#takes a dab out of desperation for pain relief

[dashing-hyphen]

whoagh

[sunnyie-eve]

5. Beautiful

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Series: Devious Opportunity

Pairing: (Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!)

Word Count: 1.1k

Notes: Hinted Smut, Incest, Pregnancy, Childbirth,

| MASTERLIST |

The two pass time catching up and just talking and sitting in silence. At the moment Aegon had his head resting on her lap as she played with his hair, "Lets go for a ride on Sunfyre." He sits up with a smile.

"And we run into my father up there on his way back?" She laughs.

"What if we just fly far away? Leave Westeros together. No one to stop us from seeing and talking to each other."

"Aegon, I can't do that." She tells him so he shuts her up by leaning in with his hand cupping the back of her skull making their lips touch. Aegon let his tears fall freely, and Celeste could taste them in the kiss. Sighing in slight relief as she cupped his face, her soft skin on his encouraging him to look at her.

"I'm here for you." She tells him holding his face as she placed feather light kisses all over him, hearing him let out a quiet whimper as she finally connected her lips with his on her own. Aegon suddenly became more forceful, his desperation pouring into the kiss, grabbing onto her waist with a bruising grip.

Right before the sunrises both Celeste and Aegon wake up from their little rest then she watches him fly off heading back to Kings Landing. She felt a bit bad because their last words to each other was her telling him to just move on and forget about her. She didn't want him getting in trouble from Otto, his mother, or her father. She cared about him and didn't want him going through it.

"You know how hard that is going to be for me?"

"Ageon, please for me so I don't have to worry about you." She tells him.

"Celeste please."

"Aegon, I care you but I don't feel the same." She lies to him, "I don't love you like that. I didn't feel anything during our time together."

He stays quiet getting on Sunfyre leaving her and that would be the last time they ever saw or talked to each other until another two years.

Walking back to her room she sees her father sitting on her bed waiting with a disappointing look on his face, "You have nothing to worry about, father. I told him to forget about me." She tells him.

"Aegon came all the way here to see you?"

"Yes, he just left." She looks over at him, "I'm not sorry."

"I know," He stands up walking up to her, "But I'm sorry." He lets her know before leaving her room.

-

Sitting on the sofa in her room reading Jace wonders in taking a seat next to her, "Are you here to bug us again with your presence?" She asks keeping her eyes on the pages.

"I'm not bugging them just you." He smiles, "They like when I poke at them." He pokes at her swollen belly making the babe move.

"They're moving because you're bothering them, Jace." She turns her head to look at him still poking her belly with a smile.

"I say differently. They love their uncle Jace."

"Technically you aren't their uncle. You're their cousin." She corrects him so he hits her.

"I'm their uncle." He smiles then notices the look on her face as she touches her stomach. "I'll get my mother." He gets up rushing out of the room.

Screams of pain ends up shaking the walls as hours pass by, "I can't do this anymore! Please make it stop!" Celeste yells, clawing at the bed-sheets.

"You can do it dear. You're a strong girl." Rhaenyra holds one of her hands to help her through it, "You're doing a great job."

"I can't take it anymore." She cries squeezing her hand as one of the handmaids dab at her forehead with a cloth.

"You're almost there."

Celeste groans in pain, "I can feel the head. Just a few more pushes." She's told.

Groaning even loudly, her teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked her frame. Pain radiated down her spine and into her groin. She felt like she was being ripped apart at the seams.

"You hear that? You're almost done. You're doing so good."

She squeezed onto Rhaenyra's hand as hard as she could, pushing with all the strength in her body. The harder she pushed, the sooner it would be over. She needed it to be over. With a final push, her vision began to blur and blank mind went blank.

Before she knew it, loud cries pulled her back to Earth, and coo's from the handmaidens filled the room. She laid back with a sigh of relief. As she relaxes Rhaenyra smiles at the baby before Celeste is told to keep pushing.

"I'm not done?!" She groans still pushing.

"It's twins." She's told as she gives birth to the last one.

"Both are girls." Rhaenyra tells her with a smile.

Celeste holds both of her babies to her chest while looking at them she starts to cry feeling something she's never felt before. "Is this feeling normally?" She laughs wiping her tears away.

"Yes, especially with your first." Rhaenyra tells her.

The handmaids clean up both Celeste and the babies before leaving her to rest for a bit. Laying in her clean bed she looks over at the babies next to her in a crib. She couldn't help but find her girls so beautiful. It was love at first sight with her.

Later when Celeste was well rested enough Jace and Luke were excited to meet the baby, "We hear it was girls!" Luke shouts so Jace tells him to quiet down.

"Yes," Celeste smiles.

"What did you decide to name them?" Jace asks as she hands them each a baby..

"Dahlia," She motions to the one Jace was holding, "And Astraea," She looks at the one Luke was holding.

The boys found them both beautiful just like her mother was. They took turns holding them till Daemon entered the room so they left them alone. Daemon walks over looking at Celeste holding the girls. Stepping closer he takes in how they looked.

"They're about identical to you when you were born." He speaks up.

"I didn't know you were even around then for that." Celeste says not looking at him but her girls in her arms. "Do you want to hold them?" She looks at him and he steps back, "Father, please."

Daemon steps forward taking Dahlia from her first and she could have sworn she saw him smile a bit, "That's Dahlia, she has a mole near her eye while Astraea has one on the tip of her nose." She lets him know who was who.

"I thought I was doing the right thing with you. I should have had you with me." He lets out looking over at her.

"I forgive you, father."

[arafilez]

☆ ⼂ PUNCH THE WALL ﹗two

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ skz hhj, hjs, ksm, yjn x any reader . pt2 to this ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤangst, estb. relationship ㅤ warnings arguing, moderate cursing, and anxiety attack ㅤ﹢ㅤ0.2k per member wc

◗ ៹ HWANG HYUNJIN ›

Hyunjin splashes his paint to the canvas to create an effect but he knew his anger was accelerating it somehow. He is angry at himself for getting all riled up instead of comforting you. The fear that has been grasping him since your hit has slowly dissolved to annoyance in himself and his trust.

Getting up he pushes the pallette away with force and takes off his smock throwing it to the corner. Tomorrow is laundry day anyway, he thinks before he leaves and walks towards the shared bedroom. His attempt is futile as he feels you bump to him and he stills himself before catching you so you don’t trip.

“Hyun-" your voice dies down in your throat as he presses his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. You stumble lightly from the pressure but Hyunjin holds your hands lightly before parting and says, “Sorry for that, I didn’t know how to fix it.” Your remorse dissolves into a giddy feeling as you mouth an ‘I am sorry’ and Hyunjin kisses it right out of your mouth. Again.

◗ ៹ HAN JISUNG ›

Jisung���s breath becomes normal as you follow the regular procedure his doctor has advised you about. His fingers which were formerly clutching your shirt are now loosening and you feel relief flooding your veins as his sobs reduce to light sniffles. You hold him tightly and your hands run through his hair trying to calm him more.

A few minutes later, Han looks up and it pains you to see his tear-stained face and you slowly dab under his eyes with your sleeves. “I am sorry,” you whisper and his hold tightens around you as he blubbers, “Please don’t leave me.”

Your heart clenches at his voice as you feel his head rest against you and you reply, “I won’t ever.” “Okay,” he replies and you stay in his embrace as long as he holds you. Because all you could want is to never let him go.

◗ ៹ KIM SEUNGMIN ›

Your sobs have died down but you keep sitting in the bathroom and look at the full-length mirror Seungmin had installed. There you are, a red-eyed monster who punches walls in anger. The gears shift in your mind and a stray tear rolls down your cheek as Seungmin’s expression paints over your mind again and again.

He is probably going to leave you now.

You jump lightly in surprise, feeling Seungmin’s familiar scent inside and quickly rub your eyes. Looking up, you see him walking towards you, sitting beside you, and saying, “Don’t overthink.” Two words. And suddenly you throw himself in his arms and your sobs return choking your voice while you desperately try to apologise. Seungmin shushes you and caresses your back as he holds you tightly. He quietly starts to tell you how he should have consoled you but you don’t let him talk too much as you peck him lightly and he stares at you with his bug puppy eyes before kissing you properly.

◗ ៹ YANG JEONGIN ›

You look at the clock and worry takes over your features as your boyfriend still doesn’t return from his walk. He had just muttered lightly about going before leaving through the door three hours ago. You had refrained from calling him knowing you messed up a lot but as the clock strikes twelve you reach for your phone and dial his number.

You expect it to go to voicemail so when Jeongin’s voice flows through the speaker you are more than surprised. You sit up straight and let your voice not quiver as you ask, “Where are you? It has been three hours.” He hums lightly and you hear a distant “thank you” from him as your brows furrow in confusion before you hear his answer, “Picking up our favourite take-away.”

“Oh,” you say and he adds, “Don’t worry, I am on my way home.” He cuts the call and you stare at the door forever until you hear the lock click and you jump up. As soon as the door swings you hurry over and hug him tightly as tears escape your eyes. He hugs you back, the boxes poking your skin but you don’t care as you feel him smiling against your neck.

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤpart two because everyone requested. tysm for reading, please reblog to support me. ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerr @jeonghanfr @ka0ila @weird-bookwormㅤ to be added to taglist, send me an ask or comment under my postsㅤ⋆ㅤ main mlistㅤ skz listㅤ navi

© arafilez on tumblr. please do not copy and repost my work as your own.

[kingstonromcom]

Talk 2 Me // Miles Morales

Masterlist | Join Taglist !!

↳ tags : miles morales x male reader, miles morales x reader, male reader, marvel,itsv 2, itsv, spiderverse itsv

↳ pronouns used : he/him/his (I think they is also used)

↳ word count : 710

↳ note : i apologize for just now posting this bbgs here's a fanfic I would like to read :)).

The night was colder than usual, the city's skyline illuminated by the distant glow of neon lights. Miles Morales swung through the city as Spider-Man, his lithe form moving gracefully between buildings, but tonight was different. His movements were strained, every swing an effort, and the grace replaced with a hint of desperation.

Finally, he landed on a rooftop, panting heavily. His suit was torn, and bruises marred his skin. The pain was evident in his eyes as he contemplated his next move. The danger he faced tonight had been greater than he'd anticipated. He needed a safe place to rest and recover.

A familiar address came to his mind, a place where he knew he would find solace. With a renewed determination, he launched himself from the rooftop, swinging towards your apartment.

As Miles landed softly on your balcony, he rapped lightly on the glass door. His breath hitched as he waited, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. The door slid open, revealing you in pajamas. Concern etched across their face as they took in Miles' battered appearance. Without a word, they stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Miles managed a faint smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. He didn't need to explain; they understood. He was safe here.

The reader led Miles to the bathroom, where they retrieved a first aid kit. You motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub, and gently began to clean his wounds. The silence between them was comfortable, a mutual understanding that words weren't necessary right now. Your touch was gentle and soothing, each careful movement a balm to Miles' battered body.

Miles winced as you dabbed antiseptic on a particularly nasty bruise, and he instinctively reached out to grip their hand. His touch conveyed more than words ever could – the trust he placed in them, the vulnerability he rarely showed.

As you worked, tending to his injuries with practiced care, Miles couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. Why did he keep putting himself in these situations? Was he doing more harm than good? And why was he drawn to the reader like a moth to a flame?

His thoughts were interrupted your voice broke the silence, soft and comforting. "You're safe here, Miles."

He met their gaze, gratitude shining in his eyes. "I know."

You finished bandaging his wounds and sat back, studying him with concern. Miles mustered a tired smile, trying to reassure them. "I'll be fine. Just need some rest."

You nodded, but there was something more in your gaze – a question that went unspoken. Miles tilted his head, curiosity getting the better of him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice gentle yet filled with curiosity. "Why do you keep pushing yourself like this, Miles? You're just a kid."

Miles chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "I guess I feel like I have to, you know? With great power…"

"Comes great responsibility," you finished for him, a small smile tugging at their lips. "But you also have the responsibility to take care of yourself."

Miles nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes it's hard to balance."

You reached out, tilting his chin up to meet their eyes. "You don't have to do it alone, Miles."

Miles held their gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within him – gratitude, longing, and a newfound sense of connection. Without thinking, he whispered the words that had been on the tip of his tongue.

"Mi amor."

You blinked, surprised by the endearment in his tone. Miles flushed slightly, realizing he'd spoken without thinking. But your eyes softened, and you smiled warmly.

"Rest for now, Miles," you urge him, your voice a soothing melody. "We'll figure everything out together."

As Miles settled onto your couch, his exhaustion finally catching up with him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort he hadn't experienced in a long time. In the quiet of the night, as he drifted off to sleep, he knew he had found a place where he truly belonged.

[dr-ground-zero]

Shameless

(just a self indulgen sick V!Deku x reader that i definately typed up while horny so sorry it sucks) (CW heavy mess + contagion)

You knew Deku would do anything for you, though what you didn’t expect was for him to indulge your kink! You see the villain had managed to catch a cold, nothing too horrible but you did make him take it easy since you didn’t want him getting worse. Which meant he would be at home with you doing paperwork. He was sitting in his office chair looking through intel files, refiling everything, and going over plans when you came in with a cup of tea.

“Hey Izu, how’s the work going?” He groans softly and turns around in his chair to look up at you.

“Monotonous but I’m getting close to finishing” You hand him the mug of tea which he gladly takes and sips on it. He sighed in relief and sniffled wetly as the warm drink eased the pain in his throat.

“Thank you, babe.” “You should take a break” You recommended, he shrugged and rubbed at his nose which was already turning and irritated pink color around his nostrils.

“It wont be much longer till I finish, once I’m done I’ll lay down.” You huffed and watched as he scrubbed at his nose harshly. Watching how his nostrils flared widely and hearing how his breath caught in his throat. You hardly noticed him grab his handkerchief and you only saw a flash of red before he sneezed.

“HHRRRRESSSH! HRRRRSSSSHHH! hEH! HHHREEEESSHHHMMMPH!” You didn’t have time to hide your blush and saw Izuku smirking.

“Damn bmy handkerchief is soaked” He started while lightly dabbing at his nose which still made stuffy squelching noises. This only made you blush harder though, making yourself look away until he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you onto his lap. You squeaked in surprise as he pulled you close to him.

“Awh what’s got you blushing darling?” Izuku asked in a low voice, you could hear him sniffling. Its thick, and slush-like, as if his body was struggling to contain it. You could hear the soft squeaks and sounds of his nose trying to get some air through it. You tried to make a coherent sentence but all you could do was hide your face. He hoarsely chuckles and snorts loudly.

“Ugh, I already know was it is baby, dno use id hiding from bme.” You whine a little at his teasing but don’t move from your hiding spot. Then the gasping came, you could feel his hot breaths against your shoulder and neck. The way his arms tightened around your body with each passing second. You looked up just in time to see that desperate sneezy look on his face before he dove down head first into your shoulder.

“HEH! HEEERRRRRMMMPH! HRRRRRSHHH! HHHPPPMHHHH!” The warm splatter of snot and spray on you shoulder almost made you scream. When he started rubbing his nose against you, you were almost bright red in the face and held onto his shoulders.

“I-I..Izu, wh-what are you d-doing?” “I told you, my handkerchief was s-soaked. And this c-cold ih is s-so….so. Hehh!” You braced for impact when his voice trailed off and the hitching started up again. He let out an urgent whisper ‘g-godda sdeeze!’ before he was back to messily sneezing on you. Squeezing you in his arms as if you’d run away, but he knew you wouldn’t. You were too flustered for that, and he knew you were into this. He knew you liked when he got all sniffly, when he’d complain about his nose, or when he’d quickly grabbed his bright red handkerchief because he needed to sneeze. You liked it even more when he’d use you as his handkerchief, yank you towards him, and let him press his trembling nose against your skin. How you could feel how warm and wet it was.

“I know you’re edjoying this, darling, so don’t hold yourself back.” He encouraged you while kissing you gently on the lips. You could see the mischievous expression on his face, he wanted to rile you up. He wanted you to wreck him! You adjusted yourself in his lap and smirked back.

“Well if you insist~” You drag your finger down the bridge of his nose. Gliding them down to the tip of his nose and gingerly rubbing back and forth at his septum. You could feel the wetness collecting there, how it scrunched up and twitched as the light touched. His hitching started up again, even if it wasn’t loud you could feel it against your palm.

“I-It iiih itches s-so bm-bmuuuh bmuch!” He whimpers, and you hum happily as you focus and coax out that awful itch plaguing his sinuses. You tilt his face up so you can get a better look at the red-rimmed nostrils that were leaking with snot. You watched as the more you rubbed the wider they flared out before that snarling face came down and buried itself into your neck again.

“! HRRRRRSHHH! HHHPPPMHHHH! Heh hheeh! HEH! HRRRRRSHHH! HHHPPPMHHHH!” Even with them being muffled into your body the force and volume was still loud enough to make you melt. His sneezes always sounded rather ‘growly’ from how he snarled or gritted his teeth which would make more snot ooze from his nose.

Just as you managed to get out a small

“Y-you done, y-yet?” The villain pulled your chest to him to let out one last

“!HRRRRRSHHH!” When you thought your shirt couldn’t get any more ruined he pressed his nose against you.

“Guh s-so st-stuffy, y-your skid is s-so soft” He blew his nose into your cleavage, some saturating your shirt and the rest slipping down. You could feel all of it cooling against your skin. He ended off with rubbing his nose into your chest and sat up still leaving strings and cords of snot connecting you both. He smirks a the expression on your face since you really didn’t expect him to do all that to you.

“Sorry darling, i just could’t help bmyself. I feel bmuch better dnow~”

You were definitely redder than his handkerchief now.

[aneurinallday]

The Grey Man

Chapter 8: Firelight

The wagon had turned cold in their absence. Feeling his way through the darkness, Tommy sat the doctor down on the edge of the bunk. With his cigarette lighter, he quickly started a fire in the wagon’s hearth. He poured water in the hanging pot and left it to heat, then started rummaging for whatever medical supplies he had.

“Listen,” he said as he dumped out the contents of a medical kit, “This is important. When you were on the telephone, did you tell them where we were camped? Did you mention a Gypsy caravan?”

“N-no.” Holford’s voice had given out, and he could only whisper. “No, I didn’t. I just said that I was being held captive. That I’d escaped. I described my surroundings. They told me to sit tight while they looked for me.”

“So nobody knows where we are now? Nobody knows they should be looking for a black caravan with a white horse?”

“No.”

“Alright, good. That’s good.” Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn’t have to worry about moving camp while tending to his prisoner.

Holford’s clothes were stained with blood and dirt. They would have to be removed before his injuries could be examined.

“I need to undress you,” Tommy said matter-of-factly.

“But I’m cold.”

“I know, but these rags need to come off.”

He briskly pulled off Holford’s bloodied shirt, socks, and pissed-in shorts, tossing them in a pile on the floor. The doctor’s body - pale, a little soft, surprisingly strong - was lightly scattered with freckles.

Tommy grabbed a bottle of whiskey - his last one, since he’d drunk the rest - and carefully poured it down the doctor’s arm, washing away the blood to reveal the flayed site. It was bleeding, but sluggishly - the cold had constricted the capillaries and slowed the flow.

Holford wheezed as the alcohol stung fiercely. Tommy handed him the bottle.

“Drink. For the pain.”

The doctor took a swig - his first taste of alcohol in almost two weeks. He felt it warming his insides, dulling the aches and pains of his tired body.

“Irish?” he whispered, reaching desperately for a mundane topic of conversation, a trace of normality.

“Of course,” Tommy said. “The only whiskey worth drinking.”

“I thought you quit alcohol, Mister Shelby.”

“I did. I took it up again after the tuberculoma diagnosis. I decided it wouldn’t do any harm, since I was going to die anyway.”

“...Oh.”

Holford took another gulp. Tommy quickly applied a clean gauze patch to the raw area, and started fixing it in place with a bandage. Holford sucked in his breath sharply.

“Almost done,” Tommy assured him. “Funny. Here I am, patching up my own doctor.”

“I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

“You’d better not.” Tommy tied off the last layer of bandage. “There. All done.”

“Thank you.”

The water in the pot was warm now. Tommy poured it into a bowl, then fetched a clean cloth and let it soak.

“Right. Let’s clean you up.”

Holford’s face was caked with dark, dried blood - some of it his own, but most of it Pascoe’s. Tommy pressed the damp cloth to the doctor’s face and held it there, then started to wipe away the softened crust. He tried to be gentle around the eyelids and lips.

“Why didn’t you take my gun?” he asked. “I was unconscious. Why didn’t you just shoot me where I lay?”

“I’m a doctor. I couldn’t…How could I?”

“You had no qualms about tricking me into suicide. But you draw the line at getting your hands dirty, I suppose. I’m not surprised.”

“That was…that was different. I put the idea in your head, but that was all. It’s…it’s not the same.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

Holford didn’t reply, but took another gulp of whiskey.

“Those men,” said Tommy as he dabbed Holford’s cheek, “They alluded to a secret. Something you were ashamed of. An...inclination.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Holford winced. “It’s just…It’s private.”

“...I see. Does Mosley know?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you do his bidding?”

“No. We’re friends.”

“Friends?” Tommy scoffed. “A friend who threatens to expose you to the world, uses you as a tool against his enemies, and then sends men to kill you when you stop being useful. Is that what you people consider friendship?”

“We do what we have to do, just as you do,” said Holford defensively.

Tommy squeezed the wet cloth over Holford’s chest, wringing out shimmering trails of warm water which - exposed to the night air - quickly cooled. Holford shivered.

“So how did he learn about you? Did you confide in him?”

“No…He found out by himself. He had suspicions, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d confirmed them. He’s held it over me ever since...He won’t let me forget that he knows.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. Mosley’s time is running out. You won’t have to worry about him much longer.”

Tommy turned the dirty cloth over until he found a clean side, and wet it again. In a business-like fashion, he washed Holford’s soiled thighs.

Pascoe’s words were still running through Tommy’s head: the threats, the disdain, the allusions to blackmail, revealing a dynamic that Tommy hadn’t considered. He’d always assumed that Holford was a loyal member of the British Union of Fascists. He was old friends with Mosley, after all, and anybody who knew Mosley for more than five minutes knew that he was a political extremist.

But the reality was, despite his unfortunate connections and dubious morals, Holford had never been a fascist. He’d never been anything but a doctor - a doctor unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with the wrong people. Using Holford’s greatest fear, they’d coerced him into becoming the instrument of Tommy’s downfall.

Tommy remembered the courtyard, the cobblestones, Holford on his knees. Holford had pleaded for mercy, tried to persuade him not to pull the trigger; but he’d never actually denied any wrongdoing. He’d never protested his innocence. Because in his own mind, he wasn’t innocent. In his own mind, he was just as guilty as Mosley and all the rest of them.

“You’re a fool, Holford,” said Tommy quietly. “All you had to do was be honest with me. All you had to do was say ‘Mister Shelby, I’m sorry, but I’m working for the BUF’. I would’ve understood. I would’ve shown mercy. But no. You chose to lie. You chose to be Mosley’s right hand. You chose to be my enemy.”

Holford said nothing, and downed the rest of the bottle. He was already tipsy - he was drinking on an empty stomach and the alcohol was going straight to his bloodstream. His mind was fuzzy.

“Turn a little,” said Tommy, nudging him. “You’ve got blood on your back.”

Holford half-turned to the side. Tommy paused to add another piece of wood to the fire. As the flames burned higher and brighter, he noticed that there were tiny marks on the backs of Holford’s shoulders. Little curved scars, which he hadn’t noticed under the blood. He couldn’t make sense of them, until he arrived at the trapezius, where the indentations coalesced into a large circular scar, bearing the unmistakeable shape of a human bite-mark. He brushed his thumb over it to let Holford know that he’d noticed it, and asked:

“Who?”

“Oswald,” Holford muttered.

“Oh? I didn’t think he was the type.”

“He’s a man of…vigorous appetite. As long as he finds satisfaction, he doesn’t care where he finds it, or with whom.”

“Does his wife know?”

“Yes. Diana knows everything. She doesn’t mind. I think she rather respects his potency.”

An unsavoury image flashed through Tommy’s mind - Mosley on top, rigid, sinews straining with fervour. Exerting dominance by biting down on Holford’s skin hard enough to break it. It wasn’t a scene Tommy enjoyed picturing. He couldn’t imagine Holford had enjoyed it much either.

“Did he force you?” Tommy asked bluntly - not because he wanted to hear the sordid details, but because he wanted to know how many bullets Mosley deserved in the skull.

“No,” said Holford, but he didn’t sound convinced. “It was just...It was a favour to a friend.”

“So you didn’t mind this?” Tommy touched the scar again, but he wasn’t referring to the bite itself - rather, to the carelessness and disrespect that it represented.

“No...Yes. I don’t know.”

Tommy saw his uncertainty, and understood. Even an intelligent and knowledgeable man like Holford could be fooled by his own misguided affections - and by the uncontrollable reciprocations of his own body.

“I did like him once, a long time ago,” Holford said. “But not in a serious way - only in the fleeting way that a youth likes someone...I didn’t think he’d notice, I didn’t think anything would arise from it. Perhaps I was too obvious...Perhaps I lacked discretion.”

“Or perhaps he has a good nose for sniffing out weakness. People like that will seize any advantage they can get.”

“I did like his wife, Cynthia. I felt sorry for her.”

“Oh?”

“She was unhappy with how his politics kept changing - it was putting a strain on their marriage. They were both socialists, but he lost interest in it when it no longer served him. She couldn’t support him any more.”

“Cynthia died a while back, I heard.”

“Yes. She had peritonitis. She died in May, and by October, Oswald and Diana were married. They married in Minister Goebbels’ house in Berlin. Hitler was there. But I suppose you know that already.”

“Yes.”

“How did you find out, anyway? About the wedding and...me?”

“It was in the newspaper. Your face was right there on the page, and your name was on the list of attendees.”

“Oh...Oh, of course. We all thought you were dead by then, so we didn’t mind being photographed together.”

The empty bottle slipped from Holford’s fingers. Tommy caught it before it hit the floor, and set it aside.

“Lie down,” he instructed.

Holford hesitated, a new worry entering his eyes. Tommy knew instinctively what he was thinking.

“You’re safe with me. You have my word. Lie down.”

Holford lowered himself painfully onto the bunk, stiffening as fresh pains spiked through him. He exhaled, trying to force his body to relax.

“Oswald always invites me to these things...I think he likes to have me in attendance. To keep me in the same circle. To remind me that all of my friends are his friends too. I can barely socialise without him or someone close to him being there.”

The wagon was warming up, and his shivering was becoming less and less.

“I remember we were…at a party. A Christmas party, the Christmas of 1932. I brought Cath with me, and Oswald brought Cynthia. But he brought Diana along too - she was still married, but she was filing for divorce. He stayed with her and complimented her all evening. Everyone could see what was happening, but he didn’t care what people said. He didn’t care what Cynthia thought. I think he wanted to punish her for not being more supportive. Diana found the whole thing very amusing.”

“Sounds like they’re perfect for each other.”

“Yes...I think Cynthia left the party early. I considered leaving too because I wasn’t feeling well, but Cath persuaded me to stay. She was enjoying herself, and I was afraid people would speculate about us if we went home separately. So I stayed.”

Holford’s eyelids were growing heavy; he forced them to stay open.

“It was a nice party. There were flowers and oysters and roasted pheasants. There was a dance…Oswald wanted to dance with Cath. He insisted on it. He wouldn’t even let me have my own wife to myself...He told me I should dance with Diana, but I didn’t want to. After the dance, I felt sick from the oysters and I went upstairs. I lay down to rest. Then he and Diana came in. They were laughing…she was laughing. She gave me brandy, and she - she - ” Holford was becoming agitated.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Tommy said, but Holford was beyond hearing.

“Mosley sat there and watched. He thought it was funny. He knew I hated it, he knew I didn’t want her. It amused him. When I complained afterwards, he said I owed it to him as a Christmas present.”

“That’s enough,” Tommy interrupted. “That’s enough now.”

“The band was still playing. Everyone was still enjoying themselves. Singing carols. Laughing. I could hear them. Afterwards, I had to go back downstairs. I had to go back to the party, back to the dance. Like nothing had happened. Like nothing…”

“You dance, eh?” Tommy tried vainly to change the subject. “I was never much of a dancer myself. The waltz I could manage, but those new American ones…those were too much for me. I did my best at my wedding, but I looked like a fucking donkey next to my Grace. Do you like dancing?”

“I do. I like dancing. I can do the Charleston - I did it with Cath at our wedding. I can sing too. Would you like to hear me sing?”

“Maybe another time.” Tommy tossed the used cloth into the almost-empty bowl, and rose to his feet. Holford was clean now, or as clean as he could be under the circumstances. “I’m done. Try to get some rest.”

“Wait,” Holford mumbled, “Don’t stop.”

“I’m done,” Tommy repeated.

“But…wait.” With difficulty, Holford rose onto his hands and knees on the bunk, cringing as pain shot through his limbs. The blanket slipped down to expose him.

“What are you doing?” said Tommy.

“I’ve always liked you.”

“What?”

“From the first moment…your first appointment at the sanatorium…I always liked your eyes. And I think you like mine too. Don’t you?

“Doctor Holford...”

“You can do as you wish.”

For a second, Tommy considered it. Holford was beautiful and naked. But then he remembered where they were, and everything that had happened to lead them here.

“Alright, stop. Stop it. This isn’t you talking - it’s the whiskey.”

“I wronged you. More than once,” said Holford. “Let me make amends. It’s the least I can do.”

“Amends? How? By letting me fuck you? That’s not who I am. I’m not fucking Mosley.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I won’t complain.”

And it was such a sad sight, such a pitiful thing to say, that any attraction on Tommy’s part fled instantly. They weren’t simply two men, alone together. They were a captor and a captive. Holford may have felt some degree of genuine desire, but it was tangled up in a million other feelings: relief at being alive, gratitude at being saved from Pascoe, desperation for a friendly human touch, fear for the future, obligation, loneliness...Even Holford himself probably couldn’t explain how he felt.

“Enough,” Tommy’s voice hardened. “You don’t need to do anything. It’s not a transaction. I don’t need payment.”

Too weak to stay on all fours, Holford sank down onto his stomach. Tommy pulled the blanket up to cover his lower body.

“Go to sleep,” Tommy ordered, “I’ll be outside.”

“Wait. Stay.”

“I won’t go far. I’ll be right outside.”

“Stay. Please.”

Holford was fading fast.

“Fine.” Tommy perched on the bunk’s edge. “Here I am. Now go to sleep.”

Holford retreated, making space in the narrow bunk.

“Come here,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“You’ll get cold.”

Tommy snorted, but it was true. He hung up his coat and his holster, and stripped to his sleeveless shirt and shorts. He sat on the bunk with his back against the hard wooden wall, sliding his legs under the blanket. Skin brushed against skin.

“What is that?” Holford’s bleary eyes were gazing at Tommy’s left upper arm, where a horseshoe curled around the green stem of a rose in full bloom.

“Horses. I bet on them. Or rather, I encourage other people to bet on them.”

Tommy moved his arm so that Holford could admire the green ink, but in doing so, revealed another tattoo hidden on the inside of his left bicep. An elegant calligraphic design, so ornate that it was difficult to distinguish as being three separate letters. T, G, and C, written in cursive.

“...And that?” Holford enquired.

“Tommy - me. Grace, my first wife. Charles, our son.”

“Oh.” From the ensuing silence, it was obvious that Holford had heard of Thomas Shelby’s murdered wife.

Holford’s breathing settled into a slow rhythm, and he no longer spoke or moved.

Tommy shut his eyes, planning merely to rest them, and tried to calm his swirling thoughts.

The image of Holford, ready to receive him, would stay seared into his brain. He would be lying if he said the idea didn’t hold some appeal. But not even his beauty and his bare skin could distract from what Holford truly was: a damaged, lonely man. A man so starved of genuine human connection that he couldn’t tell the difference between degradation and intimacy. A man so accustomed to a world of scheming and ruthlessness, that he assumed favours were expected of him in exchange for his life. In order to entertain the prospect of sex, Tommy would first have to lose all respect for himself.

But he remembered the touch of Holford’s lips on the back of his hand. Dry and cracked, yet somehow so soft.

Tommy sighed. Orange light flickered on the other side of his closed eyelids. He listened to the crackling flames, and felt the warmth dancing on his skin, and without even meaning to, fell asleep.

Chapter 9: The Way Home

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Chapter 11

Guys, it's happening!!!

04th August 1987- Part 2

"What do you mean 'the baby's coming?" Now it was him being in panic. She surely didn't intend to give birth right here and now…?! "I mean what I said, you idiot!", Camilla snarled, closing her eyes as the next contraction painfully yerked through her body. "I'm not a fucking midwife, Milla!", Andrew snarled back, looking at her in total desperation. She couldn't be serious. She couldn't have the baby here and now, with only him by her side, he was a man, he had no idea of these kinds of things, what on earth was he supposed to do? "No, but you're a fucking soldier so please start behaving like one, you wannabe Silver Stick in Waiting!", she almost screamed at him, not in order to be rude but in order to encourage him because she knew he could do it. Of course, this wasn't the birth any of them had been expecting or hoping for but sometimes nature had the weirdest of ideas and she'd rather have her baby delivered with the help of her husband at home than in the car on the way to hospital. "W-What… shall I do?", he asked, looking at her like a little boy on his first day at school. "What would you do if I was an injured companion of yours?", she countered and noticed in relief how this comparison seem to work: "I'll get you somewhere safe and quiet … and then get some… clean towels, sheets and blankets, hot water…" "Yeah…", she confirmed, desperately holding on to him when she was, again, struck by the next contraction. "You can do it, Andy! I know you can! Please…", she whispered and he gently lifted her up and carried her over to her bedroom again, placed her there and then rushed downstairs to go and fetch the other things. While Camilla tried to prepare herself and the baby as good as possible with some breathing exercises, her husband managed to organise everything they needed, including a tiny little glass of champagne for the mum-to-be. He had heard once that it made the birth easier but it was going to be her decision eventually; he was just trying to make it as comfortable as possible for her. Before returning upstairs, he called the Ambulance in Swindon and explained their situation and they promised him that a doctor and nurse would be there within less than an hour. 'Less than an hour…', he thought, shaking his head, trying to overshadow his anxiety with irony and emptied his own, not so tiny, glass of champagne in one go. "Alright, old man.", he said to himself when looking into the mirror in the staircase gallery. "Seems like you're going to be a midwife tonight."

The good thing was that none of them was afraid or ashamed in any way as they were still husband and wife, parents, a family and there was nothing breaking new to it all, even when Andrew helped Camilla getting rid of her nighty and spread her legs apart so that the baby would find its "way out" as smoothly and naturally as possible, there was nothing he hadn't seen before and nothing that'd have made either of them uncomfortable. "I'm so glad that the children aren't here.", Camilla sighed between two meanwhile immense painful labour contractions. "So am I!", Andrew nodded. "Imagine how they'd be making fun of their old dad playing midwife…" Almost tenderly, he dabbed her forehead with a towel and almost accidentally stroked her cheek. "I'm so proud of you.", he whispered and Camilla wasn't sure whether she'd rather laugh or cry about this unexpected declaration of love but was hit by another heavy labour contraction before she could have thought twice. "Okay, Andy…", she declared when the pressure to push became almost unbearable, bravely pulling herself together. "It's time now… it might take me a few pushes but… as soon as you see her head…" "Don't worry, Milla, I'll have it.", he assured her and once more she thanked God for having sent him to her in this very situation. As much as she loved Charles, he'd never have been able to keep as calm right now as Andrew but it helped a lot and she knew they were going to make it together.

It didn't take long until the head became visible and "midwife Andrew" was in charge gently holding it up while the mother gave another few pushes until the baby finally arrived, announcing herself with an enormous cry, which eventually made the mum cry, too. She didn't cry in pain, she cried in relief and in thankfulness that everything had gone so well and the baby seemed alright. Quickly Andrew wrapped the little girl up warmly in a clean towel and carefully cleaned her little face as Camilla told him to, before he placed the little bundle on his wife's chest. "Hello little one!", Camilla greeted her newborn daughter and kissed her softly on her forehead. "I'm your mummy and I love you so much.", she whispered teary-eyed. How beautiful her little daughter was, how absolutely perfect from head to toe… "Shall we thank Daddy for being our hero tonight?", she asked her, invitingly looking over to Andrew who seemed a bit awkward and overwhelmed, having watched the moving scene from the edge of the bed. "B-but what about… the… afterbirth?", he asked insecurely, looking at the umbilical cord that was still connecting mother and child, but Camilla shook her head. "Let the ambulance deal with that later. Come here." Sighing Andrew did as commanded and carefully laid down beside her. It felt strange to be so close to her again but not in a negative way, especially not after what had just happened. They had delivered a baby together. A wonderful, beautiful, perfect little baby which would hopefully be happy and healthy for a lifetime and have a glorious childhood in their family. Everything could have been perfect, if only he'd been the real father. "Sush, Andy. You're her daddy. You literally brought her to life. She's yours just as she's mine." These wonderful words made him tear up as well and, overwhelmed by emotions, he couldn't help leaning forward - and kissed her…

[ourtearsofrain]

Chapter 9- The Indigo Streak That Becomes the Eye

Pairings: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: little over 1.8 k

Warnings: descriptions of the outcome of torture (not too explicit), cleaning severe wounds

--------------------------------------------------------

You kneel by his side, reaching out to his back before stopping yourself. You bring your hand to his neck, desperately searching for a pulse. Finding it, you breathe a sigh of relief. His pulse was weak, but still there.

“Samuel.” You whisper. “Samuel, please wake up.”

You bend over, your forehead coming to a rest on the side of his head as you sob. You hear someone enter the room but don’t look over. Metal scrapes against the stone floor and the footsteps leave again before you look up. On the floor by the cell door are two small platters, each holding a piece of bread and a small metal cup of water.

An idea pops into your mind before you rip the rest of Samuels shirt, opening the back of it up completely. You grab one of the cups, returning to his side. You take a deep breath before you pour its contents over the mangled skin of his back. He hisses, his eyes barely opening as he frantically looks for you. He turns slightly, a broken cry leaving his mouth as pain claws at his back.

“It’s ok- I’m here, Samuel. Don’t try to move, please.”

He only sobs as you tear the sleeve of your shirt off, using the fabric to begin to gently dab at his skin. He cries out at the contact, sending more tears cascading down your cheeks.

“I know- I know it hurts, Samuel. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry but I have to do this, we have to clean it.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet and raspy, his throat sore from his cries. “Just do it, please get it over with.”

You wet the fabric with the remaining water left in the cup, once again gently dabbing his back as he winces. Once you’re satisfied enough, you place the fabric on the platter next to the stale piece of bread.

“I know it hurts, I know it hurts so much, but I need you to move a little. Just to get you more comfortable.”

He nods weakly, and you grasp his forearms as you help half drag him closer to the wall. You sit with your back against it, pulling Samuel towards you until he can rest his head on your thigh. He lets out a deep sigh, his eyes closing as he gets as comfortable as he can.

“Hey, you need to rest but- but you have to promise to stay with me. I can’t do this alone, Samuel. Please.”

Once again, he offers a weak nod, this time against your thigh. One of your hands finds his as the other comes to rest on his head, gently brushing through his tangled mess of hair.

“Stay with me, Samuel. Stay with me.”

~

You sit in silence for what feels like days, the sun setting and rising again through the small cell window the only clue to you of how much time had really passed. You don’t sleep, fearing that the next time you opened your eyes, Samuel would be dead. Each time he moves slightly in his sleep, wincing at the pain, you breathe a small sigh of relief. He was still alive. In excruciating pain, but still alive.

As the sun signals to you that it is midday, a man enters the room, two metal platters in his hands. He slides them into the cell next to the others that still sat mostly untouched. He looks at you, a hint of sadness on his face as he stands on the other side of the bars. You look back at him, surveying his face, sensing something familiar. Finally, recognition hits you, knocking the air from your lungs. You knew this man, he had been part of your father’s crew, one of his closest friends. He had been family to you growing up.

“Vail?” The name is a whisper, hoping that if you were wrong about who he was, he wouldn’t hear it.

He nods slightly. “Been a long time, kid.”

You move to stand, to rush towards him as far as your chains would allow you but stop yourself, not wanting to disturb Samuel beneath you.

“Vail please.” You say tearfully. “Please help us.”

“I can’t, I’m so sorry. Helena has this room surrounded. I could never get the two of you out unnoticed, especially with the state your friend is in.”

“Please, anything.” You sob out. “Medicine, a dagger, anything.”

He sighs deeply, stealing a glance at the door behind him quickly. He reaches through the bars, grabbing the empty cup you had used to clean Samuels wounds with.

“I’ll be back.” is all he says before he leaves you once more.

You wait with Samuel, still holding his hand as you lightly stroke his hair. Vail eventually returns, cup in hand. He sets it within the bars, quickly taking a step back as he nervously eyes the door.

“More water?” you say, confusion thick in your tone.

“Give it a whiff, kid. I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do.” With that, he leaves just as fast as he had come in, leaving you and Samuel alone once more.

You ease Samuel off your leg, gently lowering his cheek to the stone floor as he scowls weakly in his sleep. Making your way over to the cup, you pick it up and bring it to your nose. The intense scent of pure alcohol immediately burns your eyes and throat. Your confusion only lasts for a second before you whip your head back to Samuel.

You rush over to him, placing a hand on his bicep and lightly shaking him.

“Samuel. Samuel wake up.”

“Hm?” He cracks his eyes open.

“I know one of Helena’s men. He was friends with my father growing up. He got me something to help.”

Samuel raises his head slightly, and you hold the cup out to him. The second he smells it, he begins to reach out for it.

“Good. Something to ease the pain.”

You move the cup out of his grasp. “No. If you’re going to drink anything, it’s going to be water.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Then what the hell is the point of that?”

You offer him a sympathetic gaze, saying nothing as the wheels turn in his head.

“Oh. Fuck.”

“We have to, if it gets infected, I have nothing else to treat it with. You’ll die.”

He props himself up on his elbows, and you hand him the fabric you had ripped from your shirt, something to bite down on. He takes it, placing it between his teeth before nodding to you. Your hand not holding the cup finds his, taking it in your own as you begin to pour the liquid onto his wounds.

Pain shoots through your hand as he grips it, squeezing his eyes shut, his scream muffled by the fabric in his mouth. You empty only half the cup onto his back, pouring a small amount onto his arm and wrists as well, wanting to save the rest for later if needed.

Samuel spits the fabric out, breathing hard as his tears fall onto the floor beneath you.

“Can you sit up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me help.” He does, and you gently turn him to his side, helping him cross his legs beneath him as you push him upright.

His hands grip your shoulders as he adjusts to the new position, his back burning with a pain he had never felt before. You ease him out of his ruined shirt, placing it on the floor beside you before you grab the ripped fabric of your shirt sleeve. You tie it around the gash on his arm gently, finding his shirt once more as you move to kneel behind him. You fold it carefully, wanting what little fabric you had to cover as much as it could. Without saying a word, you press the fabric to his skin, drawing a cry of pain from Samuels lips. You tie the arms of his shirt around his stomach before making your way over to the platters still by the cell door.

You take two of them, sitting back down in front of Samuel hunched over on the floor. Bringing one of the cups up to his lips, you nudge him into a more upright position.

“Lean your head back a little.”

He glares at you, snatching the cup from your hands. “I’m not an invalid. I can do it myself.”

His words sting, but you say nothing as he tries to bring the cup to his lips on his own. He winces, immediately dropping his arm as his shoulder blade catches a deep gash on his upper back.

“I’m sorry. Can you please help me?” he asks quietly, shame in his voice from his treatment of you as well as not being able to take care of his own basic needs.

“It’s ok, Samuel.” you say as you take the cup from his hands, bringing it to his lips and helping him tilt his head back enough to drink some of the water.

You reach for a small piece of bread, ripping it into smaller pieces as you offer it to him. He takes it, bringing it to his mouth slowly.

“I should be ok. You need to eat, too.”

Seeing that he was managing alright on his own, you silently hand him the platter with the rest of his bread on it before grabbing your own. You try not to drink all the water in your cup, wanting to save some as you didn’t know when they would send food and water in again. You repeat the process you had done with Samuel’s bread to your own, chewing each ripped up stale piece thoroughly as you sit in silence.

You both eventually finish, pushing the empty platters and cups across the floor until they sit on the other side of the bars.

“Do you want to lay back down?” you ask quietly.

“No, that was killing my neck.” He winces as he slowly brings a hand up to rub at his sore neck muscles. “It’s fine, I can sit against the wall.”

You shake your head, backing yourself up against the wall. “We don’t know what’s been on those walls, we can’t risk infection.”

You open your legs slightly, raising your arms to offer him a seat in between your legs, his back against your chest.

He looks at the wall, next to you. “Fine.” Is all he says before he crawls over, sitting on the stone as he leans back into you, wincing at the contact. You drop your arms, and they come to a rest across his chest as he leans his head back against your shoulder.

“I’m glad I’m locked in here with you, Polaris.” He whispers before glancing over at you. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Of course, Samuel. We have to take care of each other in here.”

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N: the title, of course, is taken from the lyrics to The Indigo Streak

[strawberyieskit]

Shanyu Confession

Daiyu hisses in pain, her hand pulling away completely bloodied. She clenched her hand, inhaled deeply, and trenched on. 

Daiyu continues running through the forest with no plan in mind. Her only goal being to get away as far as possible from Shan. She couldn’t bear to be near her, not when she knows what is at stake.

Daiyu assures herself that she made the right decision to stay away from Shan so that Shan’s reputation wouldn’t be tainted by the likes of her. (But oh, how she desperately wishes Shan was here with her, though)

Eventually, Daiyu spots an abandoned house. She nearly collapses in relief and braces herself up with her sword. She trembles as she walks over the house and nearly cries when she spots a bed.

While a bit dusty, the bed was made, as if someone had been expecting her for a long time.

Daiyu’s sword is placed against the bed frame. 

She sits on the bed and removes her outer layers, leaving Daiyu in her undergarments. She assesses her wound, determining the damage. Hissing at the wound, she leans over to her robe’s pockets, searching for bandages. 

Mercifully, Daiyu did have some bandages on hand. Using her handkerchief, she carefully dabs at the wound, wincing in pain throughout the whole process. 

As she bandages her wound up, the sound of leaves rustling was heard in the distance. Daiyu tenses up, with her hand hovering over her sword. The rustling grew in sound, approaching closer. Her hand is now wrapped tightly around her sword. 

Daiyu curses to herself - she forgot to put up protective talismans when she came in, too relieved at the sight of temporary comfort to think of further protection.

To her surprise, it was Shan who came through the door. She quickly floors her face into a scowl, as if irritated at the very presence of Shan. 

Shan appeared as if she was on a leisurely stroll, and she just so happened on Daiyu. Daiyu wanted to hate her in that moment (no she could never truly hate Shan). 

Shan strolls up to her, her robes flowing behind her, as if she were a goddess gracing her follower with her mere presence. Daiyu scowls further at the thought. 

Caught up in her thoughts, Daiyu doesn’t notice Shan sitting next to her, with Shan’s sword placed next to her’s. 

Daiyu startles out her thoughts at the sight of Shan leaning into her space.

“…Seems like you got into trouble without me, hm?”

Bringing her hand forward, abruptly stopping in front of Daiyu’s wound. Shan looks up at Daiyu, eyes big and round.

“May this one assist you?”

Daiyu blinks rapidly, her face turning away heated. “This one is perfectly capable of bandaging themselves up.” 

Shan simply smiles, as if placating a child. “Yet this one is bleeding, and still has not yet wrapped themself up properly.”

Daiyu turns her head at that, glaring at Shan. In order to prove herself, Daiyu proceeds to wrap herself.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. Daiyu struggles wrapping the bandages around her body, with Shan watching in amusement. Daiyu lifts her arm a bit too high, and immediately hisses at the pain that the action brought to her. Shan’s amusement was wiped off her face, with concern quickly replacing it.

Shan immediately hovers her hands over the bandages, her eyes glancing over to Daiyu for permission. Daiyu stares back.

Daiyu huffs, “Go ahead.” The corners of Shan’s lips merely twitched up, before thinning out into concentration. Shan takes the bandages and proceeds to wrap them around Daiyu’s wound. Much to Daiyu’s disgruntlement, Shan was not only wrapping her properly, but also going at it much faster than her.

Daiyu looks at Shan’s profile. “���What are you doing here? It’s awfully far from where you once were.” Shan merely hums back, “I was once with you. You weren’t there, but you are here now. I simply followed you.” 

Daiyu jerks her head, disbelieving at Shan’s words. 

“Shan! You can’t simply follow me wherever you want.” 

Shan simply smirks at that, tightening the knot to the bandages. Daiyu will never admit that she squeaked a bit when Shan did that (Shan definitely took note of it - how desperately she wants to hear more like it). Shan looks at Daiyu, looking into her eyes for the first time since Shan came into the abandoned house. 

Briefly, Shan thought how defenseless they were, and quickly threw up some protective talismans to ward off unwanted guests. Daiyu merely gave this a glimpse, and provided Shan with a reluctant nod. 

“Daiyu, this one doesn’t need to follow you if you don’t run away.”

Daiyu jerks away from Shan at that statement. Sensing her movement, Shan placed her hands on Daiyu’s waist, minding Daiyu’s wound, and pulled Daiyu towards herself. Daiyu gasps, placing her hands on Shan’s shoulders. She looks at Shan, fire in her eyes. Looking at Shan, however, her fire immediately douses out.

For all that Shan employs a pleasant mask to the outside world, her eyes stilled the fire in Daiyu.

Daiyu could only pick out sadness and  frustration (frustration at what?) out of Shan’s eyes. Shan’s gaze captured her, vast orbs that seem to both provide Daiyu with both the answers and questions of this world. 

“Daiyu.” Daiyu jerks out of her trance, shaking her head lightly to rid of any effect. Shan watches this in amusement, wondering what might be going through Daiyu’s head.

Daiyu bites at her bottom lip, unaware of Shan zoning in on her biting.

“This one … had an errand to go to.” 

Shan blinks. “An errand? At this time of hour? Try again.”

“Umm, I needed to … go to the restroom!”

“This far out into the forest? A forest located at least 4 to 5 hours away from our previous stay?”

Daiyu could only look at the wall, balling her fists up tightly. Shan looks down at Daiyu’s hands, and places her hand over Daiyu’s balled up hand. Daiyu jumps up at the touch, and pushes herself off from Shan.

Shan looked mildly disappointed at the loss of contact, but was far more interested to see what Daiyu will do or say (if it’s to run away or something like that, Shan may consider using her ribbon to trap Daiyu to the bed frame). 

“Shan! Don’t you know who I am?” Shan looked at her curiously and was about to open her mouth. 

“I’m the one who killed your teacher! Your mentor! I destroyed 3 major sects for simply disrespecting me! I’m prophesied to be the Great Disaster of this world!”

Daiyu paces back and forth, deep in her rant. Shan merely nods along with the points brought up. Shan brings her hand up to Daiyu’s hand. Daiyu’s hand jerks away  from Shan. 

“Shan, don’t you understand? I killed your teacher, people from sects, and I tried to kill you! You should stop following me, clearly I’m out to get you!”

“…Are you done?” Daiyu spins around to look at Shan, and is taken back. Shan does not look mad or upset like Daiyu thought she would be. She simply looked passive, as if they were talking about the weather and not how Daiyu tried to kill Shan in her sleep. 

“I have traveled with you long enough to know this now - you killed my teacher because he became possessed. You went against those sects because they killed your family. As for trying to kill me…”

Shan stands up, and walks over to Daiyu. Shan raises her arms, and gestures to herself. “I’m very much alive.” Shan lowers her arms and walks closer to Daiyu. Daiyu steps backwards, unknowingly towards the bed.

“Admit it Daiyu, you could not bear to kill me. That’s why you ran away, wasn’t it?” 

The back of Daiyu’s knees hits the edge of the bed frame, with Daiyu falling backwards. She winces at the sudden fall, and pushes herself up onto her elbows, intending to sit up. This intention was destroyed when Shan went to straddle Daiyu’s lap. Shan’s hands were then placed on the bed, next to her elbows.

Daiyu stilled, her upper half held aloft with her elbows locked in place. 

Shan’s face was so close to Daiyu’s face (Daiyu never knew that Shan had a mole on her right eyelid. She was overcome with the thought to -) Daiyu shakes her head.

“…Shan, you don’t understand-“ 

“I understand plenty.”

Shan’s voice held a firmness that Daiyu has heard many times before. Daiyu wanted to groan - she was unfortunately familiar with this tone of voice. Once Shan got like this, nothing will change her mind (yet Daiyu still adores her all the same). 

“Shan, you don’t get it. I’m meant to be the Great Disaster of this world and-“

“I can’t be near you because of this?”

One of Shan’s eyebrows rose in mocking question. Daiyu flushes. (A part of Shan perked up seeing the flush, noticing how it seemed to go further underneath Daiyu’s under robes). 

“Shan, you will get hurt because of me-“

“Says who? The old fart who came up with that prophecy?”

Daiyu’s jaw dropped at the blatant disregard for the old master (no matter how much Daiyu agreed with Shan).

“Shan!”

Shan merely smiles, “yes?”

Daiyu stutters, attempting to convince Shan to stop trying to be so close to her. 

“Shan, surely this one would hold you back from becoming a Duke again-“

A finger was held to Daiyu’s lips. Daiyu and Shan looked down at the finger (well, as well as Daiyu could look at a finger on her mouth). Unbeknownst to Daiyu, Shan’s eyes darkened, her hazel eyes giving way to black. 

“Daiyu, since when have you decided what I want to do in my life?”

Daiyu looks up at Shan at this, Shan’s finger still on her lips.

“…I have thought that is what I wanted all my life, up to when I received the title and when I lost it. And yet, I now find myself not caring if I get my title back.”

Daiyu was shocked to hear this.

“I-I—I did not know this is how you felt.”

Shan’s gaze felt as though it pierced through her very soul.

“Of course you didn’t know, I have never brought it to you. I had thought my intentions towards you were made clear.”

Daiyu blinks rapidly. “I-Intentions?”

“Yes, my intentions towards you. But since you clearly have no idea what I’m talking about, let this one make it clear to you.”

Shan leans in further towards Daiyu’s face, her lips merely a breath away.

“I love you.” 

Daiyu gasps at this, and suddenly Shan’s mouth is on her’s. Daiyu’s hands quickly went to Shan’s shoulders, but this led to Daiyu falling back onto the bed, a plume of dust flying up from her fall.

Daiyu’s eyes are wide open, not yet processing that Shan was kissing her. 

Shan paid no mind to this. She hums at Daiyu’s lips, finally getting to taste them once more. Shan moved her lips slowly, as if to not spook Daiyu. 

Daiyu squeezes her eyes shut and squirms around, hoping that it would get Shan to stop (oh, she truly didn’t want Shan to stop, and Shan knew this. If Daiyu truly wanted Shan to stop, Shan would have been across the room the moment Shan straddled her). 

This merely encouraged Shan to keep kissing, stealing Daiyu’s breath. One of Shan’s hands moves from the bed to Daiyu’s ear, and softly rubs Daiyu’s earlobe.

Daiyu pulls away and gasps. “Haah…Shan”

Shan’s whole body stilled. Daiyu, unaware of what she just did, pants at Shan’s hand. Daiyu is unsure if she wants Shan to continue or stop. 

Shan’s hand slowly rubs Daiyu’s earlobe again. Daiyu continues to pant at this, her legs rubbing together. 

“Daiyu”

Daiyu opens her eyes (huh, when did that happen) to the sight of Shan’s pupils nearly blown out. Daiyu gasps at the sight (did…did she do that?). 

“This one wants to know if you wish to continue.”

Daiyu hesitates, “…continue what?” 

Shan bluntly replies, “ Should we continue, we will end up having sex.” Daiyu gulps at this, her own pupils becoming blown out. 

"We do not need to have sex should you wish it, but know that my control can only handle so much."

Daiyu pursues her lips together, and looks at Shan through her lashes. Shan near groaned at the sight. 

“…Would..” Daiyu gulps. “…Would this be a one-time thing?” Shan immediately replies back, “If that is what you wish.”

Daiyu shakily inhales, and looks Shan in the eye.

“Do you truly love this one?”

“Yes.”

Daiyu bites her lip at that, and nods to herself.

“This one…this one does not know what love is meant to feel like. …This one merely knows that they want to be at your side at all times.”

Shan’s eyes grew impossibly wide at Daiyu’s honesty. 

“I don’t know when it happened, I just knew that I wanted to see you smile, to laugh with you, to hug you through your harsh times. I convinced myself that being at your side would be enough, and yet I felt more and more greedy for your attention. I knew that this was supposed to be temporary-“

Shan immediately growls. Daiyu pushes forward.

“…and yet when I ran from you, the further I got from you, the more something in me ached. But I couldn’t bear the thought of you being associated with me, knowing that you could be harmed just by being near me.”

Daiyu looks back at Shan. “But if this is what love is, then…” Daiyu inhales deeply as if to steel herself. “I love you too.”

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hiii :)

You have successfully reactivated my love for Stiles by reposting 1 (one) gif set of him, so here I am with a request for him:

Maybe something about him coming home after a particularly rough fight/encounter with something supernatural and cleaning his wounds? Just taking care of him, because he looks bad this time, so you fix him up and get him all comfy :) and maybe with prompts 18 and 24 if you want :))

No rush though and I hope you have a nice day <3

UH DUH I'M SO HAPPY TO HAVE SPARKED THIS INTEREST.

"How come the best game of my life turned into getting kidnapped by my best friends girlfriends grandfather?" Stiles asks, hissing a bit as I dab gently at his cheek, my jaw clenching at the pain that riddles his fragile body.

"It's your luck, babe." I whisper, trying my best to suppress the anxiety that's bubbling in my chest, my heart pounding against my ribs at the thought of Stiles strung up and beaten into submission. His brows are furrowed as I glance over the rest of him, catching the bruises that are beginning to line his freckled collarbones, skin that's typically littered with different types of bruises.

"Don't look at me like that." Stiles mutters, reaching out to take the first aid kit out of my hands, tossing it to the bed beside us. My eyes lift to meet his sad gaze, watching as a sad smile stretches across his bloody and bruised lips.

"They hurt you-"

"I know-"

"I had no clue where you were for hours, Stiles. It was hell for me." I whimper pathetically, my shoulders deflating in defeat as I move impossibly closer to him, tucking my face in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around me without hesitation, pressing his lips to my hairline. "All I wanted to do was celebrate your win cuz I was so damn proud of you." I chuckle tearily, listening to the sound of his heart beating against his chest as laughter rumbles through him.

"I did pretty damn good, didn't I?" He asks quietly, tilting his head to look down at me, catching my gaze in a reassuring glance. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, his hand reaching up to caress. my jaw sweetly as I try desperately not to look at his injuries. "The lsat thing I need is you worrying about me when I've already got my dad breathing down my neck and asking way too many questions." He laughs, trying his best to ease the anxious tension in the room.

Cracking a smile, his face falls a bit in relief as I relax a bit into him, realizing he's here, with me and no longer in harms way. I give him a simple nod before getting back to tending to his wounds, pressing my fingers against the muscles on his chest and ribs, listening for any noises of discomfort. He doesn't jolt away from my gentle touch, just watches me nervously work, knowing this is more for my state of mind than his.

"I think I'm okay." He nudges me playfully. "Statistically, if I had internal bleeding, I'd be long gone by now." He snorts, sending me a wink before pulling his bloody shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground before flopping back on his bed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Stilinski." I chuckle, laying down beside him with a huff, relieved to finally be back in his arms and knowing he's safe.

"No problem, it's what I'm here for."

A few moments pass by, Stiles memorizing every inch of my face as I track his freckles and moles all the way down his chest to the plates of his abdomen, appreciating the quietness, the calm in the middle of a supernatural storm.

"I think that I’m going crazy because every time I look at you, my brain short circuits." He grins cheesily, his voice coming out barely over a whisper as my brows lift teasingly.

"I think that's called a concussion- are you sure you don't want to go get checked out by Melissa? We'll tell her you got jumped after the game or something." I taunt, watching his eyes roll with a sarcastic scoff.

"Oh because that's way more believable than what really happened? Ouch, babe."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht

[cyprus-green]

Dramione Prompt: Does it hurt?

NSFW 18+ , BDSM, Daddy Kink, Pain Kink

The heavy supple leather of the flogger connects again. Tender skin turns red, her moans echo around the room.

'Does it hurt?'

'No, Sir.'

'Oh, no?'

Before she can answer the swish and clack of 22 tails hitting her pussy steals her breath away.

Then he does it again and again. After a handful of hits, she's begging for relief. He tuts and coos at her pleas.

'Shhh, I know darling. I know.'

His cool fingers kiss her stinging skin, and she keens at the gentle touch. She's swollen. From arousal, from punishment, perhaps both.

A quick rub of her clit through her puffy outer lips gives her cause to buck against the pressure.

When she mewls he lifts his hand and he gets close to her ear again. She's nodding through tears, high off the lingering sting.

'Lets try that again, shall we?' He whispers.

Hitting her cunt with the entire flat of his hand, she squeals into the air and hes kissing her cheek, taking in her salty tears.

'Does it hurt?'

'Yes, Sir'

'How bad?'

'Please no more, please, Sir'

He follows a path of tears, kissing down her neck. His hand slaps her cunt again, and he kisses her jaw sweetly as she screams.

'Please, please...' ,she sobs.

'Please what, my slut?'

His fingers come down and spread her pussy, revealing an obscene amount of arousal pooling between her lips. He tuts at her vocal response.

'Oh, Gooooddsss' she's bucking, her face red, sweat on her brow. She's consumed by the heady high of pain and pleasure.

A few circles have her arching. She wails when she feels two fingers plung into her roughly. He's working her body into a frenzy.

His mouth sucks on her inner thigh. She wails again as he curls his fingers and begins pumping them faster. And faster.

Without any forewarning he pulls out and removes himself from her. The cry she makes is pitiful.

'What is it, naughty girl?'

'Daddy, please!'

An involuntary groan leaves his chest and he quickly rubs at her clit again.

'Oh...Daddy, is it?' His eyes shine in mischevious delight. It's always something special watching his Granger sink deeper into subspace.

'What do you need, my pretty girl?'

'Daddy! Please I need to come!' Her whine is high pitched and desperate.

He coos at her and slaps her cunt once before roughly pumping his fingers into her again.

'Daddy! Daddy-' she chokes on her words as he presses his lips against her messy, swollen cunt.

Her cries carry beyond the walls of the room.

'What do you want, Princess?'

'Please, can I come? Please? Daddy, it hurts. It aches so bad... I need it. Please!'

Her desperation peaks as she wails.

His answer nearly brings her over the edge, as he growls into her.

'Come on my lips. Come for me. Be a good girl and come for your Daddy.'

That's all the permission she needs as he licks and sucks on her clit mercilessly, still pumping into her over and over.

The orgasm that tears through her has Hermione bucking her hips as she clenches tightly around three of his thick fingers.

Her orgasm crashes over her, fire and sweet release, pain and delicious need as he finger fucks her through the blissful spasms.

Her comedown is long but it gives him time to lick her clean.

By the time she's done, his chin glistens with her come. She stares up at him with exhausted and vulnerable eyes. She's never looked more beautiful.

Before she can say a word, her hands and legs are released from their cuffs. He wastes no time gathering her naked body against his own.

His hard chest is hot against her cheek. His lips come down to her brow and she can feel him flicking his wand. When she turns, he's conjured a cup of water, a few rags and an ice pack. He hands her the glass and watches her patiently, as she gulps it down.

His hand gently spreads her legs and with one hand he gathers the damp towel, gently dabbing her sensitive core. He whispers gently to her as he cleans.

'Such a good girl, for Daddy.' ...'You did so good, darling.' ...'Gods, you're perfect.' ... 'You're so fucking beautiful.'

After drying her, he cleans his mouth and presses his lips against her temple. Gently he places the ice pack between her thighs.

'Feels better?'

'Feels perfect. Thank you, Daddy.' She sighs into him. She's exhausted, but oh so content. Floating above the clouds where subs go to dream. His hands caress and flutter over her body...

And before he knows it, his beautiful Granger is asleep against him.

Looking around the room he supresses a chuckle. It's thrashed. Rope and cuffs discarded on the floor. A flogger and riding crop lay halfhazardly on the sofa. Clothes are strewn about. The room smells like sweat and sex.

What a perfect night.

[just-jordie-things]

A Lover And A Fighter - Richie Tozier

word count: 3122 warnings: swearing, sight sexual harassment summary: Richie promised (y/n) that he wouldn’t get into fights anymore, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.  Especially when it comes to protecting her.

___

It was an understatement to say that Richie was protective of you.  The boy was downright insane about it.  Everyone in Derry knew not to fuck with (y/n), not unless they wanted Richie Tozier tracking them down and beating them half to death.

You’d given him a talk numerous times.  But not once did they work, it always went in one ear and out the other..

He’d beaten up three ex boyfriends, a couple guys that looked at you the wrong way, and Greta Keene.  He was proud of that amount.

But he’d promised that he would try his best not to act out on your behalf anymore.  And you made him pinky promise.  That’s a big deal.  And he didn’t want to break your trust or your promise.

However… once he walked past Henry Bowers and his dumbass friends, and heard your name being mentioned, he couldn’t stop himself from getting involved.

“What was that?” He spoke before he could think things through.

The boys turned to him, each bearing a scowl that wasn’t out of character.

“I said, (y/n’s) not fucking worth it,” Henry practically growled out.  “Now why don’t you fuck off, Tozier?”

“Your damn fucking right it’s not worth it,” Richie spat back, turning away, doing the right thing.  “I’d break your goddamn nose” He muttered under his breath.

“It’s not worth it to try and get in her pants,” Henry called out before Richie could walk far enough away.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Cause she’s such a slut anyways, it’s not a real victory to fuck-”

Richie had never whipped around so fast.  And with the punch he delivered went all common sense, and all the promises and reassurances he’d given you to prove he was going to ‘mature’ as you’d begged him to do. ___

“Hey, Richie,” You held your phone between your ear and shoulder as you painted your toes.  “This is like, my fifth message… so… call me back, I guess.  Okay, bye”

You sighed as you set the phone back on it’s holster.  Richie wasn’t the type of guy to stand you up, especially on taco tuesday.  And even if something came up, he always always, called.  But now he couldn’t even bother to return one of your calls, leaving you to assume that he was upset with you for some reason, and therefore ignoring you.

You weren’t sure what you did, and at this point, you also weren’t sure that he was going to tell you either.

When Richie didn’t want to talk to someone, he was the damn best at avoiding them.

But he’d never given you the cold shoulder.  And there was a time that you’d thought he never would.  Richie was your best friend, you trusted and confided in him more than anyone else, even the other Losers.  And in the last seven years of being his best friend, he’d never treated you this way.  In fact, he always treated you amazingly, like a princess, it was very surprising actually, the way he cared about you.

It was that care that always led him to picking fights where he shouldn’t be, though.  It started with your ex boyfriend.  He broke up with you once a ‘better, prettier’ girl showed interest (his words), and the next thing you knew, Richie was throwing him against the lockers.

When your next boyfriend straight up cheated on you, Richie took care of him too.

He broke the third one’s nose.

And then there was the Greta Keene incident… Beverly may have let it slip that Greta had been writing nasty rumors about you in the girls bathrooms.  And Richie declared that he didn’t have a problem beating up a girl if it was justified (and if that girl had man arms).  That was when you drew the line, and made Richie swear to try and control his anger.  And he pinkie promised to work on it, and that he wouldn’t get into any more fights over you.

You weren’t sure why he got so enraged over these things.  It was just drama, and you found it pointless that he tried to bring you justice, since he was so reckless about it.

It was getting late, and you knew that Richie wasn’t going to return your calls.  So you finished painting your toenails blue, and decided to spend the night in your room, reading, alone.

Even though you should have been eating a bunch of tacos and gossiping with Richie.

Just as you got situated in bed, and had turned off the overhead light in exchange for the soft glow of your lamp on the bedside table, there was a knock on the window.

When you glanced over, you could tell it was Richie by his silhouette, and you frowned slightly.

Nonetheless, you got up and unlocked the window, before sliding it open.

“Where the hell have you been?” You asked.

He could tell that you couldn’t see his face very well.

“Busy, you gonna let me in?” He grinned.

“Richie, it’s-” You glanced over your shoulder to the alarm clock on your table, before glaring back at him.  “-midnight.  Are you kidding me? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“What? (y/n/n), no-”

“Then how come you were dodging all my calls? And you’re seven hours late?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest..

Richie crawled in through the window, even though you hadn’t invited him in yet.  But he figured it was only a matter of time before you cave anyways.

Your distressed face disappeared as you caught sight of him now that he was in the light.  His left eye was bruising, and so was his right cheekbone.  Along with a split lip and a bloody nose, it was clear what had happened.

“Oh, Richie…” You mumbled, hand reaching up to cover your mouth as your eyes widened at the sight of him.  “Tell me you didn’t-”

“Look it’s not what you think-” Richie tried to protest.

“Don’t give me that shit”

He knew he fucked up, because you weren’t yelling.  Your voice was soft, and low.  You were heartbroken.

He stared down at the ground, too anxious to look at you anymore.  Not when you looked so disappointed in him.  

“You promised- you-you pinky promised me-”

“I know-! I know and I’m sorry, really, I’m really fucking sorry” He told you, desperately hoping that you’d forgive him.

You shook your head at him, and gestured for him to sit before you left the room.  Richie was the most frustratingly complicated person that you knew, and it drove you insane.  Why he couldn’t just walk away and not beat the shit out of people… you weren’t sure.  But it really hurt you that he didn’t even seem to try, and he broke his promise.

Richie was sitting on the side of your bed when you came back into the room.  He chuckled as he eyed the first aid kit in your hands, the same one that you’ve used the last four or five times you dealt with the aftermath of his episodes of rages.

“You don’t have t-”

“Yes I do” You cut him off and unpacked what you’d need.

You were upset, you were fuming, actually.  It angered you that Richie broke his promise, not even a month after making it.  That promise was important to you, because he was important to you.  And now here he was, waiting to be fixed up by you once again after he so stupidly, so recklessly got himself beaten to a pulp.

But no matter how angry you were, you remained silent.  Dabbing at the excess blood under his nose, which at least wasn’t bleeding anymore.  And when you were finished with his cheek, you moved on to rubbing cream over the bruise on his cheek.  Richie’s eyes fell shut as he sighed in relief at the feeling of the cool lotion, and your gentle fingers.

He knew your silence wasn’t a good thing.  In fact, it was the worst thing.  It meant he messed up beyond redemption.  And he’d never fucked up that bad before.  Sure, he’d pissed you off and frustrated you on the daily, but that was just the hallmark of his friendship, and it was never anything serious.  Just when he dragged you out in the middle of the night for slushies, or got you in trouble in class because he was running his mouth.  He’d never made you this genuinely upset before.

“(y/n)-”

“Save it” You muttered before he could even start with the apologies.

That was another hallmark of his friendship.  You knew what came next.  The apologies, the excuses, the begging for your forgiveness, followed by a playful ‘you know you love me, you need me’ and puppy dog eyes that you couldn’t refuse.  Except tonight, you might just be able to.

He took you by surprise when he didn’t protest, and snapped his mouth shut.  Your eyes met his for a moment, before you started applying a smaller amount of lotion on the bruise surrounding his eye.  It was going to look a lot worse in the morning, but this would help with the pain now.

You hated that your heart ached for him right now.  You hated that you wanted to cry and hold him and make him feel better.  Because you were so fucking mad-

“I don’t understand,” The words suddenly spilled out of your mouth, as if your mind just couldn’t take them swimming around in your head anymore.  “I just- I- I don’t fucking get it”

He nodded, ducking his head down, only for you to lift it back up by his chin and continue with the lotion.

“I care about you, dumbass, and all I asked, which I thought was simple, all I asked was for you to stop with the fighting-”

“I know” He mumbled back.

You stared at him skeptically, wondering if he really did know, or if he’d show up again in a few weeks with the same battered face and guilty look in his eyes.  Richie didn’t look back at you.  He couldn’t.

“Who?” You asked, trying to soften your voice so he wouldn’t whither away from you like he was doing right now.

“You’re not gonna like it” Richie answered, fingers pinching at your bedsheets in an attempt to distract himself.  From the pain that burned across his whole face, or from the intensity in your eyes, he wasn’t sure, but he needed the distraction.

He hadn’t had a smoke in months, but it sounded pretty damn good right now.

“Well, newsflash, I don’t like any of this,” You told him.  “But I think I deserve to at least know what happened”

Of course you do, Richie hung his head in his hands.  You deserve so, so much better.

You watched as he rubbed his palms over his eyes, and it took everything in your power not to take his hands and hold them in yours, to tell him it was okay and you forgave him.

“Bowers”

He muttered the single word without even looking at you.  But he didn’t have to look at you to know exactly what you looked like in that moment.  You probably had a dropped jaw and furrowed brows.  Disappointment, disgust, anger, all displayed in one heartbreaking look.

“Richie…” You murmured without meaning to.  “Why? Why would you-”

“I had to, okay?” He shot up suddenly.  “I know that you hate it, and as soon as I swung I- I knew I fucked up, but I had to”

You wanted to argue it, argue that there’s always another option, that he can always walk away.  But you bit your tongue.  Something about the way he spoke told you that there was more to this than his stupidity.

“I’m sorry, (y/n/n), I am.  But I… I don’t regret it”

Your heart sunk all the way down to your stomach.  Richie had such a toll on your emotions and he didn’t even know it.

“Tell me what happened” You said quietly, and shifted closer to him.

You wanted him to know he had your undivided attention, and that he should have the chance to at least explain what happened.  You pulled your leg up to rest on the mattress, and turned your body to face him.

Richie looked at you before looking back down at his hand, which was now fisted in your blankets.

“Richie,” You hummed, brows furrowing as you saw how reluctant he was to opening up.  “Tell me” The words were so soft, it was almost inaudible.

You wondered what Henry could have done that Richie didn’t want to tell you about.  He must have really outdone himself.

“He was just talking shit-”

“Richie,” You cut off his bullshit before he could even start.  “Come on, the truth”  

“It’s not-”

“I deserve to know, Tozier! Whatever it is, I don’t care, okay? Just tell me-”

“He said you weren’t worth sleeping with!”

Just like that, you’d gotten him to snap.

And you shut up instantly, shocked by the outburst.  His words processed slowly in your head.

“He said it wasn’t worth trying because you’re- because you’re a slut, and it wasn’t fucking true!” Richie continued to yell.  Not at you, he just couldn’t contain his own anger anymore.

And you thought you were pissed.

“Motherfucker had your name in his nasty fucking mouth and he was telling his buddies fucking lies and I couldn’t- fuck I couldn’t walk away.  I should’ve fucking killed him”

You were staring at him, speechless.  You should’ve known it was about you, Richie was always so fiercely protective of you.  And Henry’s wouldn’t be the first nose that he’d broken protecting you.  But this wasn’t like before.  He’d beaten on your ex boyfriends after they broke your heart.  Henry hadn’t said or done anything to you, he was just doing what boys do.  (Make shit up because they think it makes them impressive when really they’re even shittier than they look)

“I didn’t mean to break your promise,” Richie huffed.  His face was slightly flushed after his mini tantrum.  His hands grabbed both of yours, holding them close to him.  “I’m so sorry I put you through this again”

You were still silent, but he knew this wasn’t a bad silence.  You were still processing, still trying to figure out how to forgive him while making sure this was the last time he crawls through your window looking like this.

“I hope you know that it came from a place of- of caring about you,” He added.  “Caring about you too much, I guess” He mumbled as an afterthought.

Your stupid lovesick heart skipped a beat at the sweet words.  Richie wasn’t one for words, at all, but he somehow managed to say the most loving things without even realizing it.

“I can’t promise it won’t happen again, that much is clear.  And if Bowers says one more goddamn thing about your ass I’ll fucking string him up- I will- but I can promise I’ll try, okay? I will, I’ll really try”

He squeezed your hands a little bit, hoping you believed him, hoping you trusted him.

Your eyes flickered between his for a moment, and you could see in them that he was being sincere, and that he was broken up over hurting you.

“You…” He started to speak, but trailed off unsurely.  “You deserve better” He finished.

His eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, before he turned away.

You shake your head, before you let go of one of his hands, and took his chin between your thumb and index finger, turning him to look back at you.

“(y/n/n)-”

You cut him off when you leaned in and gently kissed him, trying to be mindful of his split lip.

Richie’s eyes remained focused on your closed ones, too stunned to close them, or really kiss her back.

He wanted to kick himself when you pulled away.  He managed to miss his fucking chance because he was too slow to do anything about it.

Your eyes fluttered open in such a beautiful way Richie swore you were holding his heart in your perfect little hands.

His brows were furrowed like you’d confused him, and you absolutely had.  He hadn’t expected you to kiss him.

“Why’d you do that?” He asked breathlessly, and your cheeks burned pink.

Your shoulders raised a bit in a shrug, and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling too much.

“I just… wanted to” You whispered.

A smile twitched on the corner of Richie’s lips before his hand cupped your cheek, and he pulled you in again, so he could kiss you right this time.

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than he’d imagined they’d be.  And he’d imagined countless times what they’d feel like.  Daydreaming in class, before he fell asleep, and being right by your side for the last seven years.

Kissing you was bliss.

He did it again, taking your face in both of his hands and pulling you impossibly closer.  He could feel your lips smiling against his own, and once again, his heart was beating out of his chest trying to get to yours.

“I’m in love with you, (y/n/n)” He murmured when you parted, and you laughed softly.

“That makes sense,” You replied, reaching a hand up to play with the curls on the back of his neck.  “And… I love you too”

Richie gave you a sunshine smile, which you couldn’t help but return.

“I’m still upset, by the way,” You told him, still playing with the curls.  “But only cause I’m tired of seeing you covered in bruises, okay?”

He nodded, and you leaned your cheek further against the palm of his hand.

“I promise to try” He said, and then raised his pinky.

You looked from his hand and then back to him, a slight glare in your eyes.

“Come on, just do it,” He urged, you rolled your eyes, but he was persistent.  “Just link fuckin’ pinkies with me”

With a giggle you hooked your pinky with his, and held it for a moment.

“You want to go get tacos now?” He asked, and you grinned, nodding your head.

“You read my mind” You answered, and followed him back out the window.

It dawned on you that Richie was both your lover and your fighter.  And he held those titles proudly.

As he took your hand and walked alongside you down the street, he decided there were no other title he’d want to be labeled, besides yours. ___

taglist: @thegr8kush​

xoxo ~ jordie

[samstree]

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[parkswritessometimes]

You Have No Right

Day 4 Egotober: Grey

Marvin held Chase’s hat tight in his hands, the blood quickly drying against the light gray fabric. His thumbs dragged over the rough rim of his brother's iconic cap, a reminder of how he failed. A hole in the left side, where just hours ago Chase put a gun and fired. 

“Hey, Marv,” Jackie mumbled sitting down on the crappy hospital waiting bench. “Any updates?”

Marvin shook his head as he leaned against his older brother. A sad sigh fell on Marvin’s ears as his body was pulled into Jackie’s chest. Desperate fingers clung to Jackie’s iconic red hoodie as the hurricane of emotions hit Marvin full force. His little brother. His baby brother was dying. He felt so pathetic and useless that he needed to take his own life to feel relief. Black, mascara-filled tears fell from Marvin’s eyes onto Jackie’s chest. Bloody, bruised hands rubbed over Marvin’s back in a desperate attempt to calm him down. But nothing could comfort the pain of a brother dying.  

“Hey, Marv,” Jackie’s voice broke as he tried to get his little brother's attention. Marvin lifted his head, wiping away his tears, smearing all of the makeup he worked so hard on. But that didn’t matter. Nothing except for Chase mattered. “Stacy is on her way. Chase’s producer let her know what happened.”

“She won’t see Chase. I won’t allow it.” Marvin snarled, artificial nails digging into Jackie’s arm. Stacy was the reason this was happening. Stacy left Chase, turned his children against him, and left him with nothing. Chase lived in his car for a week before finally coming back home. She could rot in Hell.

“Marv, I don’t like her either but she is on her way to offer her support-”

“We don’t need her support!” Marvin shouted, cutting Jackie off as he rose from the bench. “We don’t need her anywhere near our brother. He is dying because of her. She might as well have pulled the trigger herself.”

Marvin held himself tightly as Jackie cradled his face. Gentle thumbs wiping away tears that fell like a waterfall. Marvin leaned into his brother's touch, his own arms wrapping around Jackie tight. 

“I don’t want her here.”

“Well, I think that you better get all your rage out now, because she’s right outside.” 

Marvin pulled away from Jackie’s warmth, pulling their handkerchief that Chase had gotten him for Christmas out of their pocket, dabbing their tears and smeared makeup away. Marvin turned around to face the horrid creature that took his Chase away from him. 

Marvin watched as the sliding glass doors opened just for her. Her brown hair pulled back in a braid, her face red and blotchy from underserved tears. Her gait was fast and determined like she had a right to be there. She walked up to them in her grey yoga pants and a black t-shirt. She couldn’t even dress correctly for this horrid occasion.

“Is Chase okay? Is he alive?” Marvin held back a growl as faux tears rolled out of her red eyes onto her neck. Marvin felt Jackie’s hands grab his shoulders holding him back from absolutely mauling the women in front of them.

“He-He’s in surgery. Henrik is taking care of it.” Jackie mumbled.

“Oh thank God. I was so worried.” Stacy’s foul voice said. 

“You were worried?” Marvin asked, anger rising up in him like a volcano ready to explode. “You, the woman who ruined Chase Brody’s life, my brother���s life. You were worried?”

Marvin pulled their hair back as their hands glowed a sick green. All their anger and magic bubbling to the surface. They haphazardly tore their diamond earrings out of their ears placing them in Jackie’s hands. He didn’t fully understand how he got out of Jackie’s grasp and appeared three inches from Stacy’s face, but at that point, he didn’t care. 

“You don’t get to worry! You lost that privilege when you fucked over his life!” Marvin shouted, their artificial nail just millimeters from Stacy’s eye. “You ruined him! You ruined my brother! You have no right to be here!”

Marvin’s furry only escalated as Stacy calmly moved Marvin’s finger away from her face. Her calm demeanor making her seem like the sane one to everyone in the hospital waiting room. Marvin hated it. He hated her. 

“Chase and I tried everything to improve our marriage. The divorce was very hard on me as well.” She talked to him like he was a child. But he wasn’t a child. He knew everything this succubus did to ruin his life.

“Oh really,” Marvin started “Fucking Chase’s producer was hard on you. Taking his children away from him was hard on you. Chase being fucking homeless was hard on you.”

Stacy backed away from Marvin, her jaw practically on the floor. Marvin smiled as he stepped closer, his eyes glowing bright green. The fear and shock on this woman's face filled him with pure ecstasy. Marvin's mouth spread into a sick smile, his prey backing into a corner, with no way to escape his fury.

“I have every right to be here. You can’t say the same.” Marvin whispered into Stacy’s ear. His magic threatening to burn her delicate skin. 

Marvin’s body was lifted up suddenly and without warning. Strong arms wrapped around his midsection, pulling him away from the horrid women in front of him. He desperately reached out for Stacy, wanting to tear her apart for everything she did. 

“I’m so sorry Stacy, maybe you should go for now. Be with the kids.” Jackie said, struggling to hold Marvin back. 

“Get out of here! Go back to your new boy toy! Go back to the perfect life that you wouldn’t have without Chase!” Marvin screamed as he thrashed and kicked against Jackie’s body. “Get the fuck out!” 

A wave of calmness rushed over him as she turned towards the door and ran. Marvin’s feet touched the ground as Jackie slowly moved his hands from Marvin’s stomach to his back. The compassion of Jackie’s touch helped him bring him back down to earth. Every inch of Marvin’s body became heavy as the full force of reality hit him full force. 

“Hey, hey,” Jackie soothed, rubbing Marvin’s back as gently as he could. “I’m here. I’m here. I gotcha. I gotcha.” 

Marvin collapsed to the ground taking Jackie down with him. Tears and sobs falling into his brother's shoulder. 

“I just-I just wanted to protect him. I couldn’t-I won’t fail him again.” Marvin mumbled. 

“I know. I know. You’re just protecting him. It’s okay. Don’t worry. Don’t worry. We’ll protect him. We’ll protect him.”

Marvin nodded into his brother's shoulder, letting the waiting game of news resume.

Prompt by: @tracobuttons

[dumbikawa]

Fighting /W HQ Boys And Being Comforted By Their Teammate

GN!Reader | Angst to Fluff | Warnings: None

Characters: Oikawa, Akaashi

A/n: I tried to edit the format on mobile so I hope everything is in the right place lmao

OIKAWA

- Oikawa had been training much more than usual, which was already an ungodly amount as it is, leaving the two of you barely any time to talk let alone hang out.

- You understood, though, to some degree. Volleyball was his passion and Nationals was his last chance, in his mind, to prove he was good enough. Winning this was everything to him.

- You tried to bring him snacks every day either in-between classes, before practice, or after practice because it was obvious he wasn’t taking care of himself the way he should, and it pained you.

- The night before they left for Nationals, you waited for him to get out of practice so you could wish him luck in person since they’d be leaving early the following day. Your planned speech was forgotten, though, when you noticed a slight limp in his step.

- Not being able to hold back your concerns anymore, you asked him about it, and he snapped at you before heading off in the opposite direction.

- That night you walked home alone. Well, almost. Iwaizumi found you, knowing the route since often all three of you often walked together.

- He allowed you to rant about his sometimes idiotic best friend, explaining how you had been desperately trying to keep the relationship afloat, how understanding you were when he couldn’t spend any time with you, and the various ways you tried to take care of him since apparently he wasn’t capable of doing it himself. Yet, he showed his appreciation by yelling at you?

- Iwa laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, his attempt at comfort. You leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, thanking him for allowing you to just complain and blow off steam.

- What neither of you noticed, though, was an apologetic, guilty Oikawa watching as his best friend did the job he had ran here to do, and, honestly, probably doing a better job then he would’ve. It was only natural for you to gravitate to somebody who could actually be there for you, he thought. He should’ve known it would happen sooner rather than later, so he turned and walked away.

You feel slightly idiotic as you step out of your car and follow the crowd towards the packed stadium. After not returning any of your calls or texts from last night or this morning, and the last exchange you had with him being less than stellar, you’d still made the drive to watch him at Nationals because, despite all that happened, you loved him much more than he even knew, and you wouldn’t miss this for the world. Whether it ended in celebrations or tears, you wanted to be by his side through it all.

And, as heartbreaking as it was to watch their final match, you realized there would be no celebrating.

-

It hadn’t sunk in yet. He refused to believe the pain, the dedication, the putting everything else on hold had only led him to defeat. It wasn’t possible. He needed to stay strong, though. He couldn’t allow himself to cry afterwards with the rest of his team.

He trailed behind as they walked out of the gym, his eyes betraying him as they watered while he tried to scan the stands for a face he wasn't even sure would be there. You were another thing he had sacrificed to be here. The best thing he had in his life next to volleyball. Why would you want to see him after he was so awful? Especially when he had nothing to show for it.

Yet, there you were. The sadness he couldn’t yet express was written on your face. His eyes trailed down and noticed you were wearing one of his sweatshirts. That’s when it all came crashing down on him, and there you were to catch him.

“I-I wasn’t...I wasn’t good enough,” he stammers, his muscular body colliding with your sturdy figure. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, finding comfort in the way his sweatshirt now smelled like your perfume. “Not for my team, not for you--”

“Tooru,” you hum, his name feeling like home coming from your lips, “what are you talking about ‘for you’?” You place your hands on either side of his face, pulling him back just enough so you can look into his teary eyes.

“I saw you with Iwa after I--” His face contorts in pain as he thinks back to his words from last night and more tears spill past his lashes. “You turned to someone else because of me.”

Your heart breaks at the thought of him seeing that and thinking that you’d begun to move on from him, as if that were even a possibility.

“No, no, baby. I was upset, yes, but Iwa was just making sure I was okay. He could never replace the love I feel being in your arms or the butterflies I get when kissing you. Nobody could.” Oikawa feels his rigid body softening at your words, allowing himself to believe that’s the truth.. “I wish you would take care of yourself, or, at least, let me help pick up the slack. I’m so proud of you, your team is proud of you, and, most importantly, you are good enough, okay?” He wasn’t sure there were any tears left for him to cry, but another wave of sobs rack through his body. You pull him closer, whispering reassurances and sweet nothings for only him to hear while tracing soft circles on his back.

He felt a weight lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax in your arms. He wasn’t sure if it was from knowing you were still there for him, or if it was because, regardless of how it ended, it was all over and that provided a confusing relief in itself.

All he focused on, though, was the thought that there was no one else he wanted by his side for the rest of his life.

AKAASHI

- Akaashi felt the self-doubt creeping up on him. It seemed like he’d been on a steady decline in nearly every aspect of his life lately; volleyball, school, and even his relationship with you.

- His sets felt messy and it was only a matter of time before his team would take notice of it. And with practice nearly every night after school, he wasn’t finding the time to get the work done that he needed for classes. Then there was you. He never thought he was good enough for you and with everything else weighing his mood down, he didn’t want to make you feel bad, too.

- That’s when he’d put up a wall between him and everybody else, including you.

- You knew the moment he pulled back and decided to give him some space for a week or two, hoping that’s what he needed.

- When that didn’t work, you decided to ask him about it. Even if he didn’t want to talk about it, perhaps just knowing you were still there would be enough to make him feel a little better.

- Safe to say, it didn’t go as you’d planned.

- “I have to get these assignments done, y/n, I don’t have time to talk.” Keiji, I just want to-- “Y/n! I can’t right now, can’t you see? I can’t deal with this at the moment.”

- You didn’t feel like fighting, so you left, letting the door slam shut behind you.

For the first time since you and Keiji started dating, you wore your own hoodie to school. There was no inherent statement behind it, but if he wanted to take it as some sort of low blow you didn’t care. It had been a couple days since you left his house with tears pooling in your eyes and it felt like your heart was hurting more and more each day the two of you didn’t talk. 

Bokuto could tell there was something off between the two of you. He’d observed it weeks before, but figured it wasn’t his place to necessarily say anything. At this point, though, it had been going on for too long and he didn’t like seeing two of his closest friends hurting.

“Hey y/n!” Bokuto’s cheery call cut through your miserable mood. You hadn’t been swinging by to watch practice and avoided the dining hall, so you weren’t seeing him as much as you’re used to. You found it easy to return his ear to ear grin and began walking with him in the direction of the gym.

“It might not be my place to ask, but what happened?” The smile slipped right off your face and you had to physically turn away to avoid meeting his puppy dog eyes that would have you telling him everything.

Your eyes begin to water as your mind walks back through that night. A scoff leaves your lips as you begin to dab away the escaping tears. Bokuto, alarmed and guilty that he made you cry, envelops you in a bone-crushing hug. It felt...incredible, though. In trying to get Akaashi to open up, you forgot to follow your own advice.

Everything spilled out as you let the tears fall on Bokuto’s blazer. How Akaashi had pulled away so you tried to give him space. That when you attempted to talk to him about it he lashed out at you. Bokuto listened thoughtfully, recognizing times he’d seen his friend put up these same walls before. There wasn’t much he could offer in the way of advice, but all you needed was for him to listen.

Akaashi watched you pull away from Bokuto’s arms and laugh at something he’d said, a genuine smile gracing your lips. It hadn’t occurred to him how long it’d been since he saw you smile like that. He felt awful for what he said the other day and regretted it all the moment he saw the hurt on your face. Letting you go seemed like the best thing to do because maybe then you could find somebody to make you smile instead of cry. And, perhaps, you already had.

He closes his eyes with a sigh, letting himself slide down to the floor, thinking about the way you were smiling and imagining a scenario where it was because of him.

“Keiji?” Your soft voice pulls him from his thoughts as he looks up to see you standing a little bit away from him, an unsure look on your face.

“Y/n.” Everything he wants to say is stuck in his throat, so he settles for a simple, “I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t enough, he knows, but you still sit down next to him.

“What’s going on in your head?” You hug your knees close to your body and turn to look at him. He wants so badly to reach out and hold your face, watching your eyes drift close when you lean into his touch.

“You deserve better. Someone happier like Bo. I’m not a good boyfriend--”

“When did you become a liar?” You cut him off, wanting to stop his harmful train of thinking immediately. He’s taken aback, not sure what to say, so you continue. “Do you remember when you brought me my favorite food because my favorite character died? Or how whenever we’re in a crowd you put your hand behind your back for me to hold so we don’t get separated?” He wants to smile, thinking back to those moments, but remembering the things he said the other day stops him.

“But I’ve been so horrible to you recently.”

“You haven’t been horrible, Keiji. You’ve just got a lot going on up there. There’s no pressure to tell me about it, but I’m here and I’m not leaving unless you really want me to.” 

Nothing else had to be said. He leans forward and rests his head on your shoulder. Your arm goes around him, a physical affirmation that your words are true. One talk wasn’t going to solve everything. The self-doubt would still be there, and they might always be. But he felt comfort in the fact that he could share more with you without that fear of bringing you down with him.

[goonification]

yungi smut

[18+] Mingi gets hard before stages and has no idea why. Neither does Yunho but he’s happy to help.

The fast-paced voice of a MC echoed through the hallways over a loudspeaker to introduce the lineup for the night’s show. No one was listening too carefully though to the tinny voice, as the livestream usually only acted as a reminder that, in the same building, the Music Bank stage was soon to be lively with performances for the next 90 minutes. It wasn’t uncommon for the muffled sounds of the host to be overshadowed by the busy chatter of stressed out staff and excited idols, donning various elaborate and colourful outfits. 

It was less than an hour until Ateez were supposed to be rounded up and ushered to the wings of the stage, prepared to give the nth performance of their most recent comeback.

While most idols we’re counting down the minutes to their upcoming stages, Mingi was rushing back to his group’s green room, hoping to god it was empty.

He scuttled through the crowds, politely bowing at passing staff and tucking behind ongoing interviews to not draw attention to himself. A lanky, 6ft man with a hand on his crotch lumbering through the background of someone’s acrostic poem segment would be bound to draw the wrong kind of online attention.

Hand grasping the doorknob of their assigned green room with relief, the sounds of the hallways were snuffed with the thick door shutting behind him. 

He gave the space a quick once-over, falling at ease when he found it seemingly empty. With the room barren of members or staff, Mingi pressed his back to the door as a makeshift lock and shamelessly dropped his pants below his waist.

This wasn’t an uncommon scenario.

There are plenty of different ways that the human body can react to a stressful situation. Some people overthink to the point of a headache. Others have physical reactions, like shaking or sweating. Some people even feel faint or collapse.

However, Song Mingi got boners. Plain and simple. He doesn’t know why it happens. Often, he doesn’t even know when it’ll happen. 

The regularity of stage fright had faded away to a fear of the past. With the exception of the occasional special stage, Mingi typically didn’t get stressed out over every individual performance but, for some godforsaken reason, his body seemed to know what a pre-show countdown sounded like and reacted regardless. 

Nervous or not, popping a semi backstage was a shamefully familiar feeling for Mingi. He was well aware that there had been a couple of fancams where his half-hard cock made far more of an appearance than he wanted and, determined to not repeat history if he could help it, intended to try de-escalating his problem before stepping foot on stage this time.

Mingi looked down at his dick, standing fully upright.

It was mocking him.

Frustrated at his situation, Mingi furrowed his brow, scowling at his penis before feeling grateful that no one saw him do that. Nothing like a healthy dose of random horniness to cloud every crevice of his brain with a layer of fog, stopping him from thinking rationally. 

He collected his composure with a deep breath, using his knees to pinning his pants at his mid-thigh in case someone entered unexpectedly, and got to work.

A large hand wrapped around the proportionately large shaft and began to pump, so quickly in fact that his whole body lurched forward at the sudden relief. It wasn’t long before his knees instinctively spread and baggy pants fell to his ankles. There was no use picking them back up. Not a minute could be wasted. The door behind him could open at any second. With his very noticeable presence missing, someone was bound to be looking for him to reunite him with his members.

Mingi didn’t know how much time he had. A few drops of spit and a dab of precum was all he could gather as lube, forcing him to slow down his pace to avoid discomfort. Mingi whined. He knew this wouldn’t take long at all if he was back in the dorms with his usual creamy lotion or the constant flow of a soapy shower to keep his length slick.

He could practically hear the threat of a ticking clock in his head. The bustling sounds of people on the other side of the door weren’t helping. The MC’s voice echoed again, saying something about a commercial break, probably the first of several. He was desperate to fix his problem fast and would need to try something different.

A shaky second hand joined the first, holding it steady as his hips took on the task instead. The closed tunnel of his fist stopped the air from drying away his precious moisture, allowing for a more comfortable friction than before.

“Ah-” Mingi couldn’t stop the escape of a single low moan as he fucked his hand, balls slapping against his curled fingers and stretched wrist with each thrust.

It felt good, definitely better. But he was still too distracted. While his new technique was undoubtedly more successful than the first, his brain was still going a mile a minute with the looming reminder of the risk he was taking. His hands were shaking, needing to readjust their grip every few seconds. 

Mingi didn’t want to cry; he had just had his makeup done. Yet, still, every shaky slip of his hands was contributing to a growing frustration. 

It was becoming more difficult to keep quiet. Mingi was being assaulted with the buildup of both dull pleasure and throbbing pain and needed some way to express it. Small grunts were turning into breathy moans, low and long, to try to keep the sounds contained in the room.

Suddenly, even through welling tears, his eyes caught sight of a slight movement caught in one of the dressing room mirrors. What Mingi assumed were just piles of jackets on a couch began to shift, before he noticed the pant legs of a stage outfit, matching the one Mingi was currently “wearing”, donned on a long set of legs. A pair of large boots stuck upright off the end of the couch.

“You’re terrible at staying quiet.” Yunho’s familiar voice spoke out from under the pile before he threw a heavy jacket off of his head, exposing his tired face in the reflection of the mirror. He was basically eye-level with Mingi’s cock.

“Ah, what the fuck!” Mingi shouted, trying and failing to pull up his pants. In that moment, he silently cursed the stylists for always putting him in the baggiest outfits. He repeated his expletive of choice. “What the fuck were you doing under there?”

Yunho squinted tightly, shaking his head as his eyesight adjusted to the harsh fluorescent light of the room. “I had a headache and couldn’t find the light switch.”

“Oh.” Mingi stood dumbfounded and beet-red. Yunho was as giant as he was and it wasn’t like he was exactly hidden. He mentally scolded himself for not checking the room better before fully exposing himself, accidentally baring his entire cock and balls to his friend.

“I knew you were horny earlier!” Yunho exclaimed, like it was his own personal victory for guessing correctly. “You were all bouncy and quiet during stage rehearsal. Kinda like before you take your extra long showers. Always before the stages too, huh? Why is that?”

Mingi shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He especially didn’t know that Yunho was so attentive to his behaviour. It made him think back to every time he busted what he thought was a secret nut but maybe he wasn’t so private after all.

It was a lot of information to take in with his pants around his ankles. He had so many questions. Mingi started with an easy one. “Why didn’t you say anything when I came in here? I would’ve stopped.”

“Honestly, I thought you were here to get me.” Yunho was fixing his hair at the mirror, composing himself while stealing occasional glances of Mingi’s cock in the reflection. “At least, until I heard you all -” He mocked the deep timbre of Mingi’s voice and moaned comically. Painfully to Mingi, even the unflattering imitation made his exposed dick twitch. He hoped to god Yunho was too busy laughing at him to tell.

Noticing the shift in posture, Yunho offered some comfort, not wanting his friend to feel too embarrassed. “I didn’t mind. Really.”

“But why did you scare me like that?” Mingi’s embarrassment shifted to anger. Yunho’s logic wasn’t making any sense and Mingi still didn’t have a plan for how he was going to get his dick down.

Yunho avoided the question. “How long until we go on?”

“Huh?” Without context, the request went right over Mingi’s head.

“Fine, I’ll look for myself.” Yunho raised an eyebrow before checking a nearby phone. “Forty seven minutes until our stage? That’s tons of time.” 

The tension on Mingi’s face unwravled with a small ounce of relief. The events of what felt like hours of pure frustration likely took place over a mere thirty seconds. He just needed to be reminded.

Still, the reality was that Mingi was rock hard and not as alone as he thought. As one problem disappeared, another became even more prominent. Yunho made his way towards Mingi and the door, hopefully to leave the room, and pretend he saw nothing. 

Even in that best case scenario, Mingi wasn’t sure if he could ever recover from the mortification of what just happened.

Wanting to drop the hint and give Yunho better access to the door, Mingi shifted to the side, movement restricted from the pants still pooled around his legs and too ashamed to pick them up.

However, Yunho didn’t turn towards the door. He instead turned his attention towards Mingi, who had backed himself into a corner. They were uncomfortably close considering the fact that Mingi’s lower half was fully nude.

Yunho smiled stupidly as though the confusion on Mingi’s face was unwarranted. “What? You were struggling to get off, right?”

“Yes...” Mingi admitted, still confused over what exactly his friend was doing. “It was that obvious?”

“Believe me, I know what it sounds like when you’re getting off. What I just heard sounded like a struggle to me.” Yunho never broke eye contact with Mingi. There was a glint of joy in his eyes as he explained his thought process, while never actually revealing his intentions.

Everything he said only raised even more questions. So many that Mingi didn’t have the brain capacity to sort through. Right now, he was more curious why Yunho had him cornered in their dressing room. 

“Mingi,” Yunho uttered his name as though he was scolding him with endearment. Telling him off for being so apparently stupid even thought Mingi thought his confusion was very much justified. “Do you want me to help you?”

Yunho wanted to jerk him off? Mingi thought he had heard wrong.

On first thought, it would fix both problems at once and still leave time to spare, even if the idea of his friend touching his dick would leave Mingi with a whole new slew of questions to plague him until they got back to their dorms. That is, if Yunho would even want to talk about it.

Mingi was getting ahead of himself. He needed to answer the question first.

He kept thinking, pushing through his stress and arousal to conduct a clear thought. Yunho was handsome. He was always clean and smelled good, and liked holding hands with Mingi. Though his qualifications were sparse, Mingi was almost surprised at just how unopposed he was to the idea of Yunho helping him cum. After all, that’s all it would be, right? A friend helping out a friend.

“C’mon, you’ll feel so much better afterwards. I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Yunho pouted as he got closer to Mingi’s face. He was being sweet. Buttering the other boy up without knowing that it wouldn’t even take any convincing to get him to agree.

If only Mingi could answer the damn question. All he could muster up was the confidence for a moment of warm eye contact and a gentle nod.

It was signal enough for Yunho, who leaned in for a hesitant kiss. Mingi’s puffy lips were already parted and set to lock with his own. As they brushed against each other, Yunho’s tongue peaked out, sliding over Mingi’s bottom lip and making him shudder before dipping inside his gaped mouth. 

The gap between them closed even further when the fabric of Yunho’s pant leg accidentally brushed over Mingi’s hard cock, which was poking out and occupying most of the space between them. Mingi moaned into Yunho’s mouth, a gentle reminder that they had a goal to achieve.

“Mmm. No more,” Yunho sighed with regret. He pulled back as Mingi stupidly chased his lips in a daze. “We need to be quick, remember?” 

“But you don’t need to see your hands to jerk me off.” Mingi pouted comically, trying to convince him to return to their greedy kiss. He didn’t expect to enjoy kissing Yunho that much and was wondering if it could turn into a hobby of theirs.

Yunho simply chuckled, obviously knowing more than Mingi about his plans for his mouth. After a breathy “huh?” Yunho took the cue to drop to the floor.

Mingi froze. He was expecting a steady hand to help jerk him to completion at the most but this was so much more. The sight of Yunho on his knees, locked upright so he could keep his face raised inches from Mingi’s cock was making his head throb in more ways than one.

He watched as Yunho’s eyes darted around, carefully examining every inch of him as fast as possible. If he knew Yunho was going to be that close and personal with his junk, Mingi would have shaved that morning. 

“I knew you were big but, damn.” Yunho’s vision stayed locked on to Mingi’s shaft. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted. He looked just as needy as he felt.

“I mean, you don’t have to go d-” Mingi couldn’t even provide an alternative, let alone finish his sentence before Yunho’s tongue was curling itself around his head, soaking his cock with a sudden warmth. Mingi’s hand flew to the wall, then his thigh and, finally, Yunho's hair, needing to grab a fistful of something to keep him steady.

Yunho tilted his chin, relaxing into Mingi’s touch and exposing the length of his neck towards the ceiling. Still, he stayed connected via his tongue. Mingi gulped loudly at the sight of Yunho’s throat swallowing, which was suddenly looking very empty to him.

The soft stimulation prompted beads of creamy white to escape from Mingi’s cock, directly onto the flat surface of Yunho’s tongue. He moaned at the taste and vibrations surrounded Mingi’s stirring cock head. Embarrassingly and against his will, Mingi pushed forward a bit, cock sliding across Yunho’s tongue and spreading the pre-cum all over the wet muscle.

“Sorry.” Mingi sheepishly apologized as he returned his hips to where they were before but, to his surprise, Yunho bobbed his head. He artificially repeated the motion over and over until the entirety of the cock’s head was trapped inside Yunho’s mouth. His tongue was running indulgent laps as it circled the pulsing tip.

Mingi was a panting mess. He wasn’t sure if he should speak. Should he tell Yunho how it felt? Would that be too much?

It was then that Yunho’s gaze flickered up to make eye contact with Mingi. His eyes were glossy as though he was stuck in that moment. Mingi’s stomach did a flip at the sight. He was waiting for Mingi’s approval.

“It feels good, you know?” Mingi whispered as the fist in Yunho’s hair released to scratch at his scalp. Mingi didn’t exactly sound confident but Yunho could tell the words were genuine considering how the other boy was falling apart above him. The upper half of Yunho’s face lit up with a would-be smile at the praise.

Meanwhile, his mouth stayed open wide, lips surrounding Mingi’s cock with a gentle suction, before pushing forward slowly. Yunho didn’t look away, not even once, as Mingi watched his cock disappear inch by inch inside his friend's mouth.

“Jesus, Yunho...” He hissed as more of his shaft was coated with the slippery friction from Yunho’s spit.

Yunho was only two inches from fully swallowing Mingi’s cock before he came to a halt. As he paused, he shifted with discomfort on his knees. The breathing from his nose became more erratic, puffs of warm air bouncing off of Mingi’s pelvis. It was clear he had reached his limit. Even while he couldn’t get Mingi’s dick all the way down, his determination was admirable. Cute, even. It was especially impressive considering Mingi presumed it was Yunho’s first time doing this. 

Mingi dropped his hand to fall behind Yunho’s ear, rubbing his neck with a long thumb. Not experienced with dominant dirty talk, he merely offered a simple smile to let him know it was okay to retreat.

When Yunho began to pull back, Mingi caught sight of a bulge in his throat deflating as his dick reappeared. The thought of being that deep inside any of Yunho’s holes made him shudder with excitement.

Less than a second of the cold dressing room air had cruelly returned before Mingi’s dick was throbbing with need again. The shaft was a reddened, slobbery mess as Yunho cupped him against his hands before returning his mouth to the leaking tip.

Now, when Yunho bobbed down on the cock, his movements were more confident, knowing his limits and puffing up with pride over his abilities. Once he reached the checkpoint, he twisted two slippery hands over the base to make up the difference, fully covering Mingi’s large cock in one way or another.

This time, when Yunho pulled back, he tried sucking in his cheeks. He was so concentrated on making Mingi feel good, eyebrows furrowed in a way Mingi would’ve thought was adorable had the air not been just knocked out of his lungs by the new sensation of suction inside Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho never let the tip leave his lips before taking the entire shaft deep into his mouth again, producing extra spit only to suck it up again when he pulled back. It was clear he was enjoying himself discovering his newfound talent. 

Not as much as Mingi was enjoying himself.

The feeling was unlike anything Mingi had ever experienced. Yunho’s mouth was like being surrounded by an always-moving, sopping-wet warmth. The boy on his knees took the term ‘sucking’ dick very literally. Wet and sloppy sounds echoed through the tiny room as Yunho slurped at his cock. 

Mingi was fully collapsed against the wall at this point, fighting gravity to keep himself standing. His moans were deep, guttural and spurring Yunho to move even faster, knowing that Mingi must be close. 

He was. Mingi was seconds away from cumming and already panicking over where he was going to finish. As pretty as he would be covered in streaks of white, Yunho was already in his stage clothes and makeup, ruling out that option. Alternatively, it wasn’t like Mingi could just leave a puddle of his release on the green room floor. The clock was ticking and Mingi didn’t have any alternatives left.

Yunho, more intuitive than Mingi was aware of, must’ve sensed his panic. He looked up at Mingi as though he was trying to tell him something, eventually slowing his neck’s momentum to a standstill and grabbed his attention.

As Mingi’s eyes were full of panic, Yunho eased his fears with a small nod of approval, motions mostly restricted by his throat accommodating the deep curve of Mingi’s cock. Yunho’s eyes were glistening with tears but dark with determination. He was ready to let Mingi take over.

Mingi whimpered, clawing at the wall as he realized what Yunho was telling him. 

“In your mouth? Are you sure?”

A gurgle escaped from the back of Yunho’s throat as he pushed his limits even further, allowing the cock to sit the deepest it had been. Despite his gagging, his actions were entirely permissive, knowing he wouldn’t have to endure the pain for long before Mingi would finish.

Dormant hips sprung into motion, sliding back at first and dragging his cock along the inside of Yunho’s mouth. Strings of thick saliva followed the path, dripping from Yunho’s bruised lips. Carelessly, Mingi’s ass hit the wall with a thud with how roughly he fucked backwards, making Yunho wince in preparation for him to return.

When his hips snapped forward, it wasn’t as bad as Yunho expected. Sure, Mingi was rough in his desperation but the slickness of collected spit gave the cock a smooth re-entrance past Yunho’s lips, into his mouth, and down into his raw throat. Yunho couldn’t help but moan as he felt himself loosen up to accommodate, hoping that the sound got concealed beneath the low sounds of Mingi’s own pleasure.

Mingi fucked his willing mouth again and again, inching just a little deeper each time whether he knew it or not.

“Yunho. Feels good.” Mingi grunted out, unable to conceive proper sentences as his vision was flashing white with fast growing pleasure. “So good. Fuck.”

With the added motion of Mingi’s thrusts, those final two inches that he couldn’t quite conquer seemed like a task from forever ago, Yunho’s throat gladly opening itself up to accommodate until Mingi’s cock was buried completely. It wasn’t long until his nose was bumping against a set of abs.

Ready to be emptied, Mingi’s heavy balls smacked against Yunho’s chin with each greedy snap of his hips. It should’ve been humiliating but Yunho found himself arching into the motions. It felt good to have Mingi use him.

Yunho kept his needy gaze up at Mingi, watching the way his mouth fell agape and the muscles in his jaw clenched. His chest was heaving as he got closer and closer to completion. The sight inspired Yunho to work through the increasing soreness to help Mingi succumb to his pleasure.

“Ah!” Mingi yelled loudly and abruptly, followed by several softer stutters. His hips suddenly began to jerk in a rhythmless pattern he couldn’t quite control and then the first hot spurt of cum splashed against the back of Yunho’s throat. The second erupted into the cavern of his mouth as Mingi fell back further, shaking with pleasure.

Yunho hollowed his cheeks, not allowing Mingi to retreat any more and trapping the twitching cock inside his mouth. He sucked deeply and used the rest of his energy to relax the entire length of his throat and milk Mingi’s shaft until he was empty.

Mingi’s head fell back in awe as Yunho’s tongue lapped every last drop of cum that emerged from the hole on his tip. He was going above and beyond at this point, the aftershocks of Mingi’s orgasm already starting to subside.

“You can stop if you want.” Mingi’s voice was shaky, hoping Yunho wouldn’t take him up on the offer. The gentle warmth felt nice against his softening cock, easing him back to reality gradually instead of all at once.

“Mm, I probably should, shouldn’t I?” Yunho croaked out against his dick, giving the tip one final kiss before letting it fall limp against Mingi’s thigh.

They paused for a brief moment to catch their breath. Mingi dropped a hand to Yunho’s shoulder, giving it a soft massage as a thanks. “Are you okay?” 

Yunho tried to answer but, at first, the words got caught on their way out. Clearing his throat, Yunho choked out a laugh at the discovery of how raw his throat was. “It’s a good thing I didn’t plan to sing live tonight.”

Mingi giggled at the half-joke before yanking up his oversized pants, needing both hands to hold the flowy fabric up so they wouldn’t fall again. Kindly, Yunho helped him tuck the now satisfied cock away before zipping up his fly.

“You know you might have less of a problem if you just wore underwear?” Yunho poked roughly at the downsized but still prominent bulge in Mingi’s pants.

“But it’s uncomfy.” Mingi whined, clearly more willing to go the lengths of jerking off before a performance rather than just wear another layer. Tired and needing to conserve his energy, Yunho rolled his eyes and found another spare phone to check the time. He clicked on the homescreen with little care for the fact that one of their fellow member’s phones was currently being contaminated with Mingi’s dick particles.

“Was that really only ten minutes?” Yunho’s eyes widened at the screen and Mingi went red in the cheeks. “Guess I’m pretty good at that, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that…” Mingi nodded, getting shy again as the realization set in that his best friend’s lips were just around his cock and they were already back to business as usual. That is, if they didn’t count how disheveled they both looked from the aftermath. Mingi ruffled his hair back to look as close as possible to how the stylists left it.

Not having too much time to dwell on what their new experience meant for their friendship, a loud knock on the door made both boys jump out of their skin. The knock was only a warning as the hinges creaked and the door swung wide, trapping Mingi behind it.

Panicked and then relieved, Mingi stumbled against a plastic knob on the wall, the room falling into darkness just in time for someone to enter the doorway.

“Yunho, are you in here?” Hongjoong’s voice carried through the small room until he saw Yunho by the mirror, hopefully only looking like he woke up from the best nap of his life and nothing else. Definitely nothing else…

“Hey, what are you doing in the dark?”  Luckily, he couldn’t see Mingi. His voice continued. “And why are you on my phone?”

Mingi cringed when Hongjoong snatched the phone back and placed it on the counter. He thankfully had no idea where Yunho’s hands had just been and he would probably never find out.

“Just checking the time.” Yunho replied nonchalantly, rubbing at his jaw.

“Yes, we’re on soon!” Hongjoong sounded excited. Enthusiastic about even the task of coraling up his fellow members for their performance. He seemed too distracted to notice Yunho dabbing away at his lips to clean himself off.

He patted Yunho on the back for encouragement before turning to leave out the open door. “Can you find Mingi on your way back too? We don’t know where he is.”

“Sure thing, Hyung!” Yunho did a goofy salute, playing the clueless role with ease as he bid Hongjoong farewell out of the room. The door slammed shut, leaving both Yunho and Mingi in the pitch dark.

“Hey Yunho,” Mingi whispered loudly, as though the darkness would make it harder to hear.

“Hm?” Yunho’s boots squeaked as he turned to face the voice.

“I think I found the light switch.”

.

.

.