#the urge to give him grey hair and little lines under the eyes is too strong

[angryducktimemachine]

They experience those first weeks of being roommates very differently-

This is very much leaning onto the Soviet Sherlock Holmes adaptation because I absolutely love how when they first meet they lean into how Watson suspects Holmes is a criminal and gets a little bit stressed out about it.

[ID: a digital drawing of Watson and Holmes sitting by a table. Watson looks slightly worried and tense, there's a thought bubble above him "he's gonna fucking kill me.". Holmes is next to him in an apron and holding a glass vial and bottle, smiling with a thought bubble above him reading "hanging out with my new bestie :)" /End ID]

[softshuji]

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐍

Title: I love you as the day loves the night

Summary: Ran knows he is not a good man, but he's trying to be better for you. You don't argue often, but when you do, Ran confides in the only person who might understand him.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, alcohol usage, Ran is a little sad, Rindou being a good brother, some vague suggestive parts, explicit pregnancy mentions, nothing too serious. Reblogs appreciated!

Ran downs another shot and winces at the burn as the alcohol coats his throat. From here, he can just about make out the thrum and trill of music in the club underneath him, and it seems the beat is pulsing in time with his racing heart.

Packed bodies, heads thrown back in laughter, tables coated in white, the floor sticky with the residue of drinks spilled and then hastily mopped up and underneath it all, the vinegary tang of sweat and sex.

Considering the time of night, he isn’t surprised to see Sanzu talking in low tones with Mikey on the other side of the private bar, his head dipping, pink hair framing his face. 

The scene makes him nauseous, and it takes ample self control not to vomit the contents of his stomach all over the mahogany table.

He rubs his temples, inhales the hot and heavy air and closes his eyes, throwing his head back to the artificial lights. The red glare dances on his skin and he shudders as the urge to throw up tickles the back of his throat for a second time. The tension under his knuckles is a spark of electricity when he grips the table for support.

‘Ran?’ 

A voice pulls him from the darkness, and he rocks forward in his chair, groaning against the anxiety that threatens to climb its way out of his chest as his eyes crack open, squinting at the harsh flare of the lights.

‘Rindou.’ He chews on his lip and makes to pick up his glass again, the condensation wet against his clammy hands. He grips it hard to force down the shaking that snakes along his knuckles. ‘You’re here.’

‘This better be good Ran,’ Rindou says and pulls out a chair opposite, propping his chin up on his palm as he takes in the sight. His Brother’s tired eyes, shadows clinging to the skin underneath, the pinched brows that give him a permanent frown, the matted hair that sticks to his forehead, curling at the nape and around his ears, the sweat that rolls down his temple despite the air conditioning. 

‘Thanks for coming,’ Ran says solemnly, his head hung low, eyes downcast.

Rindou narrows his eyes and reaches into his jacket, fishing around till he feels the sharp metallic edge of his cigarette tin, frowning when Ran’s hands shake as he leans forward to accept the offered cigarette.

‘So what’s this about then?’ Rindou moves the glass from Ran’s reach absent-mindedly, noting the way his Brother’s lips purse as he takes a long drag, holding the smoke in till it burns.

The smoke curls from his mouth, grey against the light. ‘Had a fight with My Girl. A bad one.’ This last part is a barely imperceptible whisper, and Rindou leans in, tucking his hair behind his ears as he strains to listen.

Ah, Rindou thinks, his lips a firm line. He scoots his chair closer around the table till the thump of music gyrates his ears less and gestures with an incline of his head towards the bartender for a drink. Under this light, the shadows under Ran’s eyes and the creases in his otherwise immaculate suit are all the more prominent. As is the shaky exhale when Ran puffs his cigarette.

He knows the wedding band on Ran’s finger is still new, that Ran hasn’t fully adjusted to married life and domestic bliss is a concept he’s not well acquainted with, that it had taken Ran a very long time to persuade himself that he was capable of marriage in the first place.

‘What about? Can’t be that bad.’ Rindou watches as the bartender sets down a jug of iced water and two glasses, backing up when Rindou shoots him a look, bowing profusely. 

He fills a glass, all but thrusting it into his Brother’s hands and Ran doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the action when his hands itch for something dark and strong, and the pounding in his head tells him it can only be lulled by more alcohol.

‘It was bad Rin, don’t think we’ve ever fought like that before.’

It was new and it was ugly and the feelings are still fresh this many hours later as Ran drowns his anxieties for the umpteenth time tonight. 

 It’s not as if the two of you hadn’t fought before. At the beginning, your relationship was fraught with hushed arguments, vitriolic whispers that caught in your throat, words said without meaning, anger and bitterness and negligence thrown back and forth, a sharp word here and there that turned into something else entirely.  Sometimes, not very often, he would say something that cut you, a clean slice through the tendon of your heart, and you’d wonder at what manner of love you had for him that had you constantly crawling back, sniffling down the line as you both whispered your apologies to each other. 

It always ended in love, with you against his chest, your feelings for him, that of tenderness, the need to protect him renewed when he kissed you again and again and again, fervently, desperately, his lips latched onto your neck as you hoisted your legs around his waist.

‘So?’ Rindou fills his own glass and gestures with a hand, tilting his head as Ran curls around his glass of water, an injured animal hunched and hurt, his back and shoulders heavy with an invisible burden.

‘I cancelled our date,’ he starts and his eyes flick to the ceiling. The elaborate and ornate decor seems a mockery right now, and he can practically feel the desperation leaking from his skin. ‘You know how Mikey’s been on my ass lately,’ he says and his eyes move to his boss seated in a booth with his eyes closed, hair fanning the bridge of his nose. 

The spark of his anger had started small, a flickering flame. You’d huffed and his ears had prickled at the sound and he’d raised his eyebrows as you crossed your arms, glaring at him as he shrugged on his jacket. 

And the minute the complaint had left your lips Ran’s hackles had risen and the flare of his temper had sparked to life and you had cried, left sopping wet stains on the corner of your sleeve as you threw the insults back and forth. What hurt more, you couldn’t tell- the complaint itself or the fact that your complaints had been met by the domineering force of his viciousness, the wall that had slammed down on your voice when he glared, his lavender eyes swirling with rage. Rage at you. 

You’d learned somewhat, to accept that part of him. The larger than life part, the fullness of him, as if he swallowed the light in every room, the ruthlessness that came with that, the cutting edge of his words when they bit into you. But this was different and as he’d towered above you, dragging a hand down his face, you knew it was the smallest he had ever made you feel.

‘Okay and then what?’ Rindou refills the glass and pushes it towards his Brother. 

‘She told me she never got to see me, that she was always fighting to have my attention, that she missed me.’ Ran has never felt so humiliated, and the self loathing wraps its hands around his throat, and the guilt and shame is thick in the blood that floods his ears and head.

Rindou winces and sucks in a breath, the crease in his forehead growing larger as Ran takes another long drag of the quickly burning cigarette. 

‘So what did you do?

‘I yelled at her, told her I had enough, that she was selfish, that she was being a spoiled brat when I was working hard for our future.’ Ran feels small as he says this, judged, even though he knows the opposite is true and even now, replaying his words out loud, he knows how harsh and critical they sound and Rindou only drives the point home unintentionally as his lips part and jaw drops open.

‘In those exact words?’

‘Yeah…Yeah in those exact words.’

‘And then you walked out?’

‘Yeah…’ A whisper against the glass, his hands still shaky, slipping on condensation. 

Rindou purses his lips and pauses momentarily. ‘That was bad nii-chan,’ he says, the childish nickname slipping past his lips with ease. ‘Y’know she hates that stuff the most. It must have hurt her.’

Something in him softens watching Ran’s head tip towards his chest, the sad droop of his eyes, the singular strands of hair out of place around his ears, curling towards his forehead. He knows Ran can be brash and iron-handed and sometimes even cruel. 

But he also knows that Ran loves you, and it’s a simple fact in itself. He knows he loves you as the day loves the night and the sun loves the moon enough to share its light. An indisputable unchangeable fact.

‘I know, I’m an idiot.’ Ran lifts his head, setting the glass down and dragging a hand forlornly across his face. He sniffles, and maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his blood, so much of it that his brain is fuzzy and swimming in his head, or maybe it’s the thoughts of you, your broken sob that died when he slammed the door, the hunched figure alone and left staring at the paint as he drove off to drown his sorrows, but he thinks he’s never felt this wretched or consumed by bitterness at himself for damaging something so precious.

‘Yeah no shit Ran, you messed up big time,’ Rindou says. A fact, not a criticism. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Well you’re going home to talk to her right?

Ran’s lips curve into an ‘o’ and he blinks owlishly, his vision hazy. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’ Even as he says it, he knows how cowardly that sounds. That he continues to run from confrontation, from difficult arguments and sullen silences, from the clenched jaws and the eyes misty with tears, that it’s a consequence of constantly treading on eggshells in the life he’s chosen, a life of constantly running.

‘You don’t know if that’s a- are you listening to yourself?’ Rindou is incredulous, his glass suspended in the air as he shakes his head. ‘So what, you’re going to sit here all night?’ He scoffs and blows the wisps of hair kissing his eyebrows from his face.

Ran’s head snaps up, his eyes a harsh deep violent and flaring with anger. ‘So what do I do then?’

‘Go and talk to her, obviously!

It’s Ran’s turn to scoff bitterly, despite the fact that he knows Rindou’s right, that running from this conversation only serves to cut through both of you and prolong the pain. ‘I can’t.’ It’s the most shameful thing he’s ever said, the most pathetic.

Rindou only softens in response and while he could berate him and drive home the point of how clueless he thinks he is, he knows this isn’t the time, that Ran needs both his honesty and his brotherhood, the lifeline that connects them.

‘Nii-chan…’ Rindou swallows and takes a breath, hot and heavy in this cloistered atmosphere. ‘If you’re not going to listen to her or give her what she deserves, then leave her, because she deserves someone who will.’ 

It isn’t laced with hatred, bitterness, jealousy or resentment, and the softness, the low cadence of his Brother’s voice only tells Ran that he is being given a rare truth, that Rindou wouldn’t say it if he didn’t care. As pathetic as he feels, with anger and tension and cynicism rolling in waves under his skin, he understands the gravity of what he is being given, the weight of what the consequences are. 

The thought itself however, is practically inconceivable. It’s another irrefutable fact that  you have made him the man he is, at least to him. You have chased away the days spent tossing in a cold bed, sheets wrinkled as he turned in his sleep, nightmares hooking claws into his back. You tore down those walls he had so painstakingly built as a nest around himself, believing he could never be hurt if he never loved.

Ran closes his eyes and his clenched jaw is a knife simmering on the precipice. 

‘And if she doesn’t want to listen?’

Rindou shrugs. ‘Then listen to her instead,’ he says, as if it’s the simplest concept. ‘And don’t get angry if she tells you things you don’t want to hear.’ She only does it because she loves you, he adds as a mental afterthought, a fact that he knows from experience and one he took too long to come to terms with.

Ran nods, his eyes fixed on a speck on the mahogany table and Rindou only hopes his words aren’t floating into the ether, that Ran’s addled state still allows him to grasp the gravity of them.

‘I’ll try.’ The words come out broken and cracked, his voice hitching as the breath forms a lump in his throat.

Rindou pats his Brother on the back. ‘Relationships are all about communication but it stands for nothing if there’s no comprehension involved too,’ he says. ‘It’s all well and good saying you want to talk to each other but are the both of you willing to listen? That’s what matters.’

A strange sense of pride tickles Ran’s chest as Rindou speaks. Pride in his Brother, in the way he raised him, in the way Rindou snatched a life worth living in a lifestyle that was less so and refused to allow it to break his spirit completely. Ran makes fun of him yeah sure, for the fact that Rindou is so homely and soft, tender and caring and embarrassed to hear it, but he’s also proud beyond belief, that Rindou had found something he loved so completely, or someone rather. Something that was so directly in contrast to the vicious and violent Brother he knew, raised and watched crack bones on a daily basis.

Underneath that pride comes the tendrils of love for you, the shame at having walked out on you when you had tried to talk to him, the renewed hope that perhaps he can fix his own mistake.

For the first time that night, Ran allows himself to roll the tension from his shoulder, his neck prickling as the coil of anxiety dissipates a little through the soles of his feet. He downs a full glass of ice water, the sharp sting a welcome sensation against the murkiness of his head. He winces as the cold rushes down his chest, cools the pulse of anxiety simmering in his belly.

‘How come you’re so good at this relationship stuff?’ 

Rindou chuckles and the faint warmth kissing his cheeks tickles the base of his neck as he hangs his head ‘It’s just experience. I had to work through this too, remember?’

Ran can’t help but smirk knowingly as the heat prickling his skin begins to ebb, leaving behind a strange tranquillity and it’s the calmest he’s felt all night since he slammed the front door. He knows he has a lot to make up for, that you’ve every right not to take him back, but he hopes the vigour of his efforts when he returns home will be enough to assuage the anger you no doubt have for him.

‘How is she?’ Ran asks, if only just to see the wistfulness in his Brother’s gaze, the glaze of his eyes when he stares at the glass in front of him, trying and failing to pull back the smile. 

Rindou’s lips curve into a grin and the tint on his cheeks only grows tenfold. ‘She’s good. You and your girl should come when you get time.’ 

‘And the baby?’ 

‘Also great. Still a little soon to be buying baby things though.’

Rindou smiles sheepishly, his leg bouncing with excitement and Ran basks in the wonderment of Rindou’s happiness, returning the easy smiles, his heart settling back in his chest. Perhaps it’s because they’re older now, no longer so naive and arrogant and flighty, consumed by distaste for the world around them, but they no longer find themselves retorting with quips wrapped in jealousy, with anger or bitterness. Things are easy between them and when they glance at each other in that unspoken way that siblings often do, it is always with love and brotherhood, memories of running through alleyways laughing as the rain comes down in droves.

As Rindou babbles about his wife and the baby soon to come, Ran’s mind drifts. He thinks of you, of your belly swelling with his child, of your quick smiles, the lazy Sunday mornings under the covers, him tracing patterns on the sliver of skin under your collarbones, his thumb brushing over the hollow in your throat. He thinks of all he stands to lose if he can’t fix his own mistakes.

Haitani Ran knows he is not a good person, he doesn’t expect to be called one. He knows he has the ability to be callous, pretentious, even downright selfish and he knows that the less than savoury aspects of who he is flare to the surface at the worst of times, that he bites at you, makes you cry. Domineering and cruel and unrelenting. 

But he also knows another indisputable fact. That he loves you, that he’d walk barefoot in the desert, the hot sand licking at his heels just for a glimpse of you in a mirage, that he, the unredeemable, is redeemed by the two people who love him the most despite his severity. 

And you, you love him too. You know you’ve forgiven him already, that the sharp and jagged edges of his cutting words have softened now and all you want is to bury your head on the smooth planes of his chest, your hand on his stomach as it flexes underneath you. You wonder if you can keep going like that, arguing and making up, the constant back and forth, torn between love and anger. For him, you would bear it all, the full force of his will. 

‘Ran?’ Rindou’s voice tears him from his thoughts and he shakes his head as the alcohol begins to loosen its grip on him.

‘Hm? Sorry, what did you say?’ 

‘I said, shall we go? I’ll drive you home.’ Rindou is already shrugging his jacket back on, leaning back to down the rest of his ice water. He looks at Ran expectantly, his clear violet eyes flashing under the sickly artificial lights.

‘Yeah…yeah let’s go.’ Ran stands and as he slips into Rindou’s car, he thinks again of your hair against his chin, your lips on his, needy and tender all at once, the way your teeth graze against his tattoo and his stomach jumps with the sensation it sends across his skin. He thinks of his hand tilting your chin up, kissing the sharp point of your lips, your pout that only makes him laugh fondly.

And as Rindou drives, he finds for the first time tonight that he is less scared and anxious about returning home, that instead he can only count the seconds till he can press his mouth to your neck, hear your giggle as you swat at him. 

You are his, and he is yours, and that is the way he likes it. 

a/n: happy birthday to my darling <3

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick

[fuedalreesespieces]

i beg of you

Summary:

“Inuyasha?” she breathed.

His expression grew even more startled. “H-how do you know my name?” Before she could respond, he tried to dart past her legs, but she stepped in his view before he could. “Move it, lady! Or else I’ll-”

“-tear me apart with your claws, yes, yes, but answer me this...” she looked him in the eyes, resisting the urge to wipe the dirt off his cheeks, to sit him in her lap and give his hair a good, long brush. Her voice came out shaky. “How old are you?”

“The hell kinda question is that?” he spat. “Let me go, you crazy miko!”

or: a twelve year old inuyasha collides with post-canon kagome.

read full fic on ao3!

[this is an inukag snippet from the fic that I like, though the majority of the fic is focused on things other than romance...such as time travel hijinks]

.

.

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The morning atmosphere was viscous enough to sink into forever - coverlets over his shoulders, the lilting sweetness of the porch-side flowers tickling his nose; sunlight streaming in through the window, painting his wife’s naked shoulder in buttery tones. Somewhere in the distance, the villagers were waking up, but within the confines of their hut, the air was crystallized and still - a painting awaiting life. 

In the fog of his mind, an irritating voice that sounded like Miroku cheekily reminded him that they had a demon extermination later that afternoon, and that he ought to get off his ass.  

“Damn him,” Inuyasha mumbled, sliding a hand down his face. Beside him, Kagome stirred. 

“Talking about other men in bed, anata?” she teased, leaning up on her elbows and yawning. She turned to face him, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Hell,” he breathed out, repressing a grin, “where do you get your ideas, woman?” 

She let out an airy laugh, subdued by the sleepy slur in her speech. “And good morning to you, too,” she greeted, just as he craned his neck to meet her lips. 

During their three years apart, he’d dreamt of this moment a thousand times, and each time it was a little different. In some dreams, she would laugh before she kissed him, as though her every breath consisted only of joy. In others they were quiet, letting their kisses speak for themselves, allowing their hands to write scrawling, unsaid messages onto their skin. 

Fragments of those dreams would make their way into their real exchanges, but it was never the same. Her laugh was as genuine as the sunlight dancing across her collarbone, her smile just as radiant, and when she crawled into his embrace and leaned up to look at him, he knew this was no dream – it was home. 

He’d dreamt of homes before, back when he’d traversed the forest and claimed small caves nightly as temporary roosts. He’d dreamt of walls around him to trap the warmth that escaped so often from his vicinity; he’d dreamt of solid wood beneath his wary feet. 

But many things encompassed his definition of home now: waking up next to his lover, his best friend. Watching her pickle vegetables and mutter foreign songs under her breath. Hearing her curse awkwardly as she fell in a heap in their garden while trying to pull out stubborn weeds. Laying their meager clothes out on a line and coyly flicking each other with the soapy suds of water left in the wash tub. Exchanging bits of village gossip over lunch while they made up stories about wandering vagrants passing through the street. 

Home wasn’t as simple as having a constant fire in the pit, not without her there, struggling to start it herself. 

Every conversation they shared, from the menial, monosyllabic ones, to the ones that spun out like thread from a spool and spilled over into the following days, was the act of returning home. Before her, he’d never known one could maintain a conversation that long, or that he had so much to say.  

But he supposed she answered both of those questions. It was only with Kagome that could talk endlessly with, and it was only her that he could sit in serene silence with, and it was only her that gave him the temptation to ignore all his duties and stay under the coverlets forever, kissing her numb. 

Not that she, of course, ever let him get away with doing something like that – most of the time. “I thought you had a demon exorcism today?” She pulled away from their kiss to rest her chin on his chest, eyeing him questioningly.  

“Some offshoot village by the mountains,” he told her. “Damn, I forgot about that. Miroku’s probably ready by now.” 

“Then you have to hurry, Inuyasha! I’ll make you something to take with you while you get dressed.” Her eyebrows drew forward in thought. “I’m sure we have onigiri...somewhere.” 

“Any pickles?” 

She rolled her eyes. “You and your pickles.” 

“I can’t help it,” he said, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “You make them so well.” 

“A toddler could pickle food,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed a smile. He’d never been the type for empty flattery, and his blunt nature was the main driving force behind the quick improvement of her cooking skills - not that they had been bad to begin with. His obsession with the acrid taste of pickles was unexplainable, though, especially considering how acute his sense of taste was. Not that he particularly cared, because her pickles were, quite possibly, the shit. 

They made their way out of the bedroom and into the rest of the house. He’d built the place thinking of her, and many of its assets were inspired by the way she lived in the modern era, especially the bathing tub. He still remembered the exhausting market day he and Miroku had spent trying to find a wash tub suitable enough for human bathing, only for their search to grow convoluted as every other vendor declared that they had a larger tub than their competitors.  

It was all worth it, though, when he saw her walk past the reed mat in the evenings, drop her empty herb basket on the floor, and declare herself deserving of a nice, hot bath. She never played around with them, either, taking her time as she sang songs in a language he’d never heard of ��� English , she called it – and let him massage the stress out of her scalp and shoulders.  

Kagome tied up some onigiri in a cloth pouch while he put on his suikan. Holding back the reed mat, he saw a few men with shovels tossed over their backs talking in a secretive fashion as they made their way to the fields; children accompanying their mothers with heaving pails of stream water. From this vantage point, he could glimpse Miroku walking up the hill, the tinkling of shakujo rings announcing his impending arrival. 

“Here you go,” Kagome placed a cloth package in his hands. “Onigiri, a bamboo flask, a bit of fish-” 

“Pickles?” he asked hopefully. 

“-and your pickles,” she finished with an amused snort. “You know, my mother used to tell me if you ate too many pickles, you’d get all filled up with gas and float away, like a balloon.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “I just made it up. But you’d make a cute balloon.” 

“Cheeky woman,” he muttered. “You goin’ over to Sango’s for breakfast?” 

“After I finish up the washing, yeah. And I have to clean up the tub since I didn’t do it last night. I’ll have to go say hello to Kaede-sama, of course, and while I’m there I’ll go check on those herbs in the storehouse I kept for tinctures-” 

“Kagome,” he cut in, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Breakfast?” 

“Breakfast,” she agreed, blushing.  

He arched an unconvinced eyebrow. He knew she liked the business of it all, and though there were moments where his wife simply didn’t feel up to it, her work was everything to her. It was worrying that sometimes she would simply forget to eat, too engrossed in her herbalist training and miko duties to remember that she had her own needs, but that was what he was there for – to remind her, and, if necessary, drag her from that damn shack near Kaede’s that reeked of a thousand different herbs and fix her a good meal. 

Now, if she would remember to do it on her own for next few days of his absence, that would be a miracle. 

“Do you want me to make you somethin’ real quick?” he asked, already facing the river. “I could fetch some water to steam rice with.” 

“I’ll be fine, Inuyasha,” she reassured, pressing his clawed hands between hers. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss Sango’s stew for the world.” 

“As would I, but duty calls, I’m afraid,” chimed a familiar voice from outside the house. The tell-tale scent of incense met Inuyasha’s nose – Miroku had just left the temple, it seemed. “Are you two decent?” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Are you ever?” 

“Now, now, my friend. Let’s not go there.” 

Kagome smiled and swept the mat aside. “Do you want something to eat, too, Miroku-kun? I’ve got some onigiri and fish.” 

“If we wait any longer, it may take longer than anticipated to reach our destination, so I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Miroku lamented. “Shall we head out, Inuyasha?” 

As usual, he carried nothing on his person, used to living off the land (the more appropriate term being stealing ) when it came to his travels. It was one of the qualities that made him such a good partner in the business – both he and Inuyasha had been vagrants for lengthy periods of their lives, so they made good time when on their missions. 

Regardless, Inuyasha didn’t particularly enjoy leaving his wife alone for so long. He knew she could take care of herself, but it didn’t change the fear that snagged him by the heart whenever he returned home; the way his shoulders would sink with relief when he saw golden firelight seeping out of their hut and the scent of something cooking over charring wood. 

He knew she could take care of herself – hell, he’d often come back to stories of her killing rogue demons, stories that had gone through the rumor mill and came out transformed into wild anecdotes she’d entertain him with over dinner. He was aware of her strength and precision. She'd refined her skill over the years, if the archery targets in the forest were any indication.  

But Inuyasha had lived with the knowledge that she was almost certainly safe in her world during those three years, and that hadn’t done a damn thing to ease his worry. If anything, it was a reminder of just how easy it was for the one good thing in his life to disappear.  

“Inuyasha?” came Kagome’s voice. She cocked her head. “Are you okay?” 

“’m fine,” he grunted. “Just waitin’ to get a move-on.” 

“Such a hurry,” she tutted, patting his chest, where the cloth of food rested in the folds of his suikan. Her head rested against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry about me, Inuyasha. I’ll be okay. I’ll head straight to Sango’s after you leave.” 

“Good,” he affirmed. “You ought to eat somethin.’ Don’t think I didn’t see you skip dinner last night.” 

“You were sleeping!” 

“I ain’t ever in a sleep deep enough for you to feel guilty about interrupting it.” 

“Hey,” she huffed. “You’re changing the subject.” Kagome met his gaze, hands rising to settle on either side of his face. Her thumbs caressed his cheekbones, her touch soft and reverent. “I promise to be safe, ‘kay? I’ve got my bow with me at all times.” She pecked his lips. “I won’t go and get myself eaten up by a demon. I’d leave you a note if that happened, though.” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” he warned, squeezing her waist. She laughed and kissed him again, pulling away only when they ran out of breath to share. “Do somethin’ boring like...laundry. Keep yourself out of trouble.” 

“What if there’s a demon catfish in the river?” she asked innocently. 

“Woman,” he said, staring her right in the eye, “I expect you to shoot the damn thing and have it for dinner.” 

[nuagederose]

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Five: 6th Avenue Heartache

Christine’s heart soared as she and Alex strode on out to the wide open street before them after their lunch: the clouds gathered around the halo of the sun but the day could not be brighter. He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and showed her a sweet little smile.

“That was perfect, wasn’t it?” he asked her.

“It could not have been more perfect!” she declared.

He ran his fingers through his black hair and cleared his throat.

“Not to mention, that food just absolutely hit the spot this time around,” he continued. “I don’t know why, either.”

She resisted the urge to tell him that it was because he had paid for it instead of her, and she knew that she would have to find a way to give him a piece of pie as well, given they hadn’t had that, either. He stood next to her and beamed down at her: his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose a bit to show off his deep-set bright blue eyes to her, lined with those thick dark eyebrows. He looked as though he wanted to tell her a secret of some kind.

“I have time by the way,” she told him.

“I would hope that you do,” he said with a sly little smirk on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, Christine saw Nelly making her way over to the door on the far side of the room, right behind him, as if she was about to stalk the two of them. She hoped that she wouldn’t, just so Nelly wouldn’t have to put herself up to a situation like that. She and Alex descended the stairs before them down to the sidewalk: the clouds overhead swirled around and changed between light and dark tones, and it was hard to say if more rain was upon them.

She returned her gaze to the street before them, and she expected to see the doors to the cafeteria open for Nelly to step on out, but she never did. Alex tucked his hands into his jean pockets, and he let his satisfied belly hang forth over his black leather belt. Christine pursed her lips together at the sight of him, and she resisted the urge to do something about it. His shirt hugged his body and accentuated the full shape of his waist. She imagined herself touching him there at some point: there was nothing that should hold her back when she thought about it. Absolutely nothing.

Christine shivered under her long green jacket and adjusted her grip on the strap of her bag. Though it wasn’t cold out, she still shuddered at the thought of him being in the arms of another woman. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about the thought of him not by her side all the time that only made her want him all for herself. It was a thought that lingered in the back of her mind, and more so when he spoke again.

“What’s on your mind at the moment?”

“I really have no clue what I want to do in life, Alex,” she confessed to him. “I don’t know what I want to do, I don’t know what I want, period. And it’s hard for me to set goals, too.”

“You know, if it’s any comfort to you, Christine, I don’t know what I want out of life, either. Except for maybe ‘peace of mind’ but that’s about it.”

“I just think about how there’s this constant feeling of having to pick choose a career and staying with it for decades, and yet—there’s just so much that I like, between playing around with clay and doing art. There’s a huge part of me that just doesn’t want to do only one thing, whereas I feel immense pressure to choose.”

“Again, if it’s any comfort, I feel the same way, too. I started out playing guitar, playing rock n roll guitar, and then I got bored with it and expanded with it. Some days I feel so limited with it, and other days, it’s like the sky is the limit.”

“Is that why you teach?”

“Nah, I teach because it’s fun and it’s yet another thing I’ve always wanted to do. When I sub, I don’t just want to limit myself to Mr. Hansen’s class, as much as I like you guys. Sometimes I do literature classes, and this week, I’m going to substitute for chemistry.”

“Ooh, that should be fun,” she said.

“I dunno,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “It’s second-year chemistry so, talk about out of my wheelhouse.”

“Thinking I’ll try out chemistry for the winter quarter,” she told him. “Just to see how it fares with me.”

He showed her a thoughtful look. “You really are something else, my dear Christine,” he remarked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really think so, to be honest,” she confessed to him. “I suffered as a teenager, and I spent most of my twenties baffled and trying to get a grip on life. I feel the entire adult world laughing at me.”

She turned her attention back to him and the thoughtful look plastered across his face.

“Sometimes I just feel like I don’t belong in the world,” she continued. “Not me, not my body…” Her voice trailed off.

“Something tells me you made some U-turns in life,” he finally said.

“I have,” she told him. “When I was in high school, I thought I would have studied abroad and moved to Italy by the time I was the age I am now. It was such a lofty goal that I look back and ask myself, ‘what the fuck was I thinking?’”

“You dreamed big,” he said. “It’s like when you’re a kid and you dream of being a rockstar or something: somewhere along the way, you get a reality check and you feel the kid in you crying because you realize that life isn’t fair. It’s why so many people give up on their childhood dreams and become boring, stale adults. You seem reluctant to become another boring adult, though.”

“I do?”

“Oh, yeah. The fact that you’re willing to try out new things like play around with clay or study dangerous chemicals tells me that you’re curious about life. You don’t see that with people your age. People your age have settled. You know, they get married, they move to plain old houses up in Westchester or on Long Island and that’s it. The fact you’re here in the heart of the City tells me that you’re always curious.”

“Like a child,” she followed along.

“Just like a young child,” he echoed her. He brought a hand up to his mouth, and then he slid it down onto his chest and down onto his belly. “Next time we should totally have pie again.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a little smile and a glance down at his hand there on his full, round waist.

“I should invite you to come see my trio at some point,” he told her.

“A trio? What kind of trio?”

“Jazz.”

“You play in a jazz trio?” She showed him a little grin.

“Not just any old jazz trio,” he told her, “mine. The Alex Skolnick Trio. We play around town, and sometimes when I’m not subbing, we’ll go overseas.”

“Wow, you’re like Superman,” she remarked, to which he chuckled.

“Nah, I’m just a guy who does what he does,” he assured her. “I don’t want to be remembered as jazz guitarist or metal guitarist or anything like that. Just a guy who plays and learns new things every day.”

“You should play something metal the next time you sub for Mr. Hansen’s class,” she suggested.

“Whip out some kind of loud, screaming thing that wakes up the whole entire school,” he followed along with a hearty chuckle and a nudge of his hair away from his face.

“We are actually going to touch on rock n roll at some point during the class, though,” she pointed out with a slight snicker. “It’d be cool if you subbed for us at that point.” She glanced over at him again and the fact that he never moved his hand away from his waist. He glanced over at her right as the sun broke out of the clouds.

“You sure are touching your tummy a lot,” she pointed out to him.

“It feels really good in here,” he answered with a gentle pat. “Very warm, almost tender. Like I said, it hit the spot.” He then nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more. “What’s that lunch lady’s name in there?”

“Vanessa,” she replied.

“Vanessa! Yeah, she knows how to make something good, even if it isn’t all that healthy.”

“Oh, you,” she teased him.

“What?”

“So anal about your health,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Anal?” He laughed at that.

“Yes! You are so anal about it.”

“I want to be around for a long time,” he told her with a little smile on his handsome face. “The fact you used the word ‘anal’, though.”

“A teacher with a sense of humor is a good teacher, no matter what the subject,” she pointed out.

They reached the corner, and he turned to her. “So, I have to head on back to the other side of the school to where the adjuncts meet at,” he told her. “I don’t know what your time slots are like for today, but I can walk you to your next class if you’d like me to.”

“That is so sweet,” she said in a soft enough voice for him to hear over the noise from the street. “But I’m right over here, though. I don’t want you to be late.”

He kept the smile on his face: the hazy sun reflected on the black rims of his glasses to where they resembled fire opals.

“You’re too kind,” he said. “I want to meet up with you again, though. Not necessarily after school, but I do like hanging out with you, though.”

“Yeah, we should,” she replied with a little tilt of her head, and yet she had no idea as to what to tack on next to that. She could feel a little something inside of her at the sight of him before her, a light tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach and down into her belly and her hips. It was as if she had known him for quite some time, even though she had only seen him over the course of two weeks. “We should.”

He squinted his eyes at her and showed her a thoughtful little smile.

“I’ll see you later, dear Christine,” he told her, and then he doubled back up the pavement to the doors of the cafeteria. She still pictured Nelly coming on out of there to see what was happening between her and him, but she never did surface from there.

But something caught her eye from across the street: three heads of inky black and one of rich red copper. All four of them padded over to her with mischievous looks plastered across their faces.

“Christine and Mr. Skolnick, sittin’ in a tree,” the one brunette, Colette, declared in a singsong voice. Christine rolled her eyes at that.

“What happened?” the redhead asked her.

“Not if you tell me your names first,” Christine insisted as she buttoned up her jacket. The sun was still out through the veil of haze, but their presence gave her a deep chill right in her spine.

“Marlene,” said the redhead.

“Sabrina,” said the brunette with her hair in a bun.

“Valentina,” said the brunette with pigtails: Christine glanced over her neck at the heart-shaped pendant around her neck made of shimmering black tourmaline.

“And you know me as Colette,” said the brunette with her hair down and the white gloves on her hands. She then rubbed her hands together and gestured towards them.

“Alright. Spill us details.”

“Why should I?” Christine scoffed.

“It’s a juicy piece of collegiate lore,” Colette pointed out. “You also promised us.”

“Lore, not gossip?” Christine pressed her hands to her hips.

“Gossip implies we’re going to tell the entire campus,” Marlene explained. “Lore implies that it’s a tale to be passed down for centuries once the two of you are no longer with us.”

“It’s still gossip,” Christine insisted. “And I still can’t say, either.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like we’re going to go around telling everyone here that Christine the quiet girl in Mr. Hansen’s class is fooling around with the substitute teacher,” Sabrina said in a single breath.

“I’m not fooling around with him,” Christine assured her with a shake of her head. “And that’s all I’m going to say about the matter, too.”

“Did you promise him not to tell anyone?” Colette followed up.

“No, I promised Nelly I wouldn’t tell anyone else,” she declared.

“Nelly?” Valentina raised an eyebrow.

“Lunch lady Nelly,” Christine clarified.

“Oh, her!” Marlene declared. “I’d be careful of her if I were you.”

“Why? Because she knows everyone in the school?”

“Exactly, yes!”

“What’s so bad about that?” Christine demanded, curt.

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” Marlene asked her.

“How is that dangerous? If anything, I’d rather have someone within arm’s length who knows everyone’s name rather than someone who is trying to pull my secrets.”

She shook her head and gazed up to the overcast sky.

“Why don’t I just go home?” And she felt a hand on her shoulder right then. She peered back for a glimpse of pigtails right behind her.

“Girl, we’re not going to gossip about you,” Sabrina promised her. “But the four of us have seen the look in his eyes and we’re curious about the two of you. You know, given he’s older and whatnot.” Christine turned around all the way to face the four of them.

“I don’t really know, to be honest,” she confessed. “I don’t know how I feel about him. I don’t really feel all that great talking about it, either. He and I are just lunch buddies at this point. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Marlene assured her with a flutter of her eyes at her. “It’s just… he paid for your lunch and laughed at things you said. You don’t think there’s anything there?”

“No,” Christine replied, still curt. “Why would there be?”

“Now, Mar, if he touches her, then maybe there can be something more there,” Colette pointed out. “But—I don’t think he has, though.” She turned her head to the side a bit as if she recalled something from before. “No, I don’t think he has.”

“He hasn’t,” Christine assured her; she dared not tell either of the four of them about the mystery woman on his phone. She needn’t stir the pot that way, and especially when they seemed so set on herself and him being in some sort of couple unit together, even though she had no intention of this happening. “Trust me. He hasn’t touched me.” She then paused. “And if he has?”

“Then there might be something there,” Colette repeated with a little flick of her hair back from the side of her face. “Even if it’s just a little innocuous touch on the arm. Even if he gently pats you on the back.”

“A light touch for any reason whatsoever,” Marlene added.

Christine sighed through her nose, and she peered over her shoulder to across the street: she spotted Eric under the trees with his long black hair streaked behind him like a Jolly Roger atop the highest mast on the ship. The shadows from the trees over his head washed over his face and shoulders: it seemed as though there was so much on his mind right then.

“I have to go to class,” she told them.

“We do, too,” Sabrina chimed in as she fixed her pigtails, right first followed by the left.

“And we promise not to tell anyone about this, either,” Marlene vowed to her; for a second, she thought that she had flashed her a wink before the four of them headed on back across the pavement to the other school building there.

It was right then Christine began to wonder if there was something more to Alex that he wasn’t telling her. He did smile at her, and Nelly’s plan worked after all as well. Maybe there was something there that she missed.

She yearned to see him again after school, and she wanted to try it out with him. Maybe he did want to touch her, and she had no way of registering that with him. If only there was a way to ask that of him, to suggest his soft touches unto her and without it seeming as though she begged for it from him as well.

She kept on thinking about this over the course of the class period, such that she could hardly pay any attention to the lecture that day. She gazed on at the front of the room with a blank expression on her face and her chin rested in the palm of her hand.

He was such an enigma to her, and to everyone in that school as far as she knew, as well. Those deep eyes hidden behind those bright shiny glasses. That streak of silver at the crown of his head, like the crown jewel of a prince of the land not yet seen.

Christine strode out of the class with her bag over her shoulder and her eyes on the clock as she knew that the bus was coming soon. She bowed out of that building and back across the pavement to the main building. She kept her eyes open for a glimpse down every corridor on the sides of that main artery.

She had no idea as to where the adjuncts met up at, and she had very little time as to find out about it as well.

Alex was nowhere to be seen, and she could only assume that he had already clocked out and headed back home. She sighed through her nose, and she hoped that he would keep his promise to her and they could meet up once again.

She hurried back outside to the bus stop, and there was Eric, as if he waited for her on the next ride home. Two other boys stood next to him, a short slightly stout one with long frizzy dark hair with a part that obscured a part of his face and a tall and slim one with long dark waves that spread over his narrow shoulders.

“Christine, these are my friends, Lou—” Eric gestured to the short one. “—and Greg.” He flashed her a finger gun.

“The strawberry girl,” said Lou.

“Or is it Christine Sixteen?” Greg joked, and Lou laughed.

“I was thinking about having nicknames for one another,” she confessed to Eric.

“We ought to,” he beseeched, and he rested his hand on her arm.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Part 12/50

"Tell me, father, which to ask forgiveness for: what I am, or what I'm not? Tell me, mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I didn't?" - thoughts of a stray iii

Masterlist

Gwen groaned, flicking her hands as blood and sinew splattered on the ground, “I’m covered in Cultist guts.” She glared at Sten who remained as unbothered as always.

“Then you should not have stood so near as I crushed them.” 

“You used the flat side of that war axe on purpose.” Gwen's face scrunched up in disgust as she used a soiled set of clothes to scrub the sticky brain matter that had become tangled in her hair. Despite having taken a bath in Redcliffe three days prior, it seemed like an eternity ago now that her once clean locks were completely ruined - stained many different shades of red and pink.

“Everything I do has a purpose.” 

Gwen didn’t know why she was arguing with him, it was similar to trying to convince a brick wall to let you pass, it wasn’t going to budge no matter how hard you tried to convince it otherwise. “Whatever,” she grumbled under her breath, too tired to argue any further, and headed down to the icy river to attempt to wash some of the gore off of her. 

They’d made it through Haven with brutal efficiency, it helped to have the whole team together. The cultists put up little resistance, no match for their combined strength and skill. In their haste, they had also successfully rescued Brother Genitivi and Darcy had relented to the Elder's pleas to bring him to the Temple that housed the Ashes. Gwen would have left him behind, he was weak and injured and would only slow them down, but she could admit that having an expert along with them wasn’t that horrible of an option. At least it was Sten who was saddled with carrying the old man. 

Gwen's sharp grey eyes darted around the area, searching for any sign of that she wasn’t alone. The mighty roar of the river competed with the lively chorus of crickets hidden among the bushes, creating a symphony of nature that drowned out the distant sounds of her party gathering up the hill. As she looked up, she saw the stars beginning to peek through the vibrant colours of the setting sun, wispy clouds drifting lazily across the sky. It was a serene and tranquil scene, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had erupted just an hour ago. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, a refreshing change from the metallic tang of blood that still lingered in her nostrils.

With a practiced hand, she untied the bandana from around her neck and dipped it into the cold, rushing waters of the river. As she scrubbed at the dried blood that had stained her skin and lips, she winced at the metallic taste on her tongue. Blood was never her favourite flavour and she had tasted it far too often in her line of work. The icy water provided a welcome relief to her overheated body, soothing the cuts and bruises that littered her arms. She longed for a good soak, but with the force of the water, she would have surely been swept away. With a sigh of relief, she pressed the damp cloth against her forehead, feeling the coolness seep into her skin and alleviate the throbbing headache behind her eyes. She had always run warm, a trait that had served her well in many situations, but especially during the cold winter months when she’d been locked in the Chantry’s cellar.

Haven had been the first real battle she had faced since losing control of herself on the road to Redcliffe, and as the acrid scent of blood and guts had bombarded her senses, she had felt a primal urge stirring within her. The Calling had whispered in her mind, tempting her to give in to the darkness that lurked within. She’d managed to hold off, but for how long would that last? It was a terrifying feeling, one that left her trembling with fear and uncertainty. It had given her an unbridled surge of strength and agility, but at what cost? Her sense of self slipped away and she felt like a puppet being controlled by some unseen force. She couldn't help but wonder what would happen once the battle was over and the bloodlust still raged within her. Would she lose herself completely, turning on her allies in a frenzy of uncontrollable hunger? The thought alone sent shivers down her spine.

Gwen splashed the cold, refreshing water over her flushed face and shook herself, trying to clear her mind. Now was not the time to succumb to doubts and fears. She had made it through today, despite the nagging presence of the Calling in her mind. There was no reason to think that she wouldn't be able to control it next time. If there even was a next time. Though deep down, she knew wishful thinking had never gotten her anywhere. The constant pull of the Darkspawn blood within her was like a sharp knife piercing her brain, threatening to take over at any moment. She couldn't let that happen. She had to remember; she may be a monster, but she was not mindless.

Gwen reached into her rugged leather bag and retrieved a spare bandana, its fabric worn and faded from years of use. She carefully tied it in place, the knot secured against her the back of her head. With a satisfied nod, she headed back to the makeshift camp that the rest of the party had set up in her absence. 

The campfire shone brightly as Gwen approached, casting flickering light over the faces of her companions. Leliana was humming a tune under her breath while sharpening her daggers, her red hair glinting in the firelight. Sten sat stoically nearby, his greatsword across his lap as he meditated. Alistair was fixing a broken strap on his armour while Morrigan lounged on a nearby log, flipping through an old tome. Wynne had made her way into her tent, likely with some comment about how her age required her to take more rest than the youngsters she surrounded herself with. Darcy and Zevran were nowhere to be found and she dared not ask.

As the fire crackled and spat embers into the dark night, Gwen settled down next to Alistair in the only open space. He turned to her with furrowed brows. “Are you feeling okay? You were gone for quite some time.”

Gwen shrugged nonchalantly, angling her face away from him. “Just needed some fresh air.”

Alistair’s skepticism lingered in the furrow of his brow but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he gestured towards Sten. “Our Qunari friend here has been telling us about life under the Qun,” he said with a wry smile.

Morrigan let out a scoff at this and rolled her eyes. “I fail to see how it is any different from any other form of control,” she remarked dryly.

Sten’s gaze hardened at this comment and he sat up straighter, ready to defend his beliefs. “Life under the Qun may seem restrictive to outsiders,” he began in his deep voice, “but it brings order and purpose to our people.”

Leliana interjected, her eyes shining in the firelight. “What about love? Can you choose who you love?”

Sten’s expression softened slightly at this question and he hesitated before answering. “Love is not something that the Qun dictates. But it is expected that relationships serve a purpose, whether it be for reproduction or for strengthening alliances."

Morrigan scoffed again and Alistair let out a small laugh. "Well, that certainly takes all the romance out of it," he joked.

Sten's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he frowned at the man, while Leliana quickly interjected to smooth things over. "I'm sure there are many forms of love within the Qunari culture, just like in any other society," she said with a dreamy smile.

Gwen no longer wished to listen to this talk of love. It was not something she would ever be able to experience, at least not love that was reciprocated. It was a bittersweet pain, like a rose pricking her hand as she reached for its beauty. Her heart yearned for love, for a connection that felt as natural as breathing. Alistair’s smile was like a beacon of light, beckoning her to come closer, to open her heart and let love in. But she knew it was a lost cause, an unrequited love that would only leave her with a longing ache. He was a Grey Warden and she was as good as a Darkspawn. It was ridiculous and fantastical to think there could ever be anything between them.

She left the warmth of the fire, setting up her tent and removing her armour, wrinkling her nose when she saw that the back was still covered in gore. She left it outside her tent, unwilling to bring the stench in with her. As the night grew darker and the noise of chatter died down, she could hear the soft sounds of others parting and drifting off to sleep. It wasn’t until a few hours later that she emerged again, hauling a bucket of water from the river and bringing her armour over to the fire. The fire was still burning but had died down to embers, casting a warm glow over Darcy and Alistair who were quietly chatting together. Gwen chose to sit opposite them, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. This put her close to Zevran, who was diligently sharpening his daggers with expert precision. He gave her a welcoming smile when she sat down, before quickly returning his focus to his work. It seemed that sometime during her absence, they had returned from whatever misdeeds they had been engaged in and Darcy had taken on the task of tormenting poor Alistair, if his blush and awkward rubbing of his neck was any indication.

Gwen took a long, refreshing swig of her water, the crisp liquid quenching her thirst as she savoured every drop. As she lowered the canteen, Darcy's voice boomed loudly over the crackling flames, ensuring that his words were heard by everyone in the nearby vicinity as he addressed Alistair. “So you’re a virgin then?” 

Gwen gasped in a lungful of water, her lungs burning with the shock. Her body rebelled against the intrusion and she began to expel the offending liquid through harsh, uncontrollable coughs. Her eyes stung with tears as she struggled to catch her breath. She pressed her face into her sleeve, irritated that her spare bandana was now damp, but unable to voice her displeasure amidst the violent coughing fit. 

“Maker’s Breath, Darcy, must you be so crass?” Alistair admonished, his face turning as red as a tomato. Gwen’s watery gaze flickered to him as her coughing subsided, steadfastly ignoring Darcy’s shit-eating grin he was throwing her way, “Let’s all make fun of poor Alistair and his lack of luck with the ladies.” He rolled his eyes, “The Chantry taught me to be a gentleman and I stick by it, is that so hard to believe? I think it’s important to wait for the right person, it’s supposed to be special.”

“On the contrary, my friend,” Zevran joined the conversation, eagerly abandoning his daggers in favour of his favourite topic, “your chivalry is precisely what I expected.”

Alistair's lips formed a slight frown. "Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?"

Zevran's eyes sparkled as he leaned in closer. "That, my dear Alistair, depends entirely on how you choose to interpret it," he replied with a wink, leaving Alistair even more bewildered by the smooth-talking rogue.

“I, on the other hand, would have thought you’d have bedded many ladies by now,” Darcy quipped, “but then I don’t have as much sense about these sorts of things as you do, Zev.” Darcy smiled wolfishly at the other elf who returned the gesture, making Gwen feel like she was intruding on something private. Though, at this point, everyone in their party had heard the lewd noises coming from their tent at night, there was very little privacy left about their relationship

Gwen snorted, locking away the multitude of questions flitting through her mind; what sort of woman was Alistair looking for? Was he holding out for some great love, someone who rivalled him in beauty, kindness, and strength? Would someone like her ever stand a chance if he had yet to find someone he would deem as the right person? When Darcy’s head swivelled towards her with a predatory glint in his eyes, she deeply regretted having made any noise at all. 

“Care to offer your opinion, Gwen?”

Gwen squinted at him, what was he playing at? “I fail to see how it is any of my business, or yours, for that matter.” 

“Thank the Maker I’m not the only sensible one here.” Alistair's honeyed eyes met Gwen's and he flashed her a grateful smile. A warmth spread through her cheeks, causing them to flush with colour. She couldn't help but feel pleased by his attention, even though she knew he didn't notice the effect he had on her. But as she glanced over at Darcy, she could see that he had caught the exchange between her and Alistair, much to her dismay.

“Oh come now, Gwennie,” She really hated that nickname, “Tell me you don’t think Alistair is handsome enough to have found at least one woman willing to sleep with him?” 

Alistair made a strangled noise and Gwen struggled not to do the same. She longed for the coughing fit, at least then she wouldn’t have to answer any of Darcy’s stupid questions. She couldn’t brush them off without seeming suspicious either and eliciting more probing. She tugged her bandana up to cover as much of her cheeks as she could, “Maybe he’d have better luck if he wasn’t weighed down by your ugly mug all the time.” 

Darcy barked a laugh, “Ooh, Gwennie has some bite to her, I like it.” He leaned forward, a playful smirk adorning his angular face. He knew he was attractive, and Gwen could admit as much, but she refused to answer that question. 

“Now I want to know,” Darcy continued eyes glistening with evil intent, or at least that was how Gwen felt about it, “have you found a special someone to get lost in the sheets with yet?”

Gwen wanted to be anywhere but here, “Do they have to be special?” 

Darcy hummed in consideration, “No, I suppose not.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to Alistair who was staring at the fire with such intent that Gwen worried he may actually hurt his eyes, his cheeks flushed a bright, rosy pink. Darcy had offended his delicate Chantry-raised sensibilities. She was relieved and at the same time dismayed that he wasn’t showing more interest. 

She returned her gaze to Darcy and straightened her back, “Then I think you know the answer to your question.” 

Darcy blinked in surprise, “So you do take off your mask then.” 

Gwen hadn’t been expecting that, but supposed it was the natural conclusion. Alistair had abandoned his love affair with the flames to instead look at her with brimming curiosity and something more intense she couldn’t place in the wide cast of his eyes. If Darcy insisted on trying to humiliate her, then the least she could do was fight back, “I was a guard in a brothel for a while, I am well aware of ways to complete the act without the use of one’s face.” 

Darcy howled with laughter and Gwen failed to see what was so funny. Alistair’s jaw had dropped and his eyes were the size of saucers. Zevran was looking at her with a new appreciation and she shrugged, “They preferred female guards. The work was easy and the pay was good, I enjoyed working there.”

Darcy put his chin in his hands, his elbows propped up on his knees, looking like the most mischievous flower she had ever seen, “I bet you did. Is that where you learned to fight?”

Gwen rolled her eyes, “No, I was well aware of how to fight by then.” She’d had to learn quickly, watching the wild animals as they tussled, their claws tearing each other apart. She would have been next if she hadn’t stolen a pair of knives from a farmer’s wife when she wasn’t looking. They were better than the sharpened rocks she’d been using during her time in the woods, when she’d first run from the Chantry. She’d stayed in caves surrounding Orzammar for some time, and she’d had to fight off many other animals who had wished for her shelter. She’d been half-feral in those days, still barely more than a child, but she had eventually made her way to civilization, stolen her first bandana and picked up odd jobs for years. The brothel had been one of many.

“There are many ways to provide pleasure with just your body, perhaps you’d be willing to teach our poor, innocent Alistair some of your skills.” Zevran knew exactly what he was doing, and revelled in how Alistair spluttered as his brain seemed to fall to pieces at such a ridiculous suggestion. 

Gwen glowered, her chest constricting painfully. The pressure in her ribcage felt like a vice, squeezing her heart and lungs until she struggled to breathe. Like Alistair would ever want to do that with her. His spluttering could easily have been due to disgust as well as embarrassment over such a horrible suggestion, and he hadn’t even seen her face yet. Darcy had, and yet he still laughed along with Zevran like it wasn’t something so far out of her reach, so ludicrous. Her cheeks burned with shame as she thought about how she had treated Alistair with disinterest for most of the time she had known him. Why would he ever be interested in someone like her? And even if he was, he wasn't the type to sleep with someone just for the sake of it, as he had just stated. He’d want to see her face, and if she showed him, he’d be horrified he’d ever considered being with her in that way and run her through with his sword, and not in a good way. 

Gwen forced herself to roll her eyes as though she wasn’t stewing in her own self-hatred, “And this is where I leave this conversation, if you could even call it that.”

Gwen stood up, her armour could wait until morning. 

Darcy’s face fell, perhaps realizing his mistake, and Gwen wanted to claw out his eyes to avoid the pity swimming in them. She didn’t need his pity.

“Gwen, wait, I’m-“ 

“Goodnight, Darcy.” Gwen cut him off with a hiss, the venom lacing her tone shutting him up abruptly, and she made a quick exit to her tent. 

“You Fereldens are so sensitive when it comes to matters of the flesh,” Zevran said, loud enough that Gwen could hear him over the canvas of her tent flapping shut behind her. 

“You didn’t need to embarrass her,” Alistair snapped, and Gwen’s heart panged. She wanted to think he was defending her, but it also felt like a rejection, like it was embarrassing to even suggest that she had any shot with him. He’d kept insisting they were friends, but they would never be more than that. Gwen should be thankful to be allowed such a title, but she had always been greedy. It was within her nature to consume, to reach for more than she deserved.

Gwen tuned out the rest of the conversation, she had no need for it. It only served to further her insecurities and she did not need any more ammunition when it came to her inferiority. She was well aware of her standing and it would be best if she could forget about this childish crush she’d developed and go back to her carefully maintained distance. It would only end in pain, as did everything else she had wanted for herself. She was being selfish, wanting this so badly, love wasn’t for creatures like her, and she would do best to remember that. 

Darcy had been relentlessly trying to corner Gwen all morning, his steps quick and determined as they packed up camp and made their way to the temple. But Gwen was a master of evading him, her pace steady and her gaze fixed on the horizon. She wasn't truly angry with Darcy, though his actions had stung like a sharp slap. The real pain came from the reminder that no matter how close she had grown to Alistair, there would always be a limit to what their relationship could become. And with each passing day, her feelings for him seemed to swell and ache within her chest. But she pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they had more pressing matters at hand. There were cultists to destroy and an Urn to find so they could awaken Arl Eamon and save the day - or whatever Darcy's plan entailed once he woke him.

The journey to the Guardian that protected the Urn of Sacred Ashes had been long and treacherous. By the time they arrived, all members of the party were horribly exhausted and bruised, their clothes torn and caked with dirt and sweat. Morrigan and Sten had remained behind to clear the temple of any remaining enemies, their lack of interest in the urn apparent even in their battle tactics.

As they crept through the open expanse leading to the final leg of the temple, Gwen could hardly believe her eyes when the roar of a dragon alerted them to its presence. It slept soundly with its wings wrapped tightly around it, its scales shimmering in the sunlight. She couldn't help but marvel at this majestic creature as they cautiously made their way towards their ultimate goal. Lucy would have been bursting with excitement and wonder at the sight of such a magnificent beast, and Gwen couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt knowing that Lucy would never get to experience it. How she wished Lucy could be here to witness this breathtaking sight with her.

Darcy spoke with the Guardian, an ethereal man who claimed to be one of many in a long line of protectors of Andraste's ashes. The Guardian provided information on the Cultists, their motives, and the history of this place and Gwen found herself quickly tuning it out. Leliana was listening eagerly, Wynne politely stood off to the side, Zevran swept the place to see if there was anything worthwhile to nab, and Alistair had sidled up next to her. Gwen peered up at him, his height exaggerated by his large armour and heavy boots, and he gave her a tentative smile.

“Those cultists were so self-righteous that the Chantry pales in comparison. I’m not sure how much more of their preaching I could take before my head exploded from the sheer level of pageantry.” Alistair spoke with an ease that had Gwen releasing the tension in her shoulders. Having been worried about it being weird between them after last night, she was relieved to find he didn’t immediately bring it up or try to let her down gently. 

“I would not have thought a former Templar would mock the Chantry so openly.” 

“An almost-Templar,” he corrected, “But that training opened my eyes to the inner workings of the Chantry, and I must say I didn’t love what I saw.” Alistair’s broad mouth turned downwards in a contemplative frown.

“Corruption and control?” Gwen offered with a small smile and Alistair chuckled.

“Something like that.”

Before Gwen could think of something else to say to keep the conversation going, the Guardian’s words reached her ears and a cool feeling of unease settled in her gut, making her feel on edge.

“Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy.” The Guardian’s otherworldly voice echoed across the chamber, louder and more commanding than when he had been speaking to Darcy alone. All attention turned to him, “There is suffering in your past - your suffering, and the suffering of others. By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized. You were too late.” 

A cold shiver ran down Gwen's spine, causing her to unconsciously wrap her arms around herself for warmth. Darcy's hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his jaw clenching in frustration. Zevran stalked forward, suspicion etched into every line of his face as he narrowed his eyes at the Guardian. Alistair stepped forward and stood protectively by Darcy's side, a united front. Leliana glanced back and forth between the Guardian and Darcy, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in worry. Wynne, on the other hand, openly glared at the Guardian with disdain. Darcy had never spoken to her about his past, though she was aware that he had grown up in the Alienage in Denerim before being recruited for the Grey Wardens. She had never pried or pushed for more information, content with maintaining a certain level of distance between them. Just as she had hoped he wouldn't ask too many questions about her own past. But whoever this Shianni person was, it was clear that she held a significant place in his heart.

“Tell me, Pilgrim,” the Guardian continued, “did you fail Shianni?” 

“I shouldn’t have let her be taken in the first place, I should have killed Vaughn when I had the chance,” Darcy spat like the words tasted rancid in his mouth. 

“You hold a great deal of responsibility, but it would do you well to remember that you cannot control the actions of others, only your own,” the Guardian advised. Gwen could not see Darcy’s reaction from her position behind the group, but from the rigidness scored into his body, she doubted the wisdom the Guardian offered was being taken well. 

“You are too hard on yourself,” Alistair said gently, his hand coming to rest on Darcy’s rigid arm, “No one’s perfect.” 

Darcy exhaled deeply, “I know, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to do better.” 

As Alistair struggled to find more words of comfort, The Guardian spoke again, “And what of those that follow you?” And turned his attention to the one next in line in this invasive gaze into their inner workings.

“Alistair, Knight and Warden. You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the Battlefield.” From Gwen’s angle, she could see Alistair’s face fall at the mention of his recently lost mentor, “You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died and not him?”

“I…” Alistair hung his head, defeat laying heavy on his shoulders, “If Duncan had been saved and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance, maybe…” He shook his head, unable to find the words to continue. 

“No,” the word was involuntarily ripped out of Gwen’s throat, her legs stumbling forward a step. “How could you say that when you’ve already done so much good?” 

Alistair blinked at her, the grief making way for confusion, “Gwen, I…” However, any words that Alistair had been about to utter were abruptly silenced by the Guardian's piercing gaze. Like a frozen dagger, it fixed on her with an icy coldness that sent shivers down her spine. At that moment, she regretted ever speaking up as her past was suddenly laid bare before the Guardian and her companions. They all turned to face her, their expressions a mix of fear and pity. She took a small step back, feeling like a cornered animal as she desperately searched for an escape route. Could she possibly outrun this formidable foe before it unleashed its words upon her?

“Gwen, the one who fears herself more than she fears the hatred of others.” A wave of nausea washed over Gwen as the Guardian's words sunk in, her stomach churning like a stormy sea. She could feel the colour drain from her face, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed as if he had torn off her bandana and revealed her disfigured features. Like the scars that decorated her body had been exposed, telling the story of the punishments and torment she had received. Clutching her daggers so tightly that her knuckles turned white, she avoided the piercing gaze of the Guardian, unable to meet his judging eyes. Her chest tightened as if being squeezed by an invisible hand, making it hard for her to breathe.

“You believe that you deserve all the suffering and agony inflicted upon you, and you hold yourself responsible for the accident that claimed your friend's life.” He continued and Gwen flinched, a sour taste at the back of her throat, bile threatening to pour into her mouth and choke her. “Do you believe yourself to be a monster due to what you are, or due to what you have done?”

The air was sucked out of her lungs. Gwen would have preferred him to have punched her in the gut, instead, he’d shoved a knife into her heart and twisted. Why did he have to bring her up? It wasn’t an accident, it was her fault, she was to blame, and there was no arguing about it. Lucy was dead and Gwen had been to blame.

Her companion's eyes bore holes into the top of her head, waiting with bated breath to hear her response. She didn’t want their pity, their sympathy. She already knew what Darcy would look like, how he’d looked at her in her dream sequence, his eyes shining with compassion she was not worthy of. He didn’t know what she’d done - what she truly was - she didn’t deserve his tenderness. She didn’t deserve it, she didn’t deserve it, she didn’t deserve–

Gwen lifted her head to glower at The Guardian through her shaggy hair, unclenching her jaw and straightening her shoulders, her lips curled back into a sneer under her bandana. “The answer is both, but you already knew that.”

The Guardian nodded his acknowledgment, “And yet it is neither.” And moved to address Leliana next, but Gwen couldn’t hear what he said over the roaring in her ears as she met Alistair’s wide-eyed gaze. There was so much concern and sympathy plastered across his face, in the slant of his brow, the part of his lips, and the shine of his eyes. She didn’t deserve any of it, but by the Maker did she want it all. She wanted him to care about her, she needed him to, and it terrified her. The last person who had cared had ended up a brutally mangled corpse, and she couldn’t let that happen to Alistair as well. She was a curse, the result of hatred and pain and she would inflict it upon everyone she cared for - even if she didn’t mean to. It was her nature, to cause harm. 

Darcy watched her with a sad smile, a tiredness etched into the lines of his face that spoke of understanding and patience and she couldn’t look at him for fear of seeing what more lurked behind those dark eyes. 

Alistair took a step towards her, arm outstretched, but stopped when she flinched back, dropping his stare in favour of examining her boots. 

Zevran was questioned by the Guardian next, but Gwen was barely paying attention, and Zevran - having witnessed the verbal flaying of his companions - stopped the Guardian before he could complete his question. Wynne did much the same.“The way is open.” The Guardian said, at last, seeming content with the results of his interrogation, “Good luck, and may you find what you seek.” His words were lost on the party, the wounds he’d opened had never fully healed. The smell of regret and bitterness hung heavy in the air and their minds were clouded with regrets and the replaying of all their mistakes, of all their faults. Gwen was starting to wish she’d stayed with Morrigan and Sten, faked an injury or something, anything to get out of that. But it was too late and the damage was done. All she could do was keep her head down, trek forward, and finish this Maker-Forsaken Gauntlet.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the angst and there is plenty more where that came from :) The next chapter will be posted by the end of the week!

[gccdstories]

Kai braces for another, waiting... waiting... But it doesn't come. His breathing is heavy, ragged. His limbs shake, the sliding blood from the mess of marks on his back dripping down. He can feel it, sliding along the lines of his back, slipping down to the floor.

It takes more effort than Kai wants to admit to lift his gaze back up, from where it is focusing on the floor. Sweat covers his forehead, sticks strands of his hair to his skin. His heart races, and it takes far, far too much effort to steady himself again.

Grey eyes meet Kitt, and Kai feels his limbs tremble even more. His hands shake, even as he curls those fingers against his palms-- until he catches himself from falling face-first into the stone floor, hands splayed out.

Kai hasn't looked at Paedyn yet. He needs to summon his strength, to pull himself together just enough to move. To get to her. To make the room cease its spinning, to give him focus enough to stand, to take the steps towards her. Kai tells himself he just has to make it to her, that he can lean on her just enough to get out of there once he does--

But he has to get there first.

Move. Stand up. He urges himself, berates this weakness that is taking far too long to subside. He can't even focus enough to feel the Healer's power under his skin, the Healer that is still holding Paedyn where she is. If he could-- If he could, Kai tries to tell himself he can use that power just enough to take those steps, to get there--

To give him the necessary strength to get his legs under him...

His own blood coats his fingers, his palms, where it had spread on the floor and his hands had gone out to keep him from collapsing face-first into it. He feels the sticky, dark red thickness, seeping under his fingernails.

Kai curls his hands, focuses on the feel of the stone beneath, the texture--anything and everything that might allow him to find that reserve of strength to get up.

He can't let Kitt hurt her, can't let Kitt kill her.

Kai pushes himself up, slowly--ever so slowly. Like each little movement is taking far too much effort, and there's nothing he can grasp to keep steady; the room spins and he shuts his eyes, focusing... focusing... At least in the darkness, he's not dizzy--

He tells himself that's a good thing.

Making it to his feet unsteadily, Kai shuffles a step forward--and stumbles back to his knees, not having anything nearby to reach out, to grab, to keep upright.

Even the anger isn't enough, and he has to take a few more moments... Just a few...

Before Kai exhales a steadying breath, and pushes back to his feet. It might take forever, but he'll get there... he'll get to her.

He has to.

The sounds that fall from from his lips is enough to curdle his stomach, and Kitt is so very aware that this…is history repeating itself. He didn’t think it would get here, but there is no turning back from the man he’s decided to become.

Kitt settles back in the throne, and his eyes remain on Kai. He’s counting, they both know it. He isn’t sure if the brawler is, or anyone else for that matter…but Kitt is. At fifty-one, he holds his hand up. The whip, ready to strike again; falls to the guards side.

Fifty-one.

Until the sounds of the room are roaring in his ears, and he hears Kai’s breath breaking the silence. He wasn’t going to speak, he realized the second he met the other’s gaze. It sets the final harden piece of his heart, and Kitt knows…he is his father’s son in that moment.

He doesn’t speak, instead his eyes flick up to the guard who takes a step back. No one is going to draw attention that he’s given the original amount plus one. Instead, his eyes return to Kai. The second half of the agreement hanging in the air.

He hopes he isn’t strong enough to follow through with it, that he’ll falter and he can do what was originally intended. Paedyn Gray’s death would solve all of this, bring Kai back home. Wouldn’t it? Kitt stills, as if believing that Kai would give up now. He’d proved his point, accepted his punishment…he wants to command him to leave her.

To give Kitt the opportunity to finish her. The thought makes his hands shake, and Kitt folds them in his lap.

“Come and get her” If you can.

[saratogaroadwrites]

Adamantus (12/12)

Adamantus | saratogaroad rating: G+ total wordcount:  15,328 characters: Aulea Lucis Caelum, Regis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ardyn Lucis Caelum relationships: Aulea/Regis, Aulea & Noctis other tags: Mother-Son Relationship, Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence warnings: Character Death Starts The Plot

When Noctis is three years old, Regis takes ill. The doctor tells her that he will recover, that all will be well.

It isn't.

Aulea Lucis Caelum is left to raise a son on her own, knowing that a Kingdom depends on her strength and will to survive.

She will not lose him, too.

=

When Noctis returns home in the dead of night, Aulea is waiting for him. She waits in the courtyard as the airship touches down, waits as the hatch opens and she catches sight of Nyx, of Noctis hobbling down the ramp, and then she waits no longer.

She gathers up her skirts in both hands and runs to her son. It doesn't matter that he's already got three inches on her, he's still her baby, and she takes him into her arms with only the bustle of cloth and a soft sound of surprise from him to speak of her speed.

But then he reaches up with both arms and he clings to her, back bent and legs giving out. She carries them both to the ground, her skirts billowing in the grass, and doesn't care when he starts to sob into her shoulder. She rubs his back, cards her fingers through his hair, and hums a lullaby beneath her breath. He clings tighter still, and she looks up at Nyx when Ardyn does not step up behind the boy he has taken such a shine to. Nyx shakes his head, hands clasped at the small of his back.

"Chancellor Izunia passed away this morning, Majesty," Nyx says softly. Noctis' arms tighten around her. "In the light of the morning sun."

It is done, then. Aulea nods her understanding, then presses a kiss to Noctis' temple. He smells of smoke, of death. His shoulders tremble, his weight leans far too heavily against her for him to be entirely unharmed, but he lives. She looks up at the stars, tears welling in her eyes, and thanks all who listen for that.

She holds her son and lets him cry, heaving sobs that speak of grief she understands far too well. She lets him grieve for as long as he needs, and only when he moves does she pull away to look at his face, his red-lined eyes. He does not look at her, but rather at the ground between them.

"How do you..." He asks her quietly, hands clutching at hers. "How do you move on after you...after..."

He can't finish. Aulea swallows the urge to scoop him into her arms once more. Instead, she tightens her grip on his hands.

"It takes time," She says softly, "But..." To live well is a blessing, she swallows back. Ardyn had been his own brand of oddity, but he had stayed. He had helped her son in ways she would never have been able to. It is because of him that Lucis still stands, even if tensions remain, and it because of him that Noctis has come home. She squeezes his hands until he looks at her with soft blue-grey eyes.

"Never let anyone tell you how much time is enough, Noctis. Not even me. Even I do not get a say in how long this will take."

He makes a sound not unlike a snort and finally squeezes her hands in return.

"Guess you're not queen of everything, huh?"

She scrunches up her nose at him.

"I'm still queen of your bedtime, young man," She begins to stand, and though her back aches, she pulls him with her. Nyx finally steps off the airship. "Now come along--he wouldn't want you mourning him in the grass."

"No," Noctis says with something fond in his eyes as they walk to the bright light of the Citadel's halls together, "He'd want us to get extremely drunk instead."

Drink until dawn and damn the consequences...oh, she's too old for that anymore. But at the least the sun will still rise tomorrow, so perhaps...

"Perhaps a toast instead," She smiles a little. "To a good man indeed."

(In the years that followed the passing of Chancellor Izunia of Lucis, Niflheim would come under fire from within. Led by a young mercenary and her merry band, the reigning giants would be toppled. The new Empress Aranea Highwind would be quick to extend hands of reparation, first to Tenebrae, whose surviving people would return to crown Ravus Nox Fleuret their first King, and then to Lucis. Her lands would be returned to the Queen, and though it would take years, Aranea swore to undo the damage her nation had caused.

When it was all done, when the MTs had been laid to rest and reparations enacted, Aranea undid the Empire and returned it to her people, establishing a democracy.

"People should rule people," she would say when Aulea asked her once, at the former Empress' engagement party to Ignis after years of working together to fix the damage Iedolas had caused, "And I make a lousy Empress anyway. Too used to skewering things."

Nine years later, Aulea would step down from her throne as Queen of Lucis. She would crown her son the reigning King of Lucis, and take her place in the history of the great nation as one who had outwitted Gods and mortals alike. Her portrait would hang upon the walls of the Citadel, nestled between her husband and son. Her last decree, passed into law by King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXV, would be to hang a portrait of Ardyn at the beginning of the line. There it would remain, a memorial to the first, forever more.

Decades hence, surrounded by family of both blood and heart, Aulea Lucis Caelum would pass on into the Beyond, content in the knowledge that the world would be safe for generations to come and unwilling to bargain for more years in the sun.

After all, she had a reunion of her own to get to. And it wouldn't do to keep her beloved waiting any longer.)

[autumnalsteahouse]

— surprise @kingkatsuki <3 I had the amazing honor of being your secret santa this year and may I just say, I’ve actually had this idea ever since we talked about Harry Potter and I was like 👁👁 hold on I bet she forgot so lemme just bring it back. I knew from the start that I wanted it to be a baku fic because……………… duh. but I threw shindou in there because I just felt the need to. get the best of both worlds if you know what I’m saying. anyways! I hope you like it nd have a happy christmas <33

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader ; implied shindou x fem!reader

genre: Harry Potter au! smut <3

word count: + 4.7k

warnings: under the influence (lust spell), LIGHTLY implied cheating… like you’ll have to read in between the lines for that one, improper cleaning of wounds**— but we in magic school so it’s for the plot, a tad bit or oral (m! receiving), bakugou has trouble speaking during the smut — very self indulgent of me I’m so sorry jo—, slight (barely rough) public sex, aftercare is implied.

** please dear god do not rub alcohol on burn wounds, it doesn’t help at all.

a/n: (I feel I shouldn’t have to say this because I would never write for minors but since hogwarts IS a school—) everyone is over 18. this is placed in year 8 for everyone… or better yet, think of hogwarts as college if you will. Think of them as whatever age you’d like AS LONG AS ITS 18 AND UP.

ALSO PLEASE NOTE THIS IS NOT EDITED… but please enjoy regardless!!

It was hard to focus on what you were doing when the obnoxious blonde UA representative was boasting so loudly.

“This is going to be the easiest of the tasks,” he smirked at the reporter, Rita Skeeter, “my… friend is an animagus who happens to be a dragon. I’m basically guaranteed to pass.”

Fiddling with your first aid kit, you urge yourself to focus and make sure everything is there. You had to use it a few after the first challenge, everything was very hectic so you couldn’t quite remember if you had put everything back.

“Hey, don’t worry,” That familiar cool voice comes from behind you, “I know you’re probably super stressed about me but I just want to assure you, I’m going to make it to the next round-- just for you. maybe get banged up a bit just so I could come to see you after.”

Sighing, you turn to face Shindou already knowing you’ll find a sly smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

Green, grey, and black really were his colors, his Slytherin sporting robe making his cunning eyes pop.

Giving him a once over, you scoff, “Yeah okay, but don’t hurt yourself too much. I still need all the… parts… functioning.”

He snorts, “even if the goods are damaged, you would mend them.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Little did you know, ruby-red eyes were set on your smile, scanning over the cute Hogwarts healer in training. There were several of you in the tent, but none had quite struck up Katsuki’s attention quite like you-- one of the only few people in your school that he’s seen with some backbone and a genuine personality. Not trying to do anything but your job… and maybe that prick who approached you.

Sucking at his teeth, he rolls his eyes and begins his stretching.

“Good day champions! gather around! Gather around, make a circle around me.” an excited voice demanded, making every head turn in the tent.

The silver-haired human version of a grandfather clock made his way to the center of the tent, followed by each challenger’s guardian. Once everyone was gathered, he was handed a deep aubergine velvet pouch that was closed tight by one of the others that had followed him into the tent.

Pulling the drawstrings loose, he makes sure to do it slowly, just for the theatrics, then taking a swift look at the person closest to him,

“Well go on then mister Shindou, reach into the bag.”

A slight smirk raises as he looks at you, bound up hand diving into the bag without hesitation.

you had to hold back a chuckle as you heard him hiss at the fizzle of heat that licked his fingers, the phrase, ‘so stupid is all you could think.

A moment later, he pulled out a small green dragon that sat in the palm of his hand, flapping its wings and blowing out small tufts of flames.

“The welsh green!” Dumbledore announced.

Shindou almost seemed pleased with this, keeping his eyes on you as he mouthed, ‘too easy.’

Rolling your eyes was the only thing you could respond with, having a creeping feeling that his cockiness was only going to bite him in the ass.

Going around, the other two champions go to get their dragons.

Durmastrang got the Chinese fireball, a scarlet dragon with a passion for flames.

Which only meant UA was left with the only other dragon… the Hungarian horntail.

Of all the dragons you read up on, that one had to be one of the more dangerous ones in the competition- more so, the most dangerous of all.

As the name suggests, a spiked tail flicked around in Bakugou’s palm, wings almost guarded as the mini version jeered toward him. Those little yellow beady eyes were challenging the spikey blonde, you could even tell from afar. Looking to see the champion’s reaction, only a small rise of surprise bubbled inside you, because Bakugou’s red eyes were staring right back at it, no sense of cockiness was present now. Just concentration, on the dragon and nothing else. You’d even go as far as to say he was studying in a mix of curiosity and determination.

Even if it was just a glance in your direction, you were caught staring and the sudden urge to spew that you didn't mean it like that-- that you were just observing how he was with the dragon-- was overwhelming.

Before you could formulate any sort of rebuttal, the blonde glanced back down, effectively silencing you.

What were you to do? Cause a slight scene just to clarify a minor misinterpreted interaction? No.

“Okay!” Dumbledore claps his hands, “these are all miniature representations of the dragons you will be facing. Each dragon is given a golden egg to protect, and you, as the champion, must retrieve it, for, within the golden egg, there is a vital clue for the next challenge. Without it, you are unable to move on.”

Turning to face the Hogwarts representative, the old wizard smiles, “okay mister Shindou, at the sound of the cann-“

The loudest boom shook the whole tent, the crack from the cannon making you almost feel as though you’ve been shot.

“Yes, well– at the sound of the cannon,” Dumbledore finished, rolling his eyes before looking up at Filch.

The circle dispersed and every other champion went to their corner while Shindou stood at the edge of the exit, trying to swallow any visible nerves.

Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, you inch over to him.

When he realizes you're heading over to him, he clears his throat and attempts to straighten up.

“You know, you’ve got this under control,” you murmured quietly enough so that only Shindou could hear.

You’ve known him long enough to predict his reaction— he’s a very proud man, some may say a little too proud that it borders on the line of cockiness… but you've seen him in action. Underneath all of those layers, he tries his best in everything he does. And right now, even though he might not show it, he needs that reassurance.

“Oh I know, doll. I’ve got this. Madame Pooch didn’t call me one of the fastest flyers for nothing. I’ve gotta live up to my name! And maybe… I’ll get a reward after I’m successful?” He smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Hm… maybe. If I feel like it.” You whisper, throwing a little wink his way before heading back to your station, thinking about the offer.

It really is up to you, you’re well aware that the offer is always there… but you also know that you’re not the only gun in his arsenal.

You sigh as you sit down on the stool next to your kit; now is not the time to be thinking about that. It’s best if you just focus on the first trial; as soon as you properly took your seat, it wasn’t hard to do.

It was almost immediate, how he summoned his broom.

clever.

Watching Shindou soar through the air in such a small stadium was absolutely mesmerizing. All of his movements were sharp and precise, ever so swift. He was really good at leading the dragon to believe one thing when the exact opposite was in the works.

He actually wasn’t in there for too long; It was hard not to smile when he had a clearing, swooping down and snatching up the gleaming golden egg. He made haste to dive right into the exit of the stadium, leaving unscathed.

Good for him.

They’re probably leading him to go rest in the infirmary, where a nurse will check on him before letting him go about the rest of his day.

Another cannon let off, this time, one you were prepared for.

The contestant from Durmastrang stepped out into the open, seeming as though he’d almost fight the dragon by hand.

You were waiting for the moment where he would summon his broomstick, thinking it was the most logical thing to do, only to raise your eyebrows at him casting a sleep spell towards the reptile.

The beast fell with a hard thump, immediate deep snores echoed around the stadium, making it almost way too easy for him to retrieve the egg.

One last player entered the stadium, spikey blonde hair catching your eye.

Bakugou Katsuki.

He walked out as he had already won in such an odd costume- a tight orange X crossed at his chest, black fabric showing off his slim waist, but baggy black almost sweat like pants outlined with a loose green garter that held up at his waist; his stride was not in the obnoxious way you would think.

He strode out, keeping his eyes on the dragon, who was staring at Bakugou with the intent of roasting him like a marshmallow.

There was a moment of silence before he whipped out his wand from his lower garter and pointed it at the winged beast before screaming a curse in another language.

The curse was loud, popping crackles launched from his wand with a hot blinding light that whipped straight into the dragon’s eyes.

Multiple gasps came from the crowd; many in great Britain had never heard such a spell, you for sure didn’t.

The shock continued when not a moment later, the dragon screeched a loud shattering sound before heat licked the whole stadium.

Eyes wide, you watched the angry flames engulf the rocky bottom, every inch of the floor covered in inescapable heat.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the dragon stopped, now preoccupied with getting whatever was in its eye, out.

For the first few seconds, a heavy silence hung in the air- the only things that seemed to be moving were the cloaks of panicked teachers moving in a dash to see if Bakugou was alright.

You were so concentrated on seeing if there was anything moving in the arena, anything at all, that when you did, you screamed out his name.

You didn’t mean to, you really didn’t. It wasn’t professional at all and could have put him in serious danger with the dragon again if you were loud enough; but when you saw the blonde hair, you couldn’t help it. To think you’d witness the death of a person you’ve seen only mere minutes ago- it felt like a reflex.

The champion was limping towards the exit, left arm severely burnt while his right carried the perfectly shiny golden egg. Half of his clothes were burnt off, but he didn’t seem to mind. He had one goal— and that was to successfully leave with the golden egg.

The teachers froze, unable to help, now seeing that he was alright impatiently waiting for him to cross the threshold so they could make sure he was okay.

His guardian, All Might– a tall, toned, slender man, was biting his nails with his gaze glued to his student. It was just then that you, being the healer that you are, should probably meet with madame Pomfrey and head down to do a quick inspection before guiding him to the infirmary.

You were on your way down when you saw the champion in question, wandering the stone halls.

“Uh, excuse me?” you call out in the quiet hall.

He stayed silent and kept walking.

“Bakugou? Bakugou Katsuki?” you try again but it did not change the speed in his pace.

“Hey-”

“Where do you keep your potions?” a gruff voice spoke out.

“I’m sorry?”

“Can’t you hear? I said where are your potions? I’m sporting a pretty bad burn here and I need it to heal before the next task.” he almost growled.

“Well if you would just listen to me instead of continuously walking away, then maybe you’d realize that I’m a healer and could do exactly what you’re looking to do– much better than you alone ever could.” you spew out, seeing red. Who was he to talk to with such an attitude? What was his problem?

That made him stop dead in his tracks, turning to face you with a smug grin, “so healer, where are your potions?”

…

Guiding him back towards the arena, you decided to attempt conversation.

“So… You didn’t think that would happen? I mean fire is a dragon’s number one self-defense mechanism? If you take away its eyesight, fire will be used.”

“I’m not an idiot, of course, I knew that. It was already factored into my plan but the boulder I was behind shifted from the force of the fire. It’s fine. Anyways, You’re a healer assisting this task– so I’m going to assume you know how to sort this out.”

“Well… yeah.”

“Good then, let’s get on with it.”

“Uh, hold on– the school matron has to check you first, and then she’s going to tell me what I need to do for you.”

“Half of my body is burnt… and you need someone to tell you to heal my burns? It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“Yes but–”

“Oh! There you two are!” Madam Pomfrey huffed out, summoning the floating gurney behind her. “Mister Bakugou, please get on this. We’re taking you to the infirmary.”

“I’m not getting on that, I can walk perfectly fine.” he scoffed.

Surprising you, the matron just shrugged, “Suit yourself,” before turning to you, “Please take him to the infirmary and brew up some burn-healing paste as soon as possible and thoroughly rub his wounds with it. Make about 3 kilograms and apply half of that today, I’d say… the rest is for tomorrow morning. Mister Bakugou is in your care from now on.”

“Alright, thank you, Madam.” you bid her adieu.

“Finally.” the rude blonde rolled his eyes.

Sighing, you close your eyes and try to focus on just getting him to bed so you could leave and make the potion.

“You know,” you start, stepping into the path of the infirmary, “for someone who burnt his arm pretty severely, you don’t seem to be in too much pain.”

“Well, I’d think you’d know why princess– since you’re a mediwizard and all.”

You turn to face him but your attention is drawn to his lifted wand. The tip was glowing a deep soothing yellow- warm like a marigold, something you’ve seen very few do.

“You know the torpere curse?”

“I do.”

“Why is a numbing curse something you need to know?”

“Well, if you remember from earlier, my friend is a dragon animagus,” he paused, watching your brows furrow.

So when he was talking to Rita… was he also talking to you?

“Kirishima isn’t allowed to use his flames at school, but he keeps on talking about being manlier and getting stronger… and I can never say no to a fight.”

You snort, then immediately cover your mouth.

Maybe it’d be best if you didn’t entertain the idea.

“And so you learned the curse because…?”

“Because I’m not a walking hospital- I don’t have medical supplies on me everywhere I go.”

“Well, with the constant trouble you seem to get into, it seems like you should.” and with that, you walked a little bit faster towards the hospital wing.

…

It didn’t take long to get everything situated.

Bakugou surprisingly didn’t put up too much of a fight when you told him to get on one of the many pristine white beds, which you’ve chalked up to the curse wearing off and the beginnings of the pain seeping into his nerves.

He chose the farthest bed, the one closest to the large wall-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Black Lake with a thin separator hiding the bed from the rest of the ward.

A good choice, but not one you’d thought he’d make. There weren’t many other people, it was pretty empty actually, so there were more than a few options.

You figured that maybe a few bodies would accumulate after coming back from making the burn-healing paste potion but stepping through the doorway, you found it was just as empty, except for…

“Hey, babe,” Shindou said from behind you.

The shriek that escaped your lips was damn near embarrassing, but that wasn’t anything compared to the fact that you nearly dropped the orange paste.

“Shindou!” you angrily whispered, turning towards him and furrowing your eyebrows.

“Oh don’t do that baby, you’ll get frown lines.” he cooed, raising his hand and running his thumb over your glabella.

Sighing, you look up at him with your best doe eyes, “Yo, I have a patient right now. I’m busy. Can we do this later? You can go hang out with Tatami or something, right?”

He raised his eyebrows, almost looking the slightest bit shocked, but recovered quickly, “but I don’t want to be with her right now. I want to be with you! And besides, I think I deserve my reward after easily getting that egg.”

Trying again, you clench your jaw, “Sure you do, but not right now, and not from me. I have burns to tend to and a cocky blonde to entertain. Just go back to the common room, this ointment isn’t going to rub itself onto that fit body of his.”

You quietly rush past him, head high and slightly annoyed with his inability to take a hint. You didn’t need to turn around to know that he had already left– he wasn’t the type to fight for someone.

When you reached Bakugou’s bed, you froze. The sight in front of you was almost out of a painting, if you moved, no doubt the moment would be ruined.

There was your patient— now shirtless— staring off to the window, dusk accentuating his sharp features with dark shadows. He looked how he did when you saw him observing the miniature dragon, calm, curious– almost lost in his own thoughts. He doesn’t look so explosive in the fading light.

“Fit body of his?” the blonde repeated.

It took you a second, “pardon?” you quipped with a slight head tilt.

Smirking, he says, “You think I’ve got a fit body?”

Moment ruined.

“Oh god.”

“Well I fuckin worked on it, so I’d hope it’s… fit– like you British people say.”

Taking a deep sigh, you go to the left side of the bed and whip out your wand after placing the paste down and picking up the unlit candle.

“Incendio,” with a flick, the flame transferred from your wand to the wick, making a warm pool of light fill the small area.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” you whisper, putting your wand away and moving to the other side of the bed.

“You forgot the medicine over there,” Bakugou annoyingly pointed out.

“I’m aware. Before I use that, we first need to clean and sanitize the area,” you say simply, trying to keep away from any smirk daring to show.

Spotting his jaw clench, you almost let your controlled demeanor slip. He’s been an asshole enough for you to enjoy the fact that this is going to hurt… like a bitch.

He must have read your mind somehow because right as you went to go grab the rubbing alcohol, Bakugou grimaced, “Don't enjoy this too much.”

“I might.”

And you did… but for all the wrong reasons. It was like something within you ticked on, causing a thicker-than-honey grip to ooze around your reasonable brain.

The way his hands gripped the sheets were distracting enough, but the way his neck veins popped as he stretched and clenched sent you through a loop. His pretty eyes were screwed shut in pain. The pearls of sweat that gathered around his temples and rolled down his neck looked so tempting, there was an urge to lick them up. The groans were a force not to be meddled with, you had to stop for a moment; your vision became spotted with dark dots.

“What– are you doing– w-hy did you stop?” he huffed out; terrible wording.

“I uh–” you panted.

“What? Just hurry up and finish already!” he screamed in agony.

“Fuck-” it came out as a whimper and you couldn’t help but focus on how hot your cheeks felt.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?”

The both of you have condensed into heavy breaths, one in pain and one in pleasure; Bakugou really getting the short end of the stick.

“I think– I think I was cursed with that—- that stupid lust spell– everyone’s learning about.” slow breaths coming out uneven.

“That black-haired prick cursed you with kavliaris?”

“I think so– similar symptoms-”

You watched him reach for his wand, “Accio Burn-Heal Paste.” he grimaced.

The ointment flew towards him and he caught it with ease.

Popping the top open with his good arm, you watched him dip his absurdly big fingers through the paste and spread it over the hefty burns, sucking in a sharp breath as his glistening fingers ran over his shoulder and biceps.

His breathing evens out as he repeats the process.

Fuck.

All you could do was sit and watch, feeling your heartbeat trail lower and lower.

“C’mere.”

Everything slowed as your gaze set on him, a faint “what?” leaving your lips in confusion.

“We need to cure this so you can go back to making sure I'm set for the next task.”

“W-hat do you mean?”

“I mean, you need to orgasm. So get over here.”

The demand was simple enough, so why couldn't you move?

All the blood that wasn't throbbing your clit went to your cheeks, your feet were glued to the floor.

“Okay then,” Bakugou impatiently shifted, clumsily pulling you onto his lap.

Repositioning, you spread your legs around his waist and looked down at his bare chest.

He really was fit– not that you hadn't noticed before, but it really wasn't your priority at the time, but now you are beyond thankful.

“Are you– okay with this?”

“More than.”

With a shaky sigh, you strip your pants and panties off, then climb on top of him to slowly start up a rhythmic pace of grinding down; adjusting, and readjusting to find just the right spot, seeing stars when your clit rubbed against a growing stiff bump. Stars erupted behind your eyes as you took in a sharp gasp.

“Oh! fuck-“

“shit—“ Bakugou, who couldn’t take his eyes off you, groaned, head hitting the pillow and slightly twitching beneath you, “ride my dick.”

The command caused a throb to course through your whole body, too heavy of a warmth coursing through your veins to even think of objecting. You wasted no time raising yourself off of him and reaching for the hem of his sweats.

Inching them down, he lifted his hips, and you almost stopped what you were doing to watch his abs contract.

You couldn’t help the small whimper that left your mouth, there was so much you wanted to do— so much you wanted to taste. Would he let you do it all?

With his pants and boxers gathered around his ankles, you moved around his claves, putting most of your weight on your palms.

There was so much to look at, but of course, the star of the show was calling your name, ever so slightly jumping for you.

The compelling urge to say what’s on your mind is too strong, “god— you’re so .. pretty.”

Not even caring about his reaction, you bite your lip as tunnel vision sets in.

Leaning down, you hover over his abdomen, making eye contact with those velvety red eyes before placing a slow peck in the middle of his rib cage then sensually going down the toned line. When reaching the pretty pink head, you grasped his slightly curved, veiny shaft in your hands, and like you would a lolly, you gathered most of your saliva and gave the tip a kitten lick; watching Bakugou the whole time. A little drop of pre-cum danced on the tip of your tongue, encouraging you to take more in.

Watching his eyes roll back only spurred you on further, unable to get enough of his reactions. He let out a low groan causing you to moan right back, knowing the vibrations will only drive him crazier.

“Fuuh– you’re so..” trailing off, his hips jolted forward phishing more of himself inside your mouth, causing a bit of a gag. “Dumbass, this is– supposed to be about – you.”

Popping off and slightly pulling away, a thick string of your saliva hung heavy on his tip, “Hmmm?” you hummed, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Shit just– get on my dick.”

Your bottom lip just out in an exaggerated pout, “not having fun?”

His difficulty keeping a steady breath tempted a giddy giggle to bubble out, but you kept your head and only smiled a sickeningly sweet smile, complying.

Taking your time, your movements full of sultry and temptation as you hover over him; and looking down, the thought occurred to you that you’ve never felt so wet before… was it the curse? It had to have been the curse.

Finally, you reach for his firm cock and guide yourself down, but not before toying and teasing the girthy head along your dripping folds.

“Fuckin hell–” you sighed, sinking down. At the same time, he let out a guttural groan, hips uncontrollably thrusting upward to get impossibly deeper.

A second of appreciation of satiety passes before putting your palms flat against his pectorals and beginning smooth grinds with their speeds only growing faster.

“C’mere,” Bakugou said curtly, not waiting to pull you towards his face.

In a clumsy moment, your lips met his and you froze.

Typically, the people you get with (Shindou) don’t allow kissing– it’s too romantic, they say. And maybe that’s true; feeling the blonde’s lips on your caused an abnormal flutter in the midst of all the throbbing.

“Baku–”

“Katsuki. Call me Katsuki right now.” he damn near growled.

It came out breathier than it was supposed to, but when saying his name, he let out another groan before pulling you back down for another kiss.

God– he’s a good kisser; a little whimper slipped out when he pulled away, only for him to smirk and lead you back to him

A spank throttled you back to your previous riding pace. His hands were everywhere, one gripped the fat of your ass while the other one cupped the back of your neck.

So many gratifying things were happening all at once, your head felt so clouded that you almost missed Bakugou muttering, “get your nut, princess. Ride my cock– Squeeze me just like that– shit!”

A hard shudder ran through your body as soon as his thumb circled over your clit, “fuck! Katsuki-”

“Cum, now.” he didn’t have to tell you twice.

Bakugou started meeting you halfway, aggressive thrusts full of strength gave way to you involuntarily contracting, “fuck, I’m going to-”

“Inside, please.” you whimper out, the spent feeling of him using you like a toy catching up with you.

“Fuck–” he hissed, his rams becoming spaced out, pounding the last of himself into you. Then after a heavy sigh, he relaxed into the hospital bed, not without pulling you close to him first.

His softening cock was still inside you but it was no bother. Contentness was all you could manage to feel; both of your breathing has managed to even out, and the glow of the candle was sleep-inducing.

With your head on his pectoral, you went to hold his toned bicep when suddenly, your eyes shot wide open in a fierce panic. Pushing yourself off of him, your gaze switches between his left arm and his face. “Oh my god, Katsuki, your arm? Are you okay?”

“It’ll get better once I rest, so come back over here and make yourself comfortable.”

Head less foggy now, you remembered that it was a fast-acting agent, giving you immediate relief and morally allowing you to resume your previous position.

“You were the one that called out my name, weren’t you?” Bakugou’s voice came out soft, a type you didn’t think could be achieved by the fiery man.

“what?” you whisper back, looking up at him.

“In the stadium, you called out my name after the smoke from the fire lifted.”

You felt blush rush to your cheeks, the call to look away from the blonde was never stronger.

“A-and?” you went ahead and closed your eyes, ready to avoid any confrontation.

“Cheer for me in the next trial.”

Peeking up at him one last time, Katsuki’s eyes were already closed, breathing becoming slower and slower.

[h0tchner]

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[pleasantanathema]

Kenny Ackerman | of Death and Cigars

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Bloodplay, Blood Tasting, Bloody Bathwater, Biting, Age Gap, Kenny says cunny because of course he would 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Back by popular demand, it’s the dirty old man. This is part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read more fanfics I’m writing to celebrate ❤️

          The warm bathwater was ghoulish, slowly bleeding from pink to red the longer you sat in it.

           At least Kenny didn’t look bad wet. Or bloody, for that matter. But you were used to seeing him caked in crimson, often found stains of it left in the rough patches of his beard. It’s all part of the job, kid. And it was, blood was something you expected out of mercenary work. What you didn’t anticipate was how much you’d enjoy the cleanup, how much you’d take pleasure in sitting between Kenny’s naked legs and let his calloused knuckles wipe someone else’s blood from your skin.

           “Got a little on your mouth,” the water splashed as he raised his hand, swiping at your bottom lip, having to repeat the motion a few times to remove the smear, “what did you fucking do, drink his blood?”

           Your eyes rolled, “I bit him, he was trying to reach around for my knife.”

           Kenny only huffed, flicking water on your face before leaning back and stretching his arms along the edge of the tub. His knuckles popped and his neck cracked as he rolled it, little echoes into the dimly lit room as you fell into silence. You continued to rake a soiled cloth across your arms, most of the water still streaking red over your skin despite your persistence.

           “Got some on your back,” he noted, and you could feel his eyes on you, burning spots into your spine.

           “Well, wipe it off. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To ‘wash my back’?”

           “Nah, I’m just here to look at you naked.”

           You groaned, attempting to reach around to your back to clean, fingers aching from the reach. Kenny watched you struggle for a bit before swatting your hand away, gathering the rag in his fist so he could scrub rather brutishly at the elusive plane between your shoulder blades.

           The embarrassment of being naked around him had washed away after the first few times you performed this ritual. It was just easier to get clean this way, and you didn’t particularly enjoy waiting for him to bathe first just so you could step into ice cold, murky water. Plus, there were some nights when he was actually tender, started to open up withered petals in the sun and talk about his past whenever he’d had too much to drink before sitting in the water.

           You glanced over your shoulder at him, not bothering to hide your curiosity as your eyes flickered over his features. His long hair clung to his shoulders, wrinkles pulled around his mouth from where he held it to the side in concentration. His lean shoulders were freckles from days in the sun, muscles in his arms rolling as he attempted to wash away the scarlet splotches from your skin.

           He’d taught you how to slaughter people in his own gruesome, throat-splitting way. He’d hand picked you for the Anti-Personnel Control squad—said he saw something vicious in you, and maybe he did.

           “Don’t look at me with those big eyes, kid. You’re gonna make my cock hard.”

           “Your cock’s already hard.”

           “Then maybe you should clean that next. Sure your mouth would do better than a rag.”

           You mumbled something about him being disgusting, but kept most of it trapped in your throat. His hands felt particularly good kneading into your back. Not to mention the last time you’d been too sassy with him, he let you go to bed bloody. You reeked of iron for days.

           You stood in the tub, carefully posturing your feet around his outstretched legs, keeping your back to him as you stretched and prepped to leave. But as you turned to the side, you caught a glimpse of blood in his hairline, something he never thinks about since he’s always in his fucking hat.

           “There’s—ugh fuck it,” you knelt back down, caging his thighs with your own so you could sit in his lap and work at chipping away at the dried, grimy substance with your nails.

           “Now that’s more like it,” he unabashedly moved his hands to your waist, long fingers skimming upward to brush the underside of your breasts, “shame you have to keep these pretty tits covered all day.”

           “You’re such a fucking pervert.”

           “Hey, you agreed to bath time with dear old Kenny.”

           He had a point, but you didn’t have to explain yourself. Not to him.

           You kept having to tilt his chin up and away from staring at your chest so you could weave your fingers into the surprisingly thick strands of hair. Droplets started forming at his forehead from your actions, water turning red as it absorbed the remnants of a very dirty and very busy night.

           “You feel good in my lap,” he hummed, rocking you forward so you could feel just how much he meant with it with the cock straining against his stomach. You attempted to lift yourself away from him, but he only pulled you closer, brought your breasts up to his face so he could lick the water away from one of your nipples. You hated the jolt of pleasure that raced down your skin at the lewd touch, biting your tongue avoid any untoward sound slipping out.

           Kenny repeated the action when you didn’t pull away, this time his tongue flat, placing a long, hot stripe over your nipple and over the curve of your breast.

           “Stop that.”

           “Do you really want me to?”

           He didn’t give you the chance to answer, instead enveloped your hardened peak with his warm mouth. You shivered at the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, the hands in his hair pulling him toward you instead of pushing away. He smirked against your tit, tip of tongue circling your nipple until he finally heard you moan. It was the faintest sound, one you barely recognized came from your mouth, but he heard it.

           His hand on your hip sunk lower under the water line, thumb tracing the inside of your thigh, creeping closer to the one place he hadn’t dared to touch before. Well, that wasn’t quite true; he’d attempted once before, but you scratched his wrist so hard that he bled. This time you didn’t bother to stop him, the curiosity of what his fingers would feel like nearly killing you.

           “Bet you’ve got a real tight cunny, don’t you?”

           “Kenny—” you scold stopped mid-breath as his middle finger brushed your clit, pushing farther back to probe at your tight hole. He started sucking at your breast, taking the fat in between his teeth as he groaned at the feeling of your folds against his hand.

           You were glad you couldn’t see the delight in his eyes when you sat deeper into his lap, urging his fingers to explore further, to press up inside you just so you could know how it felt. He obliged your silent request, sinking his finger into your heat and feeling the moan that reverberated from your chest.

           It felt good, and he knew just how to curl his knuckle, how to swipe his thumb against your clit in the same motion to have your head falling back. Your hips rolled against your better judgement, encouraging him to nestle a second finger inside of you, pumping them both and stretching you apart.

           “Yeah you like that, don’t you? Little whore likes her cunny stuffed.”

           “If only I could stuff your fucking mouth.”

           “Next time.”

           You weren’t sure if it was frustration or ecstasy that trickled down your back and settled in your stomach, but you didn’t care, not when his fingers started pushing a little harder. Kenny’s lips started to make a trail up your chest, messy, wet kisses that had your skin burning under his beard. He stopped at your neck, wicked tongue daring to lap at the bloody water that pooled against your collarbone.

           “Fuck I can’t take this teasing shit. Sit on my cock.”

           Demands from him weren’t uncommon, he was your superior, after all, but this one had your cheeks flushing. You gasped when he uncurled his fingers from inside of you, shaking his wrist under the water like he was cleaning them. Your hands fell down to his shoulders, nails pressing into the muscled sinews as you lowered yourself just like he told you to.

           You tried to look away from him as you felt his cockhead breach that first ring of muscle, your cunt too willingly sucking him in, but he caught your jaw, making you look down at him. His grey eyes were always piercing, like they were cutting through you like a knife twisting in flesh, and this time was no different. It was like he was looking through you, reading the jumbled thoughts rolling in your head as you started to sink down his length.

           A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, “You’ve still got a little blood on your lips. Let me clean that for you.”

           His kiss was rough, assertive, mouth slanting against yours in a mixture of control and desperation. For a moment, you thought not to kiss him back, a metallic flash of crimson hitting your tongue signaling that he was, indeed, telling the truth. But your mouth opened of its own will when his lengthy cock finally bottomed out inside of you.

           One of his hands looped around the back of your neck, crushing your mouth against his as he started to rock you in his lap. You felt startlingly full, cock spreading your insides as you started to move with him.

           A small pang of disgust hit you when his tongue snaked into your mouth, but you washed that down with the taste of him, with the taste of blood and tobacco, of death and cigars.

           Your clit was sliding perfectly against the thatch of wiry black curls at the base of his cock, pleasure brewing in your pussy and traveling to your fingers, your toes. When he pulled away from your lips, his tongue licked at your cheek before he started to bounce you harder in his lap. Bloodstained water sloshed from the edges of the tub, sinking into the grout and tiles.

           “I’ve come in my hand so many times thinking about you, kid.” He laughed at the look on your face from his confession. “Ain’t gonna take me long to cum inside this pretty little pussy.”

           “God I fucking hate you,” you hissed, but you kept up the pace, feeling that rather blissful and dreadful pull of orgasm.

           “That so? Then why’re you just getting tighter around me? Feels like you like my cock.”

           You didn’t have the effort for a retort, your head falling to his shoulder as you began to ride him harder, ready to cum and go dwell in the shame afterwards.

           Kenny was panting, clearly enjoying himself as his big hands groped at your ass, helping you slide along his cock under the water. You hated that he smelled good, hated that he felt good, hated that he knew exactly what he was doing, pulling your cheeks apart and making you spread and used.

           “Bite me.”

           You almost didn’t hear him over your own whimpers, gritting out a simple, “What?”

           “You h-heard me, kid. Bite me like you did that fucker earlier. Wanna see what it feels like.”

           It was an opportunity you weren’t going to pass up. You caught your breath, blinking your eyes for a second so you could see straight through the haze of pleasure. You chose the tender spot between neck and shoulder, sinking your teeth into his tawny skin slowly, putting pressure on your canines so he’d feel that thrill of pain.

           He moaned so loudly it actually made you flush, made your ears burn from how lewd it sounded. It spurred you to bite harder, to sink so deep into flesh that you felt his own blood slip past your lips.

           The pulsing of his cock made you see colors, made you gasp and release his shoulder and nearly double over from the euphoria that rippled through your body. He stopped moving, but your body still shook, slapped with a climax you didn’t expect just from feeling cum pour inside your cunt, from feeling his cock twitch and throb and explode inside you. You spasmed around him, brows pinching together as you tried to come back to your senses.

           You supposed he wasn’t kidding about not going to last long, you just felt embarrassment creep over your psyche at the fact that you’d fallen right behind him, wasting away in his lap.

           After a few moments, you finally sat back, groaning at that too-full feeling of still having him inside of you. You gripped his jaw like he did yours earlier, bringing him back to life to look up at you.

           “You can have your blood back,” you slid your messy mouth against his, both of you moaning a little too deeply as you shared his taste between your tongues.

[zodiakuroo]

copycat

18+, eren jaeger x fem!reader

part two of pierced

inspired by the 'big stick' scene from jawbreaker (iykyk)

wc: 3.7k

contains: mild dubcon, light dom/sub, ball play, choking, dumbification, degradation, spit, creampie

Eren can’t help but admire you from the doorway of your shared bedroom. One would think, that after 30 days of edging, you would learn not to be such a fucking tease. But here you are flitting around the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a frilly pair of lilac panties.

��Stop being a perv. It’s hot out.’ You don’t have to say it. The ‘you’ in his head is already chastising him for the lascivious nature of his thoughts.

The ‘you’ in his head is also already bent over the granite top counter, panties long discarded, presenting yourself to him, begging ‘Please Eren. Fuck me.’

He can’t help it. Everyday he’s found himself face to face with your cute little pussy, absolutely begging to get filled and not being able to do anything about it. It’s not his fault that when he sees you wearing next to nothing, he just wants to stick his cock in you.

Except it’s entirely his fault.

That’s why even though you can feel the weight of his stare as you move around the kitchen, you don’t even spare a glance in his direction.

If there’s one thing these last few weeks have taught you, its willpower. And thanks to your newfound self-discipline you’re able to resist the urge to pounce on him when your boyfriend pulls your back against the solid wall of his chest. “Baby.” He rasps. “I’m all healed up.”

The statement makes goosebumps appear on your skin despite the sweltering heat but other than that, you show no signs of exactly how pent up you are.

Eren made you swear not to touch yourself whining about how unfair it would be and how he would really appreciate your support in his hour of need. Yes he used those exact words. You kept your promise but not without intending to receive payback. It was only a matter of how. The idea hadn’t come to you yet.

“Really?” You don’t even bother to turn around, pushing past him. Partly as a way to tease him but also because you don’t trust yourself to be able to resist him once you get a good look at him. From his scent alone you can tell he’s fresh from a shower and that’s when he’s the most dangerous. He smells cool and fresh like his shower gel, spicy and warm like his aftershave and fruity and floral like his your shampoo. It’s hypnotic.

The trance is broken when he pulls you even closer to him, grinding his bulge into your backside.

“Stop buying that 2-in-1 shit if you’re gonna use mine all the time anyways.” You grumble.

Right.

Revenge first. Dick second. The voice in your head reminds you.

You wriggle out of his hold, remembering why you came into the kitchen in the first place. You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the freezer door, the cold air providing a brief reprieve from the near suffocating heat of your apartment. Once you’ve obtained your target; a cherry popsicle hidden behind some ice packs and frozen peas, you finally take a look at your tormentor.

“Babe c’mon.” Eren persists.

He looks good. Unfairly good considering the fact that he’s not even trying. Fresh from the shower, he has on a worn out white t-shirt, stretched around the neckline which gives you a mouthwatering look at his perfectly sculpted collarbones and no more than the top of his pecs that peak out above the seam. His grey athletic shorts hang low on his hips and outline his print a little too well so you know he’s not wearing boxers. Eren hasn’t bothered to tie up his long hair leaving the damp tendrils dangling above his shoulders with a few stray strands framing his handsome face. He’s putting up a nonchalant front but the tick in his eyebrow gives his irritated disposition away.

Surely he didn’t believe that you would let him have his way with you that easily.

Except he did. Because under most circumstances he would. But today, your own stubbornness (only marginally) drowns out your desire for your Adonis of a boyfriend so you push past him into the lounge, plopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Later.” You bring the frozen treat to your lips. “It’s so hot.” Again, Eren tries to keep his face expressionless but you easily spot the way he clenches his jaw as his gaze fixes itself onto your mouth.

Bingo

You close your eyes, enjoying the sweet cherry taste and cool sensation that spreads throughout your body.

“On second thought,” You start, as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “There is something else I’d rather have in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Eren dons a matching smirk and stalks his way over to you, sitting down so that you can straddle him. “Tempting but honestly, your mouth isn’t what I had in mind.” His voice trails off, large hands moving down to cup your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure. But before he can take it any further you’re already manoeuvring your way between his knees.

“Oh. You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout, resting your head against his thigh, trying your best to sound disappointed.

Eren swallows whatever argument he was about to present when he sees your pretty eyes, shaded by fluttering lashes looking up at him with the tip of the crimson popsicle pressed against your sinful mouth. The same sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for a month.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles while you watch him pull his already half hard cock out of his bottoms. It’s so pretty and long, perfectly thick in all the right places, decorated at the tip with a vertical running titanium barbell.

He’s got a hand around his base, waiting for you to replace the sweet treat in your mouth with his aching cock but much to his dismay your attention is drawn a little lower.

The sight of his plush balls all swollen and full of cum proves to be too much for you to resist. He shudders when your cold lips press against the taut skin. You know he’s sensitive from being so backed up. That’s why he starts panting as you leave wet kisses on his sac, leaving your saliva all over it while his shaft grows harder above you.

“Hold this for me.” You pass him your popsicle, that is slowly starting to melt which he takes in his free hand.

“Okay can you just- fuck.” One more kiss, right on the shiny metal of his newly healed piercing, shuts him up quickly.

Your own hands find their place on his thighs. You dip your head down again and take one of his balls in his mouth massaging it with your tongue.

“Christ.” He groans, slowly jerking himself off while you worship his balls.

“Oh poor baby…. so full.” You murmur letting go of the left to suck on the right one, savouring the weight of them.

“Yeah.” His voice is about a whole octave higher than usual. “Hurts.” He scrunches up his face when you let go of his ball with a pop.

“I bet.” You giggle. Eren is now at full mast, veiny shaft resting against his abdomen, dribbling precum which coats the shiny piercing that crowns his angry-red tip. His wrist flicks ever so elegantly as his hand moves languidly up and down, up and down, up and-”

“Princess.” Your boyfriend whines, yanking you out of your daze. “Enough with the teasing. You wanted to suck me off. Do it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not losing sight of your revenge plot.

“Baby,” You pout. “I really want to but-” It’s so hard to bite back your laugh. “But I don’t remember how.”

“Wait what?” His hand stops right in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s been so long. Can you show me?”

Eren’s expression goes from perplexed to vicious but you don’t budge, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes.

“How?” He huffs impatiently. It’s funny actually, seeing him struggle to tolerate a fraction of his own bitter medicine.

Your eyes shift to the frozen treat still in his hand that’s starting to drip down his knuckles. “I’m a visual learner.”

He moves like he’s about to stand up but you won’t make it that easy for him. “Please, Rennie? Please teach me how to suck your cock?”

As much as Eren has you wrapped around his finger, he’s just as whipped for you. So when you look at him with those sparkly eyes and call him the pet name he swears he hates but brings him to his knees when you use it, you know you have him.

Hook, line and sinker.

You use your thumb and middle finger to make a circle around his base, positioning yourself eye level with his leaking slit.

His tongue peaks out cautiously, eyes trained on yours as he flicks it across the tip, testing the waters. Immediately you follow suit, tasting his precum for the first time in so long. His hips buck off the couch, chasing the gone-too-soon sensation but you dig your nails into his thigh, reminding him who’s in control right now.

You quirk your brow at him, making sure he understands what you want.

How many times have you found yourself in this exact position: sitting between your boyfriend’s thighs while he looks down at you, both of you equally as lust drunk as the other. But this time he’s the one panting and whimpering while you have your turn to torture him.

Eren doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to smack that smug little grin right off your face but instead he pulls at your hair, tugging right at the roots and making you yelp in pain. Now you’re scowling. But it’s hard to look at all intimidating sitting beneath him with your head tilted at such an awkward angle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench together either.

Never breaking eye contact, he uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the length of the popsicle. You squirm in place, remembering how it feels to have him lick across your cunt exactly like that.

Fine. He’d play along with your little game. But on his own terms.

You lean forward to copy him but the hand holding your head keeps you in place. Without looking away, Eren launches a glob of spit onto the already drippy ice-cream before licking it away. It’s that simple for him to put a crack in your domineering façade and have you whimpering right at his feet as per usual.

The corners of his lips twitch as a silent challenge to you.

Never one to back down, you use your tongue to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, feeling it pulsate. As you get closer to his prince Albert, you can’t hold back from swirling the wet muscle around the cold metal.

A soft whimper escapes his lips as you pull away, keeping your mouth agape, looking up at him expectantly.

It’s silent for a moment before Eren realises what you’re wordlessly pleading for. “Fucking slut.” He mutters, almost amazed before he gathers more of his saliva to drop into your mouth with a loud khwa pto echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

You close your mouth with a satisfied smile, savouring the taste of sweet, tart cherry and a flavour that is uniquely Eren, letting it mingle with your own saliva before spitting it on to his cock. You use your tongue to spread the wetness all along the shaft, leaving it covered in slick sheen.

“So fuckin’ nasty.” He groans, moving his hand from your head to push his own hair out of his face, not wanting anything to obstruct his view of you right now.

You feel the way his thigh twitches under your palm every time you come even close to his puffy cockhead and your tongue brushes across the sensitive piercing. The idea that you have him like this, desperate and whining, after weeks of him toying with you is exhilarating to say the least.

You have to rein yourself in before you end the fun too soon.

Reluctantly, you pull away and patiently await your next command.

You know what he wants next and so does he but Eren can’t help but feel self-conscious.

Of course, he loves the way you look when you’re going down him. His gallery is filled with pictures of you with your eyes filled to the brim with tears and your lips stretched impossibly wide around his girth. When you’re not around he gets off to the videos him fucking your face, relishing in the way you gag while you try to accommodate him in your throat. He doesn’t think he could ever measure up to how sexy you look with your pupils blown, lips all swollen and your spit dripping down your chin.

But just like you, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and latches on to the blunt top of the popsicle. His plump lips form a perfect O-shaped pout, stained beautiful crimson from the fruit juice. Your gaze is transfixed on his face, the sharp lines and edges tinted with an uncharacteristic blush as his cheeks hollow out, to suck it in deeper.

“So pretty baby.” You breathe out.

He shudders as the cool air fans out across his wet skin.

“Yeah? ‘m pretty?” He smirks, using his free hand to drag his cock across your face, smearing his precum on your lips. “Show me how you treat pretty boys. Please?”

And how could you deny him?

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him in. Only the first few inches, get to enjoy the warm, slippery cavern of your mouth while the rest of him has to make do with the soft skin of your hand gliding up, down and around.

“Fucking take it inside. Christ.” He groans, frustration evident as he glares down at you.

You simply shake your head a ‘no’, far too content with the taste and the weight of him in your mouth to stop suckling at his cock. If he wants more, he knows what he has to do.

The frozen treat is back between his lips and far too quickly, with not enough thought he pushes it inside as far as it can go until his gag reflex forces him to abort his mission, sputtering out red-coloured saliva.

You pull off of him as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Eren takes advantage of the fact that you’re unguarded and in a matter of seconds he has you pinned to the floor. The poor popsicle is left in a sad, melting puddle on your couch while his long, sticky fingers circle around both of your wrists, the other hand keeping a harsh grip on your jaw.

Yeah. Not laughing now, are you?

“Was that funny to you princess?” He questions you, almost daring you to hit back.

Knowing when to quit was never one of your strong points.

“Not funny.” You say despite your giddy smile. “My pretty boy just needs more practice.” You snicker.

You’re pushing his buttons on purpose now. At best, you expect some degrading words fitting of your bratty attitude. At worst, you expect the sting of his palm to come down against the side of your face, reminding you of your place.

What you don’t expect is a wry chuckle before he says, “I forgot how bitchy you get when you don’t get stuffed full of cock enough.”

Eren frees your hands in favour of placing both of his on your knees. He spreads apart your legs as wide as they can go, dragging his coarse palms up and up to rest at the apex of your thighs. He flicks up the hem of your shirt to reveal to him the crotch of your panties that's soaked through with your arousal. He pulls them to the side to expose your cunt to him. Eren barely stops himself from tearing the flimsy fabric right off your body and only because he thinks they're pretty and wants to see you wear them again.

He can smell you. But he suppresses the desire to bury his face between your pillowy thighs for as long as you’ll let him. He knows that’s not what either of you really want.

“This needy pussy been missing me?” He coos, keeping his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. He grinds his pierced tip all along your cunt, dipping under your hood to press right against your clit.

You feel it before you realise what’s happening; the burn of his fat head of his cock prodding at your tiny hole, forcing it to stretch around him.

“Jesus fuck- ‘s tight.” He grits out, managing to pop just the tip in.

Tears gather at your waterline as he impales you further and further on his cock, reintroducing your insides to him and his newest body mod. The bulb of the piercing drags deliciously over every bump and ridge that lines your walls. It just keeps going and going until it’s all too much.

Instinctively, your hand flies to Eren’s abdomen, fingers splaying across his tummy. You want to ask him to stop or wait or at the very least prep you. But you’re just so full.

He’s not even all the way in and you’re full of him everywhere. Did it feel like this before?

He doesn't give you a chance to remember.

“Move. Your fucking. Hand.” He grunts before moving it for you and sheathing his cock fully in your spasming cunt.

“Fuck Eren. ‘s big.” Your voice breaks as you utter that last word right one Eren fills you to the hilt. Your arms fly to his biceps, squeezing the muscle so tight that you’re certain it hurts him but he doesn’t complain.

No one would believe that mere minutes ago Eren was the one under your thumb. Not when he’s so quickly managed to turn you into a blubbering mess.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He mocks you as if he’s doing any better. In reality he’s keeping himself still, with his pressed against yours trying to regain a semblance of control, not wanting this to end so soon.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against you and little by little you open up around him, offering less and less resistance. Hand on the bible, he swears he can feel your gooey pussy sucking him in every time he pulls back, almost like it’s begging him to never leave again. Hand on the bible, he swears that he won’t.

“Huh?” He taunts. “Where’s the bitch who thought she could fuck with me?” He emphasises his point with one sharp snap of his hips that hits the bull’s eye.

“Eren! Right there!” You cry out as you back arches up into him but he forces you to stay down by pressing his palm firmly against your sternum.

“Right there?” He mimics your voice, with a high pitched, nasal tone. You can’t even cringe at how it sounds because the feeling of the rounded metal hitting that squishy patch deep inside you with pinpoint accuracy is too overwhelming for you to think about anything else.

“You want me to fuck you here?” His thrusts start to pick up pace. You’re finally getting used to him again and the slick juices from your pussy let’s him move as fast as he wants, as deep as he wants so you he can use his cock to abuse all of your sweet spots

You can’t exactly speak; only nod, as you dig your nails into his shoulders and back, leaving a trail of crescent shaped indents in your wake. The coil at the base of your belly twists tighter, tighter and tighter still as all your nerve endings work overtime to register the way he fills you up completely, the way the metal rubs along all the right spots and the way Eren rams into you like a man possessed.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Now you’re begging. It’s impossible to stop the fear bubbling in your chest. You’ve become well-acquainted with this feeling. Absolutely drowning in pleasure and right on the edge of an unimaginable peak before having it ripped away. It’s not unreasonable to be worried that Eren might leave you high and dry once again.

He halts his movements the moment he notices the doubt behind your eyes.

Your pleas become more and more frantic, already thinking the worst. “Don’t stop Eren! Please don’t stop.” You sob but go silent when his hand rests itself firmly around your throat.

“Told you.” He punctuates the sentence with one, deep thrust.

“Fuck. What did I say?” He growls as he falls back into the same brutal rhythm that had you teetering on the very brink of an orgasm before.

God above as your witness, you try and answer but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak of his name before he cuts you off completely by squeezing your neck tighter.

“S-said I was gonna fuck you stupid. Right?”

You nod as best you can, head spinning from the lack of air and your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Now fuckin’ cum for me so I can keep my promise.”

The second his hand meets your clit, you’re a goner. The calloused pad of his thumb rubs the neglected nub with exactly the right pressure to push you over the edge. Every muscle clenches as that tightening coil finally snaps. The intoxicating pleasure that shoots through your body reaches your head at the same time as the pressure on your throat is released, much needed oxygen flooding your brain and prolonging the high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as cream around his cock. It’s pointless to hold off his release any longer and with nowhere else to go he spills his load deep in your pussy. The feeling of his hot cum seeping into your pussy has you twitching around him, trying to milk every last drop from him.

You may have blacked for a second, eyes fluttering open as Eren gently taps your cheek. His handsome face, all flushed and sweaty comes into focus. Both of you are wearing equally dopey grins as he asks you, “Did it feel as good as I said?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Next Door

Warnings: dubcon, cheating, some cumplay, forced pregnancy/breeding.

This is grey!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Andy Barber + “I love it when you look at me like that.” + breeding/forced pregnancy +I love dubcon more than non-con but I die if it was reversal with a darker reader or where reader absolutely tricked these got this guy into catching her and flips the script in like the last second. @sagechanoafterdark​

You watched Andy as he reached into the pool and shoved his hand in the filter. He grunted and dislodged the plastic bottle, pulling it out with a grimace as all the other muck had gathered inside of it. You cringed as he sat back on his heels and looked up at you with a sigh.

“Well, there’s your problem,” he said and you didn’t miss the way his eyes fought to stay above your bikini top.

“Thank you so much, you have no idea how frustrating it’s been. There’s so much chlorine in this thing now it could lighten my hair,” you rolled your eyes, “you really are a lifesaver.”

“No problem, it’s been pretty quiet today since Laurie dragged Jacob off to his game,” he stood and you pointed him past you. 

He held out the dripping bottle and you followed him to the sliding door. He reached through and dropped the bottle in the trash.

“You’re not there?”

“Well, you know… the kid is at that age, he doesn’t even wanna play anymore but Laurie wants him to stay in it and then he doesn’t want me there after I took her side,” he stopped himself and waved away his gripes, “whatever, he’ll get over it. Gets it from me, I was a little shit when I was his age.”

“Hmm, if you’re not busy, you want a beer? I kinda owe you?”

He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. Again, he resisted a gaze further down and squirms. You wore the new bikini proudly, months of morning jogs paid off at last and you can’t wait to show off after your ugly divorce.

“Uh, sure,” he shrugged, “can’t hurt.”

You slipped past him, certain to brush a little too close. He was a married man but you were married too and that didn’t stop Christian. Besides, you saw how he and Laurie were, you heard their arguments.

You went to the fridge as he sat on a stool along the counter, another new purchase as half the house was renovated with your alimony. You pulled open the fridge and bent low to search out the green bottles. You were more a wine person but you always kept a few around.

You heard the whisper of his breath and as you stood, you stopped and gave a playful ‘oops’ as you cradled the cold glass under your right arm and kept your back to him as you wiggled and fixed the bikini over your chest.

You turned back to him and clinked the bottle down on the island. You fished around in a drawer and brought out and opener and popped the caps. You slid one over and leaned on the counter as you took your own. You drank lackadaisically and crisp droplets spilled down your chest.

With another giggle you wiped it away and tutted at yourself. He cleared his throat as the butt of his bottle hit the marble again. You looked at him and your eyes went wide, he was staring straight at your chest. He shook his head and his eyes met yours guiltily. He grinned and tilted his head and slowly looked away.

“So, how’s work?” you asked casually.

“Pain in the ass, like everything else,” he answered and took another swig, “wouldn’t be so bad if--” he sniffed and jutted out his jaw, “nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“You know, I didn’t see it either,” you said quietly, “with Christian, I just wanted to see the best even when it wasn’t there and then I just wanted to pretend.”

“What-- no,” he scoffed, “me and Laurie…” his blue eyes searched and he drained half the bottle in a gulp, “how’d you know?”

“Once you’ve been through it, it’s easier to see,” you pursed your lips before you sipped, “but you know, if it’s early enough and you do, you might be able to fix it before it’s too cracked.”

“I don’t know,” his voice trailed off and he tapped the side of the bottle. He stared at the countertop and emptied the bottle with a loud chug, “maybe.”

“Maybe,” you echoed, “sorry, it’s really none of my business.”

He was up in a minute. The empty bottle wobbled on the counter and you stood up straight.

“Andy?” you smiled as he rounded the island.

“I like that,” he said and pointed to your bikini strap, “she doesn’t dress like that anymore. Not that she can’t, she’s fit, she jogs every morning, so I don’t get it--”

“Well, maybe if you talk to her,” he came closer and backed you up to the corner of the counter, “sometimes that’s all you need--”

“And you, I saw how hard you tried with Christian and he just didn’t care and,” he bit his lip, “he didn’t even know what he had.”

“When she gets home, you should talk, maybe you could go away--”

“We’ve talked, we’ve gone away, we’ve… tried,” he breathed as his hands settled on the counter on either side of you, “she doesn’t even care enough to fight with me anymore.”

“Andy?” you batted your lashes at him.

He crashed his lips into yours and you gasped. He leaned heavily on you and crushed you into the counter. His arms swept around you and he kissed you until you were breathless and dizzy. 

He parted and his lips parted in shock. He blinked and cringed. “I’m sorry--”

“Sorry,” you grabbed the collar of his tee and pulled him back to you, your lips only an inch from his, “for what?”

That time, you kissed him and grabbed his hand as he pushed on your shoulder. You forced it down and pressed it to the front of your skimpy bottoms. He shuddered as your tongue poked into his mouth and you bent his fingers against your cunt. You pulled back just a little and leered into his eyes.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” you slithered, “better fuck me fast, Mr. Barber.”

He let out a smoky breath and his hands snaked under you. He lifted you onto the counter as your lips met again. You unzipped his pants frantically and rolled them down, hooking your thumbs in the elastic of his boxers. He slid you closer as he popped out the top and you felt his against your bikini.

He pulled the bow at the side and then the other and the fabric fell away, catching under your thigh as he urged you closer. You grabbed him and rubbed him against your slick folds, wetting him as you moaned and lining him up with your entrance. 

You nibbled his lip and growled as you slid off the counter and onto him. He filled you so completely you threw your head back in delight. He rocked you against him and you ground wildly as your clit rubbed against his pelvis. The friction fed your core and you clung to him desperately.

You reached back and gripped the edge of the counter as you wrapped your legs around him and slammed your hips against him. He bent and kissed your throat and your chest as your top slipped again. His groans and grunts made your head spin and set your nerves alight.

“Andy,” you wisped and his name turned to a chant as you chased your orgasm.

You came and your arms trembled dangerously. He pushed you back until you were across the counter. He spread his hand over your chest and held you down as he bucked his hips. He moved your body on the marble with each thrust, his other hand on your hip.

You kept your legs around him and arched your back. You felt him tense and his climax began to tremble within him. His nails dug into your skin as his fingers curled and you watched his dark eyes as they fogged.

“Fuck, fuck,” he tried to pull out but you kept your legs tight and sat up to cling onto him again. 

You rode him until he spilled and swore when you stopped. He pushed you away and you fell onto the counter with a laugh. You pushed your legs apart and his cum leaked onto the marble. You ran your fingertips through the mess and winked at him as he stared at you in horror.

“What the fuck?” he hissed.

“Oh, it’s fine, Andy,” you brought your fingers to your lips and licked away his cum, “Christian never would give me a baby.”

👙👙👙

Please reblog and like! Let me know what you think.

[hawksugarbaby]

Loki x reader-

Lamentis - 1

Smut

Chapter includes: Angry fucking, knife play-ish, slight blood play, hair pulling, choking, degredation (giving + recieving), sucking on fingers. 

You panicked as you and Loki sprinted to a tiny shack to haul up in, his hand wrapped around your wrist in a vice grip to move you out of the way of the falling debris but your panic was batting with your irritation. Of course he brought you here, the once place you had an overly high chance of dying as the world caved in above you and meteors struck the ground lighting up craters under your feet. 

Loki ripped the door open pushing you inside and slammed it closed behind him. You huffed and held your knees trying to catch your breath as Loki watched the world end from a tiny window then walked over to you holding your face gently. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?” he asked, checking for anything from a minor cut to a broken arm and you shook your head pulling his hands off of your cheeks and turning around. You growled in annoyance at your situation and your fingers curled into a claw shape signaling if he wasn’t careful with his words he would be choked to death. 

“DID YOU EVEN LOOK!” you shouted but you were still facing the wall, knowing you would feel guilty if you turned around, it wasn’t his fault you ended up here but you wanted to be angry because of where you were. If you turned around it would be impossible to be angry. 

“Look? Look at what?” he asked, his sapphire eye’s drifting below your waist to look at your ass jiggle when you impatiently tap your foot. And he resists the urge to grab the soft flesh and pull you towards him. 

“At the temp-pad! We’re stuck on Lamentis-1 you Idiot!” you hiss and spin around again feeling the sting of your own words that he didn’t show any hurt towards. However you didn’t need to see his reaction to tell they hurt. 

Loki blinked and stepped forward, flicking his dagger from his sleeve and pressing the tip to your neck. “I could kill you.” 

His words are an empty threat and you know it but you can’t help but tempt him and toy with him. Spill the anger until it floods into his cup and you argue then makeup with a soft kiss you wouldn’t want from anyone else. The best kisses are after the worst fights when you’re desperate to make it up to each other because you’ve missed holding his hand or he hasn’t braided your hair in too long and he misses the feeling of your soft locks weaving between his fingers. 

“Go for it then” you whisper and lean forward, digging the point of the blade slightly further into your neck, moving away from drawing blood. “You’re highness.” 

It’s filled with venom, the way you say his title and it’s probably the reason he moves so quickly pushing you against a wall and switch the position of the blade so the whole edge is lying on your throat and Loki’s leg is wedged between your thighs his other hand slammed against the wall next to your head caging you in. “Don’t call me that” he growled. 

You try to avoid moving, knowing his leg is dangerously close but you need to shift the weight from your tippy toes to the heels of your feet, accidently grazing your clothed pussy on his thigh and you mewl quietly at the contact. your face begins to burn an electric pink and you turn your face away looking at anything but Loki. surely he didn’t hear it. It’s impossible it was so insanely quiet so no he couldn’t have heard it. 

The cold, flat, metal of his dagger pressed against your cheek and turned your face towards him, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks and a smirk pulling on his lips. His hands slipped down to your waist pulling you down so you were straddling his thick thigh “Oh dear pet it seems you just can’t stay mad at me can you?” he purred in your ear and you watched your reflection in the blade, witnessing your pupils dilate and red creeps up your cheeks while your chest heaves in and out and he pushes his thigh against you drawing a soft whine. “You sound pretty like that.” 

His laugh is smooth like butter and you swallow thickly “you think I sound pretty anyway” he twirls your hair around his fingers and let’s the knife drop slightly “you couldn’t kill me anyway. You love me too much” you roll your eyes and he grins leaning forward to catch your lips between his. You warp your arms behind his neck leaning further into the heated kiss grinding on Loki’s knee for friction. 

His hand curls around more hair innocently until it’s gripped and pulled back yanking your head backwards. a string of saliva connects your lips and your unmatched panting fills the room. “We need to leave” he reminds you, turning your head toward the small slit for a window in the metal and pulling your hips closer to his bulge straining against his trousers and you bite back a moan. 

“We wouldn’t need to leave if you’d looked at the fucking temp-pad.”

Before you could blink Loki’s hand was wrapped around your neck squeezing the sides and you were robbed of air. His other hand fumbled with his gleaming belt buckle and unzipped his torn trousers, singed around the cuffs from the heat of the meteor impact. “I think we have time. I am an idiot though so how would I know” he hissed hiking up your short skirt and ripping your opaque tights to reveal your soaked underwear. “Aw look at you darling your dripping just thinking about me” he hummed. 

You coughed and he loosened his hand around your neck still keeping it there, his thumb running up and down gently. “Sorry love I’m actually thinking of fucking Judge Renslayer behind the bar” you tease back and he growls rubbing his other hand against your folds and manouvered his fingers around the fabric of your underwear dipping into your cunt. “A-ahh~ you’d love that wouldn’t you hm? Want me to cockwarm you behind the bar while you're on trial, with everyone watching. Just a pretty whore for everyone to see” his cock twitches in his boxers and he pulls the grey fabric down releasing his length from it’s constraints. 

The tip of his cock hits his stomach making a wet patch on his white shirt and you reach for it immediately. Loki swats your hand away earning a glare in betrayal and he chuckled heartily “what? Does my slut want my cock? I thought I was useless? How could I make you feel good, pet?” he shoots your words back at you only for you to reach for his cock again. His hand tightens around your neck once again and he pins you back against the wall. “Cat got your tongue?” he snickers. 

“No I just don’t think I should waste my words on someone who got us stuck in an apocalypse” you croak, words dripping with poison that could corrode the blade of his knife that was now laying on the floor. His fingers slowly pumping inside you ran up your slit and his thumb ran circles around your clit making you quiver against the wall and he pulled your underwear to the side lining up his cock with your entrance. 

“How lucky I didn’t want to hear you talk anyway” his cock pushed inside you quickly and he let go of your throat grabbing your hair instead and pulling back your head. You gasped for air gulping down breaths and his cold lips travelled up your throat leaving a dark plum mark on the base of your throat. 

He thrust slowly, the edge of your lacy underwear dragging along his cock as your soft walls enveloped him forcing a groan. You moaned loudly and gripped his shoulders pushing your hips forward to swallow his whole length. “Fuck Loki~” you sang dropping one of your hands to rub your clit. “You're so big oh jeez” you moan. He smirked to himself and began to thrust faster at an even pace earning gentle whines with each thrust of his hips. You squeezed your eyes shut unwilling to see the satisfied look on his face knowing he’d got what he wanted, your submission and your silence and you could envision the shit eating grin on his face as he pummeled his cock into you ruthlessly taking out all the aggression you’d spoken into him on you. 

“Am I still a disappointment? It sounds like you approve of me after all. I fear there’s been a miscommunication?” he growled nibbling on the lobe of your ear. 

You lolled your head to the side whimpering into the humid air. “Y-you haven’t made me cum yet. I don’t… I don’t think someone as incompetent as you could do such a thing a-anyway” you gasp through heavy breaths and Loki’s thumb brushes the front of your neck making your breath hitch and your words catch in your throat. 

“Aw sorry pet I wanted to be gentle with you and take my time but I see you don’t deserve that today” he flicks his hand out and in a puff of green smoke the dagger flies into his hand and up to your throat. “What a cute little whore you're being for me” his finger swipes over the gleaming blade that was inches away from taking your life. Every time Loki thrust into you the blade slipped and slightly grazed your skin, a pearl of blood trickled down your neck and if you didn’t love the god in front of you with your whole heart you’d fear he’d take your life. 

“I’d argue you’re the whore, taking me here at the end of the world even when we’re at each other's necks. Such a slut” you bite. 

Loki chuckles and shakes his head resting in the crook of your neck while still drilling his cock into you. Your stomach began to feel tight and your moans were breathier, higher pitched, more frequent. 

“I disagree darling this feels very fitting” his gentle tone is a break in the waves for you to swim and you roll your head back to look at his sapphire eye’s and brush the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat off of his face. 

“Maybe your right” you whisper leaning in to capture his lips with yours and the fine edge of the blade dug slightly further into your flesh drawing dribbles of red along the dagger. “Would you still kill me if you could?” you wipe the red staining the lapels of your blazer, the remaining trickles meeting between your cleavage, made apparent by the plunging neckline of your dress. 

“Why would I do that when we can have fun like this?” he chuckled and thrust his hips harshly to emphasise his point. 

You can see your orgasm dangling on a frayed string in front of you. Just one more string. 

One more push. 

One more cut. 

“Coward” you hum. Your eye’s dance with mischief and Loki still’s leaning closer to you but removing the knife from your neck. If he punishes you, he can do it himself without a ridiculous knife. 

“Speak up pet I’m not sure I heard you?” he laughs, dragging his hand between your breasts and smearing the blood further down your chest. His hand latches to your breast and you gasp at the gentle massaging of your breast, his rough fingers tweaking your nipple, staining the swell of your chest red. “I thought I heard you call me a coward.” 

You chuckle followed by a moan as his hips slowly restart pumping into you. “Oh wonderful, your hearing still works.” 

He growls and shoves 2 of his fingers in your mouth, the salty metallic taste of your blood clinging to his skin and he drills his hips into you at speeds only a god could achieve. Your stomach crunches and your eye’s roll back, searing hot pleasure rolling over you and vision going white. Velvety walls clamp around Loki’s cock and he grunts struggling to move with you sucking him in. he takes his fingers out your mouth and grips your waist after wiping the digits on his jacket “darling if you keep this up i’m going to- FUCK” he shouts in response to you rutting your hips towards his desperate for his cum. 

“Come on your highness you wouldn’t want to let me down now would you” you pant. He grunts slowly rocking his hips against yours with your walls fluttering around him and his jagged breath tickles your cheek. The thrusts begin to slow and get sloppier, untimed and you roll your hips to meet his lazily. 

“Where?” he asks bluntly. 

You shake your head closing your eyes and rest your head backwards on the wall speaking into the air. “Don’t care” you moan lewdly and a string of curses leave Loki’s lips. 

“I’m cumming” he groans stilling his hips inside you as he shoots thick ropes of white cum into you painting your walls white. 

You both catch your breath and hold each other to your chests clinging like safety nets. Loki pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his trousers admiring his cum seeping out of you. “Are you quite satisfied?” he asks, glancing up at you leaning against the wall. 

“Of course I am. You always leave me satisfied love” you drop your skirt back down so it covers mid thigh and shuffle over to him. “You know I don’t mean what I said yes?” you stroke his cheek gently and he nods, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“Of course darling. And you know I’d never kill you” he reassures you, not that you needed the reassuring in the first place but it’s comforting that he feels the need to tell you. “Let’s leave the knife out of it next time however” he nod’s to your neck waving a hand over it to fix the wound. 

you shrug and chuckle “I don’t know I liked it” you pull at your ripped tights sticking to your thighs and fix your underwear “any chance you can do something about the mess you made” you giggle. He begins to raise his hand before his eyes go wide watching outside the window and he pulls you toward him turning so he was covering you like a shield as a blast of heat went off around you. 

“Can it wait until we escape the apocalypse?” he asks in a hurry, opening the door and guiding you out by the small of your back. 

You nod and rip off the tights completely feeling as though you’d be more comfortable walking around in no tights than sticky ripped ones. “Definitely” you say and both take off in a sprint. 

[latent-thoughts]

An Offering, A Connection...

Summary: When a little boy gets lost in the woods in England, what hope does he have to return to his home safe and sound? Who will come to his rescue? Well, a very chaotic entity that loves kids.

Author's Note: I usually don't write RPF, but I felt compelled to write this one. This concept had been rattling in my head for a while, but I never felt a push to actually write it. Until now, until today, when I had been down in the dumps, thinking I had lost my writing mojo for good. I guess Loki approved?

Category: General

Warnings: None

...............

Golden, rowdy curls... unsure, confused steps.

The child was… lost, for certain. He had looked around and tried to act brave at first. But soon, it all devolved into panic and fear.

He was now crying. No, he was a sobbing mess. Crying out for his mother, looking around with frantic, wet eyes.

He was deep in the woods and there was no help in sight.

Were his parents not around? Why wasn't anyone looking for him?

The hidden, shadowy figure moved closer to the boy as his sobs grew louder, drawn by his distress. Not a sound was heard, but a rustling of wind through the trees.

Slowly, the inky shadow took on a more solid form, though the shape looked like a mirage. Ever changing, never settling.

The boy hadn't noticed the presence yet, for he was far too perturbed with his immediate surroundings.

Finally, on a whim, the shifting mirage settled on a form, just as his footsteps squished the fallen, half rotten leaves on the wet ground.

It had rained not long ago, and it might as well start pouring again.

Not that it mattered. To him, it didn't…

But the child would be soaked, and it wouldn't bode well for him. Children were fragile little treasures, after all.

The boy turned around just as he heard the wet footsteps approaching, his eyes wide and terrified.

They were a lovely shade of blue, big and expressive.

He smiled, stopping before the boy, letting him observe him.

"W-Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking with nerves, his little body shaking in response to both fear and the evening chill of the woods.

"That's irrelevant, dear heart. Are you lost?" he asked the trembling boy, extending his hand towards him as an offer.

The boy didn't move, eyeing his hand with apprehension.

He didn't trust him. That was wise. Trusting strangers in the woods was bad form.

But in this instance, there was little room for choice.

Ah, but he knew he had to be patient. Children were delicate beings. Innocent from all wiles, they held a special place in his heart.

Bending down on one knee, he asked the same question again.

"Are you lost, my child?"

It took him a beat, but the boy finally gave him a little nod, his lips trembling as the tears once again escaped his eyes.

"I want to go home," he mumbled, barely audible.

"I see." The proffered hand still extended towards the boy. "Come then, we shall find a way back."

Patience unlike which he usually possessed took over then, as he let the boy take his hand in a slow, measured approach.

"My mum says that I shouldn't trust strangers," the boy stated, even as he grasped his hand with his little fingers.

"That's all true and wise, but your mum should've been here to protect you."

He did feel a certain ire towards irresponsible parents.

"It's not her fault. I ran away and got lost," the boy said contritely, lowering his head. "I didn't listen to her. I just wanted to run, to feel the wind on my face. I didn't see where I was going."

"Ah, I see. So you were being rebellious." He smirked as he rose to his full height. "How very chaotic of you."

The boy grew less scared and weepy and more loquacious as they began to walk, the sun setting behind them, darkening the woods.

"Is that bad? Being chaotic?"

"Not at all. Chaos is but an aspect of life. Without it, nothing would move, nothing would stir. Nothing would grow."

"So… why did I get lost then? Why do bad things happen with chaos?"

"You think it's a bad thing, but perhaps it isn't. For what it's worth, I found you."

"Yes. But what were you doing in the woods? Were you lost as well? Or were you looking for something?"

A chuckle escaped between them. The boy was a curious creature. Good for him.

"No. I wasn't lost, neither was I looking for something. I simply love wandering in the woods. I'm at home with nature."

"Where do you live?"

"Far from here, but close enough to visit these woods every once in a while"

"You sound like a riddle, and you talk in a weird way."

Another chuckle. "Do I?"

"Yup. But I like it."

Slowly, they walked in a straight line and reached the edge of the woods, stepping onto the familiar grey asphalt that served as the pathway for all the manner of modern human conveyance.

"I recognize this road!" the child claimed with newfound enthusiasm, pulling at his hand as he tried to cross over to the other side.

He let him pull him, smiling down at him as he chirped about his house, which was only a block away.

Of course, it was.

Hand in hand, they reached the boy's home in no time at all.

"Come inside," the boy urged, still hanging onto his hand as they approached the house's main door. "Please?"

He let out a sigh. "I must not, dear. I have places I need to be"

The boy pouted. "But you said you just wander around."

"Not without a purpose. I do have things to do."

The boy looked down, then sideways at the door to his house, letting out a little sigh of disappointment.

"Alright. But I want to thank you."

"I accept your thanks."

Shaking his head, the boy looked up at him again, one hand still hanging onto him while the other fished something out from his pants pocket.

"Here, please have it. I wanted to give you something more, something bigger, but that's all I have right now." He raised his hand up, offering him a confection.

He recognized it--chocolate, one of his favoured sweet treats.

"Please have it."

Well, he wasn't the one to reject an offering. Especially so innocently given. But… an offering given so freely had to have its consequences.

Silently, the confection changed hands.

"I shall take my leave now." He bent down on his knee again, stroking the golden haired head of the boy, uttering a blessing audible to no one but him, spoken in a tongue as old as time itself. "Be good, and don't spread too much chaos and mischief. At least, not until you grow up a bit. You'll get plenty of opportunities when you do."

The boy nodded, though his eyes grew sad. "Before you go, can I at least know your name, sir?"

Lightning sparked up in the sky behind him as he rose, illuminating his pitch dark tresses as he gazed down at the boy, a kind smile gracing his sharp features.

"I have many names, but you may call me Loki."

Thunder rumbled then, loud and cracking as the rain came down in a heavy downpour. "Till we meet again, Tom."

Patting his head again, he turned around and walked away, disappearing into the sheet-like rain.

"Wait… how did you know my name?" the little boy called out in confusion, only to receive silence in response.

Silence and the clamouring rain…

-------

[Present Day]

"Tom? Hello, you still there?"

A blink, and just like that, his thoughts scattered, leaving the shadow of the memory behind. He pulled it back under lock and key, like always. This one wasn't meant to be shared with anyone.

"Yes, I'm here. Sorry, bad connection."

"Ah ok. As I was saying, Disney is going ahead with this thing, and it's going to be pretty big. They want new stories, and they're very eager to have one with Loki."

That was… a surprise. He hadn't been expecting this.

"Loki?"

"Yup."

"As much as I want this to happen, he's… well, he's dead."

He had to say that with a very heavy heart, even apologizing silently to the one he knew was certainly alive and watching over him.

"We'll figure something out. Are you game for it?"

He rubbed his palm against his face, closing his eyes. He was pretty certain that he heard a chuckle echo around him, light and effervescent and almost inaudible.

"You have to be gentle with my heart, Louis, I can't keep saying goodbye to him. Be still, my heart."

"I understand, man, but this time, you'll get the reins. Tell his story in a more fleshed out way, it's gonna be a whole series."

"A whole series, you say?"

"Yeah."

Tom opened his eyes and smiled, shaking his head in disbelief and joy.

"I'm in."

Just as the call disconnected, he went to his kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a dark chocolate bar.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, smiling to himself as he placed it on the counter and went off to take Bobbie out for a run.

He knew that it'd be gone by the time he'd return. Just like it always did.

The End

[mandoalorian]

sensational

Maxwell Lord x F!Reader

Summary: Maxwell is away on a business trip for work, and you’re missing him more than you anticipated.

Word count: 2,2k

Warnings: 18+ smut; guided masturbation, male masturbation, female masturbation, light degradation, edging, orgasm denial, phone sex, long distance after care 🥺

Authors note: I’ve missed writing. So here’s a little something for Maxie cuz I’ve missed him too :( <3

Maxwell had only been gone sixteen hours. He left at 6am, and it was currently: you rolled over to check the time on your bedside alarm clock. 10pm. You frowned, pulling the crushed velveteen blankets up to your chin. He was probably fast asleep now anyway— after the flight and a long day proposing business scheme after business scheme.

You missed him a lot. He promised to call you every morning and every night, so long as he wasn’t swamped at the office. That was his promise and truthfully, you thought you’d be okay. He was only due to be away for a week. You knew a lot of other long-distance couples had it much worse. But being alone in his big suburban house was more isolating than you had ever even considered. It felt empty without him, and it didn’t feel like home anymore.

At least tomorrow you’d get to see Alistair, so that was a plus. You mentally groaned as you remembered how you were going to have to visit Maxwell’s ex-wife in order to pick up his son. She didn’t seem to like you all that too much, and to be honest, you could probably do without the chore of visiting her every Tuesday evening and putting up with her crap. It would be okay though. Alistair was worth it.

Your mind wandered back to your boyfriend. Your smart, handsome and powerful boyfriend with the honey coloured hair and chocolate brown eyes. He was always soft and warm— and a fantastic lover. Not only he was an excellent businessman, but he was also a brilliant father and a wonderful partner. He really was the perfect man for you.

You smiled wickedly to yourself as you remembered last night, and the antics you had both gotten up to before he had to leave in the morning. It was a long, passionate night. Your fingers ghosted over the love bites and bruises that were peppered across your neck and collarbones, and you gasped at the memory, a familiar heat rushing down your body.

If only he was here now… you two could’ve done it all over again.

Your glazed eyes flicked up to the telephone that was on your bedside table. You must’ve been staring at it for a good few minutes, contemplating things. Maxwell had scrawled the number to his hotel room down on a card before he’d left… just in case of an emergency.

You dipped your hand down to your cunt and felt your breathing hitch as you gathered all your slick on your fingers. You hadn’t realised just how wet you’d become.

Just call him. The devil on your shoulder urged. If he was sleeping, you certainly didn’t want to wake him but… surely there was no harm in an innocent goodnight call. At least then, you could hear his warm voice and his articulate words.

Maxwell Lord had you whipped.

Sighing, you took the phone from the hook and dialled his number. He answered on the first two rings.

“Hey honey,” he had a tired lilt to his voice, but just the depth and richness of his tone was enough to set a blaze in your tummy. “I was just about to go to bed,” he continued. “It’s late. Why are you still up?”

Yes, his voice was giving you everything you had desired, and more.

You swallowed thickly, your finger tracing lazy circles over your clit. “Mm couldn’t sleep. Was thinkin’ bout you.” you revealed, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. If you could get off to his voice alone, without having him notice what you were doing, that would be perfect. If he did catch on that you were touching yourself without his permission though… that would be a different story. “Miss you.” you exhaled, your eyes snapping shut.

“I miss you too sweetheart,” Max sighed, and you could faintly hear him shuffle around in his bed, the sheets making a fuzzy noise on the other end of the line. “What— what were you thinking about?”

The question was a trap. You knew Max all too well. He was right to have his suspicions.

You didn’t even bother opening your eyes, and you tried to repress a longing whine as your finger involuntary picked up speed, like some kind of reflex reaction to his question. “S-stuff,” you stammered out when you felt your fingers begin to dampen and slip between your folds. But ‘S-stuff’ was hardly going to be good enough for Maxwell. You dipped two fingers inside you, surprised at how well they were stretching you. “Mm— Max, miss— I miss—“

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, already close to pushing your first climax out.

“Princess?” Max asked. “You there?”

Your response was delayed but was followed by a stifled moan that wasn’t lost on Max whatsoever. “Need you.” you gasped out, dropping the phone to your pillow by your head so you could use your other hand to rub yourself.

The friction of your digits rubbing against that sweet spot and the way your index finger and middle finger curled up inside of you was too much. You could feel yourself coming undone.

“Oh,” Max omitted knowingly, unable to contain the small smirk that was crossing his lips. “Oh baby.”

He felt his cock twitch from the faint little whimpers you were making, and he slid his hand under the waistband of his light grey sweats, freeing his already semi-hard erection.

“Tell me princess,” Max hummed. “What ‘stuff’ were you thinking about?”

Fuck. You wanted to curse. He knew. He clearly knew you were touching yourself to the sound of his voice; probably thinking you were needy and desperate. But you were. You really were and you’d give anything just to feel his hands on you right now.

“S-so much,” you answered, trying your hardest to collect your thoughts for him. “Undressing me. Caressing me. Mm, you playing with my tits like you always do. Kissing them— sucking them. Biting…” you reluctantly pulled your finger from your clit and began to palm at your breasts. “Come home.”

The two words were practically begging him. You ached for him. Your entire body was burning with arousal and you needed him more than you’d ever needed anyone before.

You knew it was a stupid request; and that he couldn’t just ‘come home’. But if you could have one wish— it would be for him to be on top of you right now, smothering you with kisses and whispering dirty little words into your ears.

“M-Max?” your voice was broken as you continued curling your fingers inside of you.

His fingers were wrapped around his own length now, pumping it as he imagined you sprawled out, naked on his king-sized bed. The grey sweats and white shirt had been long discarded onto the floor.

“I’m right here baby,” he assured, gathering the beads of milky white precum and rubbing it up and down his cock. “I’m here. Why— why don’t you take my pillow and grind your pretty pussy over it hm? I know you can get off like that, you dirty girl.”

Another uncontrollable whine omitted from your lips at his light degradation. You followed his orders, knowing better than to disobey. Taking his pillow, you got on your knees and positioned it in between your legs, holding the phone to your ear as you began to thrust your hips.

You imagined it be his lap. You’d rubbed yourself over his thighs plenty of times, making a mess of his designer pants and creating stains not even the drycleaner’s could remove. His pillow still vaguely smelt of his apple scented shampoo and it only spurred you on even more.

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” Maxwell grunted. “My pretty girl. What are you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the pleasure rifed through your veins. “I’m your pretty girl.” you confirmed, feeling your cheeks heat up when Max chuckled.

It was a sensation overload— and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last. Maxwell knew too, judging by the way your moans picked up and became jagged. “God— Ma-Mmm—Max,” your thoughts were fuzzy and jumbled as you increased your pace. You wanted to feel something inside of you again. Your fingers or a dildo or— something, anything. But you weren’t even sure if you’d get the chance. “I’m so close,” you warned. “Gonna— gonna cum—“

“No,” Max said darkly, his voice having lowered an octave. “Roll on your back princess, and pull the pillow off you.”

You wanted to cry. You knew he always liked to play these games.

“B—but,” you choked out, wanting to finish and reach your orgasm.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

He was using that scary business voice. The one you often overheard when he was on the phone with partners or associates. Reluctantly you pulled the pillow away from your weeping cunt put it back in its place.

“O-okay,” you mused, wiping the tears that had pricked at the corner of your eyes as you changed position and got comfortable on your back, just like he’d instructed.

“I wish I was with you sweetheart, wish I could fuck your little pussy. How wet are you?”

“Very.” you replied exasperated, desperately waiting for him to let you touch yourself again.

“Show me,” Maxwell smiled wickedly. “Move the phone in between your legs and finger yourself. I want to hear you.”

You frantically followed his instruction and inserted your two fingers inside of you, pushing them deep and curling them upwards so they hit that hot, spongey sweet spot. Your legs were shaking and your back was arched over top of the satin sheets as you panted your boyfriend’s name.

Max was more than thrilled to hear the squelching wet noise that echoed throughout the comfort of yours and his shared bedroom, with every thrust and curl of your fingers. It felt good but… it just wasn’t him.

Now his own broken gasps were audible. You loved to hear him. He always got loud when he was close. That’s how you knew he was about to finish. “So— so good. Sweetest cunt in the whole fuck—fucking world. When I come home I— gonna fuck you so hard.” he promised in between shaky breaths.

Your lips curled into a grin and you arched your back as your slick dipped down the softness of your inner thighs. After all the edging and over stimulation, there was no way you were going to last. This was exactly what you wanted; Max may not have been physically there but his voice alone had always worked wonders.

“Can we— can we cum togeth—“ your request was fuzzled by the way you buried your head into your pillow, feeling a warm flush of heat race to your core.

“Yes,” Max cut you off impatiently. “Are you close?”

“Y-yeah, I don’t think I can hold it—“

“You can baby, you can. I’m going to count down from three and we’ll cum together. Okay?”

You were a screaming sweating mess at this point, and his countdown couldn’t have felt any slower. Three seconds felt like three years as you mustered all your will to obey him.

“Three, two, one—“

He didn’t even say zero. The countdown was followed by a long groan falling from his lips as his milky white seed spilt all over his fist and his tummy. His cry pushed you over the edge and you released your own climax, spasming and shaking on his side of the bed.

You curled up under his sheets, still shaky, and pulled the phone back to your ear. “Hi,” you whispered sheepishly. “That was good.” you bit down on your lip, smiling to yourself. Your own voice was a little hoarse from all the moaning and whimpering.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, smiling himself. “Are you okay?”

“I’m tired,” you admitted with a huff, relishing in his cologne scented blankets.

“Wish I was there to clean you up,” Max sighed, and for a split second, he pondered the consequences of catching the next flight home.

He always took care of you after sex, paying a meticulous amount of detail to how you acted after your moments of shared intimacy. He’d fetch you water and wipe away any mess with a warm wash cloth. Sometimes he’d even help you into some cozy pyjamas or one of his shirts.

“I can go clean myself up, don’t worry about me,” you hummed in contentment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect baby,” he grinned “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“I can let you go—“

“No,” you cut him off, clutching onto the phone not wanting him to leave. Yeah you’d missed the amazing sex but truthfully, you’d missed him the most. “Can we uhm, can we just stay here on the phone together? Fall asleep together? I— I want you to be there when you wake up.”

Max hesitated for a moment, but he didn’t see a problem with your request. In fact, he thought it was a wonderful idea.

“Yeah, of course honey,” he replied softly. “I’m gonna go wipe myself down. You should do the same.”

“O-okay,” you sniffed. “I love you. I won’t be long.”

When you returned, Max was already waiting for you. “Princess?” he called, when he heard you shuffle back into bed.

“Hiya,” you giggled, rubbing your eyes. “I’m sleepy.” you admitted, your statement followed by a yawn.

Max chuckled. “Has my girl worn herself out?”

You laughed and nodded your head. “Yeah.”

“Okay sweetheart, let’s go sleep.” Max hummed, resting the phone by his pillow and closing his eyes.

“Okay, good night Maxie.” you mused softly.

“Good night honey.” He returned, before you both fell asleep.

——————

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