecating parade might make some uncomfy tho so you don't have to answer ofc!!!'

Also yeah this is a follow up queston to that ons about drunk mc

I'm just seeing this ask now so I apologize for the late response! I hope that you're somewhere secure, that you drank plenty of water, and that when you sobered up you didn't have too bad of a hangover! Also I don't know if you where feeling down when you sent this ask, but I hope that you are feeling loved, valued, and that you appreciate yourself. I hope you enjoy the snippet!

Also, in case anyone is wondering, the drunk reaction asks can be found here and here!

She searches for you among the crowd of drunken revelers and soon spots you sitting at a table by yourself. She awkwardly moves her way through the crowd and pulling up a chair next to you furrows her brow at the empty jug of wine keeping you company.

"Uh, some of my men told me that you were here, alone and I just thought I'd come to see you." You rest your head on your hand and look at her. She fidgets under your attention and the weight of your silence.

"Unless you don't want my company—which I would completely understand! I just, I just thought..." She trails of helplessly, her hands raised.

You begin to laugh and she freezes. She wants nothing more than to be with you, but she lacks the words and she thinks that this might be the day. Maybe this is when you tell her that you just can't pretend anymore or that she took a joke too seriously.

She's paralyzed, waiting for rejection or ridicule, but the your laughter turns into sobs.

"I want your company! But do I deserve it?" You let out a bitter laugh and Nari winces at the sound. "No!"

Your outburst comes between sobs and Nari finds herself moving closer to you, awkwardness forgotten. She takes one of your hands in hers, careful not to squeeze too tightly, and carefully brings her free hand up to wipe away some of your tears. You catch her hand however with startling speed and look at her with a tear streaked face.

"Nari, you deserve better than me. You're honorable and I am not. You are noble and Nari, I'm not! I'm a criminal and no matter how much I wish I wasn't or like to pretend I'm not—"

Your whole body is racked by the force of your sobs, but to your shock and hers, she pulls you into her arms tightly, as if she could shield you from your own thoughts.

"You think me too lofty and yourself too lowly," she says, still in awe that instead of you looking down on her, you've put her on a pedestal.

She says a silent prayer for the right words and then, placing a rough hand on your tear soaked face, she looks into the eyes she loves and speaks.

"You are someone who I didn't think would even look at me. I lack all of what the other noble ladies possess. The grace, the poise," she breaks eye contact before adding quietly, "and the beauty."

She smiles at you through tears of her own. Her voice shaking as she pulls you to her.

"If you want me, then I'm yours. You see a treasure in a place that no one else ever has. She pulls you into a salt soaked kiss and laughs as she pulls away, your sobs having turned into sniffles.

"Now I know why the men say that low spirits and liquor don't mix! Where did all of this talk of lowliness and criminals come from?"

She chuckles and pats your back as she feels more tears soak into her shirt and she feels guilty, because even though you're crying, this is the happiest she's felt.

The one she loves, just might love her back.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen. 

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

[blkgirl-writing]

"The One Where They Share" Zuko X Fem!Reader X Jet SMUT!

Summary: You seem to be friends with Jet. Zuko is jealous and slightly confused.

Warnings: jet is basically your dom, zuko is a bit clueless, fingering, but plugs, DPs, obviously characters are aged up, Zuko's called Lee out loud, because that's what the characters know him as.

A/N: Thank you all so much for waiting for this! As you know i took a well needed break, but i’m back with a boom! Any feedback is welcome. 

"Admit it, I'm the best fuck you've ever had" you smirked, eyes glimmering with sin as you stared at Jet. His amused eyes scanned your form, fingering on your chest without any ounce of shame.

"Okay, fine, whatever. You're the best lay I've had." Jet shrugged, a light rose blush creeping to his cheeks. You, on the other hand, held back a big victory screech, settling for a quieter yell and big gestures.

"I knew it!" You laughed, biting down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. It had taken days to get him to admit it, you'd almost got him to say it while you were giving him a blowjob, insisting that you'd not let him cum unless he said it, but he pulled your hair, and looked at you with that stupid fucking look, and you couldnt keep him from a release.

"You owe me, ya know." He muttered, leaning into the table the air between you suddenly getting thick. His stare was hot, his hand reaching for yours even hotter.

"I do...? Can't think what for?" You smirked, taking Jets hand in your own.

It was shameless, it was nearly all the time. Zuko stood behind the counter and watched helplessly as the woman who he had lusted over since she had starting coming to the shop. Always smiling at him, always kind, always asking if he could take a break and sit with you. He had, a few times. He learned that you were single, worked at night, loved music, and adored tea. Shrowded in mystery, he still fell. So it was a hard hit when you starting showing up with Jet, the man who had wanted him thrown in jail. A smug look on his face every single time he walked in. It was disgusting.

It was only when youd asked to sit with him one day, without Jet, that he asked what was going on between you two. Youd laughed, taking a small sip from your tea, glowing skin contrasting against the pure white of the mug.

"Fuck no. Jet's my friend. I can't bare to be around him for more than 12 hours, let alone be with him." Your eyes glimmered the the dull light, biting down on your bottom lip, a hint of seduction in your smooth movements. "Does it bother you?"

"No." Zuko snapped back, eyes widening at the 'accusation' as he saw it. Much less flirty than anything. Really, he did a horrible job masking his jealousy for the closeness of the pair. "I was just wondering. You just...seem happy together."

"Trust me, the only reason we get along is because we fuck out our problems." Zukos face grew hot, boiling hot. He wasnt used to women being so blunt around him, especially ones he liked. Especially when they stared straight at him, like you did.

Ever since then, youd seen the way Zuko looked at you when you were with Jet. Longing, desire, shyness.

Maybe that's why you sent Zuko a wink when you went to the bathroom, letting him connect the dots when Jet went after you a minute or two later. Maybe you wanted Zuko to discover you and Jet together, in a strange way, maybe you wanted him to join.

"You're filthy," Jet smirked, holding your hips to the wall, lips connected to your neck. "Eye fucking the tea boy. Teasing me. You dont deserved to be fucked."

"It wasnt eye fucking," you reply, suppressing a moan as Jets fingers dig deeply into your soft skin, forcing your skirt up. "And you want your dick wet, Jet. You know youd fuck me anyway."

"Mmhm, you do have a good pussy-" you ran your hands through his thick hair, tugging at the strands at the base of his neck. Jet smiled into the skin by your collar bone, letting out a small, breathy laugh.

"You make it hard for me to keep my mind clean when you talk like that out in public."

"We were having a simple conversation-" you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips as Jet slapped your ass. "Be quiet." Jet hummed, drawing back to look at you, eyes blown wide from pure lust. His gaze was sinful, wraking over your body read hot. One of his hands followed his eyes, fingertips trailing down your wrapped shirt, untying the front easily, your chest exposed to the cool air. Jet couldnt help but smile.

"I love your tits." Jet brushed his lips across your nipple, licking and nibbling at the skin.

"Shut the fuck up and fuck m-" the creek of a door,

Zuko stood in the door, hand still on the handle, blinking away the surprise, of that's what he could call it. He heard you, he heard him, and zuko couldnt stop himself from bursting in, no plan in hand. Kick Jet out? Ask you to...

"Ah, Lee." You hummed, turning your head to look at Zuko fully. He was taking a step in, eyes never leaving yours. The door slowly clicked shut, and without a word, he took yet another step. Jet had made no move to let go of your form, but he did remove his lips from your nipple, casting a cocky grin to Zuko.

"We weren't quiet enough, huh? Want us to leave? Join?"

"Join." Zuko muttered, rolling his shoulder back, glaring at Jet. You surprised a wide smile, godsz this must have been a dream. The short haired tea boy was finally asking you. Youd thought it would be a date first, but this is just was just as good.

"Finally grew some, Lee?" Jet stepped back from your body, heat still radiating off of you from his touch. Jet settled by Zukos side, nudging his shoulder.

"Isnt she beautiful?" Jet asked Zuko.

"Yeah, she is." Zuko muttered, licking his dry lips. The two men stood there for too long, admiring your body, who you heavily breathed, your open chest.

"Is someone gonna come over here and fuck me? Or do I have to fuck myself." You groaned, crossing your arms under your chest. Zuko looked a bit flustered, like he didnt know if he should be the one to come to you, but he sure as hell looked like he wanted to.

"Go ahead, finger her." Jet nodded to zuko, or as he knew the man as, Lee. Zuko hesitated, buying down on his lower lip as he looked at you, lust rolling off of his body. His cheeks were flushed a light pink. Zuko nudged a bit closer to you, fingers dancing around your skin, trailing down to your bare pussy. A single finger curled into you easily, already wet from when Jet was teasing you.

"She lost a dare, she's already ready to take one of us up the ass. Shes been wearin' her plug the whole day-" Jet reached out, slapping your ass harshly, earning a gasp from you. Jet chuckled to himself and sent you a wink.

"Fuck-" zuko breathed out.

"Guess that's you, then." Jet licked his lips, sinful gaze scanning your half clothed body, watching as you bit down on Zukos shoulder, stifling a moan as he pressed another finger inside you.

"I've wanted to fuck you since you walked into the shop-" zuko muttered, finger fucking you faster and faster, thumb brushing against your clit. He was so quick to jump into you, so warm and pressing all of himself against you. You could feel his hard on flush against your stomach.

"I-wish you would have,"

Everything seemed to go so fast, his lips on yours, soft and calm, not rushed like how his fingers pumped inside you. His fingers were somewhat clumsy, he was clearly new at this, but his lips against yours, and his dick against your skin was enough to make you xum in no time.

"Did you finish?" Zuko asked, breath hot against your skin. His forehead pressed against yours, hands squeezing your thighs.

"Y-yeah, definitely." You replied, placing a small kiss on his lips. A small, intimate moment in a very rough night.

"Hate to break up your love fest, but do you have a bed, or even a couch?" Jet came up beside you, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

After that, Zuko lead you and (reluctantly) Jet to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. You gleefully watched as the boys shed their clothes,

"Come here, jet. Take off my panties for me." You winked, looking the man up and down, pausing at his well groomed, throbbing dick. Thick, just the right shape.

"Like what you see?" Jet said slyly, stepping towards your frame.

"Mmhm, I think I do." Jet unbuttoned your skirt quickly, taking your underwear with it. His hands traveled back to your breasts, neading and caressing you. Hos touch was always needy, harsh.

"Common, Lee, join in on the fun~" your voice was low, looking zuko deep in his eyes as you ground against Jets hard cock.

Zuko was fast to join, coming behind you to bite at the back of your shoulder, hands traveling from to your stomach, rubbing circles around your pouch, then down to your hips, grabbing them with care. Zuko nudged you to the bed, letting go of your body to lay down on his thin mattress. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching as you walked over to him, swaying hips and all.

Your back pressed against his chest. Your butt plug slowly being pulled out by the man you barely knew, just to be replaced by his throbbing dick, crecum already leaking from his tip. Zukos eyes fluttered shut, taking in the tight, warm feeling of being inside you. He stayed inside you for a few moments, still, worshiping the moment. Jet took his time to admire your open legs, spread wide for him, pussy glinting from your arousal. Be kneed between you, rubbing his cock against your folds, teasing your clit.

“you’re so fucking hot,” Jet moaned as he slipped inside of you, easily hitting the end of your vagina, pressure from his tip pressing against your curvix. 

They both pressed into you, pumping at different paces, but hitting all the same spots. Jets curved dick hitting your G-spot perfectly with every thrust, and Zukos long cock.

"Such a good slut, taking both of us at a time. So fucking good." Jet grabbed at your hair, tugging your head to his, roughly pressing his lips against yours. A wet, heated, sloppy kiss. "How do you like Lee inside of you, baby?"

"He's so good," you gasped, Zukos hand coming from your stomach up to your breast, squeezing and pulling at your skin. "Fuck, yes, keep doing that-you're so good, so so good, Lee."

"You're...really tight-" zuko moaned, his thrusts slowing as he spoke awkwardly. All of his words jumbled in his brain. "n' you're so soft."

Jet stifled a laugh at the other man, his constant blush, his lingering yet hesitant touch. It was clear Zuko had been dreaming of this moment, to be inside you, but didnt quite know what to do now.

Then, Jets hand came down to your clit, roughly rubbing circles around your sensitive bundle. You whined out at the new sensation. You scratched at Jets lower back, leaving a red trail where your nails dug into his skin.

It was a feeling like no other, their dicks brushing against each other inside you, an intense sense of being filled to the brim. Zuko moans quiet and right next to your ear, hot breath leaving a trail of bumps on your skin.

Jet came in a moaning mess, clutching your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He stayed inside you until zuko came, a minute or two later, his heavy breaths and slow strokes being the only reason you knew he had cum. So silent and gentle. Pulling out of you suddenly, pleasing you a bit empty.

"Come on, lee. Step back and look at how we ruined her." Jet smirked, pulling out of your throbbing pussy, white cum seeping out from both your holes. Pure and utter bliss wracking around your body, the after shocks of your orgasm

Zuko moved over to Jets side reluctantly. He still didn't like the other man, but he did just help zuko get the lay of his wet dreams, and now he was looking down at your sweaty form, glowing like a goddess.

It was unreal, the list in your eyes, your weak knees, messy hair, that not even an hour ago was neat and styled to perfection.

Zuko stepped forward, eyes gazing down at your body, butlingering on your lips. You smiled at him, his messy hair, histired eyes. He looked irresistible. His thumb grazing over your bottom lip, wiping away some lip gloss that speared down.

"I hope we can do this again. Maybe alone, sometime?" You whispered in his ear, far too quiet for Jet to hear. You didn't need the boy toy getting jealous.

"I'd... really like that."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

TAGLIST: @bucky-blogs​ @toomanydamfandoms​ @spookyeclipsecat​ @lexysclubhouse​ @intothebisonsmouth @mayalovesyou @shadowsandcoldwords​ @samvmgh​ @coffee-addicted-writer @veyloveszuko​ @liosilass​ @duh-dobrik​

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Getaway

The trip to Scotland.

cw nausea and vomiting but no details I promise, fainting I think?  I don't really remember, dizziness, food mentions, let me know if I need to add something more I haven't looked at this chapter in a while and I a posting in a rush.

Martin’s hand is damp in his.  The same tacky, salty grit of the Lonely fog.  A little bit of fog trapped between their tangled fingers, or maybe just the anxious sweat of two people who don’t really know each other as well as they should.  

If Jon is being honest, it’s not a comfortable sort of hand holding, but he doesn’t care.  He will keep clinging to Martin’s hand as if that single point of contact can keep Martin weathered to the physical plane.  

It makes packing more difficult, but Jon doesn’t care.  Not as if he hasn’t been living out of a backpack for months, or anything.  (Longer still if you count living off a shelf before most of his belongings were ruined in the flesh attack).  Still, he stuffs in the few items not in his back, and takes a healthy stack of statements and shoves those in, too.  Probably depressing that he can fit those in a single bag with all his earthly belongings.  

Jon doesn’t feel well.  

He hasn’t felt well in a while.  But the exhaustion is getting to him.  Apparently shredding a person with his mind is a bit rough on the body.  Even if the supernatural hunger is more than sated.  

Heh.  The unnatural feeling of being content and full and powerful at the same time as hallow and shakes and weak.  It would be enough to make him dizzy, if he wasn’t already dizzy.  If he hasn’t been dizzy constantly since statements were limited to empty paper, as if he hasn’t been dizzy since his early 20s and his POTS diagnosis.  (And before, but that’s where he was still convinced it was nothing).  

Jon is loathed to let go of Martin’s hand when he starts Daisy’s ancient car.  It’s more than a little beat up.  Jon tries very hard not to remember Mike Crew’s blood in the back seat.  It’s clean now.  Mike’s blood and Jon’s vomit long since scrubbed away.  Nothing quite like being carsick at gunpoint.  

Jon shivers.  

He can’t let himself think about Daisy now.  Such a confusing jumble of anger and fear and sadness and regret and friendship and comradely and resentment.  It’s… it’s too much for him to take in.  

He hasn’t ever been able to reconcile his feelings about Daisy, and now it’s worse.  Worsened with his exhaustion.  They were friends, they were enemies, and he couldn’t give up on her because that would mean that he was also lost.  She hurt him and she loved him in a way.  He couldn’t forgive her and  she was his closest friend for a while.  She was terrible, is terrible, but she was all he had and he loved her for being there.  It’s too much to think about.  And Basira.  Christ, he feels terrible losing Daisy like that, and yes he loved her in a way, but he wasn’t in love with her like Basira is, and he knows the helplessness and emptiness of losing someone he’s in love with.  

He shakes his head roughly.  The bite of headache and way the world sickly twists in and out of focus for a moment distracts him enough to start the car.  He looks over at Martin, pale but solid.  He reaches for Martin’s hand as he drives them to Martin’s flat.  

Jon has to do most of the packing for Martin.  Martin more attached to him than free thinking individual.  Drifting after him, pulled taught by their tethered hands.  A balloon pulled along by the wrist of a small child on a rollercoaster.  Although Jon can’t fault him for that, he thinks that might be an apt description for how he’s feeling.  …Pulled along by unknowable forces beyond his control.  And he’s flapping helplessly in the breeze of a battle far bigger than him.  

No.  Focus.  

Martin.  

Shove clothes and toiletries and tea and books and a few items that Jon judges to look treasured.  A worn stuffed tiger, a few faded pictures, a deck of tarot cards, he even takes the ratty binder that are shoved under the other ones (the nicer ones that Jon has already packed with the essentials), a tattered notebook under a layer of dust, a well loved poetry book, a small box of earrings, and what looks to be Martin’s knitting.  

It’s still a pitifully small amount of luggage for an indefinitely long trip.  The large first aid kit that he found makes him feel a little better.  (Emotionally, but also physically after he downs some paracetamol.  He eyes the dramamine, but he’s going to be driving and he can’t risk getting drowsy.  It’s not like they have time to stop).   

Nausea twists down deep before Jon even starts the car.  Catching at his stomach as he settles Martin’s bags in the back seat.  Still trying to search out the stains that are long gone.  

And oh fuck he killed someone.  

And yeah the bastard deserved it, but Christ he feels sick.  Sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly ahead.  

Martin’s hand in his.  

Martin squeezes his hand.  

Jon squeezes back.  

It’s fine.  He’s fine.  Just… Just drive.  

It’s the next step, and he has always been good at pushing from one step to the next.  Don’t worry about what happens next, just drive.  

Martin is here and… not fine, but alive and whole, and slowly thawing next to him.  

“Hey…”  Jon forces his tight throat and tighter chest to allow the word past.  

They haven’t spoken since Basira told them where to go and gave them a ring of keys.  

This almost shakes Martin out of his stupor.  Almost.  “Hey,” he echos.  

Jon wants to pack so much into a question.  How do you ask everything?  Are you okay?  Do you love me?  Do you know I love you?  Do you need anything?  Are you sure you want to come all this way with me?  Are you okay with moving in with me?  Are you hungry?  If the fog comes for you, will you tell me?  But those are too many words.  Martin starts looking glazed over when there is too much going on.  Too much movement, too many people, too much sound, too many questions.  And Jon wonders if the Lonely only served to magnify this, and if so, did he notice?  Did Martin hide it well?  Did Jon make it worse?  What if he makes it worse now, but what if he makes it worse by not saying anything.  

“You ready?”  This will have to be enough.  

Martin nods, apparently not noticing the pause.  

Jon tries not to jump out of his skin when Martin starts rubbing circles on Jon’s hand.  It’s surprising, but it feels nice.  

More than nice.  

Jon starts the car.  

It’s chilly.  Late September.  And it’s getting dark.  Both in that the sun is going down, and in that storm clouds are gathering.  

Jon knows they can’t stop for the night.  

He just has to get them to Scotland.  Hopefully then it will all be okay.  

They stop at a service station just out of the city.  Jon gets a black coffee.  He buys Martin a tea and a sandwich.  

He knows the coffee won’t do his stomach any favors, and will more likely than not set his heart to hammering, but it will be worth it not to fall asleep at the wheel.  

He can’t let Martin drive until Martin looks like less like a space cadet.  

But Jon hopes the tea brings color back to Martin’s face, even if he can’t quite tell in the sickly light of the service station, or the dim light of the evening as Jon tops up the petrol.  

Highway before and behind, and Jon is throwing up.  Pulled to the wrong side of the road in the dark and the rain.  Trembling as Martin rubs his back and gently pulls back his hair.  

They aren’t even halfway there.  His heart is beating too quickly.  Anxiety?  Caffeine?  POTS?  Nausea?  Who’s to say.  But Jon is miserable, but there isn’t much choice, because being a passenger will make it worse, even if that would mean he could take some medicine.  But Martin is in not fit state to drive.  And Martin must know that, because for all his soothing, he doesn’t offer to drive.  Or he almost offers, but Jon can see the thought die on his lips.  Besides, Jon is fairly certain Martin can’t drive a manual transmission car.  Not that Jon is particularly good at it, and stalled the engine twice leaving London.  

The occasional car and lorry thunders past.  On the side of the road, Jon can feel their movement in his core.  He worries how he will get them safely back on the road, as he spits in the dirt.  

“Sorry.  Let’s go,” he mumbles his embarrassment to Martin.  

He tries to ignore the pitying look that Martin has fixed on him.  

“Sure we can’t stop?”  

Jon shakes his head, and the dizziness threatens to take him down.  He sags against Martin for a moment.  “Can’t risk it.  Perils of being on the run, I’m afraid.”  

Martin frowns at him.  

“I’m fine.  Just… tired and… well, carsick.  We’ll be there by morning.”

“Yeah and the fact that you basically collapsed against me is something I’m just supposed to ignore?”  

Jon waves him off.  

The brief conversation seems to have stolen all of Martin’s words.  He quietly gets back in the car, and Jon shudders and sways without Martin’s warm bulk holding him up.  

He starts the car, and takes Martin’s hand.  

Just a few more hours.  Then they can rest.  

[silkling]

Thank you that's so sweet??? Aaa that means a lot-

I have thought of a few prompts actually,,

One being, TFA Prowl and Jazz where Prowl was some sort of fae creature that could disguise himself as a normal bot, and he got dragged to Yoketron. Either Yoketron knew what he was or he entered a deal with him by accident, but Prowl was like...honor bound to stay and learn from him after making that agreement. Maybe Jazz is there visiting as a previous student, and weird things about Prowl keep catching his attention.

The other was far more angsty- what if Sigma 17 were woken up earlier, like halfway through the war when their pod is discovered by an Autobot ship.. mby Blades' brothers are still aware and he can feel them, but otherwise they're just dumped straight into war. Poor bbys.

Oh my god. You. You just. You don’t know what you did. Cause I like, really like fae lore. So as soon as I saw that prompt my brain demanded it be written. But I also really like your other prompt. So I’m going to do them both! This one is the fae Prowl one. I’ll post the second prompt in another post. But seriously I’m going to have so much fun with this. You have no idea what you have unleashed in my brain.

———————————————————————————————————

Yoketron watched as the lithe, elegant youngling was hauled into his Dojo by Warpath. He arched a brow when he noticed the muzzle clamped on his face, and then was even more surprised when he realized just how much the mechling was capable of thrashing in the larger Autobot’s hold, despite the stasis cuffs clamped around his wrists. The youngling, a two-wheeler now that Yoketron was able to see him more clearly, was dumped on the floor and pinned under a heavy red pede.

“You sure you want to take this one, Master Yoketron? I really think he’s more deserving of the stockades, filthy little deserter.” Warpath snarled.

“Indeed, Warpath. I am quite certain.” Yoketron hummed. “I assure you, if he truly does not wish what I have to offer than I am quite capable of bringing him to the stockades myself.”

Warpath only grumbled, growling one more time at the small youngling, and then he bowed and left.

As soon as the weight on him was gone, the mechling’s thrashing kicked up a notch and he tried to sit himself up. It seemed though, that despite his surprising amount of maneuverability he didn’t have enough control of his limbs to actually do so. Yoketron knelt down, reaching out and pressing the release mechanism of the muzzle. It dropped to his waiting palm and he subspaced it, retracting his hand just in time to avoid razor sharp fangs snapping shut on his fingers. As it was, those deadly dentae clacked together harshly as the mechling’s jaw closed on empty air. Yoketron arched a brow, frowning. Odd. Usually it was only warframes who had such sharp fangs, and this little one was most definitely not a warframe.

Yoketron ignored the furious glare, casting a critical gaze over the mech laying prone on his dojo floor. At least he had stopped thrashing, though now his frame was so tense the armor plating was clamped shut too tight to get even a metal wire in between the individual armor pieces. Yoketron returned his gaze to meet the glowing visor, bright with the fury and rage that was strong enough for him to practically taste in the youngling’s field.

He hummed as if to himself, reaching behind him to undo the stasis cuffs, only to stop when fangs pierced and dug into the armor of his forearm. He shot the mechling an unimpressed look, his free hand reaching and digging fingers into the soft protoform of his face behind his jaw. His body almost spasmed, his mouth forced open, his fangs and lips stained with Yoketron’s energon. The ninja master ignored the fear that started to sour his field, as well as the way his ventilations increased until he was panting harshly, mouth forced open and glaring helplessly at the older bot. Instead, he reached out again, removing the stasis cuffs, then releasing his jaw and straightening as he stepped back.

He watched the young mech get to his pedes, his movements graceful and elegant even as his field radiated rage and fear. Yoketron found his optics narrowing faintly at the way his every movement was soundless. There was no shifting metal as he rose, to whirring systems as his frame shifted and settled, so sound of pedes against wood as he got up and stood straight. It was…off. Not enough to make a normal mech think anything was wrong, but just enough to get Yoketron’s attention. Combined with his fangs, it was starting to paint a picture. Not to mentioned the slightly tapered finger tips he had noticed as he’d removed the stasis cuffs. Fingers that flexed and clenched, and Yoketron noticed a half-second flash of sharpened claws before those hands relaxed and returned to normal. Yes, he was most definitely starting to get an idea of what this mechling was.

“Hello, young one.” he rumbled. “May I ask what you were doing hiding on Dojo property?”

The youngling growled, shifting towards the door. Yoketron let him. “What do you think? Trying to stay out of the war.” he barked. “It’s not my fight, after all.”

Yoketron hummed. “Perhaps not.” he agreed. “But those in charge will not see it that way, and will see you as little more than a traitor for not answering the call to fight. I am taking a risk in doing so, but if you wish to avoid the fight them I can offer you another option.” he stepped towards the youngling, optics narrowing. “So long as you are willing to learn, I would take you on as my student.”

The youngling snarled. “Fat chance! I’m leaving.”

“Certainly.” Yoketron agreed. “If you can make it to the door before I stop you, then you will be free to do exactly that, and I will ensure any and all charges against you are dropped.”

The youngling eyed him dubiously, but seemed to decide the risk was worth it because he was transforming and taking off in the next second. It had been a silent transformation too, which had raised only further alarm bells. Yoketron waited until he was close to the door, and then he moved. In a flash, he appeared in front of the mech, and a hard kick sent him tumbling out of his alt mode. Another kick, and he was flying back into the cabinet, which fell on top of him. Yoketron walked over and heaved it off, crouching to pin the mechling by pressing a hand between his shoulderblades.

“You have potential, little one. But if you are discovered and caught by the authorities then that shall all go to waste.”

Abruptly, the struggling form under his palm stilled and tensed, all anger leaving his field to be replaced by fear. “…what do you want?” he whispered.

“Your name, youngling. I believe Cybertron has lost enough of your kin. I have no desire to see another perish unnecessarily. The rest of the planet may be blind to it, but I am well aware of how necessary you are to the functioning of our world.” Yoketron said calmly. The yougling’s actions had confirmed his suspicions. He truly was one of the fae, a breed of Cybertronian long believed to be only myth.

The youngling was shaking faintly now, obviously frightened. Yoketron couldn’t blame him. While most civilians thought the fae to be the subjects of story and myth, any mech involved in government or military knew they were real, albeit very, very rare. There was a reason for that, a very unpleasant one, and it certainly didn’t help that any fae were were discovered were often captured and simply…never seen again.

“You know what that would mean.” There was an agonized note to the youngling’s voice.

Yoketron felt a twinge of regret. He did know, and it wasn’t something he was eager to do. But given the circumstances, it would be the best way to ensure this one’s safety. “I do.” he confirmed. “I promise you I will not abuse it, youngling. I seek only to ensure your safety and to see you grow. I cannot simply allow you to go so easily, for if I did then I would be questioned as to why I did not bring you to the stockades and it would bring more attention to you. This way, you will remain safe.”

“Then why offer to let me go in the first place?” he demanded.

“I believed it would make you feel better to know you had at least made an attempt.”

The youngling abruptly went limp, his field still fearful, but now also tinged with a dull resignation that made Yoketron feel a little sick to his tanks. He did not want to do it like this, but for the mechling’s safety was truly the only option, with the way Cybertron currently functioned. “Give me your name, youngling.” he encouraged, voice gentling.

The young bot reset his vocalizer, and looked up to lock his visor with Yoketron’s optics. “My name is Prowl.” he answered, and he could hear the reluctance as the young bot spoke.

As Prowl gave his name to Yoketron, his optics glowed a bright white for a brief moment behind his visor before fading back to normal. Yoketron himself felt a small pull at his spark, recognizing it as the tether that now bound Prowl to him. He lifted his hand from the fae’s back, watching him slowly rose to sit up. “I take your name to be returned to you when your tutelage is done, Prowl.” he said, and the bond that was latched against his spark strengthened and solidified. “Go. Past the door on your right is a hall. Turn left at the end, past the door there, and you will find the berthrooms. The one with the black door is the student’s room. You may call it yours while you remain under my care.” he said, voice gentle. “Rest. I will clean up here. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

There was a tug on his spark, ans he realized quickly that he had worded that too close to an order when Prowl winced, cringing back from him but obeying nonetheless. Yoketron frowned, distaste curling in his tanks. He would have to learn how to word what he said very, very carefully so it could not be viewed as an order. He knew the bond he had established by taking the fae’s name meant that Prowl would be compelled to obey what he was told, but he had no intentions of abusing that. It would be wrong to do so.

The youngling stood, then turned and left through the door. Yoketron listened to his pedes fade away, and then he himself was standing. He hadn’t expected his day to go like this, and he disliked how he had had to take on his newest student, but he couldn’t regret having done so. He did not want to see another fae fall just because Cybertron’s elite refused to understand them. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the broom from the corner and began cleaning. Tomorrow would be a long day.

——————————

Prowl found himself curled up in the berth after he had cleaned himself up in the washracks attached to the room. His spark felt heavy with the new bond tied around him, and he further tugged the mesh blanket wound himself as he thought about it. He hadn’t ever intended to get caught. He had snuck into the Dojo grounds because they looked mostly empty and he’d thought it’d be a good place to lay low while army “recruiters” were sweeping through the streets. The last thing he wanted was to be forcefully drafted. Being around so many mechs who he knew knew about the fae…well, he was good, but he also knew he’d probably have gotten caught eventually.

He had hidden himself well, even using magae to keep himself as undetectable as possible. But then that red mech, Warpath, had seen him as he’d been attempting to sneak into another area of the Dojo, and….that was that. He’d been swiftly pinned and cuffed, and when he’d kept trying to bite, the muzzle had been locked around his face as well. He hadn’t expected to be brought to the Dojo Master, and he had even less expected that the mech, Warpath had called him Yoketron, would know what he was. He was even more embarrassed about being caught because when Warpath left, he realized the large bot just visiting. But he had been caught, and Yoketron had trapped and bound him with his own magae, and now he was here. At least the older bot had promised that his name–and freedom–would be returned after he was finished being trained, but Primus only knew how long that would take.

It was days like this when Prowl loathed his heritage, loathed the fact he was a fae. He had been proud of it, once. Fae were beings of legend, after all. Stories said that in Cybertron’s early days, even before the great cities were built, fae and normal Cybertronians lived alongside each other. It was said that fae were gifted the abilities beyond that of a normal bot, including tapping into the world’s natural energies. They were able to feel this energy and occasionally draw on it to perform feats of great power. Fae also wielded their own unique form of energy, called magae, that allowed them to perform what most bots would call “magic”. Magae was what made up the entirety of a fae’s abilities, it was what made them fae. Magae came from a fae’s spark, was comprised of the energies and power of their own life force, and they could use it to connect to the sparks of other bots. Usually, that would entail taking a mech’s name and binding them to yourself. Though if one knew how, the process could be reversed, and a mech could take a fae’s name and bind them to themself, as Yoketron had done to Prowl.

He couldn’t blame the older mech. The part of his processor that was more logical could even be grateful. His reasoning had been sound, after all. There wasn’t really a way for Prowl to walk away from this without unwanted attention, without risking discovery. He knew what would have happened if he was discovered. The rest of Cybertron may have forgotten why the fae disappeared, but his people remembered. Fae had been powerful. Chosen by Primus to maintain the planet’s natural order and help ensure prosperity for His children, which included themselves. For a time, it had been fine.

But then mechs had begun to fear to extent of what fae could do, disliking that they were capable of tapping into the sparks of others. And so the fae had been hunted. To avoid extinction, his people had fled and disappeared, going to the shadows and staying there until they were eventually forgotten. They built up their own society, separate from the rest of Cybertron. Prowl remembered it, a little bit. He had been sparked there, but…somehow, he had gotten separated from his people and place of origin, and he’d never found his way back. It was hidden from the people of Cybertron, and any fae who got lost from it and didn’t know the way back would remain stranded outside forever.

That was what had happened to him. He didn’t remembered how, but…he did know his creators had been taken, or perhaps offlined, and they’d hidden him just before being caught. They’d never come back, and he had remained stranded from the place he’d been sparked in. After that, he was told he was found by a civilian family from Praxus, who brought him to a Youth Center there. Once he was big enough to take care of himself, he’d fled the Center, wanting to try and find his way home, but…he’d never been able to. He’d been in his own ever since.

Now, he was stuck, bound to a mech who claimed to want to see him safe and strong but he didn’t know if Yoketron was telling the truth. He could only hope he was. The alternative was that the old mech intended to use the bond for his own gain, or to turn him in, and Prowl…Prowl didn’t want either option. He sighed heavily, swiping a hand across his face, his visor set on the nightstand by the berth. His optics were a normal blue, though what made them stand out was the markings around his optics. It was why he wore the visor. The most distinctive features of what he was were his fangs and claws, but those were easy to hide, and the markings around his optics. Every fae had markings somewhere, he knew. He had just been unlucky enough to have them on his face.

The youngling sighed, forcing himself out of the increasingly depressing spiral. It couldn’t be changed. He just had to adapt and learn. He was good at that. He tucked himself into a tighter ball, knees pulled to his chest and mesh clutched tightly around his form. He closed his optics, trying to calm down enough to recharge. Today had been a very bad day. He just hoped the days to come wouldn’t follow in the pattern.

——————————

Prowl woke the next day to a quiet knocking on the door. He startled awake, feeling out of sorts and groggy as he pushed the blanket off him and sat up. That was when he remembered the events of the previous day, and he flinched away from the door and looked down. So, it was time to get up, he supposed. He sighed, then swung his pedes out of the berth and padded to the door. Upon opening it, he found the hallway to be empty, but he picked up the sounds of…something at the end of the hall, in the opposite direction of what he was thinking was the main room of the Dojo. He stepped out, closing the door behind him, and walked towards the noise. He came to a sliding door, and when he opened it he found what appeared to be some sort of dining room.

Yoketron was already there, setting two places at the table with fuel. When the door opened, the old mech looked up. “Ah, Prowl.” he greeted. “You look well, today. I am glad.”

Prowl squirmed uncomfortably, nodding. “I….yes.” he said lamely.

“If you wish, you may come and sit. I typically share morning fuel with my student before I begin lessons, when I have one under my care.”

Prowl blinked, realizing there was no order in that phrasing. Maybe Yoketron really wouldn’t take advantage? He nodded, sliding forward, closing the door behind him as he went, and sitting on the cushion provided. Yoketron hummed, satisfied, and went to the opposite end of the small table to take his own place.

“I wish to apologize, Prowl” he said. “Binding you to myself was not how I wished to take you on as my student, but from what I have learned of fae culture over my life I believed it to be the best way to ensure you remain safe and undetected.” he explained.

The two-wheeler looked uncomfortable, but he nodded regardless. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” he sounded resigned. “I get it, I suppose. I know how dangerous discovery is for one of my kind. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy.”

“And I would not ask you to be.” Yoketron said patiently. He swallowed down some of his fuel, his gaze locked on the lithe youngling nibbling at his own meal. “I only wish so see you survive and grow strong enough that you can defend yourself.”

He took no offense when Prowl didn’t answer, and they consumed the rest of their meal in silence. When they finished, Yoketron stood. “If you would, I would appreciate if you cleaned your dishes and followed me. I will show you were you can put them, and then we can move on to your morning lessons.”

Prowl nodded, gathering his now empty dishes and following the old mech. He noticed once more that Yoketron had not phrased his request in a way that it might be interpreted as an order, and he felt grateful. While he still wasn’t happy about how things had turned out, he was starting to believe that just maybe the bond wouldn’t be abused after all. And if Yoketron was really telling the truth, then Prowl would someday be able to keep himself safe. He still wasn’t sure of this situation, and he didn’t trust Yoketron, but if things continued to be like this then maybe his time here wouldn’t be so bad.

——————————

Prowl was meditating. He did so fairly often these days, as it made his natural energies settle in a way they usually didn’t. Fae were constantly connected to the energy of Cybertron, and sometimes it was nice to let own own spark settle in a more peaceful rhythm as he let the energy of his world wash over him and surround him. It had taken him a while to learn the patience to do this, but he was glad that he had eventually managed. His processor settled, ventilations deep and even as he blocked himself out from the outside world. Why should he not? He knew he was safe here. He had nothing to fear.

A hand pressed to his spinal strut, between his winglets.

He jerked, his processor snapping back to itself as his optics abruptly snapped open. He let out a loud, startled yelp, helm shooting around, and his gaze locking on mech who was smiling faintly, expression wry and amused.

“Master Yoketron.” he did not wheeze, thank you very much.

“Prowl.” His master greeted, tone warm. “I apologize for startling you. I thought you would wish to know that it is time for afternoon fuel. It would be best to take it, I believe. The lessons I have planned for the rest of this orn are rather difficult.”

Prowl released a heavy, relaxed vent. He nodded, the harsh light of his optics dimming behind his visor as his systems realized he wasn’t under attack. “Of course, Master. Thank you for coming to get me. I apologize for not keeping better track of the time.”

Master Yoketron only shook his head. “Of course, young one. I understand the importance of meditation. I would not think to force you to stop early when I can prepare the fuel myself.” he hummed. “Though,” he cast his student a look. “I would appreciate if you did continue to prepare the fuel with me, in most cases.”

Prowl nodded, standing up and following his Master out the door of the small meditation room and down to the dining hall. “I would not think to abandon one of my tasks, Master Yoketron.”

“No, I do not think you would.” The old mech agreed. They stopped in the dining room, taking their respective seats. After a moment of silent eating, Prowl’s mentor spoke. “You have come very far since you first came to this Dojo, Prowl.”

Prowl paused, drawing back a little under the intensity of the gaze pinned on him. Yes, he supposed he had. He still wasn’t pleased that his teacher had had to take his name and bind him to himself to get him to stay, but he understood. Besides, he had come to like it, here. The old cyber-ninja was kind and fair, and he had never once forced Prowl out of his comfort zone or tried to abuse the bond, not a single time in the vorns since the fae had been dumped at his pedes. He stayed now because he wished to, not because he was forced to. The bond was still active, and Yoketron still held his name, but he had come to see this place as home and no longer tried to trick the cyber-ninja into breaking the bond. His Master still held his name, but Prowl would stay even if he did not.

“I suppose.” the fae said after a moment. “I am grateful to you, Master Yoketron. Even if I am not pleased as to how it happened, I am glad you took me as your student.”

The older mech relaxed, expression softening. “Indeed, young one. I feel much the same.” he murmured. “Now, I believe it is time we finish fueling. It will be a long orn yet.”

Prowl nodded, then picked up his cube of energon and took a sip. He didn’t know what his future would hold, but he, for once in his life, looked forward to what the coming stellar cycles would bring.

——————————

The coming stellar cycles, it turned out, would bring one of Master Yoketron’s former students. A mech named Jazz, who according to his mentor was visiting the Dojo for the Festival of Adaptus, and he intended to stay for the full deca-cycle the Festival took place on, as he was granted leave by the Elite Guard to do so. Yoketron had told him that Jazz had been his most recent student before he had taken in Prowl, and that the young cyber-ninja was apparently quite eager to meet their shared mentor’s newest disciple. Prowl wasn’t opposed to the visit, not at all. But in the vorns since he’d come to the dojo, he had relaxed and become more at ease, and so his magae itself had also become less tense and volatile. All that really meant, though, was that, now that he knew he was safe and at home, his instincts would let him behave in the way he wanted to about the Dojo’s guest.

Jazz didn’t know Prowl was a fae. He didn’t even know that a fae was in the Dojo. Which meant Prowl would be able to really mess with the mech and confuse him while he was here. He didn’t let his more mischievous tendencies be known often, but Prowl was a fae, and his people reveled in tricks and mischief. And now that someone new was coming, someone who wouldn’t know to anticipate it like Yoketron knew to, after living with Prowl’s rare pranks?

Well, Prowl was going to have some fun with Jazz.

——————————

Jazz didn’t know what he was expecting when he met his old Master’s newest student, but it most certainly wasn’t for the lithe mech to thrust out a hand, palm up, and say:

“Hello. Master Yoketron has told me about you. Would you like to give me your name?”

Now, the phrasing of the had been real funky, but Jazz hadn’t had time to think on it or even to tell the mech his name before Master Yoketron was putting a hand over his mouth and shooting the black and gold mech a very unimpressed look. The two-wheeler had huffed, arms crossing.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Master.”

And Primus, but he’d sounded petulant. Jazz still didn’t understand that whole interaction, but then Yoketron was stepping away and the bot offered his hand out again. “My name is Prowl, and you may use it as a friend.” he’d said.

Upon getting no reaction from the Dojo Master, Jazz had stepped forward and taken his hand. Again, very funky phrasing, but Jazz was starting to think maybe the mech himself was just from a different walk of life than he was. “Name’s Jazz.” he’d introduced himself, and thinking that the second part of Prowl’s introduction must be important to the mech, he’d found himself copying it. “Feel free to use my name as a friend.”

The words had tasted oddly stiff in his mouth, but before he could say anything more Master Yoketron was shooing his student off to do some chores, and then he’d led Jazz to the berthroom reserved for Dojo guests.

Which, was where the Polyhexian now found himself.

Except…the berth was stood vertical against the wall. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was how Master Yoketron was storing them when they weren’t in use? But then, why hadn’t it been put back horizontal before he had arrived? Jazz was very confused. He shrugged, moving to pull the berth back down. Maybe his old teacher had simply forgotten, though Yoketron had never forgotten anything before. Old age, then? Yeah, Jazz would sooner believe that Ultra Magnus enjoyed bar fights.

He still had no idea how the berth had gotten like that, but maybe things would make sense after recharge. So, he slipped under the mesh blankets and let himself slip into unconsciousness. He was sure things would be less confusing when he was operating at his full abilities.

The next morning did dawn, and Jazz had woken up making the choice to just forget about the berth incident. He might ask his mentor at a later date, but for now he’d focus on just enjoying his time at th old Dojo. He slipped out of his berthroom, remembering from his own training that right about now was when the morning fuel was prepared. Sure enough, he slipped into the kitchen to find both Dojo residents preparing their shares. Jazz went to do the same, and after a a breem all three of them were seated at the table.

Jazz turned to Prowl, smiling. “So, mech, how’re you liking it at the Dojo? I heard through the grapevine your arrival here wasn’t exactly ideal.” he offered, remembering what Warpath had told the rest of the cyber-ninjas.

Prowl paused. “…it was not ideal, you are right.” he confirmed. “I am grateful for Master Yoketron taking me under his care, however. I find the Dojo pleasant.”

Jazz chuckled. “You’re a pretty well-mannered mech, aintcha?” he teased playfully. “I’d almost think you came from nobility.”

Prowl, amusingly, looked very offended. “It does not do to be impolite.” he sniffed.

Jazz smiled. “I ain’t disagreeing with you. But you can relax, you get me?”

Prowl simply stared at him, then scoffed and returned to his meal. Jazz didn’t take it personally. Dai Atlas was pretty stiff too. Some mechs just preferred structure and formality. Yoketron, as he often was during mealtimes, was silent. The rest of their fuel was consumed in that silence, and then Prowl and the Dojo Master were cleaning up and going off to the morning lessons. Jazz remembered those. They had been very….straining. He stood, cleaning his own dishes and then going to mediate until the other two were done for the morning. Plus, he hadn’t been able to mediate properly for a while.

A couple joors later, Jazz was done and got to his feet. Yoketron ans Prowl should be finished by now too, he knew, and he decided to walk though the garden to get to the main hall. Except…there were some odd metalli-plants in the garden, arranged in a perfect circle. Jazz didn’t recognize them, and he found it odd that they were planted that way. He could also detect a very, very faint energy coming from the circle. Curious, he walked over, intending to get close and touch the plants to examine them, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked back, seeing Yoketron, and his old teacher looked exasperated. “Prowl, I would appreciate if you would not attempt to trap Jazz in your circles.” he called out.

Prowl stepped out from the Dojo, almost looking like he was pouting, and the odd energy around the flowers disappeared. “You’re no fun, Master. I wouldn’t have done anything.” he grumbled.

Yoketron only shook his head, and invited Jazz to join them for some basic katas now that morning lessons were done. He agreed, but tacked that onto his mental list of weird things going on at the Dojo. He thought that would be the last time. It wasn’t.

That night, when he went to the washracks, the solvent came out mixed with glitter. Jazz barely avoided getting a very sparkly makeover. Then, the next orn, he kept getting lost. Master Yoketron had to rescue him from the meditation chambers after the 12th time he ended up there trying to get to the dining hall. After that, his Master having to stop Jazz from accepting fuel that Prowl had offered. Then, he’d woken the next orn to find his berth was gone. Just….gone. Even though he’d been in it. The odd things kept stacking up and up, until finally, half-way into his stay, he learned what it all was.

It was when Yoketron, Prowl, and he were fueling after the morning lessons. Prowl and Jazz were talking, and then Prowl had said the words that made Jazz feel very, very stupid:

“Words have power, Jazz, so of course phrasing is important in proper social interaction!”

He forgot what they were even bickering about, staring at the rotten little trickster in front of him with a gaping mouth. “You’re a fae.” he realized. How had he not figured it out sooner? Master Yoketron had taught him about the fae. All cyber-ninja knew about the fae! Then a new thought struck him. “You stole my berth!”

Prowl blinked, and he seemed to relax when Jazz’s reaction to the revelation wasn’t fear or an attempt to turn him in. Only indignation. “I will not apologize.” he deadpanned.

Jazz stared, and then a grin stretched his lips. “You clever, tricky little glitch.” he said playfully, enunciating each word. There was no genuine malice in his tone. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

——————————

Prowl snorted as Jazz regaled him with yet another story about his new superior officer, a mech called Sentinel Prime, and his immense stupidity. They were in Iacon, and it had been a long time since Prowl had been so far from the Dojo, which was in the outer edges on Praxus, on its own land. But he’d come to a pause in his training, as Master Yoketron had sent him on an optics quest. It was, apparently, a major test in the life of a cyber-ninja. It would allow him to discover what he wished to do with his life, as he was meant to travel and experience new things and explore, and when he had the answer he would return to the Dojo. And then he would begin a new level of his training, according to his teacher.

So he was in Iacon currently, enjoying an afternoon with Jazz. It had been many vorns since that fateful Festival of Adaptus, and the two young mechs had forged a strong bond. So when Prowl’s optics quest had brought him in the direction of Iacon, he’d commed the older mech and asked to be shown around. The fae was nervous about being so close to the headquarters of Autobot High Command, because he knew what they did to any of his kind they discovered, but he was confident in his abilities to remain hidden. Plus, he had Jazz, and he knew the white bot wouldn’t let him be put in danger.

They were sitting at Jazz’s favorite cafe, enjoying a selection of energon treats, when Prowl felt it. A tug at his spark. The bond he shared with Yoketron went two ways. The older mech held most of the control, but Prowl could still sense his mentor through it. It was one of the reasons he had come to accept it. And now…now, Yoketron’s spark felt like it was sputtering, like the mech it belonged to was in pain and his life was in danger. Prowl didn’t stop to think. He threw down a fistful on shanix, and then grabbed Jazz’s wrist and dragged him away.

His processor was racing desperately, and he couldn’t even manage to answer his friend’s questions. He dragged them to an empty alley, and then closed his eyes, focused on his magae, and dug deep.

Every fae had a pocket plane of their own. It was like a bot’s subspace, but it wasn’t a subspace and it was large enough for a mech to go in to. It was like…a small sub-world of sorts, and only a fae could access it, and each fae had their own. The sub-world could be used as a quick method of transport. As long as the location one was trying to get to was on the same planet as they one they had left from, then a fae could use to to travel large distances in almost an instant.

Prowl had never accessed his, before. Oh, he’d tried. Countless times. But he’d never been able to. But now…now he had to. It was the only way they could get to Praxus, to Master Yoketron. So he dug inwards, pushing far, far deeper into his magae than he’d ever done before…and he stepped forward. He came into his sub-world, bringing Jazz with him, and the other mech was silent now, gaping im shock. He kept going though, and focused on Praxus, on the Dojo, and stepped again. Then, they were there. Prowl stumbled as he came to a stop in the Dojo, releasing Jazz and tripping onto his face. He didn’t notice when his visor was knocked loose as he shifted his gaze to try and find his Master.

Prowl and Jazz were frozen for a single sparkbeat at the scene they’d come into. A large mech with a hook in place of one hand and markings on his face was standing over their mentor. For a moment, Prowl thought the mech was fae. But he detected no magae from him, and the moment passed.

That was when the rage came. He snarled, his engine roaring his anger, and his claws lengthened to their sharpest, his fangs sharpening to their longest, and the golden markings around his optics glowed a brilliant, pale silver while his optics themselves glowed white. He surged up, and in the next sparkbeat he was between the mech and his master. He extended a hand, deadly claws resting on the mech’s chest plate, and before that hook could swipe at him he peeled back his lips, put his magae into his voice, and hissed a command.

“Stop.”

It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew. Without the mech’s name, the order wouldn’t hold much power. So, Prowl used the physical connection, and pushed with his magae, digging with his very spark into the core of the mech’s being. He had to be careful, he knew. Like this, it would be so easy to destroy, to rip the mech’s very soul apart and kill his being without even extinguishing his spark. But Master Yoketron had always warned him against using his powers to hurt others, telling him he was meant for greater than causing pain and suffering. Even if Prowl didn’t believe that, he still wanted to honor his Master’s wishes and his lessons. So he didn’t rip and tear and rend, like the more feral of his fae instincts demanded. Instead, he dug in, until he had what he wanted, and wove a strand of magae into the mech’s spark energy to ensure the bond would take.

Then he pulled himself back, and as the mech regained mobility he met those red optics and bared his fangs. “I know your name, bounty hunter.” he spat. “I know who you are, and your name is mine until such time I decide it is mine no longer. I have your name , Lockdown, and with it I have you.” Claws dug into metal armor as the mech froze, optics blown wide with shock.

“You will stop this, and you will leave, Lockdown. Now.” Prowl ordered in a snarling hiss.

Lockdown was tense, but the bond that Prowl had tied around his spark and the hold of his name over him forced him to obey. He stopped, and he left. It was only when the Dojo was silent that Prowl began to calm. He sagged, slowly releasing a heavy vent, and turned to the other two mechs. Jazz had helped Yoketron sit up, his helmet already returned to him, and both were staring.

“Uh, mech? What’s with the light show?” Jazz asked softly.

“Light show?” And then Prowl noticed the lights.

Small, glowing spheres of light and energy filled the room. Dozens of them. He gasped, reaching out to the nearest one and tapping it. It burst into flame, and Prowl jerked back. The flame burned out, and a new light replaced the old. Prowl hesitantly tapped another of the spheres, and this one burst into mist. It was then he understood what this was.

Every fae had a unique magae ability. It seemed these spheres were his, and each of them did something different. But what was the use, if he didn’t know which did what? Except….he did know. Or at least, his spark did. This was an ability born from his magae, from his spark. So….if he let that guide him..he would know.

He took a deep vent, focusing, and his gaze locked on one sphere floating to his right. He cupped his hands around it, bringing it to his mentor, and crouched by the older mech. He held his hands out, the sphere glowing above his clawstips.

“This one should help you, Master.” he said softly.

Yoketron hummed, then reached out and pushed his fingers into the light. It flared, dancing up along his frame, and small cracks and wounds in his armor sealed up while the heavier injuries lessened slightly in severity. He perked up too, as if he was given a boost of energy, and was able to stand up on his own after a moment. Prowl and Jazz followed suit, but before either could say anything another form burst into the Dojo.

“Master Yoketron, are you-“ the mech cut himself off, staring at the scene. “….I saw smoke coming from the Dojo?” he said, uncertain.

Prowl tensed, optics narrowing, but Jazz slid in to calm the situation. “It’s alright. We managed to deal with it.”

The mech’s uncertain gaze looked around the Dojo, clearly confused at the lights, until his optics found Prowl. Then they lit up with understanding, and recognition. He obviously realized what the fae was. But…he stepped forward anyway, holding out a hand. “You’re Master Yoketron’s student, right? My name is Springer, and I give it to you freely to use as you wish, though I hope you would use it as a friend.”

Prowl startled, not expecting a mech to give his name so easily. He had to cut the tie to his magae so it wouldn’t try to latch on and bind the mech. He took the offered hand, careful of his claws. “You are well met, Springer, and I would be pleased to call you my friend. My name is Prowl, and I offer it to you to use as a friend in turn.” he said smoothly, then stepped back.

Jazz grinned, throwing an arm around Prowl’s shoulders. “Nice, Prowler! But are you ever gonna explain what in the Pit you did? Cause I’m still trippin’ over tryin’ to figure it out.”

Springer cut in. “As much as I’d like to know too, maybe now isn’t the best time. We should clean up before the Elite Guard figures out something went down here. Prowl, that means you might want to cut your magae off, we don’t want you getting found out.”

Prowl tensed, but nodded stiffly. He could do that. He took a vent, closing his optics and relaxing. After a moment, the spheres started winking out, and his fangs and claws returned to their hidden states. His optics and markings stopped glowing, and he opened his optics to look for his visor. He quickly noticed it was broken on the floor, and he was about to panic when Jazz caught his attention and held out his own visor. His optics were bare for once, and Prowl found himself staring in quiet awe for a moment before a resetting of a vocalizer from Springer snapped his focus back. He snagged up the visor, slipping it on and shooting Jazz a grateful look.

“Great!” the green mech was smiling. “Now, let’s figure out this mess!”

Prowl hummed. “I believe I have an idea. Springer, if you will, I believe you and I would be best suited for cleaning up here. Jazz, would you mind helping Master Yoketron?” A glance back showed their mentor leaning against the far wall, seemingly in a meditative state. “And call in a medic, his wounds still need to be treated.”

The other two glanced at each other, and for a moment Prowl thought they wouldn’t take orders from an ungraduated student, but to his surprise they nodded and got to work. Prowl felt himself smile, and fell into place with Springer to clean up the mess Lockdown had made of the Dojo’s main hall. He had been worried that he wouldn’t find his place once he graduated the Dojo and left his Master’s care, but he was starting to realize he would have a place after all. He would find his acceptance and his purpose in the Cyber-Ninja Corps and the mechs who he would one day call his brothers-in-arms. He was sure of that now. He looked forward to it. For once, Prowl knew that his future was bright, and he was eager to meet it head on.

(Yoketron watched his youngest student interact with two of his others, and felt pride swell in his spark. Prowl had come so very far from that first orn, when he’d been a half-feral youngling trying to flee the world itself. He’d known he had made the right decision in choosing his successor when he’d seen how Prowl handled Lockdown, and when he’d seen how easily and freely he had accepted Springer as a comrade. Prowl was going to far surpass him one orn, was going to be a far better Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps than he ever was. Yoketron couldn’t wait to see it.)

———————————————————————————————————

And there it is! What did you think? I hoped you liked it. I had fun. I like it. Fae Prowl is a little troll and you can’t convince me otherwise. Anyway, that story is finished! Yoketron lives, because I said so. Also, Prowl and Jazz totally become a thing later. Absolutely no one is surprised.

Aaaaannd…I think thats it! Yep, I’ve said the important stuff.

Until next time, folks!

[daisiesandshakes]

Fanfic (William Shakespeare & reader)

Warning: light smut

Also warning: english is not my native language, but I hope you enjoy!

Words: about 2000 (wow... I am surprised by myself)

One step closer

It was a bad day.  In your opinion it couldn't have been worse. Since nearly three weeks now you're helping Shakespeare with his new play. Your task was to take care of the costumes, stopping by for cleaning or darning them. But after a few days an actress catched a bad flue and William asked you to take her place.

You happily agreed to his wish. First everything went smooth, it was challenging but also fun. You liked to work with the other actors right away, enjoying their open and caring personalities, but the most important thing: You are able to spend time with Shakespeare.

At first you were only curious about him, you wanted to know more about the great mysterious William Shakespeare, who has left the mansion, and for sure you wanted to find out more about his work. The more time passed by, the more you could see your feelings change.

By this time it is impossible for you to face his glare without trembling legs or hundreds of butterflies in your stomach. William Shakespeare- the perfect gentleman, always treating you with respect and a gentleness that borders on adoration. Plus he is an extremly hard worker, fully dedicated to his plays, he is considerate and charming, he's got a fine sense of humor always making you smile, and his voice... oh you could spend hours only listening to him. In one or two rare moments you were even able to notice a softer, almost shy side at him and at that rare moments you knew you were lost. Helpless to his force of attraction like a planet to the force of gravity from a black hole.

You're really trying hard to hide that you're in love with him.

Who are you at all? Only a normal young woman who fell in love with one of history's greatest men. He deserves better than you. William deserves a woman who is as much talented and captivate as him. So you decided to admire and love him in secrecy.

But unfortunately those secret feelings for him happened to be the reason for your desaster today.

First William adjusted your new costume over and over again. You could feel his hands moving over your body and as he corrected the ribbons of your corset you were at your limit. You sensed his breath in your neck and there was no way to hide the tremble that rushed through your form. "Are you okay? Do you need something?" His enticing voice next to your ear... You almost blurted out 'You!"

With shaky words you explained you only forgot to eat proper this morning. He hummed at your words, then promised to offer after rehearse everything to you what you desire. Ah... Your mind spun.

Later he took place for one of his actors to show how the scene should look like. That ment he held you in his arms and whispered lovingly lines while looking straight into your eyes. You weren't able to remember your part anymore, you barely managed to stutter an excuse and asked embarressed for a small break. Not waiting for the answer you broke from the embrace and hurried off the stage - when the next drama happened.

You lost balance as your long dress stuck to the rail und you fell down the last stair. One of the actors helped you up and you assured quickly to be okay while realising the beautiful costume is ruined. Tearing up you fled the scene without looking back.

And now you're sitting on the chaise in the changing area, desperate, full of shame and tired of yourself.

Hot tears of frustration are spurting out as Shakespeare opens the door slightly. " May I come in?" He asks with a soft voice. A sobb leaves your lips and you try to wipe your tears away as soon as possible."Sure, William". He sits down next to you, trying to meet your gaze. But you are feeling ashamed, looking down, avoiding his eyes. "I.. I am so sorry for ruining the rehearse and the beautiful dress..." another tear rolls down your cheek. With two fingers under your chin Will lifts your head.

"There is no need to apologize, my brave maiden", he whispers and let you drown in his enchanting, mismatched eyes. You can't help it - more tears are spilling out and his other hand reaches up to wipe them away affectionaly. Will's face is so close to yours, you can feel his breath on your skin. He cups your face. "Tis is all my fault and my heart is bleeding with sorrow, knowing I did this to you". You frown. "I don't understand William... Why should my clumpsiness be your fault?"

Staring in your eyes, he sighs. "I know what your heart desires, my fair maiden. Now I know it for sure." His thumbs caress softly  your cheeks. "The past days I could see a change in your glare when you looked at me.. and when you thought I wouldn't notice that your eyes are following me". In shock you're holding your breath and you could feel the heat rising in your face.

The playwright shows a small, almost shy smile "But.. I wasn't sure at first, you left me wondering what brought up tis change in your behavior. Mayhap I divined it and I only was afraid to let your very soul whisper to the solidified heart of mine, which didn't know how to respond anymore after so many lonely centuries."  Will swollows hard "Sometimes I felt a bit confused about you..." he confesses.

"When I made a move upon you, you made a move backwards. Sometimes you took two steps. Then again I thought to glimpse the truth demand of your heart in your eyes. And the thought that it could be me what your heart desires made me weak."

At this point you're questioning reality and your eyes grow wide in disbelieve. Are you fantasizing? Could it be...?

"Yes, I am weak for you my fair maiden..." He continues in a whisper as if he can read your mind. He leans a bit closer, his forehead touching yours. "Tis weakness frightened me" his lips graces your eyebrows, then your cheekbones, a shiver runs down your spine. His lips feel so warm and soft... A whimper leaves your lips and you close your eyes.

"But at sudden my soul obtained greater fears to me." William's lips travel down, brushing your jaw. You inhale the scent of his silken hair and his shaving water. Your mind goes blank and your heart is beating so fast and hard now, you're afraid he can hear it.

"Not to see tis very expression in your eyes because of me anymore. Not having you around me anymore. Never being able to touch you..." Now he whispers in your ear, his lips touching your earlobe ever so slightly and you can't supress a moan. "As I knew my true fears and my deepest longing, I decided to force you to a reaction... And though I feel ashamed for doing tis to you... " William murmurs between tender butterfly kisses he places along your jawline. Shouldn't you be angry now with Shakespeare?  But your mind wasn't able to create a reasonable thought and his alluring sing-song voice hypnotizes you. Forgetting everything else, you only want his touch and get lost in your love for him.

"Your oh so sweet, passionate reactions brought tis insecure heart of mine more joy I could ever  imagine. For now there is no turning back... Nor for me, nor for you fair maiden."

He stops moving his mouth over your face and with a seductive voice he pleads "Look at me."

With intermittently breath you open your eyes to meet his stare and your heart flutters over the desperate, wanting  glance.

"Would you forgive tis poor, troublesome sinner?" Barely able to speak you manage somehow to whisper:"How can I not forgive you, Will? I love you so much."

Moving his fingers through your hair he grabs the back of your head, his eyes now dark and full of pleasure. " To grace me with those words.. they make me dizzy with desire..."

Again Shakespeare leans in closer, his burning eyes glued to your mouth. "And would you allow tis poor sinner who loves you insanely, wildly and infinitely to taste your lips...?"

Your heart misses a beat. Maybe two. This time you skip the answer, pulling him at his collar into a kiss.

William lets out a moan of surprise, throwing his arms around you, pressing your body against his. The kiss grows fast deeper as you feel his tongue flickering against your lips, begging for entrance. Obeying his wish, you let his tongue slip inside and the world around you stops existing.There was nothing you could do but moan into his kiss helplessly. Feeling his demanding tongue pushing in deep, then teasingly intertwinning with yours, while his hands endlessly caress the curves of your body, ruins  every yet existing rest of reason. The uprising heat in your veins burns to a point of hurt and starts a raging fire from your belly down to your inner thighs.

Suddenly William breaks the kiss, pulling your head to his chest, where you can hear his speeding heartbeat. "We should stop here my fair temptress, or else I won't be able to hold myself back anymore."

What? No no no... now that you've got a hint of the taste of everything you were craving for the last days, you have no intention to stop so soon. Your body still humming with pleasure you cling to his shoulders and leave a trail of small kisses from his collarbone up to his neck. Rubbing his cheek against yours he whines "Ah my godess, my temptress... " burrying his face at your neck he inhales your scent "You can't imagine how much I crave for your blood... it's calling me, singing alluring to me like a Sirene..."

As his tongue laves over your neck your form trembles and a lewd moan escapes your lips. He found one of your most sensitive spots.  His grip at your body tightens. He brushes his soft lips over the spot again with a flickering of his tongue. You can feel your hips bucking at this sensation and you gasp.

"I can't... stand it, I can't resist.." Shakespeare's voice - so needy and trembling with passion.

"Bite me Will!" You blurt out.  "I beg you, please bite me!" Does this desperate voice really  belong to you?

William hesitates only a brief second, then he pushes your body down, then let his fangs sink into your delicate skin with a groan.

After a sharp but short prick waves of burning, unearthly passion roll through you over and over again.

This passion cannot be human, it sets your entire body immediatly on fire and your core clenches. You can hear Shakespeare crying out as loud as you, pressing his hips against yours. Crying and moaning you start to pass out, repeating his name like a mantra.

As you open your eyes again, William fondles with your hair, observing you with a glance so concerning and lovingly, it almost makes you cry.

"I am so, so sorry... I was too greedy.."

You smile at him. "Don't feel sorry Will, I am doing fine and... " You inhale sharp "and by all the gods,  it was.. intense..."

You can feel your desire rising up again only by the thought of what happened before.

Shakespeare watches you with an intense stare, swallowing every reaction your body shows. His fingertips brush lightly over your lips before kissing you fiercly and senseless.

Then he pulls himself away.

He pants, placing a tender kiss on top of your head "I wish to seduce my godess in an adequate ambiance. So I'll take you now home with me, making sure I fulfill every wish and dream you can imagine... " he whispers seductively as he nuzzles his face in your hair. You both hold still for a few minutes, trying to calm down again, just enjoying to embrace each other. Unable to stop smiling, tears sting in your eyes. You can't remember that you felt happier anytime in your life.

Thank you for reading! 💝

Part 2

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 4

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: When you and Din arrive at the village in Sorgan, you both learn that the universe is full of surprises.

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, angsty angst, pining (so...much...pining...)

Author Note: All the love and thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments on this series! Seriously, the support is beyond words. I wanted to go ahead and spoil it now that Winta does not make an appearance. I love that little girl in the episode, but I just couldn’t get her to fit in this segment. Maybe she’ll appear later on in the future, I honestly don’t know how my brain works. 

Also, fun fact, this will be my 100th post 😱🥳

Links to Part 1 and Part 3 and Part 5

Photo Inspiration: (I love black and white photos if you can’t tell by now...)

Sorgan is a beautiful planet, covered in massive forests and several freshwater lakes filled with krill. There is a tiny, farming village that isolates itself in the midst of Sorgan’s swampy region which is where you hope to find Omera. Rumor has it she’d fallen in love with the community five years ago and bound her nurturing powers to the planet, shielding them against the harshness of famine and plague. Her powers also prohibited other immortals from teleporting directly into the village, even if they meant no harm, thus forcing you and Din to walk the five-mile-long road from the common house to the village boundary line.

Mud sticks to the bottom of your shoes and the humidity is absolutely murdering your hair, but you love the addictive burn of fresh air filling your lungs, the symphonic sounds of the wilderness encompassing you. Here on Sorgan, the positive attributes far outweigh the negative ones.

Din walks beside you, close enough your arm occasionally brushes against his  vambrace, and you find yourself glancing at him out of your peripheral every few steps, dazzled by how the sunlight reflects off his armor. He catches your eye more than once, inclining his head to stare back while puffing out his chest, preening like the kriffing asshole he is. Each time you swiftly turn away with a burning face, hating how his smugness changes to amusement at your inability to hold his gaze, even with the impeding visor.

You string together creative expletives in your mind, each one meant to strengthen your resolve to ignore him. Except, like clockwork, your eyes helplessly drift back over again mere minutes later, dooming you to a continuous cycle of torment and embarrassment.

At least up until you’re less than a mile from your destination and Din abruptly halts without warning. “How will I know?”

You nearly slip as you whirl around to face him, worried at first but then confused when the question registers. “Know what?”

“If I’ve met my match,” he answers, the hand branded with his soulmate marking restlessly clenching and unclenching at his side. “How will I know it’s my soulmate?”

It’s a question you’re extremely familiar with. Maker knows exactly how many times you’ve been asked it throughout your years as a Cupid, but it’s got to be nearing a couple hundred thousand at least. And yet your usual go-to answer—a speech fed to you by your bosses about the perfect plan of the universe—doesn’t feel right to give him. He deserves your own honest opinion.

The first time you ever matched two individuals, you’d naively expected literal sparks to appear when they shook hands. Or a beam of light to shine down on them from above, an unmistakable sign from the universe they were meant to be together. So you were crushed when absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, only that neither one was able to look away from each other, eyes as wide as moons and full of awe. The same kind of awe usually reserved for watching sunsets and hearing a baby’s first cry of life.

You’d realized then the exact moment soulmates experienced their connection was not something externally witnessed by the eyes of the world. It was an internal sensation felt only by the two halves finally becoming whole.

“They’re called your soulmate for a reason, Din,” you say, slowly drawing closer. You’re not truly cognizant of your actions, only your voice, and perhaps that’s why you reach out to take a hold of his gloved hand, rubbing your thumb over his leather-covered knuckles. Distantly, as if looking through a foggy window, you’re aware of the way his whole body freezes at your touch, but still you hold on, still the words keep flowing from your lips.

“The moment you shake their hand, there will be no doubt. It’ll be instant. Like you’re tasting air for the first time after being trapped underwater. Everything will be clearer, colors brighter. Your whole world will crumble apart at their feet because all that matters now is them. And the only thought you’ll be able to think is, ‘It’s you. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’”

Din sucks in a ragged breath. It’s only barely audible because of your closeness, but it’s also just loud enough to snap you out of your daze. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. It’s your turn to freeze when he leans in, helmet pressing softly against your forehead. “Have you ever—“

You jerk backwards, cutting Din off and releasing your grip on his hand all in the same movement. Panic is swelling in your chest and you can’t stop it, clothes suddenly feeling too constricting and you force yourself to remember why you’re here on Sorgan, the importance of the mission at stake.

“We need to keep moving,” you say, looking anywhere but Din’s direction. “I don’t think the village is that much further.”

Din watches you silently, no doubt trying to make sense of your agitated state. You feel exposed, torn open at the seams with all your insecurities on full display for him to pick apart and criticize.

In the end though, he only heaves a sigh, respectfully granting you time to begin the slow process of stitching yourself back up.

“Lead the way,” Din says, gesturing towards the path with a nod of his head. “I go where you go.”

The rest of the journey would have been completed in silence, if not for how Din’s unfinished question seemed to float alongside you in the breeze, echoing in your ears.

Have you ever...

                                                 Have you ever...

                                                                                          Have you ever...

~~~

The villagers are scared of your arrival at first, panicked to be in the presence of Death. Parents clutch at their children and the elderly are ushered into huts, as if they’ll be better protected by being kept out of Din’s field of vision.

“I promise you, we don’t mean any harm,” you say, but your words do little to reassure any of them.

A woman emerges from the crowd, the only one whose expression doesn’t bear a hint of fear. Segments of her dark hair are intricately braided while the rest flows unhindered over her shoulders, long enough to nearly reach her waist. Her features are delicate, but there is strength in how she carries herself as she marches right up to you and Din, shoulders drawn back with determination.

“Omera,” you breathe, recognizing the woman for the goddess she truly is.

“Yes,” she says, sounding reluctant to confirm her identity. Her eyes flick between you and Din. “Who are you and why have you brought Death here? I have a formal agreement with the Guild that grants me permission to personally handle the passing of my people’s souls into the afterlife. Death should have no purpose here.”

This is news to you. 

Not the reference of the Guild—you’re very much aware of Greef Karga’s organization of reapers who assist Din in maintaining the natural order by collecting deceased souls on his behalf across the galaxy. Despite all the powers that come with being Death, Din is unable to be everywhere all at once. So the reapers bring the souls to Nevarro where Karga holds onto them until Din arrives to usher them into the afterlife. 

What you weren’t aware of is her claim that this village might be the one place in the whole galaxy where Death and his associates have no influence.

“I’m a Cupid. I help people find their soulmates.” You gesture to Din who stands so tense behind you, you’re not entirely certain he’s even breathing. “And currently, I’m helping him.”

The way Omera’s expression instantly brightens is almost comical. A smile grows across her face, warm and friendly as if she’s known you for years and not mere seconds. “Oh, forgive me my rudeness. That’s wonderful to hear. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests. Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually—” Din starts, speaking for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Yes, I would love one,” you interrupt, digging your elbow into his side and eliciting a soft grunt. “I heard the spotchka here is exceptional.”

The villagers, who had relaxed once Omera deemed you and Din weren’t a threat, are eager to prove their reputation as spotchka brewmasters. Nothing brings people together like alcoholic beverages, and within the hour you are sitting on a log bench in the village center and chatting amicably with them.

It’s a happy, tight knit community. Omera’s nurturing powers have only further increased it’s natural conditioning as an ideal sanctuary to raise a family. Everyone knows one another and takes care of each other. You can see how easy it was for her to have fallen in love with the place.

“He’s different than I expected.” Omera interrupts your thoughts by nodding to someone behind you.

You follow her line of sight, and see Din standing distantly in a field of grass, surrounded by a squadron of younglings. He’s too far to be heard, but you can tell by the gesturing of his hands that he’s explaining to them the pieces of his armor. They’re hanging onto his every word, completely enthralled, if their wide-eyed expressions are any indication. You realize as you watch that they’ll never come to recognize Din as the true identity of Death due to Omera’s agreement with the Guild. In their eyes, he is just an interesting stranger wearing shiny metal who they can pester with an endless amount of questions.

“He’s got many layers,” you admit, turning back around before the bittersweet scene makes your heart melt into a disgusting puddle at your feet.

And it is only because you look away first that you notice how Omera’s gaze lingers just a beat too long.

“Does he ever take it off?” she asks. “The helmet, I mean.”

You hesitate, stalling by sipping at your spotchka. “Not when he’s Death.”

Omera looks at you like you’ve told her a riddle. “When is Death not Death?”

When he’s with me, the voice in the back of your head wants you to shout at her, but instead you ask, “You said earlier you handle the souls of the villagers when they pass away?” 

“They asked me if I could protect their planet for future generations,” Omera explains slowly, confusion still present in the lines of her face. “My powers are strongly connected to the growth of life, blessing both expectant mothers and nature’s saplings. After I chose to bind myself to Sorgan, the villagers offered to lend me their souls as sources of energy to further strengthen it. So now, rather than losing them to the afterlife, we continue to see those who have passed on in every blossoming flower and in each drop of rain, remaining part of our everyday lives despite their physical absence.”

“That’s beautiful,” you breathe, because it’s the truth. It’s also the confirmation you needed to hear to honestly tell her, “He wouldn’t be Death here. He’d have the opportunity to be anyone else he wanted.”

Omera lets the words sink in for a moment, then she returns to staring at Din, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. You don’t blame her for being curious, especially since he’s barely said anything to her, subsequently forcing you to be the sociable one. 

You thought when you both arrived he’d try harder than this to make a good first impression. Omera’s his potential soulmate, he knows this and yet it seems as if he’s doing all he can to avoid her. 

Omera startles you out of your thoughts when she abruptly inches closer to you, as if preparing to share a secret in your ear.

“You said you were helping Death find his soulmate,” Omera’s voice is no louder than a murmur, seeming uncharacteristically bashful all of the sudden as she tugs at a strand of hair. “Does he...Has he been marked?”

It occurs to you then that this whole time she’s been fishing for information from you, gradually leading up to this particular question. This is a good thing, you tell yourself, despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach. It means she hasn’t been offended by his standoffishness. 

“Yes.” Your head dips in a jerky nod. Fortunately the goddess doesn’t notice your awkwardness as she peers down at her hands folded in her lap. You know what’s there without having to see it. “We came here because I knew you’d been marked too.” 

“I’d hoped so,” she confesses, showing you her palm. “I didn’t think it was possible, someone like me having a soulmate.” An immortal, your mind deciphers her underlying meaning. “But, then again, the universe always seems to be full of surprises, right?”

Soulmate markings all resemble each other as black lines forming the shape of a heart no bigger than a bottlecap in the center of one’s palm, regardless of what the person looks like themselves. They only appear on select individuals the universe picks for reasons known only by the divine Maker. Those without marks often make the ignorant mistake of comparing them to tattoos. A soulmate mark doesn’t fade with time like ink does, remaining eternally vibrant and warm to the touch, as if there’s a tiny flame buried beneath the skin.

You’ve seen thousands of marks on thousands of hands, yet your mouth dries up at the sight of hers despite it looking no different. An unexpected tremor rocks your body, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s as if you’ve been stabbed by an invisible shard of ice, threatening to freeze you solid from the inside out.

When you speak, each word scrapes against the inside of your throat and tastes bitter on your tongue. “You should go talk to him.”

Omera’s face goes a bit pink. “You think so?”

You force yourself to smile, hoping it doesn’t resemble a grimace or, Maker forbid, a snarl. “I think you’ll never know if he’s your match unless you do.”

Not needing any more convincing, she spares you one last hopeful look before leaving to approach Din. She walks across the grassy field with unhindered grace, not once tripping over a rock or the bottom of her dress, and you can’t help feeling envious, knowing your clumsy feet wouldn’t be able to carry you three steps without an issue. You watch as she says something to the children, inducing several disappointed groans audible even from where you sit, before one by one they each depart, seeking entertainment elsewhere in the village.

Omera and Din fall into conversation, and you bite your lip, knowing you’re only making the ache hurt worse by watching but unable to tear your eyes away. Their conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but given the way Din’s body language is relaxed and without a hint of defensiveness, you’re convinced Omera’s definitely charming him.

They’ll make an attractive couple, you think before you can stop yourself. They’re similar, too, in that they both have protective streaks a mile wide when it comes to those they care about. As a divinely gifted caretaker, Omera will know just what to say to pull him out of one of his brooding episodes. She’ll soften his rough edges, lend him strength when he needs it most, and might even be able to convince him to settle down in the village where he can shed his persona as Death and actually experience life. Most importantly, though, you hope she’ll make him happy.

Because Din deserves someone who will make him happy every day of his existence.

You know it’s coming, but still your breath stutters when you see Din begin to remove his glove. He moves slowly, revealing tanned skin inch by inch as he pulls at the leather with his other hand. He has never been one to hesitate over things in the past, except when he showed you his mark that night at the train station. You really don’t want to think that Din could be nervous, but you also can’t determine any other reason explaining his behavior. Omera, for her part, is the perfect image of patience as she waits for him to initiate contact, if not for the way you spy her pulling anxiously at her brown locks again.

As Din reaches out to grab hold of Omera's hand, there is a second right before contact where his helmet shifts in your direction and you feel the intensity of his gaze cut through the distance, piercing your fragile heart.

In the next breath, an invisible explosive force sends you hurtling backwards through the air several feet. You bite your tongue when you collide with the ground and blood begins pooling in your mouth, causing you to gag at the coppery taste. Ignoring the pain emanating from your undoubtedly bruised rib cage, you force your body to roll over so you can spit out a scarlet blob onto the dirt. Gross, you think sluggishly.

Movement out of the corner of your eye has your head turning to look, but it takes several more seconds before your brain comprehends what you’re seeing.

The village looks as if a massive wind storm has swept through it in the last five seconds. Several villagers are slowly rising onto their feet, having apparently also been roughly tossed to the ground, looking just as bewildered by the state of things as you feel.

Your eyes next lock onto Din’s figure. He and Omera stand in the distance exactly where you last saw them, appearing completely unaffected by the unseen force. But rather than looking at each other with awe as all other soulmate pairs do, there is only unbridled shock on Omera’s face.

With newfound urgency, you stumble onto your feet, knowing something’s gone horribly wrong.

“Din!”

Your shout startles him enough he visibly jolts, increasing your worry tenfold.

Your feet skid to a stop closer to his body than you anticipated, nearly colliding face-first with his chest. It’s on the tip of your injured tongue to ask them what the hell just happened when Din beats you to the punch.

“What happened to you?” he demands, cradling your jaw. He’s using his gloved hand, you can’t help but notice. His other one—still uncovered from when it had touched Omera’s—is pressed firmly against the segment of armor protecting his upper thigh. His thumb starts to wipe at the blood staining the corner of your mouth, but you refuse to be tended to when there’s a bigger issue at stake.

“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, pulling away and resisting the urge to smack the side of his helmet. “I should be asking you that, idiot. Did you two match?”

Omera says nothing in response to your question, but there is something about the way she stares at you directly, like you’ve revealed a secret of the universe right in front of her, that brings back the same self-conscious feeling of being exposed you’d felt earlier.

“Look for yourself, angel,” Din answers with a tone full of scorn, gesturing widely to your surroundings with both arms. “Does any of this look like what you told me would happen?”

Taken aback by his hostile tone, you glance around the field, only to be stunned by what you’d initially failed to notice. In an almost perfect circle encompassing the three of you, the once beautifully green and luscious grass is now black and shriveled, entirely devoid of life. It crunches beneath your shoes as you nervously shift in place, eerily resembling the sound of bone breaking, and you’re beginning to understand the shock you’d glimpsed on Omera’s face.

“No,” you say, feeling slightly hysterical but doing your best to keep it out of your voice. “No, it definitely doesn’t.”

Omera had said that the universe is always full of surprises.

What a kriffing understatement that turned out to be.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

[generallybarzy]

the queen + her good boy. ---m.barzal

inspo: kings & queens, ava max… “you might think I’m weak without a sword, but if i had one it’d be bigger than yours” ……… that’s so hot….

an: here’s that smutty fic that turned out being a loooooot more than a blurb, oops. I literally can’t stop thinking about this cincept and I definitely think its something Mat’d be into. A lot of people see him as a sub and a lot see him as a dom, and I’m pretty much on the “he’s a soft dom”/switch side but now I appreciate both so…. this fic is the outcome. im so so proud of this, i think i used realllllly good descriptions and its really hot but i also don’t like bragging so please tell me if you like it cause i speedwrote this in like 2 days. praise me like the reader praises maty. Reminder that all you girls are 👑queens👑 and you better make any guys treat you as such. Only reciprocate and make him feel like a king if he deserves it 💕.

warning: smut.

word count: 4.3k

The first time you said it, it surprised him.

You weren't unhappy with your sex life in any way. You weren't bored, you weren't looking for a change, you weren't trying to make it more exciting. You were content. It was beautiful, you both gave and received, it was an even back and forth, and you had plenty of different "modes". You communicated and had little important talks about sex, you made it the best it could be. You weren't stuck in a sexual rut, in fact, you couldn't be happier with where you were. Something just felt so right about those words.

The first time you said it, Mat's mouth was between your thighs.

You were spread out on the couch, legs on Mat's shoulders and hands tangled in his hair as he knelt on the floor between your thighs and lapped away at your heat. It felt so good, so fucking perfect that you couldn't control yourself. You were yanking on his dark locks, tugging his face closer, spurred on by the wet noises of his mouth, his chin, his nose all up against your pussy, eating to his heart’s content, his nose bumping against your clit and making your legs squeeze around his head. You felt so in control, being able to push and pull him any way you want, and Mat felt so at your will, letting you guide him and tell him what you wanted most.

And when those two words slipped out in the heat of the moment, Mat realized just how much he loved the position he was in.

"Ohhh, good boy."

The sound that escaped his throat was like a moan, a whine almost, as his pretty eyes shot up to look at you, at the way your chest was rising and falling with each heavy breath, at the way you were looking down at him, a fire in your eyes.

His eyes wide, his jaw slack and his face shiny with your slick as he leaned back from your cunt to gaze up at you, the dumbstruck expression making his pleasure evident.

“Oh, damn.”

“You like that, Maty?” You bit your lip, watching the way his hand moved down to the stirring in his pants and loving the way you affected him. “You like it when I call you that, baby?”

“Hell, yes.” He shuffled around on the floor, tugging his tight jeans down his thighs and pushing them aside to ease the pressure on his straining cock. “Say it again.”

“Only if you get back to your job.”  And with that, you tugged him closer until his mouth reconnected with your clit. “Right there…” He went to work, sucking and kissing and bringing his fingers up to dip at your entrance, pushing and pulling you in all the ways he knew you loved. “Oh yeah, Maty. Just like that.” You stroked his hair, gentler than before, curling your fingers through the fluffy locks and dragging your nails over his scalp just how you knew it comforted him. “You’re so good to me... Always treating me so nicely, making me cum so good. You’re my good boy, aren’t you, baby?”

He moaned again, vibrating against your warmth. “Mhmm. Yeah, princess.”

Your eyes fell shut momentarily, satisfied, and savoring the feeling before an idea struck you. “No,” You pulled his hair and forced his gaze up to you. You “Oh, no, baby, I’m the queen now.”

“Fuck. Fuck yes you are.”

"You like this? You like being so submissive for me?"

"Holy shit." Mat’s hand fell to his cock for a few helpless strokes. "Yes. Fuck yes."

“Now,” You put your foot on the back of Mat’s head and pulled him in again, tired of all the banter and just wanting your release. “Are you gonna be a good boy and make your queen cum?”

“Yes, queen.”

And he got to work.

It didn’t take long after that, and when you were finally spent and panting and Mat had emptied himself all over his own hand, you pulled him up onto the couch with you. His knees were red and lightly carpet burnt from kneeling before you for so long, but you both knew it was just reciprocation for all the times you had bruised your own knees for him. Your fingers stayed knotted securely in his hair, right where they belonged, the two of you curled together on the couch and he kissed at your neck as your breathing steadied down to a normal pace. “Maty…”

“Hmm?”

You touched his cheeks and lifted his face from your neck to get a good look at him. His cheeks were pink, his eyes averted and soft, and the smile on his face was haloed with your stickiness. Baby’s a messy eater… “Maty, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I didn’t know either.”

“It’s so hot.”

“Mhmm.”

You leaned in to kiss him, still tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m glad you admitted how much you liked it. A lot of guys wouldn’t be comfortable saying that, I don’t think.”

“I just like hearing that I make you feel good.”

“You do. So good.”

He sighed against your skin and grinned. “You think this is gonna become a regular thing now?”

"I don't know. I like you being in charge." Mat hummed in response and went back to kissing your neck. "But I like this too. I like calling you a good boy. Cause you are."

"Mmm."

"I like both equally."

"Me too." Mat's lips found your own again, more chaste and sweet this time. "We can do both."

The next time it happened, you planned it out.

There had been a long, tiring game that night, and even after they finally won, Mat still didn’t feel like celebrating. The score had been much to close all night, and when Mat finally got home, all he wanted to do was finally sit down and rest and indulge in his girl.

His queen.

“Hey, pretty baby.” You greeted him with a kiss and led him to the bedroom, dropping your robe to reveal your pretty lingerie set, working him out of his tie and suit jacket as he stared in awe. No words needed to be spoken. It was a common occurrence after tough games for you to take good care of him, he knew what he needed to do, even without your soft words. “Lay down for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

He whined at the words, flopping down on the bed and knowing exactly what was coming.

“C’mon, baby.” You worked him out of his dress pants and shirt, kissing up his thighs and up his abdomen and chest and his neck until you were nibbling at his jawline. “You gonna behave for me tonight, Maty?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

He moaned.

"C'mon, baby."

“Yes, my queen.”

A hand came up to his hair and his eyes went wide, watching, waiting for your commands. “Good boy. I know you will.” You straddled his now-naked thighs and leaned into his ear, nibbling gently. “ First I need you to get that pretty cock of yours hard for me. Can you do that?”

He whimpered helplessly, grinding himself up against you, only half hard.

“Yeah, I think you can do it.” You took him in your hand, playing with the weight and stroking in just the way you knew he loved. The way you knew would get him hard. He was practically throbbing, aching for need already, and you could feel him grow harder with each passing moment. It was a tender moment, sitting there together in warm silence, listening to Mat’s breaths, and feeling his growing desire for you, just sharing that moment of intimacy.  “Maty?”

“Hm?” His eyes opened, gazing up at you in awe.

“You want me to take care of you, baby?"

"Yes, please."

"You gotta earn it first, you know that, right? You gotta deserve it. Wanna eat me out? Make me cum first? Earn your orgasm?”

“Yes, yes!” He was eager to respond, nodding his head quickly and shaking around his hair. “Fuck, I promise I’ll make you cum so good-” he was moving to sit up, so you placed a hand right on his chest and gently pushed him back.

“No, baby, stay here. Lie back and be comfy.” You brushed the hair away from his forehead and crawled up his body, watching his jaw drop as he realized what you meant. Your eyes went cautious for a moment, silently asking if this is alright, but he just opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue for you to sit yourself down onto while you steadied yourself with his hair.

Your throne.

“Go ahead baby, do what you do best.”

And he went right on ahead, his tongue lapping at your aching hole, his hands coming up to hold your thighs in place, his nose pressing against your clit, always eager to please his queen, always eager to show you just how good he was, to remind you just how much he worshipped you. You ground your hips down onto his face, a spark of pleasure erupting from the way his nose hit your sensitive clit, and you reached down to tug on his hair, tilting his face up perfectly against your pussy. “Yes, baby. Like that.”

He groaned from beneath you, unable to form coherent noises, settling for groans and whines that sent vibrations straight through your core. The peaks and dips of his face felt so euphoric between your thighs, you wanted to explore and memorize the terrain, and the way your soft skin slid over the scratchy scruff on his cheeks had your legs trembling. If it weren't for your grip in his dark waves, you would have fallen over.

It wasn’t long before his skilled mouth had you shaking, reaching your limit. You leaned back to let him breathe before you could finish, and caught a glimpse of him beneath you, his eyes dark and wide, his tongue swiping over his lips and cleaning himself of your slick. He wasn’t doing a good job, though, as he was stickied and wet from his chin to his nose, his cheeks red and lips swollen from all the work he’d been doing. Messy baby.

“Well,” You ran your fingers across his forehead, pushing dark curls away from the sweat they were sticking to. “Finish the job, pretty boy.”

“Yes, my queen.”

With his eyes still straining up to yours as his mouth connected with your clit and his finger found your hole, it was only seconds before you spasmed around him, your slickness leaking down all over his face. Mat moaned into your flesh- his cock throbbing at the sight of you coming undone atop of him, at the feeling of your hands yanking his face closer, your pussy throbbing around his two fingers and they dipped in and out and curled just how he knew you loved- and you dripped into his mouth, fully spent and satisfied.

When he could finally form words, he whispered, gazing at you in awe: “How was that?”

“Mmm,” You were still trembling from that hell of an orgasm, sliding down to sit on his chest instead, and Mat almost came at the feeling of your wet against his skin. “Mmmm, Mat. that was so good, So perfect baby.”

“Was I good? Did I earn it?”

“What do you think?” After all of that, you almost forgot what he’d done it for.

“But say it.” His eyes were pleading, wide and bright. “Please.”

“Oh,” You leaned down to give his lips a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Oh, baby, you’re such a good boy for me. Good boy, good boy. Made me cum so good. I think you deserve a treat, don't you?”

"Please, my queen."

It wasn’t long before the words made it into your daily life.

It wasn’t a serious dom and sub role like something out of “Fifty Shades” or some gross preteen-written fanfiction, definitely not, but just a cute little tease that you liked to bring up now and then to fluster him. Mat loved to be reminded of how good he was to you, he loved to know he was doing a good job and that you appreciate him, and you loved to dish it out. If it were any other guy, you wouldn’t do this for them, but Mat just… deserved it so bad. He really did treat you like his queen.

He loved to tease you. Many times, he'd catch you in the mirror before dates and his sneaky hands would find their way down to your ass, and you would scold him and swat those hands away. "Oh, come on, baby. My queen looks so delicious tonight." He’d be gazing at you in the mirror, leaving sloppy kisses all the way up your neck, but you just got your hair perfect, you just applied your makeup perfectly, there was no way you were about to ruin it, especially for such a naughty boy.

"Keep behaving like that and you won't get anything tonight, baby. Bad boys don't get rewards, you know that."

"I'm being bad?" He smirked, sending shivers down your spine.

"So bad."

"Oh, I can get a lot worse."

He'd tease you, alright, but you always found ways to tease him right back.

Like the time you were out with his friends, and one of the wags mentioned "Oh yeah, Y/N definitely runs the show in this relationship." and everyone laughed and cheered about how "Barzy's so whipped!" It was all in good nature, everyone knew how much the two of you loved each other, and all his friends laughed at it, but Mat only shrugged and mumbled something like "Sometimes I’m in charge…”, though you knew he wasn’t afraid to admit to his friends just how much he loved his queen. Not that he’d ever tell them… about that.

“I might be in charge, but Maty here is good at following my orders. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Mat’s eyes widened for a moment as you reached up and curled a hand to cradle the back of his neck and play with the dark curls peeking out of his hat. His cheeks went red at the use of his pet name in front of all these friends.  

“Yeah, of course, your majesty.”

The words were spoken sarcastically, and to anyone else, it seemed like playful banter, simply teasing. But both you and Mat- and only the two of you- knew that under the table, something was stirring up in Mat, and when you got home tonight, he was definitely gonna be the one in charge.  

You loved the teasing, but sometimes you weren't in the mood for that. Sometimes you were in the mood to be absolutely cherished and catered to. Treated like the queen you are.  And luckily, Mat was there, willing and ready to dish it out.

After such a long day at work, all you wanted when you came home was to fall onto the couch and lose yourself in your loving boyfriend. You’d called Mat the moment you got off work, practically begged him to come over to your apartment for the night. Not that it was really begging, because he caved immediately at the thought of spending more time with his girl. But the thoughts of the dishes in the sink, the dinner that needed to be prepared, and how your apartment that looked like an absolute wreck when you left this morning plagued your mind as you took the final steps through the hall to your apartment door.

The second you opened the door, you found yourself encased in big arms.

“Hey, baby.”

“Mat. Ugh, I had the worst day.”

“I can tell.” His lips found your cheeks sweetly, and your eyes took a moment to glance around the room.

“Did you… clean?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back from your hug with a proud smile. “I know when you’re stressed you busy yourself with a lot of work, so if I do everything for you, there’s nothing for you to do tonight but cuddle, right?” You didn’t know what to say. Your jaw had literally dropped, and, if you weren’t so dead tired, you would have jumped him. “I did the dishes, cleaned up a little, got our favorite show on, and I’m one click away from ordering some food if you’re down.”

“Mat, you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Nothing’s too much to do for my queen.”

You smiled at the pet name as you felt the familiar heat curling through your stomach. “Thank you for this. So much, baby.”

“No problem, seriously. I guess I’m just… a good boy, for doing all this?” He said the words with a smile, a suggestion. And you were down.

“Maty, baby. You are. You’re such a good boy. What do you want tonight?”

“Whatever you want. I’m all yours for the night. Do whatever you want. Anything. You deserve it.”

Just those words had heat flooding into your panties, as you remembered what it felt like to have his cheeks scratch against the insides of your thighs.

“Eat me out, baby.”

At your words, he dropped to his knees in front of you.

Woah.

His hands quickly unbuttoned your pants and yanked them down to your ankles along with your panties, and his mouth followed, pressing sloppy, wet kisses down your legs. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder and nibbled up the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving tiny love bites all the way. “Mat, Mat.” He glanced up, his eyes fiery and needy. “Mat, take your clothes off. Wanna see you.”

“Fuck, yes, my queen.”

His shirt fell onto the floor, followed quickly by his sweatpants, and finally his boxers. Just like always, the sight of him had you aching for more, your heat pounding with your heartbeat so hard you swore he could hear it from his position. Seeing him naked, vulnerable, submissive at your feet just… stroked something in you. Your confidence, maybe. Seeing such a big, strong, dominant guy so willing and needy for you, willing to do anything just for a taste, it made you feel so powerful. You controlled his pleasure.

He was already half-hard, gripping himself tightly and giving slow, steady strokes.

“Ah, ah, ah, hands off your cock, baby.” His eyes shot up to yours and his hands flattened on his thighs, cock twitching wildly in the air, straining for you. You knotted your fingers through his locks like always and tugged him in.

And he got to work.

His mouth felt heavenly against your heat, his tongue wide and thick and hot and lapping at you as if he was a starved man and you were the most delicious feast he could ever eat. As if what was dripping for him from between your legs was like honey, was like the food of gods, and he had tried his hardest to prove he was worthy of just a taste, just a breath, just your mere presence. And he was taking his precious time savoring the taste because you were the best flavor he could ever imagine. The sweet taste of your skin, where the perfume lingered as he bit down into your shoulder, the taste of whatever chapstick you put on when you kissed him, and now the intoxicating drip drip drip between your legs.

One of your feet was already flat on his back, so when he lifted your other leg over his shoulder, you hesitated.

He glanced up from between your legs with a smile, cocky and sure of himself. “Don’t think I can hold you up, babe?”

“Can you?”

“Trust me.”

And with your back against the wall, Mat hoisted both your legs onto his shoulders and scooted closer to you, until his face was flush with your heat, your feet flat on his back and your hands in his hair pulling him in. You tossed your head back against the wall as his lips closed around your clit, abusing the bundle of nerves just like you loved.

“Fuuuck, yes. Good boy.”

“Ohhh.” There were the words he craved so bad to hear.

The room was full of wet, sloppy noises, the noises of Mat’s tongue and face against your slickness, but through it all, you heard something else. A familiar sound of steady, rhythmic slapping.

“Mathew!” As much as your body complained, your hands tugged Mat’s face away, looking down at the dizzy, dumbstruck look on his face, his hand frozen on his cock. He’d been caught, and he’d be punished. “Bad, bad boy. Hands off.”

“Fuck.”

Your hand cupped his cheek, dragging a thumb along his bottom lip and swiping away some of your slick. “You don’t like listening to me? You like being a nasty, disobedient boy?”

“No, fuck, I’ll be good.” His hands gripped his thighs tight, trying to calm himself and keep his hands away, his cock red and angry and straining for you.

“Hmm. Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Teasing you like this and not giving you any release. Maybe I need to show you a little mercy. You think you deserve it?” He said nothing, not wanting to seem too needy and instead waiting patiently for your answer. Did he deserve it? He didn’t know yet. It was such a privilege to even be in this position with you. Your hand stroked across his cheek again. “I think you do. Poor baby, let’s put your hands at work somewhere else.”

He quickly got the hint, bringing one hand up to grip your thigh tight and trailing the other all the way up the inside of your thigh and gathering your wetness between his fingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean.

He was back at work.

You were a drug, and he was addicted. He couldn’t get enough, he’d do anything to prove himself worthy for just one more taste. One more taste of that glorious honey dripping from your legs. And he’d continue to prove himself time after time because you didn’t deserve anything less than his best. You were his queen, and he worshiped you.

“Oh yeah, yes baby.” He’d found the perfect rhythm in you, the perfect beat to have you shaking and moaning and trembling around his head. His grip on your thigh was the only thing keeping you grounded on earth, otherwise, you would have floated away into the euphoria of how it felt to have his tongue against your clit and his long fingers curling just right and grazing against your g-spot with every movement. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning when you’d wake up covered in his fingerprints and lovebites and wear them like little secret trophies. And you couldn’t wait to go about your day with the lingering thought that someone like this awaited you at home to tend to your every need like this. Nobody you talked with throughout the day knew of the little markings of your late-night adventures that were kept hidden away under your clothes. Nobody but Mat. His fingerprints would be embedded in your skin as if your body wanted to remember every crevice of the way he touched you, his teeth would be tattooed on your shoulder, his face and fingers would still taste slightly of you from the night before. His fingers would delicately graze every mark he left, asking if it hurt and asking if it was worth it, smiling and passing compliments and praise back and forth because that’s the kind of love you had. The kind that could go from nasty and wild to soft and delicate, the kind that could be both at once.

“Good, good, good boy. Ohhh, so good for me, baby. You know that? You’re the best. Always treating me so well. Making me feel so good.”

“(Y/N)...”

You swiped your hand over his forehead and brushed his hair away from his sweaty brow, locking eyes in a delicate moment. “Make me cum, baby, please.”

“Of course, my queen.” The words were spoken into soft flesh as he came back for the final stretch, his cock painfully hard and needy for your hand, your mouth, your attention, beading with precum as Mat grinded helplessly at nothing, just looking for any friction. Just a little bit longer, he knew, and he’d get his reward. Just a little bit longer.

He could barely breathe, the further in you pulled him, just surrounded by your scent and your heat and your wetness, but what need did he have for breath when you were gifting him the most valuable thing in existence? Yourself, your heart, the sweet, sweet nectar dripping from your core, the birdsong of moans falling from your lips, the choir of angel’s voices from your lips that cried his name. That was all he needed.

Finally, finally, your grip loosened from his hair and your legs fell limp and weak onto his shoulders. He gave you a moment to breathe, to collect yourself, and rest on him before continuing on. He stood, lifting you with him and helping you settle your feet onto the floor, shaky and off-balance.

“Woah, Maty.”

“Did I do good?”

“Like always, pretty boy.” You tilted your head up to see him finally extended to his full height, once again reminded of how powerful you were to have someone so much bigger than you down on his knees for you. “Good, good boy. Always so amazing for me, so willing, so selfless, so giving. I love you. Mat. You deserve the world for being so good.”

“I love you too.”

“Seriously, thanks for tonight.”

“Mhmm, any day, anything for my queen. Thank you for existing, you fucking goddess.”

“Mmm.” You shared a sweet kiss, dripping with love and adoration and care for one another, your eyes locked together in an intimate embrace before your arms slid from around his shoulder. “Now, baby,” You back him against the wall, slowly dragging your hands down his chest, over the peaks of his nipples and the crevices of his abdomen and bellybutton, and right to where his cock was straining red and angry for attention, dropping to your knees for him. “Lemme make my good boy feel like a king. He deserves it.”  

"Oh, baby."

And when you finally took him in your mouth and his hand tightened in your hair, his whines told you that he was the furthest thing from a good boy. "Let me show you how a queen rewards her most loyal subjects..."

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 39 - Run

w/c - 7,590

**Warnings- This chapter is very violent.**

               The waiter returns with replacement drinks and sets them down accordingly. He doesn’t stay long this time but he once again intensely stares at them all. Toji postures himself and rolls his shoulders back while unabashedly glaring him down. He’s sure the waiter can tell but his brown eyed gaze is now of Elska as he leaves. Toji grumbles, “He’s begging for an ass whooping doll, would you be upset if I delivered?”. She giggles out, “You are not allowed to hit him!”, and bumps him with her shoulder playfully.

               Naoya cracks up from Toji’s words and adds, “I’ve felt your punch, you’ll fucking kill the guy!”. His deep laughter carries through the patio causing the young parents of the three kids to look over awkwardly and smile. Naoya nods and waves to offer the universal gesture that he wasn’t intending to be that loud. He looks over to Toji and Elska with a grin while lifting his glass into the air, “I just want to say that I’m grateful to be here with you two today.”. He brings his eyes to Toji, “I’ve always looked up to you and hoped that I could be that cool when I grew up…,” he chuckles with slight embarrassment, “…and I know things with all of us are, unique but I appreciate you having the room in your heart for me, it means a lot...”. Toji’s face experienced a quick wash of gentleness that Naoya was happy he saw, returning it without being shy. The Zenin now looks at Elska, “And you my princess…”, he sighs at her sweet eyes, “Thank you for showing me what it means to be cared for by a woman. Come what may, I will always be rich in all things with you by my side.”. He watches Elska sip her wine with watery eyes as he drinks his Mojito until the opportunity to kiss her arises. After he hums to the feeling of perfection, he pulls back and chuckles, “It’s so peaceful without Gojo around, isn’t it?”, he admits as Toji cackles and leans forward while setting his drink on the table.

Elska sips her wine and puts the glass down before wrapping her arms into both of theirs. “Thank you so much for bringing me out here today!”, she feels it’s impossible to address both of them at the same time so she scoots back, “You two bring so much happiness into my life, Sati too…”. She squeezes their arms, “I can’t imagine what life would be like without you.”. Her eyes now take to the kids as the youngest is waving at them in the awkward manner that a toddler would. “We’ve made a friend!”, she laughs as she waves back. ‘Could I be a mother? A good one?’, she asks herself as she watches Naoya interacting with the child, wearing a goofy face. ‘He would be a good father…I know he would.’, the idea creeps into her heart as she heavily considers giving him what he wants. Naoya leans back and says, “They’re reeeeally cute actually. It doesn’t help my baby fever whatsoever.”. Elska inhales sharply after a stark possibility blares into her brain, “I could already be pregnant and not even know it...”, her words sounded dreadful but only because she wouldn’t have the first fucking clue as to who the child would belong to. She didn’t want to say anything out loud but Toji was hot on her trail of thought.

“Any one of us could be the father!”, Toji’s eyes widen as he’s not even considered what a quandary that could turn out to be. He looks over at Naoya who’s left eye is twitching and feels defensive, “Boy don’t make that face, I never pull out.”. As soon as the words left his lips, he can feel the heated aura from Elska, “Doll, I have no idea why I just said that...”, but is relieved to find he’s not in the doghouse after she says, “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen!” with a squinted expression.

“You dirty old bastard!”, Naoya does not like the idea of anyone else knocking her up. “You’re not supposed…she’s a princess!”, and looks at Elska with a furrowed brow. She seems pretty uncomfortable and he assumes it’s because of his reaction so he feels bad. He huffs, “Well I don’t either!”. Elska can be heard humming like she’s thinking of a punishment but his mind takes to the night of him, Gojo and Elska. He recalls something he feels is important and darts his eyes to Toji with a devious grin, “But Gojo does.”.

“Naoya…I’m about to take your drink away again!”, she buries her face into her hands as she tries to not feel grossed out by herself. Naoya pulls her hands away and turns her in his direction, “Baby! Like I said before…we’re unique!”, and brings his drink within his guard. She feels his lips against her own and somehow the simple action instantly comforts her. ‘We’re all degenerates…’. She leans back into her seat after they break away and looks up to the sky. Thinking of a great comeback she smirks and flippantly says, “Maybe Choso’s the daddy.”. She laughs when Naoya gasps with anxiety but is surprised by how Toji saw right through her.

“Baby? Are you messing with me right now?”, he knows she’s laughing but is honestly afraid of that thought after the lack of clarification with what happened between her and the being. “Tell me you’re just kidding!”, he leans up and pokes at her sides until she admits that it was just a bad joke. Once he’s satisfied and reassured, he sits back again and threatens, “That deserves a spanking...”, and bites his lip as he envisions it. He looks to Toji, “How were you able to be so calm?!”, but pouts when Toji shrugs and says, “I just know better.”, and Naoya now feels silly for getting worked up. “That’s two spankings now since my pride is hurt as well!”. He giggles with her as she doesn’t seem to protest against the idea. ‘Just you wait, Elska!’, he’s now planning to give them to her tonight.

The waiter approaches them again, still eyeing Toji. “Ugh…not again…”, Toji feels the man staring at him and wants to avoid having to directly deal with him but the brown eyed fellow walks over to Toji’s side. He gives Elska and Naoya a loathing look as he warns of his tolerance being low. The waiter says, “I’ll explain the menu since you’re unfamiliar with the language.”, but his tone was different. Toji abruptly states, “I’ll take anything chicken.”, and starts to feel aggressive as the waiter remains. The man leans down and places a hand on Toji’s shoulder and the moment it makes contact, Toji feels a surge of pain shoot through his arm and bellows out an inhuman screech. Naoya stands up immediately and asks what’s wrong but Toji’s unable to respond.

               Naoya looks at the waiter, “What the fuck did you do? WHO ARE YOU?!”, and then back at Toji who has doubled over, heaving in pain as his presence darkens. “Baby, get up…GET UP NOW!”, He grabs Elska and moves her away while glaring at the waiter who arrogantly standing by the giant. The man laughs wildly and says, “This is for Master Kokoro…”. The waiter goes to lower his hand back onto his shoulder but Toji snatches it, crushes his wrist and cries out as his wings start to form. “Oh fuck…”. The Zenin man yells to the other tables, “GET OUT OF HERE NOW!”. Naoya steps back with Elska tightly in his grasp and worries about everyone around them. All of the people sitting outside have now tuned in and are watching in horror as the skin of Toji’s back stretches to form the bones and feathers…but they do not move.

               “TOJI DON’T!”, Elska breaks away from Naoya to run to her beloved but before she can reach him, Toji yanks the waiter down by the wrist and proceeds to send energy at the man’s torso, hollowing him out completely. The body remains standing for what seemed like forever as Elska views the beautiful river through him until he collapses. Screams erupt chaotically as terrified people try to flee but Elska’s only focus was on Toji, who seems to be falling progressively deeper into this dark energized way. “TOJI!”, she cries out to him again but feels Naoya securing her. The children can be heard squealing in tears at the top of their lungs as their parents struggle to function well enough to gather the kids. “Why…This is…?! Naoya!”, she’s already crying as he takes hold of her. The clamor of fear booming around them was almost too much all together but it abruptly silences as a warm liquid sprays her and Naoya. In what seemed like slow motion, the entire family and table was crushed into the pavement, leaving nothing but a compressed pile of bones and flesh where their beautiful faces used to be. She can’t move. She can’t avert her eyes. She can only watch in absolute horror.

               “Oh my God…”, Naoya is also left otherwise speechless and mortified as the high chairs can still be made out due to their green color, amongst the mounds of human tissue. He calls out to Elska who is back in his arms but she’s unresponsive and hysterical. Toji flies past them and Naoya screams when he watches his cousin shred through a businessman before turning to one of the middle-aged women, tearing her arms off simultaneously. The woman screams but soon falls into shock and seizes on the ground. “TOJI!!”, Naoya finds himself crying too, shaking while Toji uses his strength to literally rip through the innocent humans. “Holy fuck…he’s going to kill them all!”, his cries are muffled as he dips his face into Elska’s hair, not knowing how to react. He needs to stop his cousin but understanding that this is an attack, he doesn’t want to leave Elska alone. “Baby… What do I do?!”, he sobs with her. The others that were outside with them are unable to open the door to the building for some reason and he perceives another of the businessmen try to make a break for the water. Naoya screams again as he helplessly watches Toji tackle him and tear the man’s neck from his shoulders. Toji now turns around eerily and targets him while the remaining survivors cower and mentally decompose.  With wide eyes, Naoya picks Elska up and activates his projection technique. He feels so heavy when he engages it and can’t understand why Toji is getting closer as he exerts his full force into the speed. ‘It’s not working!’, the weight of the dread hindering his usual decisiveness brings him to a new low as he surmounts the worse of outcomes. He holds Elska tighter and says through his cries, “Baby, you have to run. I need you to run.”. He’s not sure if he’s going to make it out of this but knows it will be worth it as long as she escapes. His heart breaks while he lowers her down fearing that this will be the last time they’ll see each other. He shouts with urgency as tears stream down his face, “RUN ELSKA!”.

She’s aware that she’s being placed back on her feet but feels so cold without Naoya’s body heat. “The children…”, she’s still in shock. Upon looking around she notices the other bodies, at least 2 overlapping each other near the door leading inside. She stands there, dazed and numb until the restaurant and all neighboring buildings explode. The powerful shock wave sends her flying towards the water as she feels a blunt object hit her side accompanied by internal cracking. Moments pass as she lies there incoherent as multiple smaller explosions erupt from the establishments around them. Her ears are ringing loudly. She tries to push herself off of the ground but her equilibrium is shot so she falls over to her right side. Her eyes are struggling to focus but when they do, she sees that the object that likely cracked her ribs is some poor man’s mangled leg. She can’t make out her own voice but she cries for Naoya and shuts her eyes to the fear that him and Toji were caught in the blast. Her own bloodcurdling sounds now make way to her ears, finding she doesn’t recognize her own voice. Only when she can feel her body being jostled around do her eyes unfasten.

Naoya was thrown into a table near the edge of the patio. He feels the burns lacing up his body as he stumbles over to Elska. She’s covered in cuts from the glass and can tell she’s not breathing normally but is alive. ‘BABY!”, he scoops her up into his arms but they fall backward since he’s yet to fully regain his senses. He sits up and tries again while looking around and witnesses the gore and destruction. His breath is hitched in his throat as he sees the dismembered pieces of people all around them, some bits floating in the water nearby. He’s crying again as he struggles to his feet with her, “Baby, we have to run!”, is all he can say as his eyes finally spot the wings. “TOJI!”, he wails as he sees the charred feathers, it looking like he suffered burns as well. He finally is able to stand up and releases more tears when he sees Toji stirring. “Thank fucking God…”. He checks around for other survivors but is unable to make out anything amongst the body parts and debris. To his left a table is crushed right before his eyes, leaving a depression into the concrete. ‘Getou’. His eyes widen when he hears Toji release another wild call. “Baby…”, he shakes Elska, trying to get her to respond. “BABY YOU HAVE TO SNAP OUT OF IT!”, and panics as Toji growls and picks up speed towards them. “SHIT!”, he places Elska back down, straining from his melted skin and whispers in tears, “I love you Elska, forever.”, before charging the best he could towards Toji.

She heard him. His voice itself guided her out of her own mind and back to the disaster that’s before them. She fully comes to when she sees Naoya and Toji exchanging energy. Upon trying to stand, she sways but doesn’t fall and has yet to realize all of her wounds as the adrenaline kicks in. She screams feverishly at the two men to stop but is forced to watch them struggle against each other, Toji having the upper hand as he seems to have lost his usual reservation. “NAOYA!”. The scene around her is completely disturbing as the heat from the flaming buildings add to the smell of over-cooked flesh. She starts running towards Naoya and Toji but an unfamiliar voice calls out to her so she turns around to see where it came from.

               “Elska Oda!”, Genghis hollers out as Getou and the other Titers now manifest into view. Genghis is especially thrilled by the scene and claps his hands together in praise to Toji’s handiwork. “He has surpassed my expectations greatly!”, He nudges Getou joyously as his pupil studies Elska. He as well takes in how bloodied Elska is and wishes that she wouldn’t have been harmed in the process.

               When she sees Getou, Elska completely snaps. “YOU FUCKING DID THIS?!”, and forms her metal wings instantly. “I am going to fucking tear you APAAAART!”, she growls before trying to charge him blindly. She’s consumed with rage as she thinks about the children, the unsuspecting innocents and Toji and Naoya. “FUCKING COWARD!”, she screams at him and is almost taken back by how remorseful his expression is.

               Lidia was hoping this would happen. “Winged bitch.”, she mutters while drawing her arm back, aiming her spear. ‘I knew she wasn’t right for Master Suguru…’. She notices Toji become aware of her actions and gets freaked out, so she hurls the weapon towards Elska before he can get any closer. Naoya can be seen trying to run towards Elska. To her dismay, she hears Getou scream for her to stop but it had already left her hands. She turns to him, “She’s trying to kill you Master Suguru!”, and feels her heart stop as he finally looks at her but with absolute abhorrence and wrath. She watches Getou try to stop the spear with gravity but he’s unable to.

               Elska was so furious that she didn’t even think about how utterly moronic attacking head on would be. The spear is heading straight for her, leaving no time to react as she simply failed to notice it because of her focus on Getou. Knowing that she’s about to be impaled only fuels her more though as she can’t let this opportunity go to waste. Right before what she assumed were possibly her last moments, she briefly closes her eyes and tries to remember all the good she’s experienced up until this point. The laughs and love she’s received and shared with Satoru, Toji, Naoya and everyone else flood her as she’s so desperate to live but is willing to throw it all away for their safety. ‘I have to kill him.’. The end never comes but her soul leaves her body along with all of her sensibilities.

               Naoya staggers in front of her. He was able to use his projection at least this time but the look on her face shatters his heart as he follows her eyes down to see the spear’s large tip sticking out of his sternum. “B…Bab…y…”, he feels the world spinning around him as he falls, no longer having the ability to remain on his feet. He hears Elska shriek and feels her warmth but he can’t focus his eyes or make them stay open. “Bab…y…” is all he can manage to articulate. ‘I made it...’, soothes his mind as blood pours from his smiling mouth.

               Toji dashes past them towards the Titers and manages to kill one upon contact. Elska heard the short-lived cries but finds solace in it as she attempts to catch Naoya. They both fall to the ground and the spear tip punctures her hip. She frantically tries to lay him on his side in a specific manner and sobs as she brushes the hair away from his eyes. Using her wings, she slices open her wrist and holds Naoya’s mouth open to force her blood into him but her arm is shaking so violently that it’s causing her essence to get all over his face and neck. “FUCK! NAOYA!”, she yells through her tears as she’s desperate to save him. “My prince…please…you can’t…”, she heaves in shuddering breaths, “You can’t leave me!”. She attempts to take a deep breath but there’s no calming down, he’s barely taking the blood even when some lands into his mouth. “Naoya…please…no…”. She’s met with a choice but before she can decide for herself the ancestral guide within barrels through her.

               “TURN HIM.”

               She absolves all of her previous restraint on the matter and doesn’t hesitate. After repositioning and somewhat side straddling Naoya, she turns around to see all of the Titers fending off Toji except two. Getou and a shorter but older man are both watching her but with different expressions. Getou looks mystified, probably not understanding because he thinks Naoya is already dead. The other man, next to him, appears to be brimming with anticipation. She says nothing to them as she places her left hand over Naoya’s heart, becoming submerged with relief as it still beats, albeit faintly but then it stops. She screams his name while her world disintegrates.

“SAVE HIM!”.

When she feels the surge of ancient energy course in her veins, she leans down into her prince’s neck and whispers, “I love you Naoya. Please…stay here with me.”. She licks the targeted area and pierces him immediately afterwards.

               Toji is taken out of his hypnotic ferocity when he feels Elska’s energy shift. His eyes come clear as he’s surrounded by five Titers. “ELSKA!” He can’t see her initially and panics as his recent actions immobilize his mind. ‘I…killed…I did that?’. Through his own eyes he saw everything but was unable to stop. The complete devastation that was caused by the explosion rocks him again and his frustration with everything happening reaches its peak. He releases a wave of energy that sends all of the Titer’s flying backwards with superficial injuries but can finally can see her. He drops to his knees when he takes in the spear that’s lodged through Naoya and strains into a cry that has no sound. He now understands what Elska is doing and although he’s always hated the idea, he’s not ready to say goodbye to his younger cousin so he finds himself hoping with every cell he’s made from that she’s successful. He hurriedly crawls over to them, becoming more distressed as the details of Naoya’s condition are more apparent. Violet energy travels over Naoya’s body and he jolts like she’s shocking his heart but is otherwise completely still and pale aside from his burns. He hears her moan as she drinks and sees the tears running down her face. Her presence darkens immediately and he holds his breath as he waits worriedly to gauge her. When Elska lifts her head from Naoya’s neck, Toji finds himself overcome with a foreign emotion. Her eyes glow bright purple still but the green dashes are clearly visible and for the first time ever, Toji’s welcoming this. He darts his eyes down to Naoya and notices he’s breathing, “Boy don’t scare me like that ever again…”, and bends down to wrap his arms around Naoya’s head as he was frightened that Naoya wouldn’t have been sustainable in that state. He goes to pick Naoya up but Elska stops him and says in the lowly voice, “He’s safer on the ground, as are you, my beloved.”. Her expression doesn’t feign any emotion but she grips the handle of the spear hanging out of his back and splinters it with ease but holds onto it. With wild eyes she looks down at Naoya, brushing the hair from his face and seethes, “If this doesn’t work, I will enslave and destroy this entire world.”. She now calmly stands up and turns around to head in the direction of the Titers. “My beloved, protect him.”.

               Genghis just fell in love. As the true Elska walks towards them he finds himself in complete awe to her presence and mannerisms. “Even covered in blood…”, he sighs and notes how lucky Suguru is. He leans over to his pupil who has become shaken by her switch, “I think we just witnessed Zenin’s rebirth!”. Getou turns to him with an angry face and asks, “How the fuck is any of this good?!”. Suguru wears the expression of a man who has been betrayed but Genghis brushes it off and chalks it up to shock. Seeing that Suguru was not mentally up to the task right now, Genghis smirks and raises his hands high in the air as he takes two steps towards Elska, gesturing that he would like to engage in conversation. In a composed and submissive tone, he tells her, “Miss Oda, there’s something I must do for you.”.

               Getou finds himself disgusted by how the plan was enacted. When he engaged his gravity to crush the tables, he didn’t realize there were children present. It reminds him of Kechi all over again and his rage slowly becomes directed towards his mentor. He’s unnerved by how happy Genghis is and finally puts more weight into the idea that something is wrong with him. Watching Elska approach them with the frayed spear handle, he feels the absolute urge to defend her as he no longer knows what to expect but understands this whole situation has only fueled her hatred for him. ‘She thinks this was my idea…’, he glares over at Lidia and desires to smash her into the concrete beneath them as her actions were severely out of line. Elska’s desperation over Naoya wrecked his cold demeanor as the sheer sounds of her breaking in front of him were not as sweet as he once imagined. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling these things but he comprehends that somewhere along the way, he stopped hating her and begins to question if he ever really did to begin with.

               Elska stops out of curiosity. It makes no difference to her but she’s intrigued by the Titer Man’s lack of fear. “Proceed.”, is all she says. She becomes more entertained by him when he grabs the red headed girl who threw the spear and brings her back to where he was standing. He announces, “My name is Temujin Genghis, I lead the Titer clan and I am hoping we can be friends. This is Lidia…”, Elska smirks with approval as Genghis jerks her head around by her curly long locks, “…When she attacked you, that was of her own accord. I have never carried any intentions of causing you harm, I admire you deeply.”. Elska can’t help but acknowledge that every word said seems to be truthful although she’s still not moved. She walks up coolly as Lidia struggles, trying to explain her side of the story. Elska sends her glowing red eyes at Genghis who pleasurably shivers into a smile before she turns her attention to the girl and wrenches her grip around her face. In the same lowly and demanding tone she says, “You…you misjudged your situation and threw that spear into my prince.”. Elska notices that the words sting Getou but he seems unphased by the girl being in peril. ‘I see.’. Elska brings her hand into the Lidia’s hair, yanks her head to the side and exposes her fangs. Getou’s eyes shoot open and she keeps her glowing gaze on him and she bites down into the girl’s neck, causing Lidia to moan loudly from the sensation.

Getou can’t take his eyes from Elska as she drinks. He’s so perplexed by Lidia’s reaction as she continues to moan and whimper and wonders why that would be happening. ‘Does it feel good?’, he asks internally but his question is answered as he recalls how territorial Naoya was about her feeding. His lips part as the realization hits him fully and he whispers, “The missing piece of the puzzle…”. Elska flashes him an evil smirk after lifting her head back up as if to help sanction his uncertainties. Suguru is feeling like she’s making a show out of biting Lidia for him alone and is severely confused by her actions.

Lidia has no idea what that was but as the sensation fades, she’s still gasping whimpers. She feels Genghis tug on her hair again and can feel that he’s forming an erection as its pressed against her from his hold. Through her eyelashes she sees Elska glaring into her with superiority but is now noticing that her neck is still bleeding. ‘What…was that?’, she wishes she could see Suguru but instead her eyes take to Toji. His bore holes into her as he bears his fangs maliciously from afar.

Elska wipes her mouth, bringing her concentration back on Lidia and continues, “It’s such a shame…all of this natural beauty is wasted on such a stupid woman.”. Elska was able to decipher the girl with ease and if she could feel anything, it would be pity for the distressed damsel.  Elska speaks to Getou while lifting the spear handle up, “This woman is in love with you and she threw the spear to be rid of her biggest obstacle.”. She grabs Lidia’s face again and smiles maniacally, “Me.”. When she tightens her grip, she hears Genghis’s heart start to race and thinks of how strange of a human he is for being so turned on. Looking back to Lidia she says, “Your entire life has been pointless but today you gave me my prince. I would thank you if you were worth it…”. Elska now watches the horror blanket Lidia’s expression as she brings her arm back. “…But you’re not.”, and aggressively flails her wings and laughs as the girl flinches and wails with regret. “Since you don’t use them well…”, she steps aside so Naoya can be in the girl’s view, “…I don’t see why you should be burdened with these anymore.”. She quickly jabs the jagged handle into both of Lidia’s eyes with precision. She closes her own and inhales satisfyingly as the screams erupt through the air and opens them to smile at the leaking vitreous fluid running down Lidia’s reddened face as she panics to being brutally blinded. Elska thinks about Naoya again and finds that was not enough so she takes the handle and violently shoves it downwards into Lidia’s throat, penetrating it through the back of her neck. The woman still lives but is clearly distraught by the mutilation and struggles to breathe. Elska hisses, “Stupid woman.”, but then takes a few steps back while scowling at the pathetic redhead.

               Toji stands up now, ‘Master…’. He can’t believe what he just saw but is enthralled by the revenge. He knows this isn’t his Elska but is reassured that her in this form was extremely beneficial. He wonders though, ‘Why is she toying with them?’. He looks down at his cousin with heartache until he notices, ‘He stopped bleeding!’, but is still worried as he hasn’t figured out how they’re going to remove the giant spear. Naoya starts violently seizing so he cries out, “ELSKA!”, and looks to her, being completely confused by the smile along her lips. He remains by Naoya’s side, trying to steady him because of the spear. Tears well in his eyes as Naoya flops next to him but he hears Elska’s voice in his mind, “Don’t fret my beloved, that means it’s working...”. His head snaps up in amazement as her eyes meet his. He thinks, ‘Did I just imagine that?’, but jumps when he hears her again, “No you did not. We are able to communicate like this.”. Instantly, he’s brought back to the day he fed from his cousin and how he swore he could sense and hear her screams, becoming marveled. He listens to Lidia’s gurgled broken shrieks of terror but finds they don’t bother him one bit. Naoya settles back into the ground which causes Elska to whip her head in his direction with a hint of disbelief on her face. Toji becomes startled again as he looks back down to Naoya but he hears her, “His transformation is rather rapid…”. Regaining his hope after being fed this knowledge, he unintentionally lets out a grateful sob. He looks to Elska and thinks, ‘Tell me when.’. Toji knew from the moment he saw the green dashes that she was going to hopelessly decimate them. This Elska holds such immense power and was completely ruthless, being the exact and only reason he happy to see her switch.

               Genghis is smitten by this version of Elska and is enthusiastic about demonstrating this fact to her. He pushes Lidia to the ground, lodging the handle deeper through her flesh and places a foot on her back before saying, “Miss Oda, I would be more than pleased if you would accept this act as a token of Master Suguru’s and my own affection.”. He leans down to grab Lidia’s red curls again while she struggles in absolute fear and pins her underneath his left foot. She screams, “Master Suguru!”, or it at least sounded like that could be it but Genghis takes his right leg from ground and bends his knee, balancing on her spine while pulling back on her head. He sighs breathlessly when Elska grins to the obvious pain Lidia is experiencing and although he would like to relish this moment, he kicks his right leg out. He can feel the trauma to her cervical vertebrae vibrate through her bones the moment she finally silences. He takes notice to how the handle was launched back out her mouth as it now lays, bloodied in front of them. ‘Godddd it feels so good to finally be able to do that…’, he speaks internally as he releases her hair, allowing her head and body to bounce off of the ground and straightens his posture.

               Getou stands in complete disbelief, ‘That’s what he meant by Lidia’s purpose?!’. He’s not upset by her death but he finds himself in complete incredulity from listening to how his mentor behaves around this Elska. He thinks about how spearing Naoya was the wrong route to take now as he can sense the darkness and hostility still seeping from her. Suguru can tell how strong she is by her presence and finally understands why Genghis has been so adamant about her cooperation. ‘Would I be able to overpower her?’, he’s convinced that he isn’t capable and wonders how his mentor can seem so calm in this situation. ‘Does he want her for himself?’, Suguru doesn’t actually believe that but wonders where this strange fascination for her came from. He looks back over to Elska who stands stoically as her smile fades back to that resting ominous expression. He feels like he’s supposed to say something when she looks at him. The cold chill that runs down his back compels him to bow to her, “Elska, I apologize for hurting you in the past.”, but finds that somewhere in him, he actually meant it. He slowly brings his body back upright and feels his tension skyrocket as she near him.

Elska stands before Getou and raises her hand to his face. He flinches which causes her to grin and can see the look of uncertainty in Genghis’s expression. She quickly snatches Suguru’s hair and pulls him down to his knees, being enticed by his lack of resistance. He remains studying her but she can see his apprehension and enjoys causing him such muddle. She now grabs both sides of face and lowers hers down to hover over it. Toji’s presence can be felt magnetizing but thinks to him “I need more energy.”, but he doesn’t respond. She quietly speaks in her lowly tone to Suguru, “You would be suitable if you had you own thoughts…”, and gently kisses the scar on his cheek. He gasps with bewilderment as she thinks to give herself a little more time in this form. She whispers seductively, “I’m going to provide evidence for your suspicions…”, and sinks her fangs into him.

Suguru is stunned immediately as he feels the bliss circulate through him. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s moaning deeply and has even since placed his hands on Elska, holding her as she draws from him. His moans turn into whimpers as he clings to her waist and thigh all while not understanding how this feeling could be possible. He shuts his eyes as he feels his body give and fall to the side but she drops down with him in order to not break their connection. Titers start rushing towards him aggressively but hears Genghis say, “Do not interfere!”, with full authority. What his ears pick up now cause his eyes to roll back as Elska moans into his neck. He feels her presence surge back up but it lowers a little each time until she swallows. He now finds that the hand not supporting his weight is now wrapped in her hair and loosens his grip so that can be gentle. When she’s done, she closes his wounds and whines lowly, “You need more time but you could be worthy.”. Their eyes meet and she continues in a much colder tone, “Be weary of how you approach me in the future…and don’t you dare come after my lovers again.”, as he can see she’s lethally serious.

Genghis helps Suguru to his feet, trying to provide the balance for them both after Elska walks back to Toji. He struggles to steady his swaying pupil and can’t believe that she actually bit him right then and there. Getou is still heavily breathing with wide eyes that are fixated on her. He whispers, “That was incredible…”, and finds that Getou’s expression is now that of someone who longs for the other. He calls out sheepishly, “Th-Thank you for not harming him.”, and shifts their stance as Getou seems to be finding composure.

               Elska is so amused by these two. She has a much better understanding of Getou now that she experienced his taste. “Delicious.”, she states as she licks her fangs. Toji huffs out of spite and glares at her but she quickly whispers, “The hybrid isn’t here so that was necessary…”, noting that he doesn’t seem ok with is still. With all eyes on them, she turns to Toji and slowly pulls his head down towards her, giving the soft command, “Kiss me, my beloved.”. Toji’s eyes glow and his wings flutter even with the indecision plaguing his features. When their lips meet, she moans wholeheartedly as she found her turned’s touch to be completely intoxicating. His hesitancy remains although he’s kissing her back but she’s satisfied enough that he obeyed. She feels a weak signal from Naoya, and it steals her attention. He’s not gotten any worse but his energy is already changing. An emotion creeps into her dark heart and it aches as she remembers the actual love she harbors for her prince and Toji both. “I’m going to tend to you two right now.”, she whispers to Toji and nips his bottom lip. Elska knows for a fact that the Titers have more up their sleeve and wishes to draw a curtain on this charade for the sake of her lovers. She locks her lips to Toji’s once more, addicted to the way he feels. After their extended meeting, Elska turns her head to observe the two men’s reaction and laughs when they’re exactly what she predicted. Genghis watches with an endearing envy as Getou’s eyes express heartache. She looks over at the other Titers that are grouped together, on edge. “They will suffice.”. They’re all cowering to her but remain in a defensive stance, one of the men bears beautiful grey eyes but they’re trained on to Lidia’s body. She smirks and kisses Toji again but this time places her right hand flat against her chest and holds it there as her red lightning surrounds them. While experiencing Toji’s tongue, she extends her arm in the direction of the huddled Titers, bends her fingers and unleashes it. The red light travels so fast that three of the four Titers are unable to evade it, their bodies torn through by the energy while being crystalized at the same time. Genghis gasps in confusion as he seemed to think things were going his way. Blood pumps out of Elska’s wings into a pattern of symbols that surrounds her and Toji and then the markings glow. Toji ‘s eyes respond along with hers as his widen, remembering that same blood design around her in the park. She thinks to him, ‘I take life from death.’, and smiles to his wide-eyed nod. What’s left of the Titers bodies breaks down into a red powder, swirls into a vortex in the air and then travels gracefully over to Toji and Elska. The Titer dust blankets around their wounds and fuses with the exposed tissue, healing them both. She waves her hand to direct the remnants and sends it towards Naoya. As the glass shards push out of her body, she watches Toji’s burns become nonexistent and hums with gratification. Naoya’s presence increases as he’s rapidly healed, his burns disappearing as well. His wavelengths tell her he’s still in pain, even when unconscious but she knows it due to his body now rejecting the spear. “That should do it.”. She nudges her beloved to show him and listens to him exhale relief. “He’s taking to the change extremely well.”, she says to Toji confidently, hiding her bafflement of the rate in which the DNA synthesis is working. Her being in true form was surely going to speed up the process but he shouldn’t have such an intense aura already. She runs her hand down Toji’s chest while still studying Naoya, “He is going to be strong.”, and contemplates on his perfection, “Just like you.”.

               Genghis retracts his smile as soon as he realizes his fellow clansmen are no more and that things are not going as planned. ‘WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT?!’. He turns to Getou who’s mirroring his wide eyes but doesn’t know how handle this right away. Not once in any of the futures he seen has this happened. He was aware of the possibility of alteration but this goes far beyond anything he prepared for. “Something’s wrong.”, he panics, “We won’t be able to take her.”, is all he can say as he thinks of what to do next. Sain appears by them as he was the one Titer that escaped her lightning and Genghis sighs being overjoyed that he at least survived.

               Getou is so astonished by what he witnessed and says, “We need to run.”. He’s still figuring out his new emotions but doesn’t mistake for a second that she won’t kill them too. He thinks of all of the times her importance has been reiterated to him and it finally makes sense. Suguru fails to see how he would be able to control her though and also now understands why Genghis has been pushing him to face his feelings about her. Now he has. The convergence of puzzle pieces lock together to form the bigger picture but he fears that he’s even further away from their goal of her affections as he gathers they’ve royally pissed her off with their actions. His mentor doesn’t seem as eager to flee and Suguru’s had about enough of his twisted games. He grabs Genghis in a panic, “WE NEED TO RUN!”.

               Genghis understands Getou’s reaction but turns to Sain, “I have the most daunting task for you but if you can achieve it, the rewards will be endless…”, and passes him a syringe filled with sedative. This will shift all of their plans but he knows there’s really not another choice left at this point. He may even be foolish for attempting this. He brings stern eyes to Getou and whispers, “We need leverage first.”.

               Elska watches the third Titer disappear into thin air and becomes aggravated by their inability to take her seriously. Her collected demeanor fades momentarily when she senses him behind them, near Naoya. She bears her fangs and roars as she launches herself towards the man while he bends down over him. She salivates at the idea of ripping his throat out but before she can reach him, he disappears again. She ends up having to use her wings to slow her speed so she can lean over Naoya to make sure he’s not been harmed further. The emotions that usually flow through her begin to resurface as she becomes weary for his safety while searching his body, noticing the spear has almost worked its way out. She sighs gratefully, “My prince…” and feels the love for him melt away at her ability to maintain her form so she steps away, ‘There’s still more to do first.’. She hears Genghis yell, “We will be in contact!”, but quickly snaps her head when she hears Toji struggling. Getou can be heard screaming, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”, and before she knew it, she was racing against time trying to reach her beloved that has fallen limp in the third Titer’s hold with a needle sticking out of his arm. She howls in anguish when her finger tips grasp at nothing, revealing the stark fact that she was too late. They took Toji with them. She doesn’t even breathe as her failure boils through. Looking up to the sky she cries out the demonic like sound while her energy releases a tremoring wave that further devastates the structures that remain around her. When the wave travels into the restaurant, it fans in oxygen, further feeding the flames and she can’t help but think the heat has nothing on rage inside of her. She continues to send out wave after wave until the building begins to crumble and she remembers that she still has Naoya who is defenseless. “My beloved…”, she whimpers under her breath as her presence begins to fade knowing that her time in this state is up, feeling heavy. She walks over to where Naoya lays and drops to her knees beside him. Tears fall from her face as she takes his hand and asks, “What do I do?”. Feeling hopeless and exhausted, she lays down next to him and curls up near his chest while his unconscious body faces her. “I lost Toji…”. After a few minutes of sobbing into Naoya she feels her awareness fading and clings to him desperately. She hears her name being screamed following by her body being lifted off of the ground and against someone’s warmth. The last thing she sees before completely passing out is Satoru’s teary eyes.

               “ELSKA!”, his voice is distant as her limbs relax, not having any strength left.

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tagging: @angelofthorr

[kpop-zone]

Blackpink reaction when their s/o takes care of them when they are sick

Jisoo

A disturbing noise woke you up from your peaceful slumber, but you were too tired to open your eyes. Blindly, you patted down the bed in order to find your girlfriend because you missed her warm body against yours. But your hand searched in vain, finding nothing but her pillow. Confused, you finally forced your eyelids open and looked around. Her side of the bed was indeed empty, causing you to sit up. It was completely silent now, making it impossible for you to figure out where the weird noise from earlier had come from and where your girlfriend was currently located.

“Jisoo?”

You called out and a moment later the door to the bathroom swung open, revealing your girlfriend who was looking like she had just had the worst night of her life.

“What’s wrong?”

Suddenly you were wide awake and jumped off the bed, but Jisoo held her hand out to stop you from coming closer.

“Nothing. I’m fi-.”

Before your girlfriend could finish her sentence, she slammed her hand in front of her mouth and stumbled back into the bathroom to hang her head over the toilet bowl. Reflexively, you rushed to her, but once more Jisoo pushed you away.

“Go away, Y/N. I’m gross.”

If your girlfriend didn’t look so miserable right now, her statement would have probably made you laugh. But because she did, you simply folded away her stiff-arm that was keeping you away, so that you could stand directly behind her. Gently, you tugged some loose strands of hair behind her ear and rubbed her back soothingly.

“You are not gross, Jisoo. You are sick which means that I have to be there for you even more now.”

You replied determined, ignoring the weak protests of your girlfriend.

Eventually, you helped her back to bed where you rolled her shivering figure into a blanket, making her look like a burrito.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll get you some tea to calm your stomach.”

You said quickly before rushing to the kitchen.

Not even ten minutes later you were back in the bedroom, putting a cup with steaming hot tea and a bowl on the nightstand, just in case your girlfriend had to puke again. Jisoo looked at you heavy-lidded and you slid in behind her, wrapping your arms around her and pressing her gently against your body.

“I’m gonna call in sick first thing tomorrow morning, so I can take care of you. You’ve probably been infected by the kids when you visited your sister last week.”

You thought out loud, causing Jisoo to whip her head around.

“Nooo, you don’t have to stay here. I can take care of myself.”

She interjected and you looked at her disapprovingly.

“And who’s going to cook you a nice soup and be your medicine? You know, I’ve heard that cuddles can improve your health up to 110%”

You replied seriously, causing Jisoo to giggle silently.

“No backchat. I’m staying.”

Realizing that you weren’t going to change your mind, your girlfriend turned in your arms and buried her head in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that.”

She mumbled after a while and you squeezed her lightly.

You knew that she would probably apologize a thousand times for forcing you to stay home but leaving her alone wasn’t even an option for you. Even if she always pretended to be strong, every once in a while, she also deserved to be taken care of. So you would be putting all your love into her recovery.

Jennie

“It’s fine, Y/N. You can leave me alone. Go to your meeting.”

Jennie weakly pushed you to the front door, asking you to finally leave. Your calendar was fully packed today, and you were already late for your first appointment. But you refused to head out. She had woken up with a nasty headache and a sore throat and you were concerned beyond belief.

“But who’s going to take care of you?”

You protested, trying to wiggle out of her grasp.

“I can take care of myself.”

She answered confidently, although only the thought of being alone today made her depressed.

“I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to...”

You replied and Jennie looked at you helplessly, not knowing how to refute your argument. Using the chance of her speechlessness, you turned the tables and pushed her back towards the living room.

“Please, let me take care of you.”

You said softly and Jennie sighed. How could she say know to that? If she was being honest, she always needed a lot of love whenever she was sick and if you hadn’t decided to stay, she would have probably called her mum. But the thought of getting pampered by you all day definitely sounded better.

With a lot less resistance, Jennie let you pull her to the couch and laid down obediently. When you tried to walk away, however, she tightly held on to your arm.

“Jennie, I have to make you breakfast and get you some medicine from the drug store.”

You chuckled, but Jennie immediately shook her head.

“Noooo stay here.”

She pouted, causing you to laugh.

“But aren’t I here to take care of you?”

You tried to pull away, but Jennie didn’t let go.

“Exactly! You’re here to cuddle me all day.”

Jennie grinned and tugged on your arm. You shook your head in amusement, but finally gave in to her and laid down next to her. Automatically, Jennie’s limbs wrapped around you and she sighed satisfied while nestling her head against your body.

“Will we every leave this couch today?”

You chuckled while running your hand up and down her arm and Jennie chuckled.

“Nope.”

Chaeyoung

Hey Y/N...don’t be mad, but I think you shouldn’t come over

For at least a minute you stared at the message of your girlfriend blankly, wondering whether you had done something wrong in order to have her say something like that; not once had she ever told you to stay away from her. But no matter how deep you dug in your memory, you couldn’t think of any moment that could have upset her. Therefore, you quickly dialed her number to call her. Whatever the meaning behind her message was, you needed to know.

“Y/N?”

Pretty much after the first ring, Chaeyoung picked up the phone, but her voice caused your eyes to widen in shock. It was barely above a whisper and sounded as if she had screamed for hours beforehand.

“Chaeng? What’s wrong?”

You asked concerned and you could hear your girlfriend clearing her throat on the other line.

“Nothing.”

She answered quickly, trying to sound normal, but her voice was still hoarse.

“Nothing? Babe, no offense, but you sound awful. Are you sick?”

After your question, the line went quiet, making you wonder whether the connection had broken, but then Chaeyoung spoke up again.

“Yes...I have a nasty cold. That’s why you shouldn’t come over. I don’t want to infect you.”

She sniffled and your heart sank. You didn’t like the thought of your girlfriend feeling unwell and being alone.

“You will not infect me. I’m coming over.”

You answered without hesitation while already leaping to your feet and walking to the front door of your apartment.

“You are not, Y/N! I’m serious. Stay at home. You have a lot on your plate lately; you don’t need a cold to make everything worse.”

Your girlfriend kept rambling, but you only listened with half an ear as you already put on your shoes.

“Hm...”

You hummed into the speaker before quickly saying goodbye and hanging up.

Not even an hour later, you stood in front of the girls’ dorm with a soup that you had picked up on the way and some medicine in your hands. You let yourself in with the key that Chaeyoung had given you a while ago and took off your shoes.

“I’m home!”

You yelled like you always did, but this time you weren’t greeted by the excited voice of your girlfriend. Instead, you heard footsteps pattering before Chaeyoung stepped into sight with a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Y/N! I told you not to come.”

She whined before breaking out into a fit of coughs.

Unimpressed by her protests, you walked into the kitchen and put the soup on the counter. Chaeyoung followed you silently but kept her distance from you while you unpacked the food. Soon, however, you felt her presence directly behind her and you could see in the corner of your eye that she was glancing over your shoulder.

“Is that my favorite?”

She asked and you chuckled in amusement.

“Yup, I thought you deserved to be spoiled today.”

You answered, smiling to yourself when you felt Chaeyoung wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Hm you could be right. I couldn’t sleep a second tonight; I coughed all through the night.”

Your girlfriend pouted as she put her head on your shoulder and you nodded understandingly.

“I’m all yours today.”

You grinned and Chaeyoung blushed lightly.

“I’ve warned you though! It’s not my fault if you get a cold now.”

She replied quickly before walking to the dinner table to hide her flushed cheeks, causing you to chuckle.

“I know, I take full responsibility. Eat now.”

You urged her while putting the soup down in front of her.

Excitedly, Chaeyoung slurped the noodles and hummed in satisfaction.

“I think, I’m already feeling better.”

She mumbled and you laughed.

“Because I’m here?”

You wiggled your eyebrows and Chaeyoung looked up from the soup.

“Of course. Thank you for coming, Y/N. Turns out you’re much better at taking care of me than I am.”

She smiled while reaching out to take your hand. Proudly you grinned before lifting her hand and kissing the back of it softly. Of course, you were better at taking care of her; after all, it was your favorite thing to do.

Lalisa

“I’m not sick!”

Lisa yelled chipperly over her shoulder before slamming the front door shut, not leaving you the chance to talk back.

For the past three days already, your girlfriend struggled with a sore throat and pain in her limbs, but she refused to admit that she was sick. Every day, she dragged herself to practice and gave 110%. You tried to tell her that her behavior would eventually get back at her, but she didn’t want to listen. In her opinion, this was nothing but a harmless cold that would go away by itself.

She would change her mind today though.

Right when the door to your apartment opened that night, you knew that your prediction had come true. Lisa sniffled and coughed violently, causing you to immediately rush to the entrance. She looked ten times worse than this morning; her face was pale except for her cheeks that were burning bright red and it seemed like she would collapse any second. As soon as she saw you, a small pout formed on her lips.

“Y/N...I think you were right. I’m sick.”

She whined with slouched shoulders and you immediately walked up to her. Dramatically, Lisa let herself fall into your arms and you giggled amused.

“You know this could have totally be prevented if you had stayed home today, right?”

You scolded her jokingly, causing her to whine even more.

“I knoooow. I don’t like being sick.”

She huffed frustrated and you laughed before pulling her into the apartment.

“Don’t worry. Your private physician is here to take care of you.”

You grinned while pointing at yourself and Lisa’s face lit up.

“Will I get a special treatment?”

She asked cheekily, looking a lot less depressed than she did just a second ago.

“Of course. You’ll have access to an endless source of homecooked meals, cuddles, distraction...”

You began listing all of her benefits and with every word your girlfriend got more excited.

“Maybe I should be sick more often...”

Lisa commented eventually, causing you to chuckle. Of course, she would use this chance today to get absolutely spoiled by you. But you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Therefore, you walked into the kitchen to start making some comfort food for your girlfriend all the while she clung to your body tightly. You knew that it would probably better if she laid down, but you also knew that you didn’t even have to bring up that suggestion. Lisa would follow you wherever you went today anyways.

[socialwriter]

For a Kook - Ptersparkers’ Writing Challenge

Gif credit to @popemaybank​

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Requested by @obx-direction-sos​ :  so the scene with “tell kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue.” what about being on and off with rafe and jj is all like “tell y/n she looks pretty hot for a kook”

Summary: A dance with JJ leads to a jealous Rafe and a confession of feelings

1.9k+ words

TW: Cursing, fighting, jealous Rafe, self doubt/insecurity on reader’s behalf

A/n: Ok so this is a part of @ptersparkers​ writing challenge, and I really wanted to challenge my self so I wrote my first full on Rafe fic. Hope y’all enjoy <3

“Hey Rafe, could you help me with the zipper on this thing?” You shout out into the hallway of his house, awkwardly struggling with the zipper at the back of your emerald dress. You were already running late because your mother had made you help her redecorate the grand foyer of your house, and this dress was certainly not helping you make up on lost time. “Yeah su- woah.”

You turn around to see Rafe standing in the doorway of the guest room which you had been getting ready in, mouth slightly ajar. “What, did I smudge my eyeliner, I had an itch and I knew I scratched too hard damn it Y/n.” Before you can check your makeup in the mirror, Rafe places his hand on your shoulder, effectively stopping your rambling. “No, it's not that it's just..you look gorgeous,” he says, causing your face to heat and a blush to form on your cheeks, a sight he always loved to see. “Just zip the dress up lover boy.”

He complies with your command, zipping up the dress before grabbing the floral crown laying on the vanity and placing it on your head. You grin and turn to face him, feeling giddy about finally being ready to go before your eyes land on his neck. “Seriously, how do you still not know how to tie a bowtie Rafe?” He rolls his eyes, pretending to be offended by your comment, when in reality he had purposefully tied the bowtie poorly so that you would do it for him. He thought it was adorable the way your nose scrunched up in concentration when you tied it, and he didn’t mind being so close to you as well. Of course, he would never tell you that. Your relationship was complex to say the least, an unspoken agreement of exclusivity between the two of you even though your relationship had never been made official. Due to his relationship with his father, Rafe struggled with emotional vulnerability. Even though you two were certainly more than friends, he had an innate fear of rejection that kept him from telling you how he felt about you and making you officially his. 

“Rafe! Y/n! Hurry up, we’re already late!” You hear Rose shout out downstairs, so you grab Rafe’s hand and drag him to where the rest of his family is waiting. “Took you long enough,” Wheezie adds through a grin, causing you to roll your eyes and ruffle her hair a little. “Yeah yeah little nugget, I know.” The six of you all pile into a car and head off to the country club, where the Cameron family is supposed to make their grand entrance. 

Rafe had, somehow, convinced you to walk in with them on his arm, which you were now seriously regretting, considering it felt like almost everyone in the place was looking at you. Judging your dress, your hair, your flower crown, your body. You shrink into Rafe’s side, trying to make yourself appear just a little bit smaller, which he notices. “Something wrong love?” You nod timidly, your usually confident nature seemingly gone. “I feel like everyone’s staring at me,” you whisper, causing Rafe to frown. He places a lingering kiss on the top of your head before gently taking your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him. “Of course everyone’s staring love, they want to catch a glimpse of the prettiest girl in this place.” You roll your eyes at his remark, feeling too self conscious to come up with a witty comeback.

“Tell you what. How about, for the rest of the night, the two of us hang out together. Dance, sneak a little wine or champagne, and forget about all the asshole socialites stinking up the place. How does that sound, princess?” Rafe’s proposal puts a small smile on your face, and you nod a little. “Sounds alright. You promise that's all that's gonna happen tonight?”

“Promise.”

---

Long story short, Rafe had not upheld his promise. After about two songs of you two dancing your hearts out, Ward had pulled Rafe away on some business. He had claimed that he would be gone for five minutes max, but that was over thirty minutes ago. Now you were currently sitting at a table near the dance floor, mindlessly stirring the ice cubes in your soda with your staw, when a hand comes into your peripheral vision. “Care to dance?” The voice of JJ Maybank asks you.

You lazily glance over at him, quirking a brow. “And what is the one and only JJ Maybank doing at the kook event of the season? I would assume that you’d hate stuff like this.”

“Some of us need to work to eat doll,” he quips back, though something tells you that’s not the reason why he’s here. “So, that dance?” You glance around one more time, and since you don’t see Rafe, you take the blond’s hand, standing and following him to the dance floor.

“So what's a pretty girl like yourself doing sitting here by yourself?” JJ questions, twirling you around. “I would’ve thought you’d be spending the night with your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You respond, taking a step towards him again once you’ve finished spinning.

“Then what do you call you and Rafe.”

The fiery red blush on your cheeks is impossible to hide. Sure, you’d always had feelings for Rafe, and your relationship was far from a normal friendship, but did people really see you two as lovers? “Just dip me Maybank.” You mumble, and luckily he complies. 

---

Unfortunately for you and JJ, Kelce had spotted you two as soon as JJ had asked you to dance. Knowing you and Rafe were unofficially official, as well as wanting something interesting to happen before the night was over, he figured telling Rafe would both follow the bro code and likely start a fight. He found Rafe talking to some wrinkly old executive, telling the old man a half assed excuse about ‘business matters’ before pulling Rafe off to the side. “Listen dude, I think Maybank is trying to hit on Y/n or something, I saw the two of them talking by the dance floor.”

Thoughts are spiraling through Rafe’s head, but the thought that's the loudest in his mind at the moment is how he’s going to beat JJ’s ass. Fuming, he makes his way to the dance floor just in time to see JJ say something that makes you blush furiously and then dip you. He angrily makes his way over to the two of you, Kelce following close behind, and places a hand on JJ’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Was wondering if you could get me a mai tai my friend?” Rafe asks, venom coating each word. 

Seeing the steam fuming from Rafe, you gulp nervously. This couldn’t end well. “Rafe, JJ was just keeping me company while you were gone, there’s need to be upset.” You place your hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down, but he just shrugs you off. Before you know it, JJ’s run off inside, and Rafe, along with Kelce and three other kooks, have all followed him inside. You helplessly look around for a moment for someone, anyone, that could help you. You certainly couldn’t fend of all five boys, and neither could JJ. Your eyes catch one of the security guards, and you figure that's your best bet at stopping Rafe. While you were worried for JJ’s safety, you were even more worried about Rafe. God knows what Ward would do if Rafe did anything stupid on tonight of all nights.

You tell the guard that there was a problem going on inside, and the two of you search the country club until hearing a commotion in the men’s locker. When you enter, you see Kelce holding JJ in a chokehold, Rafe rearing up to make a hit, and the other three kooks spectating, not doing a damn thing. “What is going on here?” The guard questions, even though it's quite clear to everyone else in the room. However, JJ, ever the smart ass, starts going on about ‘trespassing’ and ‘being escorted’, so the guard takes the pogue by the arm and the two men approach the exit. However, when JJ meets your eyes, a smirk forms on his lips, and you can tell that he plans on getting one final jab in at Rafe before he leaves.

“Hey Y/n, I really liked dancing with you tonight. Ya know you’re really pretty...for a kook.” 

Rafe lunges towards JJ, but before he reaches him, you step between the two boys, holding your hands up. “Rafe, please, don’t. It's not worth it.” Rafe growls, scaring you slightly, but you hold your ground. “Get out of my way Y/n so I can teach this little punk a lesson.” Luckily, when you glance behind you, it looks as though JJ and the guard had left the locker room, so you didn’t have to hold Rafe back anymore. “Do you want to maybe go outside and get some air?” You question, gently grabbing his hand. He lets out a deep breath but nods, and the two of you make your way out to an area at the front of the country club, away from the hustle and bustle of the events of the night.

“You shouldn’t have held me back. The asshole made a comment about you and he deserved what was coming for him.” 

You huff and shake your head, looking out at the greenery in front of the country club. “You know he just said that to wind you up. Why’d you even start the fight in the first place? You promised me that this would be a nice night, just the two of us.”

Rafe falters slightly, guilt suddenly flooding him. “I saw you two dancing together,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“I saw the two of you together. He said something that made you blush and was being all suave with you and I..got jealous.”

Glancing over at Rafe, you see him biting his lip, clearly nervous, and looking anywhere but at you. “Ya know Rafe,I wanted to be there, dancing with you.”

“Don’t lie to me princess.”

“Rafe look at me.” You grab both his hands, causing him to reluctantly look you in the eye. “When have I ever lied to you?” When he doesn’t answer, a small smile forms on your lips. “I never have, and never will. You wanna know what JJ said that made me blush so hard? He called you my boyfriend. And it caught me off guard, because Rafe, I’ve been in love with you for the longest time and f-” you’re cut off by Rafe smashing his lips against yours, but you quickly recover and return the kiss. It feels like fireworks are going off, and if you had to describe the perfect kiss, this would be it. All the passion and emotion between you two is expressed without a single word being said, your mouths doing all the talking. 

Eventually, you pull away, slightly out of breath. “Y/n L/n, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Can we make whatever this is between the two of us official? So that I am yours and yours alone, and that you are mine?” He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, stroking the delicate skin with the pad of his thumb. Instinctively, you take your own hand and place it on top of his, relishing in the contact. “I would love nothing more.”

Tagging moots that are also Rafe hoes 😌: @normatural​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @softstarkey​ @stargazingstarkey​ @anonymous0writer​ @drew-starkey​ @drewsephsmiles​ @girlsru1eboysdroo1​ @jayjaymaebank​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @butgilinsky​ @queenk00k​ @letsgofullkook​ @jjmbanks​

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

That ask with the ice cubes was not only adorable/sexy as HECK, but also made me "aww" at Sooga wishing he could surprise Kohga with kinky fun too. So I guess this is an ask: what if there WAS something Sooga could think of to surprise his hubby in the same way, doing something kinky to Kohga? Honestly I think anything where Sooga takes charge would make Kohga swoon, especially if it's something public

I thought of just the fucking thing for you, anon!

"Vai! Settle down now, settle down!"

Sooga watched as the women hurried inside the building, damn near giddy. He couldn't believe he was doing this. But something...happened today, and it made him desperate. He snuck inside the bushes right by the doorway, peering into the class. The woman at the front cleared her throat, demanding attention.

"Alright, pay attention now! We have a new topic to dive into today; surprising your voe! Surprising your voe will keep a relationship fun, exciting even. Dina, let's assume you are already in a relationship with a voe. How do you surprise him?"

"Oh, what about new clothes? Something that compliments the frame?"

"Very simple, very nice! Good job, Dina."

Sooga scribbled what he could into his journal. Anything was helpful, and everything was worth noting.

"Let's see-Risa! Say you want to surprise your voe, give us something out of the blue."

"Choke him?"

"I...well I mean, TECHNICALLY you aren't wrong, but. You know what, I'm just gonna let you have that one."

That was more Sooga’s league, but it was still worth noting. He scribbled more, and listened on.

"Okay, Pasha. Pasha? PASHA!!"

Her yell scared not only the woman inside, but Sooga as well. He dropped his pencil, and watched helplessly as the pencil rolled away from him. He watched it until it came to a complete stop. He COULD reach it, if he was careful. He looked into the room, and seeing that they hadn't noticed anything, reacher for the pencil. Further, further...when his fingertips touched the pencil, there was a blade's end right at his face. He looked up, and mentally swore. Her blade was in his face, and two spears were pointed at him as well. As Kohga would say, 'I'm fucked'.

"A voe. A YIGA voe. Get up. Slowly."

Sooga obeyed, keeping his hands up in the air as he rose. The pink haired one stepped closer to him, nearly pressing her body against his.

"Why are you here? Attempting to kill us?"

"I say we cut off his dick and shove it down his throat, make him choke on it."

They all turned to look at Risa, even Sooga had to mentally go 'what the fuck'. She met their eyes, shrugging.

"Too much?"

"Yes, Risa, too much. But the thought was there."

"He has yet to answer us. Why WERE you in the bushes? You a pervert?"

"Without trying to be rude- ew. No, I wasn't doing any perverse thing with any of you. I...I wanted to attend your class."

They all looked taken aback. They turned to their teacher, who huffed, bringing her face closer to his. It was intimidating of a stance, and he would've been less terrified, had it been a man.

"You. Want to attend a class...where vai's try to date and marry voe's? But. YOU are a voe, are you not?"

"I am. But...my relationship with MY voe is...struggling. I want to please him, terribly. I heard of your class, and I was hoping, honestly, genuinely hoping I could learn something. Anything."

Risa cocked her head to the side.

"Wait. If you wanted to join, why didn't you just take the form of a fellow Gerudo?"

Sooga opened his mouth, only to shut it. Shit. That would've been a good idea.

"I...I wished I thought of that. This is...embarrassing."

Their teacher looked him up and down, before stepping back, and tucking her weapon away.

"We will help you."

"You will?!"

"We will?!"

"Yes. A voe who does something so stupid for the sake of another, is a voe truly in love. Grab your pen and come inside. You will get ONE class, so take in what you can."

"Yes-er, sorry, didn't catch your name."

"Ashai. Yours?"

"Sooga. It's a pleasure, and an honor."

They allowed him an empty seat as they walked in. They seemed uncomfortable with him, but that didn't matter. He needed to learn something, ANYTHING. Ashai wrote on the board, pointing to it.

"We will skip lessons one through three, given that you are already in a relationship. So, lesson four, 'how to attend to your voe's needs'."

-----------------------------

"Anyone seen Sooga? I haven't heard from him, and he hasn't arrived when I called."

The other blade masters shrugged, not having seen the man since last night. He was about to ask Von, when his slate went off. A text from Sooga.

'I left you something in your room. On the nightstand.'

Weird. Kohga went anyway, and saw it when he walked into the room. A huge vase full of mighty thistles. How cute.

"Oh...you idiot."

He walked up to it, and looked at the tag that hung from the silken ribbon.

"'Boo'? The hell does-"

Suddenly Kohga was yanked backwards. His face was grabbed rather roughly, and lips were smashed onto his. Kohga was about to stomp on the assailants foot, when that all too familiar voice cooed against his lips.

"Did I scare you?"

"Fucking hell, Sooga- thought I was gonna have to beat your ass for a second. Yeah, you got me, you really did, big boy. This why I couldn't find you this morning?"

"I've been getting a surprise for you, yes. It's not just those flowers."

Kohga chuckled, lifting a hand up to pinch his cheek.

"Oh look at you. You look damn near smug. Is it poetry?"

"No. But there WILL be something that sounds just as sweet, my Master."

He kissed his hand, before grabbing it, and forcing them both behind his back. Kohga tried to move them, when he suddenly found them bound by rope. Tightly. Kohga looked confused for a second, before he chuckled.

"Sooga! You naughty dog you! What are you planning?"

"You'll see. Now walk."

Sooga was being plenty rude today, giving him a little shove to get him walking, and holy SHIT did Kohga find it hot. Big, stud man, shoving him around, tying him up, bossing him around. He led him to their bed, before gesturing to the other gift he got him; giant mirror. Kohga chuckled.

"Aw, you got me another present. It's nice. What next, chocolates?"

"On the bed."

Sooga was NOT in the mood for playing, he seemed. He obeyed, sitting down on the bed. Sooga crawled in behind him, and helped Kohga put his arms up.

"You know how beautiful I think you are? You don't truly understand. The way I look at you. The way I crave you. Now, thanks to your gift, you're going to SEE what I mean."

Kohga was about to ask what he meant, before his arms were lifted above his head, and his bound hands were tied to the wooden support beam above them. Kohga snickered, giving them a good tug, just to test the knot.

"Good tying on this, it's sturdy. But I thought you LIKED it when I used my hands."

"I do. I really, really do. But you’re mischievous with them,"

Sooga sat down behind him, letting his own hands caress his frame. Sooga's hands were slow, loving, and in a 'hurry the fuck up' kinda way, it was hot.

"Your hands make me forget what I'm doing. So, in order to show you what I can do, you're going to playing games under MY rules."

"Am I really THAT much for you, Sooga?"

"Yes and no. Yes, because your hands are unrivaled, but no, because we both know if you wanted to, you could escape from your confines at any time. You're just being nice. And that's another thing I like about you."

Kohga felt his breath hitch as Sooga grabbed his throat, forcing him to look at the mirror. Oh the LOOK Sooga was giving him. Was this what he looked like when he couldn’t see his face directly? He tried to keep his signature smirk, really he did, but holy shit was it...hard.

"I like many things about you. I like how you look in my arms. I like how your eyes soften when you see me. I like how you know you're the most attractive man I've ever known."

There was a small kiss to his jaw, before Sooga had to hold him still, given the sudden tight grip onto his ass.

"I like your body. I like your ass. It's full, it's perfect, and it is MINE."

His hand pulled at the yiga attire, not caring what ripped and tore. Kohga gasped at the absolute GALL in this man.

"Sooga my CLOTHES! You know those are-"

"I like the way you fucking whine,"

His grip was tighter on his throat, Sooga’s voice grew huskier.

"When you want to act like a brat. It's adorable. I like your stomach, it gives me so much for me to hold."

Kohga couldn’t believe he wasn’t saying shit as Sooga grabbed handfuls of his poochy tummy, playing with his fat in the same way one would a breast.

"We all think about it. But only I get to touch it. Only I get to fill it, full of food, of my love. Fucking hell, you drive me crazy."

Sooga forced his legs to part, before grabbing at his hard cock, slowly stroking it in his hand.

"Like your cock. God I love your cock. It's thick, it's gorgeous. It feels so good in my hand. I like how you squirm because you want me to go faster. You're SO impatient. You want what you want, and you want it when you want it. It's sexy, in a way, knowing you won't wait for what you deserve. I admire that about you."

Sooga held him still as he pumped his cock, slowly and firmly, enough to make Kohga squirm. Sooga was a bastard, KNOWING how he hated this stupid slow and sweet approach. He wanted it fast, hard, and raw. But Sooga was in charge right now, and that was hotter than anything. Sooga kept going; chin resting on his shoulder as he listened to his breaths, and until his hand was covered in a thick layer of precum. He pushed Kohga’s mask up, just enough to reveal his lips.

"I love your lips. The way you kiss, the way you eat, the way you talk. Anytime I see your mouth do anything...it makes me want jump over the table, and fuck you. How I keep my composure around you, I have no idea. Your lips are...so greedy. They take anything they are given."

Sooga proved it, shoving two fingers into his mouth, letting them slide back and forth across his tongue, back and forth, making drool dribble down his lips. He could taste his own precum on his fingers, and it was absolutely gross. Suffice to say, Kohga was fucking throbbing.

"That's it. Drool for me. Get that pretty mouth ready for me. I like feeling your precious mouth take what I want to give it, and do so oh so hungrily. You're so greedy. Never satisfied. Ever hungry. I adore that about you."

Sooga pulled his hand away, and even got out of bed, standing right next to Kohga. Kohga licked his lips, trying to look SOMEWHAT composed. Even behind locked doors, he had SOME reputation to uphold.

"Open."

Sooga grabbed onto his head, pushing it back as he shoved his cock right into his mouth. Kohga hated how good it felt, essentially being forced to suck on the slowly moving gerth in his mouth. Sooga hated it too, given the way he swore under his breath, the way his face softened once he looked up at him.

"You're going to like this, I know I will. Look at the mirror again."

Kohga looked at the mirror, and holy shit was he a sight. Torn clothes, cock leaking precum, and drool running down his chest as he savored the cock in his mouth. But that wasn't the good part. The good part was when Sooga suddenly shoved himself in fully, balls deep into him. Watching himself not only squirm, but watched as his throat bulged, full of Sooga’s cock.

"Aren't you magnificent? Aren't you wonderful? Aren't you just so cock hungry? Gag for me. I know you can."

Kohga was tempted not to, absolutely stubborn, but they both knew he couldn’t resist it. He liked gagging, he liked being at the mercy of a big, strong man, with his mouth stuffed to the brim with man meat. Sooga smacked his cheek a bit, correcting him as if he were an animal. Then he gagged (with a little bit of help from Sooga really pushing himself in), damn near making Sooga melt upon the feeling. He pulled himself out quickly, actually shaking a little bit.

Poor Sooga. Despite being a big bad dom, he was still the buff cutie who could cum oh too quickly. Kohga grinned, looking up at him.

"Oh come on, you were close! I don't deserve a little treat?"

"You will get the treat I intended for you. As tempting as it would be, you aren't the one in power here."

Kohga was about to say something smart, just to be an ass, when Sooga got behind him again, grabbed a hold of his meaty thighs, and slammed himself right into his ass. Oh the way it sent a shiver up his spine. Sooga grabbed a piece of his torn clothes, before balling it up, and shoving it right into Kohga's mouth.

"I don't want you to talk. I want you to sit here, and watch me fuck you. I want you to be helpless against me. I. Want. YOU."

And boy, Sooga wasn't kidding. He kept his grip on his thighs, slamming himself in and out of his ass. All while Kohga was forced to just sit there, and watched himself get railed. His cock was throbbing and leaking, drool was soaked up by the cloth and was spilling down his chin, and Sooga.

Oh Sooga.

He didn't move his face from his shoulder, letting him hear that quick breathing, his swears, even his animalistic snorts. He, even now, didn't stop meeting his gaze in the mirror. He wanted him to look him in his eyes. He wanted total and complete possession of him. And he could have him. Seeing how his cock pounded into him, seeing how precum slathered over him and only made this sound even wetter. It was gross, it was shameful, and it was driving Kohga CRAZY.

"Look at you. You LIKE it when I fuck you like this. You like taking control sometimes, we know this. But when you submit yourself to me, when you're letting me destroy this ass I love so much- I can tell you like letting me have you. Im going to stuff you full of you cum. Nod if you want that. Nod if you want me to hold you down while I FUCKING breed you."

If Kohga nodded any faster, he'd get a headache. That seemed to be enough for Sooga, who, with a loud swore, came. He didn't stop moving either, making his own orgasm more intense by still stimulating himself. Oh the way the cum was pushed into his ass, the way it soaked onto the sheets below. Sooga sounded exhausted behind him, even the grip on his thighs were shakey. But his voice didn't falter.

"Cum on my fucking cock. NOW."

Then Sooga, supporting him with only one hand, used his other to bring his hand swiftly across his ass. It hurt like a BITCH, and he already knew a bruise was gonna come from that big, open palm. And of course, it made Kohga cum. His cum spilled onto his stomach, his sheets- all while Sooga still slammed his hips against his.

It took a good damn minute for Sooga to finally stop plowing his ass, but when he did, Kohga saw them both panting like hell in the mirror, shining in sweat. Once Sooga seemed to hit that post nut clarity, he removed the gag from his mouth, watching in almost fascination as the drool came pouring from his mouth. Kohga didn't even bother trying to swallow any of his spit- letting it fall wherever it pleased. Kohga gave a light shake of his head.

"Holy....SHIT Sooga. The fuck was all of THAT about?"

"Did you...not like-"

"Ooh don't you start. That was hot as HELL! color me surprised, I didn't expect that from you~"

That was the word he seemed cling to. 'Surprise'. That was what he wanted, apparently, given the sigh of relief he had.

"I wanted nothing more than to surprise you, my Master."

He kissed his forehead, before starting to try to untie his hands.

"So where DID you pick up such a neat little trick?"

"I uhm...took a class."

"You took a CLASS?!"

Kohga had no idea why, but that was SO funny to him. He wanted to laugh, but he immediately say Sooga shrink a little. Guy was so self conscious in this relationship, even from the start. He leaned in to kiss his masked cheek.

"I'm flattered. Really. You did something new, for me. By Ganon you're a sweetie."

Oh the stupid blush on his stupid face. He cleared his throat, continuing to un do his hands.

"I...thank you, Master."

"Uh huh. Can you hurry it up big guy, I need to pee SO fucking bad."

"...I'm hearing 'keep you here'"

"Oh my god you fucking-you are not doing this right now."

"I mean. You're already here, I'm already going to have go clean these sheets ANYWAY-"

"SOOGA."

"Okay okay, I heard you. Had to TRY."

Kohga was stuck with an absolute fucking idiot. And he loved him so much.

[firstdegreefangirl]

OK, I have no idea what happened to it ((my guess is that the blue hellsite decided it was snacktime and ate the thing)), but ages ago, @kitkat0723 sent me an ask prompting the following: 

May I pleaseeeeee request #11 back hugs and #15 The biggest warmest hugs 

This is my fill for that, in this text post, because Tumblr disappeared the ask when I tried to save it in my drafts. Who knows? Anyway, it got much longer than intended, but I'm chalking that up to that it's technically two prompts, one fic. Heads up, there’s some frustratedDad!Eddie in here. Everything is all good by the end, and it’s nothing too severe, but if that’s not your kinda thing, no hard feelings. Other than that, enjoy!

Eddie’s staring at his hands, wrapped so tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter that he can see his knuckles turning white. His back is strained, muscles pulled taut against the effort it takes to support his head right now. When he flexes his fingers, it’s like he can feel the bones scraping together, hear the grinding echoing in his head.

It’s like a garbage disposal, sucking his thoughts down into its spinning blades. Except that the thoughts don’t go anywhere, and he’s still stuck thinking them.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and his kid doesn’t even have a mom to go running toward.

He can’t believe himself, yelling at Chris, sending him to his room without dessert just because he copped an attitude about his math homework.

(Actually, he did that because Chris kept rolling his eyes and calling his teacher a ‘stupid jerkface.’ Eddie met her at conferences; he might not be wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s OK to say it out loud. Especially when Eddie told him more than once to stop.)

But it’s been a long day, for both of them. Eddie’s coming fresh off of an 18-hour shift, and apparently Chris had a pop quiz in social studies he wasn’t prepared for. So tensions were already running high before Buck cleared the pizza boxes away, turning the kitchen table into a makeshift classroom. (And honestly, what would any of them do without Buck, swooping in with delivery dinner to take at least one thing off of Eddie’s to-do list?)

Then Eddie had spent 45 minutes trying to remember how to divide fractions. Every time he’d tried to suggest something – anything at all, from “let’s look in your textbook” to “I think you flip one of them upside down – he'd been met with a long-suffering sigh and an eye-roll that would make Anderson Cooper proud.

“Why do I have to do this anyway? Math is stupid, and my teacher is stupid, and I’m stupid, and all of it’s stupid!” Chris would shout, or some variation thereof.

And eventually, Eddie had had enough. Enough of trying to rationalize through it. Enough of Buck looking at him helplessly and shrugging his shoulders because he’s no more useful with fractions than Eddie is. Enough of Chris’ high-pitched whine, the way he flopped back in his chair and groaned. Enough reminding him to use his words, that he’s a smart kid, that they’ll get through this together.

Enough of all of it.

“Fine, you don’t want to do your homework? That’s fine!” Eddie had shouted, pushing his chair back from the table with enough force to wobble it onto two legs. “But if you’re not going to work on this, then you can go put your pajamas on and brush your teeth. No TV and no ice cream until your worksheets are done, I don’t care how long it’s going to take. I’m not doing this with you all night, go to your room!”

Chris had stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock, before thinking better of it and running off. The sound of his crutches echoing was enough to shake Eddie from his stupor, but when he’d looked at Buck, who was already looking back, concern etched across his face, he’d snapped again.

“I can’t sit there all night and watch him stare at a piece of paper. I don’t want to hear it from you either, OK? Just …” Buck’s eyebrows had pushed closer together, and the anger bled out of Eddie again. His voice cracked as he continued. “Just give me a minute, OK? Please?”

Then he’d pushed past Buck to go stare out the kitchen window, before he could say anything else to hurt someone he loves.

Which brought him to now, clinging to the countertop like the world might swallow him whole if he lets go. Honestly, he’d probably deserve it, for raising his voice at his son and at his boyfriend, all in one breath.

He exhales shakily, screwing his eyes shut against the tears that are threatening to burn hot, salty tracks down his face.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and he sent his kid to his room, and Buck probably left too, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

But he can’t give in to the anger, can’t let it take over the definition of his day. He remembers Frank saying something about that, how it’s maybe not a bad day, just a bad moment that he’s milking all day. And he doesn’t want to do that, especially not where Chris is involved. So he takes another deep breath, and a few more after that.

He’s still breathing slowly, counting every second of air in and out of his lungs, when he feels a heavy, sold weight drape across his back.

He relaxes into the contact, knows who it is before Buck can even slide his arms around Eddie’s waist. Buck holds him tightly, crouches down far enough to bury his face in Eddie’s neck, waits patiently for their breathing to even out until they’re sharing the same rhythm.

Buck stands there, holding him tightly and long enough that Eddie doesn't feel like the world is going to beat him anymore. He holds Eddie until he feels strong enough to let go of the counter with one hand and wrap his fingers around Buck’s where they’re pressing into his stomach. His wrist won’t turn far enough to tangle their fingers together, but Buck lets Eddie hold onto his hand, squeezes back as best as he can when Eddie tightens his grip.

And after a long moment, when Eddie finally turns himself around in Buck’s arms, Buck is still there. He’s there for Eddie to cling to, adjusts his grasp so Eddie can get his hands high enough to wrap around Buck’s shoulders and fist in the back of his T-shirt. He’s there for Eddie to bury his face against Buck’s chest and let out one last long, shuddery sigh.

And he’s there when Eddie leans back, just far enough to see Buck’s face when he opens his mouth.

“Buck, I--”

“It's alright, I know, you’ve had a long day. No hard--” Eddie cuts him off, before he can supply the word “feelings.”

“It’s not. It’s not alright. I overreacted, and I lashed out, and I’m sorry.” Eddie sighs and leans his forehead back against Buck’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have … I was out of line. You didn’t deserve that. You haven’t done anything tonight but try to help – and you have helped. I don’t know how I’d have gotten through tonight without you. Even if I screwed up royally.”

“You didn’t ‘screw up royally.’” Buck runs his hand up and down Eddie’s back, a hundred times more gentle than he deserves tonight. “You got frustrated, you snapped a little bit, but you backed off before you went too far. Eddie, babe, it happens. Trust me, from having parents who did screw up in a million different ways, I seriously doubt Chris is going to be talking about this in therapy in 20 years.”

“Oh god, Chris.” Eddie rears back again, dropping his hands to Buck’s sides, but not letting go of him. “I … I yelled at him and took away his dessert. Over math homework.”

“Over his attitude toward math homework.” But Buck’s words fall on deaf ears.

“He called himself stupid, and I yelled at him.”

“Eddie, hey.” Buck squeezes Eddie’s bicep gently until he can bring himself to make eye contact. “He’s doing good. I went back and talked with him, helped him get ready for bed. No progress on the math homework, but he’s jammied, and his teeth are brushed, and last I looked, he was working on the latest Captain Underpants book. He was a little worried that you were upset with him, but we talked, and he knows you had a long day, and he was being difficult and --”

“He’s not a difficult kid.” He’s not, truly, and Eddie had long ago promised himself that he’d never make Chris feel like he is.

“Maybe not, but even good kids have their moments. He knows that it’s not his fault, and that we both still love him very much. And you know what?” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything. “He asked me to come see if you were OK. ‘Dad must have had a really bad day,’ he said. ‘I think he might need some help with it, but I should stay in here, so I don’t get in trouble again.’”

Eddie sniffles, tears in his eyes for an entirely new reason now. Even after all of the mistakes he’s made – not just tonight, but especially now – he's still got such a sweet kid, with so much empathy, and the biggest heart of anyone he’s ever met. How many 11-year-olds would get yelled at and immediately want to make sure their dads are OK?

He doesn’t know for sure, but he’s willing to be that the number isn’t large.

“I should go talk to him,” Eddie sighs, finally stepping back far enough that he has to let go of Buck.

“I think he’d like that. Want some support?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. He doesn't know how he’d have gotten through this much of tonight without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to do the next part by himself either. He leads the way down the hall, but Buck catches his hand along the way. This time, their fingers fit together perfectly.

He stops at the doorway to Chris’ room, takes a second to look at his son, lying on top of the covers with his knees bent up to balance his book. He’s completely oblivious to the audience until Eddie knocks gently on the doorframe.

“Hey, Chris,” he starts, then realizes he doesn’t know where the sentence was meant to be going.

“Dad!” Chris sits up and grins. He grins, and Eddie’s heart swells. “Buck said you had a bad day. Do you need a hug?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, stepping forward until he can sit on the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The next thing he knows, Chris is all but launching himself at Eddie’s lap. He flings his arms around his dad’s neck and holds on tight. By the time he’s done squirming, he’s situated himself on top of Eddie’s thighs, chin tucked underneath his head.

He’s almost too big to be held like this, but it doesn’t matter to either of them as Eddie hugs him right back. One hand lands on Chris’ head, ruffles through the thick curls for a moment before gently tugging him back by the shoulder.

“Hey, you know how I always talk about setting a good example for the people around you?” Chris nods hesitantly, like he’s not sure where the conversation is going. But Eddie does, and he knows that everything is going to be OK. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“Well, I need to do that too. And tonight, that means that I owe you an apology.”

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Unfinished Goodbyes

Yandere Mista x gn reader

CW Gunshot wounds, mentions of suicide, toxic relationships, hospitals, surgery, blood

You're sick. You're twisted. That's why I hate so much that I need you. I can't get away, you're like a drug to me, 

His eyes scan the note you left. The handwriting is messier than usual, shaky, as if you were scared. 

I am terrified of you, every day. Hearing your voice sends such a horrible chill down my spine, and I can't pretend to love you like you want me to anymore. I have to get out of this somehow.

He glances around the room. There's no sign that you even left. Your shoes are still by the door. Your coat- It's cold out tonight, the forecast promises snow, is hung on the rack. There's a half drank mug of tea on the counter, along with the uncleaned remnants of dinner. 

I don't want you to think badly of me- ha, maybe I'm sick too, for thinking like that. You deserve to think badly of me, but I know in my heart I don't want you to hate me. Your disdain is scarier than your broken version of love, I think. 

A shaky breath leaves his mouth, and he closes his eyes for a moment before continuing. 

I really do wish you the best, darling. I do. I just can't stand to be in the picture anymore. I give you and your team my best wishes. 

He stares dumbly at your name, scrawled on the bottom of the paper. For hours, it seems, and yet only seconds. He just stares, as if staring will make whatever words are on the paper not true, a lie, you're still here,

A noise from the other room shocks him out of his stupor, and he draws his smith and wesson, inching around the corner. The bathroom is empty, still steamy from a shower recently taken. The living room is devoid of life, the tv shut off. He creeps up to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot, and peeking inside. 

He immediately lowers his gun at the sight. 

You lay on the bed, blood blossoming from your chest, babbling helplessly, His Beretta Laramie clasped loosely in your hand. Blood pools underneath you, staining the sheets. Your face is a horrible pallid grey, and you're begging yourself to just let go. He can only assume you don't have the strength in your hands to shoot yourself again. 

He rushes over to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, forcing your gaze to meet his. Your eyes light up when they meet his, momentarily, and you take as deep a breath as you can to speak to him. 

"Hey, Mista. Sorry," Your words are slurred, and he just shakes his head, unable to get words past the lump in his throat. "'M so sorry, baby, I just c-cant go on." 

He frowns, pulling the gun from your hand, peeling back your shirt to see the wound. It's oozing a steady flow of blood, making your torso and the bed beneath you sticky. He runs a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. 

"C-can you hol' me? I'm so cold an' I'm scared…" You mumble, reaching a hand up to grasp at him. His eyes find yours again, and he swallows thickly, grasping your hand. "'M scared of dying." 

Tears fill your eyes, and he's jolted into action. Searching the room momentarily, he finds a towel and folds it, pressing it firmly against your wound. I'm so cold, I'm so cold, It's so cold in here, Mista… Your words float around his skull as he pulls his phone out with a shaking hand and calls for an ambulance.

"You're not going to die," He calls your name, his tone almost begging. Again, and again, like a mantra. "Tell me what you had for dinner. Tell me how your shower was. Tell me anything about your day. You’re going to get through this." 

-

He sits in the waiting room, your note clutched in his hands, waiting for you to come out of surgery. There was no exit wound. Oh christ you lost so much blood there was no exit wound. You were so pale and out of it and clammy you're going to be okay You're in the hospital you're safe oh christ there was so much blood. Your note, your handwriting- it might be the only part of you left no you're going to be okay. 

He thinks someone joins him, just to sit and wait. It might be Bucciarati, but the ringing in his ears is so loud he can't make out a single word the other man is saying to him. 

Is that doctor walking towards him? 

Through his haze, he hears "Will be just fine" and "Might have trouble walking for a few months" and "Keep them for a few days, just to keep an eye on them." 

He slumps back in his chair, unashamed of the sob passing his lips. Bucciarati squeezes his shoulder, and oh christ, you're okay, you're going to be okay. You're safe. You're okay. 

-

You're sleeping peacefully, hooked up to IV's and machines and covered with three, maybe four blankets. All he can do is stare, his hands entwined under his chin, his elbows resting on his knees. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, more tears pricking at the back of his eyes, just watching you breathe, and live. The way your lips part ever so subtly, the flare of your nostrils when you exhale. The space between your brows smooth and unfurrowed. God, he could stare all day. 

"Sir, visiting hours are-" The nurse who pokes her head in freezes at the expression on Mista's face, her eyes flicking to the Passione pin on his bloodstained sweater. "I'm so sorry to bother you, sir. Did you need a pillow?" 

For the first time since he arrived at the hospital, Mista finds his voice. 

"N-no, I don't think I'll be able to sleep." 

"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind." She slips out of the room, and Mista turns back towards you, leaning forward when he sees you stirring. 

When your eyes flutter open, you look around in confusion and mild panic, trying to sit up. Mista shoots forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder and pushing you back down. Your eyes land on him, doe like and baffled. 

"Hey, good morning bombolone," He does his best to keep his voice light. "How are you feeling? Do you remember much?" 

"My stomach hurts." Your voice is music to his ears. Those three words, groggy, drugged, and scratchy, he could listen to them over and over and over again for the rest of his life. "I- I don't- I just remember being cold. 'M still cold." 

Tears fill his eyes once more, and you blink slowly at him, still struggling to maintain your grip on consciousness. 

"Wha's wrong?" 

"Y-you could have died," He finally chokes out, gripping where he holds onto your shoulder. "Why'd you h-have to go and do that?" 

"Go an' do what?" You murmur, reaching a hand up to grasp his. His tears fall off of his face and drip down onto your gown, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to remember. 

"Mista, do what? I don' know what you're talkin 'bout." 

"You don't-" He leans back, running a hand over his forehead. "You tried to kill yourself," His breath hitches. "You shot yourself with my Beretta Laramie in our home while I was gone. All you left was a n-note-" He stops talking when your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and he meets your fuzzy eyes. 

"I need you, Mista," You mumble. "I need you more than I like. Bu' I do. I hope thats 'nough, for now." 

You being alive is enough," He whispers, turning his head to press his lips to the palm of your hand. "Keep it that way." 

-

You're discharged with a walker, a prescription for pain meds, and instructions for wound care. Mista, it seems, has grown even more protective of you since your admittance. There are new 'rules' in place for you, and everything he deems dangerous is locked away tight. His team is there, when you get home, greeting you with smiles and easy on the stomach meals and other gifts. There's a new bed in the bedroom. When you're finally alone with him, he sits across from you, steepling his fingers. 

"We need to talk." 

His 'talk' consists of him telling you that you're going to be under constant supervision, that cooking for yourself is off limits as it's too dangerous, and that you can't go anywhere without him there. His eyes betray no emotion, calm and still and final. 

 You're too tired to fight back, or argue, or respond in any way that isn’t a nod and an “Okay, babe,” but in the back of your mind you wish you had never tried to get away in the first place. The Mista you knew was clingy, but this new Mista is unbelievably overbearing. 

It is nice, though, when you wake in the middle of the night from a nightmare, or pains, and he's right there for you, soothing you back to sleep. He's not the same, goofy boyfriend you had. He's much more serious and stern and hardened. 

And you've only come to depend on him more.