#they need to fucking touch grass with their prequels

[thereisnolumos]

I thought Disney cannot disappoint and infuriate me more after Snow White live-action

I was wrong

What the actual fuck is going on in the idiotic Mufasa?????

They're not brothers??? Mufasa took the throne from the rightful heir Taka??? ARE THEY ON DRUGS?!?!?!?!

Have the assholes in Disney forgotten, that The Lion King is LITERALLY Hamlet for kids?!?!?!?!! There was no secret about their past!!!

And Scars line about "I was the first in line for the throne" didn't need to be explained! He was! As the younger brother of the childless king he was! And then that king had a child and Scar was moved down! That's how the line of succession works!!!!

I hate it. I hate it so much🤬

[capthowzer]

Ahmed Best as Jedi Master Kelleran Beq in The Mandalorian "Chapter 20: The Foundling"

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 27

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: themes of self-harm, harm reduction, imperfect recovery, PTSD, tattooing, piercings, themes on nonconsensual tattoos and branding, angst

~

“Come into town with me,” Sam said, looking right at Isaac over the breakfast table.

Isaac’s hand tightened in a fist around his cereal spoon. “Um…” He glanced at Gavin, who sat next to him. Gray had already eaten breakfast hours ago and was out on a walk.

Isaac’s scars stung. He was going to… not use his knife, he wasn’t going to do that after breakfast, he told himself he wasn’t. But his skin itched and he needed to do something. He had been planning on holding an ice cube after breakfast until it disappeared into water, dripping off his fingers.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “What’s in town?”

A faint flush warmed Sam’s cheeks, and a smile tugged at their lips. “Zachariah did some asking around, and it turns out one of the guys who lives in town used to be a tattoo artist, back down south. Zachariah is going in today to, uh… get his tattoo covered up.”

“Oh,” Isaac said softly. He chewed his lip and kept his gaze from flicking to Gavin with sheer will alone. “His…” He motioned at his own shoulder with the spoon in his hand.

Sam nodded solemnly. “His Stormbeck crest, yeah.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “How would they cover that up? It’s… huge. And dark black.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said with a shrug. “But apparently the guy said he could do it. And I wanted to go, to support Zachariah. I figured you might come with me.” Their gaze shifted to Gavin’s. “Both of you?”

“That sounds nice, Isaac,” Gavin said gently, sliding his hand into Isaac’s free one. “But if you, um… need a break after last night—”

“No,” Isaac snapped. The embarrassment of Vera’s gaze and words hadn’t faded, but he was fucking sick of being the one having to be babied. Not after what Gavin had been through. Not after what Gavin had survived – after what he nearly hadn’t survived. Isaac wasn’t going to be the reason Gavin stayed inside, away from the sun and air and grass, because he was fucking embarrassed.

He shuddered and carefully put his spoon down. When he looked up at Gavin and Sam in turn, they were looking up at him in concern – or perhaps something deeper than concern. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he ground his teeth against the shame that prickled where their gazes touched him. His throat worked and he made his shoulders relax.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I hate being this on edge.”

“We know,” Sam responded without hesitation – but without judgement, too.

Isaac offered them a tentative smile. He squeezed Gavin’s fingers and glanced between him and Sam. “I appreciate you being concerned. Both of you. But… I’ll be okay. I think it would be better, actually, if… if you both believe I’ll be okay. And…” He returned his gaze to Gavin’s, and his smile grew warmer. “And we should get you outside as much as possible. Get some color in those cheeks before winter comes.”

Gavin laughed and drew his hand through his short-cropped hair. “Vera did say I look so white now I may as well be a ghost.”

“Damn, Vera,” Isaac muttered.

“She meant it as a joke,” Gavin said, still smiling. “I wasn’t hurt by it.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. But maybe she could wait until I stop seeing you dead in my nightmares before she starts joking about it? He pulled Gavin’s thin hand to his lips and kissed the bony knuckles.

“So… yes?” Sam said, giving them both a thumbs up. “Tattoo guy? Zachariah? Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Isaac said with a nod. “Gavin?”

“You know I’m always interested in going into town,” Gavin said with a grin, and in that moment, Isaac’s heart swelled to bursting. There was Gavin, his old self – perhaps not his old self, but his true self, the way Isaac had seen him in the few months they had had together before Gavin had been taken – radiant and mischievous and sweet. In that wide, contented grin, the pain and fear had fallen away from Gavin’s face, the circles under his eyes faded, and the scars stretched until they were pale again. Isaac’s throat tightened and he drank in the sight of the thing he hadn’t truly believed he would ever see again: Gavin safe, home, and happy.

The intensity of Isaac’s attention made Gavin blush. “What?” he said, his smile growing wider.

“Just… looking at you,” Isaac murmured. His own face flushed and he looked away. “Sorry.” He glanced at Sam. They stared at him, grinning too. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with a chuckle. “It’s really nice to see you two back together, is all.”

Isaac flushed deeper and snatched his spoon up off the table. “Yeah,” he said, and scooped up a bite of cereal. “Let’s finish up breakfast so we can head into town.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to see what Zachariah is gonna get.”

∴

Isaac didn’t know what he found more intriguing: the man’s tattoos, or his piercings. Isaac had seen all kinds of piercings before on the team’s missions – rings all over the ears, in nostrils, in lips, in eyebrows, in nipples – but he had never seen, or at least noticed, anyone who had pieces of metal seemingly embedded in their skin like the tattoo artist did. And he had them all over his face – on his dimples, cheekbones, and above his eyebrows. Isaac couldn’t stop staring.

The man seemed to notice. He gave Isaac a long glance, which had him shifting his gaze down sheepishly. When the man turned his attention to Zachariah, Isaac used the distraction to look at his tattoos.

They covered his skin – or at least, his left forearm and hand, with some stretching up his neck to wind across his jaws as well. His right forearm was almost completely bare, and the half-rolled sleeves of his shirt and pants obscured the rest of him from view. But across his left arm twisted the impossibly complicated shapes of skulls, birds, and geometric shapes, all in a gritty swirl of black and gray and red. The designs shifted with his muscles as slid his hands into his pockets. He stood only a little taller than Sam, and was even more slight in stature.

The shop itself was actually just a glorified shed attached to the feed store, but it looked like it had been completely made over to accommodate an array of tattoo supplies – plus a chair in the center of the large shed that looked like it could be unfolded to be like a bed. A few stools lined the walls as well.

“So,” the man said with a thin shrug. His dark, baggy clothes seemed to hang off him. “You said shoulder, right?”

“Um… that’s, that’s right,” Zachariah said softly. He rolled up his short sleeve and stared at the floor as he revealed his Stormbeck tattoo. Sam reached out and put a hand on his arm.

Isaac’s throat tightened. It’s bigger than I remember.

Still, the man nodded, seemingly unbothered, his eyes moving over the tattoo. He tilted his head. “Any ideas for what you wanted instead?”

“Oh… no,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just whatever works. I know it’s… it’s bad.”

The man snorted. “Definitely not the worst I’ve seen. You ever try to cover one of these up on the face?”

Gavin gasped. “Who the fuck tattoos on the face?” he breathed.

“The Torrs,” the man said with a dry chuckle. “When they’re feeling particularly shitty. A bull in the most god-awful blocky style, right here on the cheek.” He motioned to his own cheek, bare except for a dot of metal. “Or on the neck. Still, I think I’d prefer that over the Stormbecks.”

Gavin went rigid beside Isaac. Isaac could hear his throat click as he swallowed, watched his lips tremble as he opened his mouth and asked, “Why… would you prefer a face tattoo over the Stormbecks?”

With an easy shrug, the tattoo artist pulled up the sleeve on his right arm and exposed the brand over his bicep: the head of a raven, surrounded by vines. By the look of the scar, it was a decade old at least.

“R-right,” Gavin whispered. “Stormbecks brand.”

“Hurts like a bitch, too,” the man said with a chuckle.

“So you were owned by my— by Benjamin Stormbeck?” Gavin croaked. His eyes swam with tears.

“Yup,” the man said. When he didn’t continue, Isaac’s gaze shifted from Gavin and pinned the artist where he stood.

“You know who he is.” Isaac’s mouth was dry. His hand inched toward his gun.

“I suspected,” the man said gently. He shrugged again. “No hard feelings, though. I mean. I heard some of the story, so I know that’s not even your real name anymore. And I heard you were in town. So it wasn’t hard to guess. But like I said. No hard feelings. You think I haven’t done shit? I wasn’t branded for no fuckin’ reason. It was because I got caught selling Stormbeck playthings to a higher bidder. So.”

Gavin went pale. “You sold—”

Isaac fell back a step, pulling Gavin and Sam with him. “Let’s—”

The man raised his hands. “Holy shit, here’s a good first impression. I did it so I could feed my little sister and her kid. And I didn’t exactly enjoy it. And once I escaped, I didn’t start again. Fuck, I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to Zachariah. “Well, I might have entirely fucked this up. Sorry. But I would like to help you out, still.”

Zachariah stood frozen, his eyes darting between the man and Sam. “I… um…”

“Start over, maybe? My name’s Brandon.” Brandon held out a hand and shook Zachariah’s. “Good to meet you, man.”

Zachariah’s hand swallowed Brandon’s, but his was shaking. He squeezed Brandon’s hand in a quick handshake. “You too, Brandon,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“And you guys, too,” Brandon said, his relaxed demeanor slightly giving way. He held out his hand for Gavin to shake.

“Gavin Uriah,” Gavin said, his eyes still downcast.

“Yup,” Brandon said with a nod. He held out his hand to Sam.

“Sam,” they said, their mouth turning down at the corners. They kept their arms folded awkwardly across their chest.

“Sweet.” Brandon didn’t skip a beat. He reached out to shake Isaac’s hand.

“Isaac Moore,” Isaac said flatly. He only barely held himself back from grinding Brandon’s knuckles together in his grip. Instead, he released his hand quickly, so he would be able to reach for his gun if it turned out he needed it.

“Okay, cool,” Brandon said, rubbing his hands together and glancing at the four of them. “It really is my bad for bringing up the plaything… thing. Not exactly something I’m proud of and it’s honestly not something I bring up a lot. If you don’t feel good about moving forward, totally cool. But…” He peered at Zachariah’s tattoo again, taking a step to the side as if to look at it from a different angle. “I think this is totally doable, depending on what you go with.”

Anger and distrust churned in Isaac’s gut. The door called to him, but more than that; this entire town felt absolutely crawling with people he couldn’t – or shouldn’t – trust. Just being in the same room with someone who had sold stolen playthings made him sick to his stomach, and to know that this same man had also brought up the Stormbecks knowing who it was that stood in front of him…

After everything Gavin has been through, after having that history carved into his fucking arm…

“What do you think, Zachariah? It’s up to you,” came Sam’s voice, winding through his distrust – and below the distrust, as there always was, was fear.

Zachariah wrung his hands and looked to each of them in turn. “Um… I would… really like to have it covered,” he said weakly.

“Then let’s stay and have it covered,” Sam said with a nod. They glanced at Isaac, and he felt their gaze like an admonishment.

He forced himself to nod back, forced his shoulders to relax.

“Okay,” Brandon said with a gusty exhale. “Sounds good. Um. I do a lot of my designs freehand as long as they’re simple, but I have the stuff to do a stencil too. So. If you don’t have any ideas, um…” He pulled up a stool and sat down. Everyone else remained standing. Brandon didn’t seem to notice. “What kind of things do you do? What do you enjoy?”

“Um…” Zachariah spread his hands. “I don’t… really know. I uh… I played soccer with my siblings, but that was more for them.”

“Hm. Okay. What else?”

Zachariah glanced at Sam and blushed a furious red. “I like… Sam,” he said, almost too quietly to be heard.

“No go. I don’t do couple’s tattoos.” Brandon waved the idea away. “Used to be bad luck in case you broke up. Now I don’t do it in case one of you dies.”

Isaac let out a sound like he’d been punched.

“Way less likely up here, but a superstition is a superstition,” Brandon said with a shrug. “Let’s think of something else.”

“Um…” Zachariah twisted his hands together. “Finn and Ellis have… a cat that’s really friendly, and I like him…?”

“Mm, could be promising,” Brandon said. “What are the main colors?”

“Oh, he’s all black,” Sam said with a grin.

Brandon leapt up from the stool. “Bingo,” he said, and went to his table of supplies. He paused and glanced back at Zachariah and lifted his eyebrows. “Does that work? Black cat tattoo?”

“You… can really make this work?” Zachariah murmured, glancing to the others hopefully and back to Brandon.

“Sure thing,” Brandon said. He pulled on some gloves and began preparing the tattoo gun. “Only thing to settle is payment.”

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “We don’t have any—”

“Yeah, I know, nobody does,” Brandon said with a good-natured wave of his hand. “But I have a small tree that’s been about to fall over in my yard for a few months. I don’t have a car to pull it over and I don’t have the strength or… frankly, the fuckin’ time to chop it into firewood when it does go. Help me pull it over, then give me like four hours of chopping? Whatever amount of wood that makes?”

“Th-that’s it?” Zachariah said softly. “That’s… all you want?”

“Yeah, dude,” Brandon said with a snort. “Believe me, it’s worth it to me.”

“I can start tomorrow,” Zachariah breathed.

“You’ll start once this is healed,” Brandon laughed. “You don’t want a tattoo this big getting infected. Especially not up here where I don’t have a lot of the stuff I would need to treat it.”

“Thank…” Zachariah swallowed hard and sank into the tattoo chair. “Thank you.”

Brandon turned around and rolled his tray of supplies closer to the tray. “Oh yup, just make yourself comfortable. I already wiped the chair down before you got here.” He gestured to the stools along the wall. “The rest of you want to have a seat?”

“Thanks,” Sam said, and gave Zachariah a reassuring squeeze on his arm. They and Gavin each went to a stool and sat down.

“I’ll stand,” Isaac said coldly.

Brandon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Sit down if you feel woozy.” He poured disinfectant over a cloth and smoothed it over Zachariah’s exposed shoulder. “Did the old tattoo heal okay?”

“Um, yeah,” Zachariah mumbled. “Just a little itching. The Storm— um. They gave me a good tattoo cream for the healing process.”

“At least there’s that,” Brandon said with a one-shoulder shrug, peering at the tattoo again. “Let me just…” He uncapped a black marker and drew a few swooping lines across Zachariah’s shoulder. “There. That’ll be the general idea. Like I said, I can add more detail if you want, but…” He stripped off his gloves and passed Zachariah a mirror. “Take a look. Do you—”

“How did you do that?” Zachariah whispered, eyes wide, staring in awe at the mirror in his hand.

Sam jumped up off their stool. “They me see,” they said, grinning. They stared at the drawing on Zachariah’s shoulder. “I… wow. I didn’t… so you’ll fill in that part and that part?” They held out their left hand to point.

“Okay, now I have to see,” Gavin said as he slid off his stool, too. His eyes widened as he looked at Zachariah’s shoulder. “It’ll be…” He wet his lips. “It’ll be like it was never there.”

Isaac ground his teeth and stepped around Zachariah, unable to contain his curiosity. The drawing was simple, but the lines were clear; once they were filled in, the image of Nata curled on Zachariah’s shoulder would fully cover the black Stormbeck crest that marred it now. Peeks of Zachariah’s skin would even show through to show the cat’s eyes, nose, and whiskers, and his tail curled around Zachariah’s bicep.

“I love it,” Zachariah rasped. “Seriously, I… I love it. Let’s do it.”

Brandon clapped his hands together. “Awesome. Let’s do it.” He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and switched on the tattoo gun, dipping the tip of it into the small pot of jet-black ink beside him. “We’ll take this at your pace, okay? Shouldn’t take too too long, but if you need me to slow down or if you need to just tap out, no problem. We can always go again another time.”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. Tap out?

Zachariah nodded vigorously and pushed out a slow breath. Sam pulled their stool forward and reached out, taking his other hand. Isaac watched in confusion. They’re acting like he’s about to give birth, what—

The needle touched Zachariah’s skin and he let out a hiss.

Isaac fell a step forward, his eyes fixed on the needle in Brandon’s hand. “Does that hurt?” he said, before he could stop himself.

“It’s…” Zachariah’s eyes went wide and he stared up at Isaac. “N-no,” he stammered. “No. It doesn’t. I… it’s not that bad, I promise it’s—”

“But it hurts,” Isaac said weakly. “Right? Like, does it always hurt?” He could feel Sam’s gaze on his face, but he ignored it.

Brandon wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “Depends on the person, and on the body part getting tattooed. And on what’s being done. But yeah, tattooing hurts, man. It’s needles going into your skin at like 10,000 times a second.” He chuckled and glanced up at Isaac. He immediately sobered when he saw the expression on Isaac’s face.

“Do you…” Isaac swallowed dryly. “Do you tattoo over scars?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Brandon said, and turned back to his work. “I work in the North. If I didn’t work with scars, I wouldn’t have a job.”

“I mean… do you…” Isaac’s hand shook as he fumbled for his sleeve. He wordlessly pulled his sleeve up to reveal the scars at his wrist and forearm.

Brandon paused his tattooing and looked at Isaac’s arm. He looked for a long time, so long that Isaac flushed with embarrassment and yanked his sleeve back down. Then, Brandon drew in a deep breath and said, “Of course I do work over those kinds of scars, man. But I can’t tattoo over broken skin. You’re gonna have to stop doing that if you want any work done by me.” Without another word, he turned back to Zachariah. He switched on the machine again and deftly moved it over Zachariah’s skin, wiping, tattooing, wiping, tattooing.

Isaac fell a step back and sank onto the stool next to Gavin. His scars prickled where the air had touched them. Still, as he watched Brandon work, he imagined how it might feel to have a needle slide into his skin 10,000 times per minute leaving ink in its wake, making designs instead of scars. He shivered as Gavin slid his fingertips against his palm and laced their fingers together.

“You doing okay?” Sam said gently.

“Yeah,” Zachariah said with a tight smile. “Really, it’s not bad at all.”

“Damn,” Brandon murmured, as if to himself. “This is gonna be a really cool piece.”

Continued here

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[rancidtae]

NAERI STATION: INTERLUDE | (TEASER)

Genre: angst, fluff, smut. coming of age au. mafia au. Warnings: Graphic violence, Strong language, Mature content. Pairing: bts & Original Female Character (Jung Jiah) - Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character - Kim Namjoon/Original Female Character summary: the one where the kids play with fire, and Yoongi is angry angry.

a/n: here it is! this is a prequel to arcadia's lullaby, my exo focused fic that is still in the works. I remember someone telling me they enjoyed Jiah's and Yoongi's interactions in there and since I already had a lot of backstory in my mind and I miss the 7s, I decided to give them a much-deserved story of their own.

This story will be set before the events in AL and it'll cover my OFC's adventures, canonic events, pains of teenage adulthood, and relationships between 2014-2018, with the tannies as main characters of course. hope you'll enjoy and as always, feedback is welcomed :)

coming soon (very soon)

>> March 2014. Three months after Hwacheon's fire.

“So, whose idea was it?” Yoongi demanded. 

Their heads whipped in his direction, features momentarily frozen. They’d been too invested in talking their ears off and blasting Whatever by Oasis on Jimin’s phone to hear him as he made his way down the creaky stairs.

“We were all playing, hyung, it’s not like it’s only one person–”

Jungkook was making a fair point, but Taehyung and Jimin sneakily tilted their heads at the only girl in the room, sitting with one chopstick in each fist resting on the table, ready to dig in.

“So it was you, then. May I ask what the fuck you were thinking?”

Ok, maybe he was overdoing it with the f-word and the whole bad cop stalking inside the questioning room. She didn’t flinch or even blink at his approaching figure, but the boys’ eyes widened. They shared concerned side glances, just making sure the worried is shared: shit, he’s angry angry.

“It’s just a game my friends used to play,” she answered.

Yoongi realized then that he hadn’t heard her talk much in the past weeks. She seemed content sitting and hanging around in silence most of the time, letting the trio take the lead, paying attention to Jin’s questions, and offering short answers.

And what happened the first time she’d decided to take some initiative? He was left with a burnt patch of grass in his backyard, dangerously close to the boat and the shed. It was bitch to put out even between the five of them, because only dirt kills diesel fire.

And to top it all off he was just getting home after commuting back from Seoul.

So they dealt with that. Then he went up for a much-needed shower, only to come back down and find them warming up dinner, plating it and all, stinking like smoke and dirt.

“And what game was that, forest fire?”

The four answered in unison. “Hot potato.” 

Taehyung went on to explain how it goes. You tie a knot in the middle of a knee sock, soak it in diesel, set it on fire and throw it around. First one to drop it's the loser. Jimin kicked him under the table before he further elaborated on the rules of such a riveting recreational activity.

But Yoongi got stuck on a detail. “So you have friends, and you remember Hot Potato. I guess your short-term amnesia just– poofed away”

That one landed, and it landed well. She turned away from him before he was done talking —a gesture so rude he would’ve first stuck his hand down the toilet before attempting it at his parent’s house– and went on to grab her chopsticks again.

Jimin was fascinated, Taehyung? Horrified. Jungkook was just a ball of mortification staring at her. 

Not a second went by, she didn’t even get to put them properly between her fingers before Yoongi hooked a finger on the bowl and pulled it away from her reach. The steaming, spicy broth sloshed around, nearly touching his skin.

“I guess you can now tell us what’s your story, then.”

She could. Jungkook wouldn’t do it but he could attest to this. He’d caught a faraway look in her eyes sometimes, looking at them during dinner, playing Mario 64 when they got to Whomp's fortress and stood close to the piranha plant, setting off a soft lullaby, or sometimes looking out of the window at night. People don’t visibly remember things, and miss and regret without having a story to tell.

“I can’t,” she said, looking sideways at the bowl, specifically at the one piece of bok choy she meant to pick first. Revenge was brewing under the calm in her eyes. “It’s classified information, and you don’t have the clearance”

“That so?” 

“It is so.” she met his eye, hands folded on her lap, mockingly polite.

Yoongi squinted at the girl, the same one that Jin, god bless him, had worried would face some sort of neurological damage after the shit she went through. They’d been running all kinds of tests on her at the hospital, for her head, her ears and her heart, but as it is, Yoongi just needed to talk to her and leave no room for further bullshit to successfully diagnose her as a little shit.

“Well, no worries. I’m overthrowing the classification system. You’re free to tell us all about it.” he assured, tone light, walking around the kitchen table and getting himself a glass of water. 

The boys tried to do damage control behind his back, He could see them all in the reflection of the dirty window by the sink. Jungkook vehemently shook his head at her, Taehyung made an x with both arms, Jimin tried to hold back his laughter.

“Under what jurisdiction?”

Tearing his eyes away from the sun disappearing down the lake, Yoongi made his way over and flattened both hands on the surface of the table. “Under it’s my house you’re living in and my food you’re eating jurisdiction, how about that?”

“Hyung–” Jimin tried to say, but she beat him to it.

“I’m sorry we almost burnt the backyard,” she stated, very businesslike, wearing Taehyun’s old, frayed snoopy sweatshirt that crickets visibly feasted upon.

“And the house.” 

“And the house,” she repeated. Jungkook nodded to himself, satisfied. His eyes had been bouncing between the girl and his usually laid-back hyung. Worried that things would escalate. “Can I have my bowl?” 

“No. Were you raised by wolves, huh? You’re supposed to wait for the eldest to start eating.”

“Hyung, aren’t you being too harsh?” Taehyung winced, also trying to play Pyromaniac’s Advocate. “Hyung said she might have brain damage.”

She did not take well to that, but she kept her mouth shut. Yoongi held back a chuckle.

“I’ll deal with you three later,” 

Yoongi knew letting a girl stay would mess up the dynamic.

He’d expected it to be the result of either hormones, Jungkook being socially stunted when it comes to members of the female population, jealousy, or bathroom arrangements. He failed to consider that they'd find a nameless girl with a smart mouth and act like she’s a pup they really want to keep; can we, hyung? We’ll take her on walks, and let her suck diesel out of the boat’s tank.

He turned back to her, sighing. This wouldn’t do. 

“Listen, I don’t give a shit who you are or what happened with you, but you’re going to have to figure out what you want to do.” 

How old was she, again? Not much older than Jungkook probably, maybe even younger? 

“What do I want to do?” 

“Uh-huh. I’m not gonna have you slugging around, coming up with shitty games, and hot potatoing my property. Think of something, and we’ll figure it out.” he paused, noticing the glint in her eye. “Just don’t get too greedy, this is a working-class household. We’ll find something for you, it’ll do you well.”

High School Yoongi would’ve clutched his hammer and sickle if he could hear him talk about how work dignifies. But that was before he moved out of his parent's house, and somehow ended up living with a bunch of kids.

The girl blinked up at him, and it might’ve been the first time he’d seen her smile.

“I’d like to eat my bowl of malatang. Please.”

[tottwritesfanfic]

alright i want to apologise in advance a bit, because I recently tripped and fell into another BNHA fixation, and it's sorta getting in the way of my other stuff.

So. If I look as if I've jumped fandoms for the next however long...I really haven't. I just added to the pile, and I'm returning to my old VR AU because holy ensemble cast, it sure does scratch that itch.

...is it bad that ensemble casts are basically a prerequisite for any fandom I might get invested in enough to write for?

Anyway, not the point. The point is that I'm channelling my current obsession into NaNo this year (as co-ML for Kent's region I try to give it my all when I participate!), so I'm afraid everything else is probably not going to get much love for the next few weeks or so.

Probably. I know what I'm like, and I usually find it hard to stick to one project at a time, especially if I don't want to burn out. TBH, that's the other reason I'm doing this - so far, the only part of this AU i've posted is a standalone prequel fic which no one really cared about anyway because it had no ships. So if I burn out and this goes nowhere, at least I haven't left anyone hanging, right?

Also, if you want to take a peek at any of the decidedly excessive worldbuilding notes I've been putting together for the last couple of weeks, just hit me up. So far there's like...10k of it, including my musings on how the hell to turn quirks into VR hacks which make sense on a digital platform. Some of these are more straightforward than others, let me tell you.

I am also decidedly in love with how OFA/AFO works in this setting, but that's for me to know and you to find out if I ever get as far as posting this damn thing.

also also dropping this here because I can and it gives you a bit of an idea of the setting: In the AU, basically the surface of the planet got screwed over a couple of hundred years ago, and everyone lives underground, logging into a VR world where they can roleplay as pre-disaster humans for the sake of their sanity for their waking hours. Quirks are basically government-sanctioned hacks which people apply to their VR accounts, because ultimately it was easier to legitimise and legislate them than try and get people to stop doing that. A chief problem in the story is dealing with the fallout of an entire world of people who no longer remember how to touch grass. (It's a lot more serious than this, but basically my planning seriousness is inversely proportionate to the tone of the fic itself, and I just. I cannot talk about my work in any other way.)

Here's a snippet from my planning document to give you an example:

Aizawa is just a regular-ass dude who got his hero licence in spite of his Exploit rather than because of it. He’s also IRL ripped because his eye problems aren’t exactly conducive to 16 hours of screentime a day. This is why no fucker has heard of him, because all his heroics happen in short, irate bursts before he logs out to dose up on fucking eye drops.

His chief strength in this AU is not a borderline gamebreaking exploit, it’s the fact that he can, like, actually function in the real world a hell of a lot better than most folks.

Which meeeeeeaans, that he becomes 1A's teacher in the real world, after they all realise they need to buff up for this shit because they’re (mostly) totally clueless on how to function outside of the Interface. In this fic, UA is basically 1A's super secret offline school where they learn proper fitness and agility, and the physical, mechanical skills they’re gonna need in order to pull off the heist of the century. Hahaha, Aizawa is gonna be That Guy who is super strict about everyone’s screen time lmao.

[bellfort3]

SBI Fanfics of the Week  (week 59)

Yet a Trace by SilverWing15

9/9

title from the quote/meme: "Yet a trace of the true self remains in the false self"

///

He needs something. He has to get something the Syndicate will want. Something worth keeping him alive for.

...They were talking about--about the Nether Star, weren’t they?

They were going to grab it.

But what if Tommy grabbed it first?

Its an insane idea.

But its the only one he's got

The Rubble by SilverWing15

1/1

Jester attacked and usually he wasn’t that big of a deal but something went wrong. Something went wrong and there were explosions, and the building.

Oh fuck.

The building was falling, and Phil was trapped.

“Shit,” he mutters. He tries to sit up and agony tears through his gut. He cries out and falls back down. There’s something soft under his head, thin. Cloth?

He focuses on that instead of the pain. Its thin cloth. Rough, smells like sweat. A shirt? Did the kid put their shirt under his head?

“-ather? Crow Father! You can’t--you have to--you have to hold still. Please, please, don’t move, I can’t, I don’t know--” the kid breaks off with a sob.

Fuck, he sounds young.

////

Prequel to Yet A Trace

The Moon, She Calls Me Home by SilverWing15

4/5

He should--he can’t be doing this. He’s a werewolf, he’s dangerous, this is dangerous, for him, for everyone he might encounter. He can’t control himself.

But he feels in control.

He feels powerful and strong and wild. But not wild in an out of control way, wild in the way wolves are wild. Independent, untamed, confident, even under all his anxiety. He is a wolf, this is his world, this is his grass. This is where he belongs.

Not locked up in a basement, not chained and behind bars.

Here, out here, in the moonlight, in the night breeze, with the grass under his paws.

He takes a step towards the trees. The shadows are beckoning him. Calling him like friends, the leaves rustle, whispering of all the games they could play, how far he could run, how loud he could be without worrying Dream at all.

He takes another step. Another.

He’s walking, trotting, running.

He’s free.

all that's left to say by Spindilly

1/1

Before he can get far, however, Wilbur grabs his wrist. His heart stops, and like second nature, Tommy turns around to twist away from Wilbur’s grip.

Wilbur stills. Too late does Tommy realize his mistake.

“Tommy, what the fuck happened to your face?”

He pales as realization spreads across Phil and Techno’s expressions as well.

“Tommy,” Wilbur moves his hand from Tommy’s wrist to gently touch his face instead. “Who did this to you?”

Or: Tommy underestimates just how much his family cares about him.

Of rainy days and downy feathers by grasstastic

1/1

The teen collapsed into the nest with a huff, eyes fluttering shut as Wilbur leaned over him with a furrowed brow. “…Are you sick?”

“Think so.” Tommy mumbled, and Wilbur’s feathers puffed up unconsciously.

“So you decided to crawl into my nest and get me sick?” The other joked with a grin.

Tommy scowled, eyes still shut. “Yes, that’s my exact plan. Dickhead.”

Wilbur chuckled as he rearranged the nest to better accommodate them, and pulled Tommy close to wrap his ash-grey wings around the boy.

“What’s wrong then?” He prodded, draping a blanket over them.

“Throat hurts…” Tommy whispered, before swallowing thickly. “Everything aches. ‘M tired.”

“Go to sleep then.” Wilbur deadpanned.

Or Tommy gets his wings. Pure fluff. Like his wings, fluffy smol chick.

stay with me, hold my hand by Anonymous

1/1

Concern bubbles over, pressing against his lungs and contorting in his chest like a balloon.

"Tommy?" Wilbur mumbles, calloused thumbs tracing over the boy's cheekbones, pressing against the gentle blue and purple bruises underneath his eyes, the loss of sleep (for how long, he wouldn't want to know). "You still with me, darling?"

Tommy hums noncommittally, tilting his face into the older's hand to press his cheek up against Wilbur's palm. Although his eyes are half-lidded, watching the ceiling rather than the man in front of him, Tommy looks perfectly content with falling asleep right there.

or, tommy isn’t doing very well at self care. big brother wilbur’s there to help :)

don’t cry (i’m here) by netherfriends

1/1

“It can be like a GeorgeNotFound video,” Tommy starts, eyes gleaming, “Minecraft but I’m A Bird on a Rampage.”

He snorts, gently thwapping the back of his head with the tip of his wing. Tommy squawks, wings fluffing up to give the impression of an angry chick.

Cute, a part of his mind coos softly.

Demon child, the other part screams.

OR

this somehow turned into a fic about wilbur’s instincts shush it’s crimeboys

i can't lose hope (what's left of my heart's still made of gold) by blladnna

16/18

This kid was so small.

That was Phil’s first thought upon opening his front door—that the kid on his front porch was so small. Too small for the warnings heaped upon Phil by the state, warnings of wild magic and dangerous words, of the treachery and trickery that came hand in hand with the legends of the fae. Phil had known many fae over the course of his lifetime, both kind and cruel. The kid on the front porch just looked like a kid.

He just looked scared.

Or: Phil signs up to be a foster parent and ends up just stacking broken kids in his house.

[wroteclassicaly]

Waves of Blue (Andy Dolan x Reader)

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, face slapping, slight choking, mentions of drug usage, & angst.

A/N : AAAAAAHHHHH! I have found the post that teaches you how to add a read more on mobile! Shoutout to the person who told me about that! You know who you are! ^_^ Anyways, I am so gonna be posting more, even if it’s harder because I have to write the fics on my phone, versus my laptop, lol. I stumbled across the song Waves of Blue by Majid Jordan, and my ass was emotional af (I have included some of the lyrics here in blue!) I obviously don’t own the song/lyrics!

The song was the kick one of my drafts needed for extra inspiration! And so, I bring you the start of this mini fic! It won’t be very many chapters. And I will probably re-visit for a prequel, to write out how the reader and Andy first hooked up. But I wanted to try something different and start my fic with their relationship already ongoing. Hopefully it doesn’t suck, haha.?

I haven’t felt this inspired for a Cody character since Michael Langdon! I adore Andy’s traumatic, cocky, angsty, hot mess ass! And I really wanna explore the creativity he’s bringing me! Lemme know what y’all think? And give the song a listen - I’m in in love with it!

Forgive me if there’s some mistakes, loves! I’m nervous about how I’ve written Andy, and how the smut is. Hope y’all enjoy anyways!

:)

~*~

The rain is a glittering array of shimmering moisture as its presence is pouring down on the roof of your apartment. Your knees are knocked tightly together, jean fabric digging into flesh. Your phone is perched face down atop your legs, vibrating messages you don’t care to read. They’re not the ones that you want to see. You tilt your head back, the tears redirecting themselves down the sides of your cheeks. You turn your gazing direction to that silk robe atop your bed - a reminder.

“It’s just a fling, love.”

But it can’t be, can it?

You have to laugh at yourself. Isn’t this what every girl asks themselves when they’re dumped? Rare is an exception who steals the other person’s heart and changes that exterior they carry. Your phone vibrates again and that raging anger to match the ruby red color on his robe that rests on your bedroom sheets - it charges your energy like a violent strike of lightening! Your hand launches your phone into the hallway outside your bedroom door before you can stop yourself.

“There’s your fucking fling, dumbass Andy Dolan!”

You try to hum to fight off the incoming intrusive thoughts, to ignore your ringing phone in the distance, but it’s to no avail. You’re getting more overwhelmed with the pain by every agonizing second. Your fists clench into the leather armrests below. It’s too much, you can’t bear another second of this shit. It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, it doesn’t matter that you have over fifteen unanswered recent calls from Andy since you threw your phone - unbeknownst to you.

You snatch the stupid silk robe from its place and begin your knowing journey with the excruciatingly expensive item, having already made up your mind. A quick removal of your keys from the hooks beside your front room door and your bare feet seem to lead you - heart first - into the downpour. Your clothing is soaked the instant you step outside. Mumbling all the way to your SUV and clutching Andy’s silk garment becomes your saving grace to help anchor your focus. If one can be focused in bare feet during a thunderstorm, erratically throwing her car into reverse.

The drive to his place of privacy - his sanctuary - the cold place you once used to help him warm. It doesn’t take you long. With your tires grinding against soaking asphalt, country beach roads whipping past you, and your angry windshield wipers struggling to keep up with your car’s pace - Andy’s gates come into your sights. You’re trembling, too upset and geared to go for a turn around now. Andy didn’t change the security, so you let yourself in, abandoning your car just inside, doors open and interior carelessly being soaked.

It doesn’t matter. I just have to tell him this.

That’s your mantra for continuous approach. You round the long expanse of beautiful greenery, waves crashing violently in the distance, a love affair to collide with this storm. Your simple outfit of blue jeans and a baby blue tank top are beyond recognition, weighted down by the sopping wet summer. The shivering begins to thrum along to an invisible, but very present humming inside you. It’s that feeling, the one you know all too well.

Andy Dolan.

Like when you first met, you begin to tremble, letting your limbs move you accordingly. Making sense is last on the priority list. Normally, you would have a thousand conversational scenarios laid out, but that’s not the case. Rushed on purely raw need to tell him - no - inform him, that is what is in charge here. The soft grass is squishy between your toes, a tickle from each freshly mowed blade, water in the distance smelling like salt and flowing freedom.

Every sense is heightened for you right now. Your limbs are heavy, yet your footfalls are light, carrying you with a quick grace. You don’t bother with the front door, opting for his usual back door hang out. It’s a few more minutes before your destination is reached. That’s when you hear him screaming, his voice in high distress, hard and rough against the accent. Your chest heaves to cage hammering heartbeats that you can’t keep up with.

“Motherfucking ANSWER ME!” He shouts, ripping the phone from his ear to redial.

You rolls your eyes, assuming it’s a dealer, or whomever he would rather be with than you. After all, he’s the one who said he just needed an ideal situation, not a relationship.

“Y/N... come on, don’t be a fucking cunt! I need to tell you something, please!”

Almost on cue the song drops loud on his fancy speakers in the house, freezing you to your spot.

I wanna hold you close

Don't wanna let you go

Be with you night and day

'Cause I've been feeling so low

Don't have to ask me twice

You really take me there

I wanna touch your light

I wanna breathe in your air

Andy angrily taps at his phone again, almost growling, reminding you of a wild animal. That’s when you’re snapped into your remaining senses, moving up and onto his deck, standing just feet from him. It takes him a few seconds to look up and see you through the rain. You can’t bring yourself to go any closer, afraid to let go right away. That’s how it is with Andy, you always give in.

You cut him off before he even gets a chance.

“Fuck you, Andy.”

Damn, was that really what you worked up the courage to dangerously drive yourself here to confess?

His lips purse a popping a noise, eyes widening in surprise at your word choices.

“I really fucking hate you.” Is what you give him, finding it easier to take steps now.

He still doesn’t speak as you approach, almost as if he’s recoiling. That wild animal within Andy Dolan. He’s not used to this. You can barely see through the rain, feeling like a moron. The movies make it look so dramatic, but you feel like you’re a wet dog on the verge of catching a cold.

It does good at numbing you though, almost shielding you from those haunting blue eyes. You swipe a hand across your face to clear your vision, and take that final step onto the deck with him, now just on the other side of where he stands in the doorway. That’s when he decides to speak, his voice softer than you’ve heard. It echoes his exhaustion, his surprise.

“You’re not the only one that feels that way, Y/N.”

You shake your head in disbelief, both of you not daring to make that closing gap. You would douse his body with yours; wet and cold. You’d be lying if you denied the shiver that attacked you, drawing your body in like a magnet - helpless to its every move.

“Don’t give me this kicked puppy front. We’re all human beings, Andy. And I didn’t fucking deserve you cutting your baggage open and just... dumping out whatever you felt like on me and then letting me go.”

Fuck.

He inhales sharply, head tilting in this sadness you seem to understand within the moment. It steals your breath, a pain punching your ribcage, causing your heartbeat to skip a few. Your jaw twitches as you turn away to gather your bearings, starting back down into the yard.

Why the fuck did I come here?

I'll be holding you tight

When the night is through

Andy takes a deep inhalation behind you and that catches you, dragging you right back. Before you know which end is up you’re turning back around and striding across the pool deck and right into your former lover. Andy meets you in the harsh rains, his hands cupping your neck so possessively, that you can’t remember a time where this hot mess of a man wasn’t bull dozing your life apart. You grasp his face in your palms, that unshaven stubble prickling your flesh. Your mouth meets his, his phone becoming ruined and forgotten as he lets it fall to the ground beside him.

His strong arms path down to encircle your waist, pulling you in from the weather, bunching your t-shirt up until it’s pooling around your tattered bra. You raise your arms to help him discard it, the heavy wet noise it makes when it collides with a nearby pool chair is enough to make Andy gain his surroundings.

“Stop, stop. Are you fucking high?” He asks you, a cautious pause.

You shake your head. “Aren’t you?”

This is when he scares you with a solemn silence you weren’t aware he could possess.

“Andy...” You push your fingers through his damp curls.

“No, I’m not. I was just about to... when you didn’t answer.”

Almost as if he can’t take revealing that bit of truth, he thumbs a bra strap down your shoulder - deliberately slow. Your skin stings with the line of goosebumps that it brings, your own hands struggling to push that stupid ass identical robe off his broad chest.

“I should fucking rip this.” You say, causing a smile to come from him.

“Rip it and I’ll put you on your knees.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” A challenging look presses your features, but Andy intercepts, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling your hair back. You feel the ache crack from the tips of your toes, hot wired into your cunt - direct express.

“You need more marks from me.” His mouth caresses your jawline, stubble catching the underside when his lips find your neck, a stimulation that you have become accustomed to craving.

His teeth bite down, a few seconds more where you feel him cleaning his evidence with a light set of kisses.

“There we go.” He scrapes his milky white teeth across your ear with a whisper so hot that you bow into him; knees weak.

Your bra is the next thing to fall somewhere, your jeans following. Andy doesn’t wait for you to even kick them off, his fingers sliding into your lace panties to see how much you still need him. He licks his lips, eyes closing in pleasure, a familiar stroking rhythm unraveling from the tips of his fingers.

“Shit, that’s a good girl. Even when you hate me you still need me, don’t you?”

The cockiness makes your wrist snap and palm collide with his cheek. You’re riled up, he’s riled up. Something you know he likes. “Like you fucking needed that?” Is your retort.

He groans out, a honey wet dip in his tone. “Only you can fucking touch me like that, Y/N.”

Lightening flashes through the darkened midnight skies, rain pounding across the surface of the pool to create a special beat. Andy finds your mouth in desperation once more, working your underwear down in a frustrated jerk. His fingers part your slick folds and ease into you without any warning. You look down to watch his strong forearm flex in its working marathon, back and forth between your thighs.

We'll be riding the tide in the sky so alive

On waves of blue (waves of blue)

I'm in love with the thought of being in love

In love with you (love with you)

You can bring me along for the rest of your life

If you wanted to (wanted to)

You let go and give into him, not daring to question why you came here in the first place. You know why. Andy has stopped his touches, watching you with that lowered stare he gives. His body is glowing from the neon lighting his home harbors, his creamy skin glistening with rain water. He’s hard through those silk pants, nothing left to the imagination.

“Take them off. Now.” You command him.

He can’t hide the greedy smirk that appears on his lips, not taking his eyes off you as his pants and boxers disappear in one go. He is gloriously hard and thick. You almost want to laugh at your cliche salivating tongue. Andy brushes your wet hair off your temple, his hands moving down your body in a tapping massage - reaching their target to hook behind your thighs.

He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He’s panting rapidly, nosing your neck. He grips himself, teasingly stroking your cunt to gather your arousal. You stutter on an exhale, unable to breathe out properly. It’s jagged and broken, much like your rationality.

You stop him when he attempts to press inside you. “Tell me again,” You plead. He looks at you in confusion. “Say I’m just a fling.” You finish.

“Y/N...” He struggles.

“Before you fuck me, I want you to tell me what I mean to you, Andy.”

It’s hard not to just fucking forget this and let go, let him take you, both of you get what you want and not have to deal with anything else. But you need to hear it. You want to know how much you’re not worth anything to him. You need to hear it more than you need to find out how much you mean to him. That’s what you came here for...

His enriching ocean eyes are glossy with desire, with something else you can’t place. They pin you into a set of shakes. You grip the hair at his neck’s nape.

“Everything.” He says it all at once, bringing your hand down atop his to help him line up, as he fucks himself into your cunt, stretching you with that delicious drowning burn.

You're no good for me

You got what I need

I just wanna be with you

You cry out, vision sprinkled with an array of floating shapes. Andy drives you against the door, hips slamming so hard you know you’ll be bruised before the night is through. You keep one arm around his neck, lowering the other to encourage him to hurt you deeper, nails clawing at his lower back, shredding the skin. His face stays buried in your neck, stubble adding to each motion he makes inside. You cling tight, using all your strength.

It’s slippery, it’s unstable, you can barely hold onto one another, but you manage. And that moment when you finally can’t keep yourself up, Andy lets you slide down, bringing you into the floor of the doorway, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, pressing in so hard you can’t contain the tears that roll from the corner of your eyes, coasting. He’s familiarized himself with how you come undone, even before you knew.

“You’re drenching my cock, baby. You need to let it go?”

You don’t answer, causing him to grip your throat.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer. You remember how this works, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes! Please, Andy!” You don’t pride yourself now.

He guides a hand across you, as if he’s tuning a fine instrument. Your stomach quivers with a passing of his fingertips, engaging in a butterfly filled stomach clench. You’re tensing up, anticipating. Desiring.

“Fucking do it! Show me how much you still need this...” He trails off, dropping to rest his chest against your breasts.

“Even if you don’t need me.” It’s a counter thought to your need to hear him say he doesn’t want you.

“I’ll always need you.” You push him onto his back with newfound strength, and pin his hands above his head, your hips bouncing so hard that you can feel his firm structure beneath. That’s right, this is exactly what you have to have.

He’s damn near whining now, squeezing your fingers tightly. “Y/N.”

It’s a warning you don’t need. You lean down to steal a kiss, leaving him further winded, nudging his nose with your own, breasts smashed to between you two. Andy gives a silent agreement, dropping a hand down to quickly rub your clit. Your heartbeat is so out of control that you can’t hear anything but your own cries as you cum all over Andy’s cock. He follows with you, holding himself, keeping you there.

He’s shaking when it’s over. You can’t find coherent speech capabilities.

I'll be holding you tight

I'll wait this through

You stay resting on top of him, still keeping him inside. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you know that there’s no going back now.

This is just another beginning...

~*~

Tagging: @dark-mei-rose @confettucini @lovelylangdonx

Lemme know if y’all wanna be added to the tag list?!!!!

[hutchhitched]

Only One K

Newly married, Katniss and Peeta honeymoon in a remote cabin where no one can hear how happy they make each other. When an unexpected thunderstorm forces them inside for the day, Katniss suggests filling the time with a game of Scrabble. She decides to get a little creative with her spelling when there’s only one K tile.

Written for @promptsinpanem’s 15 Days to Finish Your Fic (For Kika) event

Rating: E

Author’s note: Back in July 2014, I was dreading a family event, but I was distracted by a wonderful gift—a sexy story sent through anon asks. When I shared my delight over the kind gesture with @authoresskika, she admitted she’d written it for me. It’s a wonderful example of Kika’s generosity and caring nature that she took her time to make my day better with her writing. As I struggled to decide what to write for this challenge, I remembered her story and decided to draft its prequel. While this can stand on its own, I suggest you read her story first.

Farewell, Kika! There really is only one you.

______________

“I’m gonna come,” Katniss pants, her voice rising with every word. “Peeta, I’m gonna come.”

 Her husband doesn’t answer. His eyes are closed, head thrown back as he thrusts upward to meet the frantic rocking of her hips. His jaw flexes and so do his pecs as she bounces up and down on his cock. His fingers dig into her hips, helping guide her as she rides him. Curls are plastered to his forehead with sweat, and she tosses her head impatiently as her long hair sticks to her neck and face. She should have left it in a braid, but Peeta had unraveled it with such tenderness the night before she hadn’t wanted to protest at the time.

 His voice is wrecked when he groans her name. With great effort, he blinks his eyes open to catch her gaze, and electricity shoots through her at the intimacy. His skin, slick with sweat, glistens in the beams of light streaming through the window. His hips slide against her inner thighs, and she can’t help but thrill at the power in his muscular frame. A rhythmic smack of the headboard against the wall matches that of their bodies pounding against each other. Both ring in her ears. It’s erotic and dirty and so, so good.

 Heat pools in her stomach, and she gasps for breath. He guides her fingers to her clit and joins her with varied speeds and concentric circles. Captivated by the way the tip of his tongue peeks between his plump pink lips, she matches it with her own. Hers feel swollen from the amount of use they’ve gotten over the past few days, but that’s to be expected. They are on their honeymoon, after all.

 “Peeta. Oh! Yeah. Yeah! Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh.” The third iteration slurs into a heated groan as her body tips over the edge into climax. Climaxes. So many climaxes in the past few days, and they just keep getting better.

 “Don’t stop,” he grunts through gritted teeth when she slows. “Don’t you dare stop.”

 Breathless, she whines, “I can’t— I—”

 He pushes himself to sitting and pulls her torso against his chest. Cradling her cheek in his palm, he kisses her fiercely before growling, “You can.”

 And then she’s moving again as he wraps her legs around his waist and tilts her back until the angle of his cock rubs her just the right way and makes her want to scream. She’s never understood the term power bottom, but she does now. She’s at his mercy as he fucks into her, his biceps bulging, bending her back and biting her nipples. A shout rips from her, unbidden when his teeth clench a little too hard.

 Peeta stiffens beneath her and releases. Shouts and moans and curses and squelches and slapping skin and a million other sounds fill the room. She writhes against him and then crests again. He strokes her through it until they collapse into a tangle of limbs. Unable to move, she floats, euphoric and detached, and enjoys the afterglow.

 It’s a while before either of them is coherent. Peeta nuzzles her neck with open-mouthed kisses and little nibbles that occasionally have the sting of a full bite. His hands roam her bare skin, and she’s loath to move. Not when he’s still inside her, cradling her to his chest. Her new husband, Peeta Mellark, the love of her life.

 Eventually, she has to shift. Stretching, she grimaces at the feel of him slipping from her. Fluid trickles down her inner thigh as she pulls off to roll onto her side. He palms her, sliding his fingers in their combined ejaculate. He paints her stomach with the moisture before licking his fingers clean. It’s so lewd, she squirms to the far side of the bed. She needs a break before another round, and what he’s doing is a definite turn on in spite of her fatigue.

 “Good morning,” he murmurs and rolls over to slide back against her. “That was quite a wakeup call.

 “I’m so gross,” she complains and pushes at his hand, but he continues to run his fingers through the wetness.

 “I don’t think you’re gross. In fact, I think you’re just right. Covered in my come. It sliding out of you and down your legs. All waxed and smooth except for that sexy little runway strip that’s soaking wet. Open for me but tight inside. Clenching around me. Milking me dry.”

 The words melt like warm butter and run down her spine until she’s puddled against him, desperate for his touch, but way too oversensitive. He dips his hand between her legs again and rubs featherlight circles on her sensitive skin. His tongue traces her neck and jawline until she whimpers and jerks away from him.

 “You know,” she grumbles, “when we agreed on a remote cabin in a national park for our honeymoon, I kind of thought we might actually see some of the scenery.”

 He chuckles as his mouth closes over her nipple. “That was silly,” he chided. “My plan was always to get you naked and keep you that way as long as possible.”

 “Mission accomplished.”

 “Not if you’re planning to put on clothes.”

 “Peeta, I need a shower.”

 “No. No shower.”

 “I’m filthy,” she insists, even though her resolve weakens by the second.

 “I’ll clean you up.”

 “What do you—”

 She cuts off in a strangled groan as he slides down her body and buries his face in her pussy. He sucks and licks, alternating fast flicks of his tongue with long, slow sucks of her clit into his mouth. She gives in, losing herself to the feel of him burrowing against her and his tongue plunging inside deeper and deeper. She’s made entirely of sensation. There are no thoughts, no cares in the world, nothing outside of this moment and her husband making love to her in every conceivable way.

 Peeta’s a wonderful lover—considerate, passionate, flexible, sculpted, and generous. She’s luckier than she deserves, but she’s enormously grateful he chose her. Since she opened her heart, she’s never doubted that she’s always been it for him since the moment he saw her. It took her longer to fall in love, but that doesn’t mean her fervor is any less real. She feels more like herself when she’s with him than any other time. Sex with him could inspire sonnets if she had the same gift of words he does.

 She wrings herself out on him multiple times over the next several hours. He’s insatiable, and she’s powerless to resist him. They stumble to the kitchen for sustenance and end up sprawled on the table. He presses her to the wall in the shower and bends her over the couch when they try to watch a movie. Later, in bed, she rolls over to face him, so exhausted her eyelids droop and her words slur.

 “Gotta go outside house ’morrow,” she insists, both drunk and high on endorphins. A lazy smile spreads across his handsome face at her garbled speech, but she forces out her rationale. “Can’t do marathon day of sex. Need fresh air. Outdoors. Grass. Trees. Sky. Sunsets. Stars.”

 “I’ll make you see stars,” he teases and kisses the tip of her nose.

 “’M serious,” she hums. Blinking her eyes rapidly at him in an over-exaggerated attempt at flirting (at least she thinks she is), she begs, “Take me out, Peeta. See the world thingy.”

 His lips meet hers in a soft kiss. “Whatever you want. I’m yours, you know. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, inside and outside.”

 “Don’t ’member that part o’ the vows,” she argues sleepily.

 “You were probably distracted by my good looks.”

 “Maybe,” she sighs and sinks into the mattress. “T’morrow. Outside. No sexing. Tired.”

 “Well, I’ll let you in on a secret,” he whispers in her ear.

 “Hmmm?”

 “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

 A tired giggle bursts from her, and she manages to ask, “Anytime?” She drifts into darkness as his answer drops from his lips.

 It’s still dark when she opens her eyes.

 Katniss blinks awake as a rumble of thunder shakes the cabin. It’s dark as midnight. Peeta snuffles softly in his sleep, his even breathing a salve to being shaken from her slumber. She slips from under her husband’s arm and stumbles to the bathroom, so she can pop her birth control pill and rinse her mouth with mouthwash. A flash of lightning startles her, and she hurries back to the bed and tugs the sheets back over her. Cuddling into Peeta’s warm body, she tenses when he pokes against her. It must be morning, because there’s a lot of wood. Struck with inspiration, she flips the sheet to the other side of the bed and grabs the bottle of lube off the nightstand. Slicking up her palm, she grasps him and pumps.

 He grunts and rolls onto his back, inadvertently giving her better access. She rubs her thumb over the head and squeezes as she pumps. His sleepy response melts her heart. His hips twitch until he’s fucking into her hand and releasing desperate noises that sound remarkably like begging.

 She rains kisses over his face and murmurs against his lips, “Peeta, are you awake?”

 His answer is a broken sob and thrusting hips. Determined to make him feel even better, she leans down and takes him in her mouth. His breath catches and then rips from him. She sucks in her cheeks and catches her front teeth on his slit. Bobbing her head, she slobbers until her spit covers him and runs over her fist.

 “Sweetheart. Oh, fuck!”

 And then he’s coming, his cock pulsing in her mouth and his come spurting against the back of her throat. He’s bitter on her taste buds, but she slurps greedily, intent on lapping up everything he gives her. He whines high in the back of his throat until he softens with a sated groan.

 “Good morning,” she says with a satisfied smirk. “Sleep well?”

 “Mmmm,” he agrees with a dopey grin. “Woke up better. Thought you wanted a sex break today. You didn’t need to get me off to get me up.”

 “Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

 “Sweetheart, you know I lean left—both politically and anatomically,” he teases and leans in for a kiss. It turns obscene so quickly her head spins. Only a particularly loud clash of thunder and burst of lightning snaps them apart. She’s still catching her breath when the rain starts, softly at first and then opening into a torrential downpour.

 “We were supposed to go outside today!” she wails.

 “Ah, honey,” he teases, a twinkle belying his insincerity. “Looks like the good Lord wants us to stay naked and have more sex.”

 “Pretty sure the good Lord wants us to get dressed and play Scrabble.”

 Peeta snorts before falling onto his back and shaking with laughter. When he’s finally able to breathe, he runs his fingers through his messy curls and acquiesces.

 “I like my plan better, but I’ll play Scrabble if you want to.”

 Katniss squeals and smacks away his hand that had managed to find its way to her breasts. Shaking her head, she stipulates, “Breakfast first, lover boy, and then board games. We’ve burned so many calories the past few days, I’ve lost a clothing size. I mean, I really like sexing you up, but damn. I need the break.”

 Peeta grins at her and leans up to kiss the tip of her nose. “Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself, but the second you say the word, I’m gonna be inside you again so fast…”

 “Kinky,” she laughs as she rolls to her feet. “I’m gonna shower. Do not follow me with your erection. I’ll only disappoint it.”

 “Kika? What’s that?”

 “I said, ‘kinky,’ weirdo.”

 “Calling me names doesn’t make me any less horny!” he hollers after her as she shuts the door and steps under the warm spray.

 She takes her time, soaping her hair and body with a lovesick grin on her face. She still has trouble accepting that Peeta adores her as much as he does. He was the only man she knew patient enough to wait for her to work through her reluctance to be intimate with anyone after her father died, and his constant kindness and willingness to be whatever she needed during high school and college had finally won her over. Now, almost thirty and newly married, she’s happier than she’s ever been. Even so, it still takes an inordinate amount of effort to push back the nagging thoughts that she doesn’t deserve any of it.

 “He loves me,” she insists to the empty room, “and I love him. I deserve to be happy.”

 “Breakfast’s ready. Come and get it. Dress is optional,” Peeta calls through the closed door.

 “Coming!”

 She switches off the water and quickly plaits her hair into a wet braid. She hesitates for only a second before tossing her towel onto a rack and walking into the kitchen completely naked. His back is to her when she enters, so she crowds up to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

 “Smells good,” she murmurs into his warm skin. “Thanks for cooking.”

 He turns to wrap his arm around her shoulder and tug her to his side and freezes. His eyes widen, and his eyes follow a trickle of water that escapes the tip of her braid and glistens on her breast.

 “You clean up nice,” he coughs. “Coffee?”

 Peeta keeps his word and lets her eat. He watches her as she arches her back and crosses and uncrosses her legs repeatedly. Pancakes have never been so sexy as she makes a show of enjoying every bite of fluffy goodness, and if she allows a sticky bit of syrup to cling to her lips so she can lick it off with the very tip of her tongue, well, that’s just payback for him sexing her up so hard she needs a lot of food to recover. By the time she finishes, Peeta’s given up all pretense of eating and is openly leering at her. He adjusts himself as she sips the last little bit of her coffee and appraises him.

 “Scrabble?”

 “I can think of better things to do.”

 “Well, yes, I’m sure you can, but you promised me board games, darling husband. It’s time.”

 “Oh, come on,” he protests, but she rises and waltzes to the couch. She exaggerates the swing of her hips just to torment him a little more.

 “Peeta Mellark, we’ve done it on every surface of this cabin. I’d like to beat your butt in word games, now, please.”

 “What about the car? We haven’t done it there yet.”

 “Car sex? Really? That sounds so uncomfortable.”

 “Not if you do it right,” he grumbles and runs his hand down her side and along her flank.

 “It would take a lot to get me in the mood in a car.”

 “Well, that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

 “You’re incorrigible. Doesn’t your sex drive ever take a rest? Come on. Help me set up.”

 “You’re just going to sit there naked and distract me so you can win, aren’t you?”

 “Obviously.”

 “Completely unfair,” he grumbles as he grabs tiles and arranges them in a row.

 “So whiny. Remind me why I love you,” she teases, her smirk widening at his pout.

 “For my large…vocabulary.”

 “Oh, that’s what we’re calling it now?”

 “Shhh,” he hisses and places his first word.

 They play back and forth for a while, and she accumulates more and more points. When she draws a K and Y to add to her tiles, she decides her hundred-point lead is enough. Besides, it’s weird playing scrabble naked when her husband’s sporting a stiffy in his pajama pants.

 Peeta furrows his brow as he examines her play. “K-I-N-C-Y? Uh, challenge. That’s not a real word.”

 She curses the board game for limiting the tiles to only one K. How else is she supposed to get her point across subtly?

 “It’s hard.”

 He flushes and presses his palm to his crotch. “You’re naked! It’s not my fault,” he protests. “You can’t expect me to concentrate when you’re sitting there like that.” He waves his hand at her, and she grins.

 “I meant, the C.”

 “What?”

 “Read the word with a hard C.”

 Confused, he looks at it again and experiments with different pronunciations. “Ken-see? Kin-sigh? Kin— I don’t get it.”

 “Read it like a K.”

 “Kinky? Oh… That’s not how you spell it, though.”

 “True, but there’s only one K in Scrabble, and that’s my word.”

 “Your word?”

 Katniss sighs heavily. If she didn’t know how hard he’d been trying to get her back into bed, she’d swear he was being deliberately obtuse. Standing, she crosses to Peeta and straddles his lap before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “You told me the second I said the word you’d be inside me again. You’re late. A lot of seconds have passed. Kinky was my word, remember?”

 She yelps as he shoves her onto the coffee table. Scrabble tiles press into her back as he shucks his pants. He’s on her in seconds, his mouth devouring hers as he opens her with probing fingers and searing kisses. When they finish, her husband traces a message on her chest and then spells it out with tiles. There are plenty of tiles to spell “I love you.”

[aliypop]

Blood Lust

Word count :  2,105

Warning: Language

A/N : Some more Tiffany and the boys in the past! I did it I wanna dedicate this 2 days of writing this fic to  @whatisgoingonpaul the source for the lost boys prequel as well as @a-supernatural-writer and @pitiful-anonymous-vampire

Near the dark, damp, humid Santa Carla bluffs sat several outlaws around a campfire. Tiffany and Stewart waited behind a few trees, her fangs sharp and ready to rip into the first ounce of flesh that she could get into. "Did ya hear somethin..." the two men who looked like bandits asked each other. The sounds of waves crashed against the rocks from below as the trees rustled. Darkness spreads across the bluff as Stewart blew out the fire. "Wh...Who's there..." one of the men says, feeling a deathly still presence from behind him. The cold hands of death touch the man's neck-snapping it in half as the mark of a lover's kiss is left on the corpse. 

"Well, boys, don't just sit there..." Tiffany turned to face the freshly turned vampires and their sire Max. Standing like statues, the boys only looked at Tiffany and Stewart. Who were both covered in blood,

 "Don't tell me you didn't ..." Tiffany glared at Max, who had the grin of a conman on his face. 

" Didn't what Ms." 

"How dare you turn these boys into vampires and yet have them figure it out themselves!" Tiffany shouted, her hands close to ripping her hair out. "First of all, little girl..." his hand underneath her chin. Tiffany nearly snapped at his finger, "I will rip you apart from where you stand..." she growled at him, hearing his already sickening laughter. 

"Is everything okay..." David asked, his reddish-blonde hair poking up from behind Max. 

"Not to worry... someones just being disrespectful, isn't she..." 

"If Camilla hears about this... she'll make you wish you never were born... " Tiffany laughed as she then saw a long-haired blond pounced on top of a body, "Paul use your hands first and then teeth!" she smirked, her dark blue gown trailing behind her. Flesh ripping apart was the only sound that Max and Tiffany heard as the two sat by a fire admiring the skill that "his" boys were learning. "Jasper!" Max shouted at the younger boy, his hair almost as long as his older brothers. 

"Yes..." 

"Try harder, will ya..." Max said, a bit disappointed in the boy. Jasper only sighed as he continued trying to find the right vein to feed on; Max only watched as Jasper struggled, almost as if he got a kick out of seeing the young boy starve to death. Stewart shook his head, taking his nail to the wrist of the soon-to-be corpse splitting it open. 

"Thanks..."

"Don't mention it, kid." he ruffled up his hair, getting a glare from Dwayne. The vampires had begun to travel further into the woods, trying to find the perfect place to make camp. Horses trotted in the woods, 

Stewart, whose hands were around Marko's waist, rested his tired body against his back and turned to look at Paul, who only rolled his eyes at him and kept riding past. "I'm just saying, Tiffany, you'd make a great..." 

"A great what..." she turned to face Max, her horse catching up to his.

 "I would say mother, but you can't even side-saddle..." Max mumbled, taking note of the way she rode. "And to think you've trained to be a lady... " Tiffany only laughed as she shook her head, " I am no lady..." taking the reins of her horse galloping in the wind past Max, "I suggest we trot faster if you want to live." she sang from afar. Marko, Stewart, and Paul had taken camp together. The three wrapped tightly in a blanket. Tiffany stood in her tent, her locket an ice blue amulet in hand, memories of a life she wanted to leave behind. Tiffany could feel a cold touch reach up to her back, her skin crawling as the hand reached up to her shoulder. 

"Poor little girl ... still waiting for happily ever afters, huh..." 

"Leave me alone..." 

"Or what you'll cry..." he laughed, "Lestat was right about you... You're easy too, eager," Tiffany wrapped her hands around his neck, urging her to squeeze him harder. Her vamping out only grew pale while Max nicked her with his nails.

"Hey, anyone seen my cigarettes ..." Dwayne poked his head in; The smell of her blood luring both him and David, Max, had only excused himself as both David and Dwayne invited themselves in, Tiffany began to back away from the two. Her eyes were now yellow and red from tears that wouldn't come.

 "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay..." David took her hand, 

"Look at me..." Dwayne said, his eyes trailing back to her wrist. Tiffany faced the two vampires as she took a deep breath.

 "I'm so sorry I wish you didn't have to..." 

"You're bleeding, dear..." David pointed out as Dwayne's eyes followed suit. Adjusting her wrist out, she watched as he hesitantly bit down on the already semi-healing skin. 

"Wanna tell us what the hell that was about..." David pried. 

"Just vampire stuff..." She shrugged, watching as Dwayne glared at her. 

"I promise you two it's nothing... I need to rest and..." 

"Tell us what's going on, Monroe." Dwayne pulled away from the wound, his hand firmly holding onto her hand,

 "I'm not that important ..." she mumbled as the two boys looked at her, 

"Max only wants me around you guys like a mother figure..." she laughed, removing her skirt, 

" So what do you want to be..." David turned away, letting her undress. "Well, I want to be myself... " she bit her lips feeling hands ghost over her corset. 

"And who would that be," Dwayne asked, glancing at the whalebone marks on her skin, "You tied this yourself..." 

"Mhmm, what's wrong with it..."

"It's shit." he laughed, 

"I beg your pardon!" she gasped, "It's perfect. "

"Yeah, if you don't wanna breathe." David turned his head, "You know Anastasia taught me how to lace up a corset."

"Here we go..." 

"No, no, let him speak..." Tiffany suggested as she sat down in the grass, 

"But if you can tie nautical knots, you can lace a fucking corset." David looked at the woman as she laughed. There was a sadness behind his eyes every time he mentioned the name Anastasia, but she must have meant so much to him. The colors of orange, pink, and blue began to crack amongst the dark sky as both David and Dwayne were asleep in her tent. Sitting out in the Dawn were Tiffany and Stewart watching daybreak hatch. 

" I think it time I change a new leaf..." she huffed, the warm rays on her skin, 

"What do you mean ..." 

"It's a new era, and I can't keep being what everyone wants me to be... I can only be who I'm supposed to be." she looked back as she saw Jasper, who was getting a peek of what would be his last sunrise over California.  

Sitting in the lobby of the Santa Carla resort was Tiffany, her thoughts heavy and her mind scrambling around. Looking down at her engagement ring, she admired every detail that Dracula had put into it. But she knew that none of it was hers: instead, it was just another way for her to become a trophy in his collection of wives. Max had then sat next to her, his hand on top of hers. 

" Go away..." She grumbled. 

"Or what..." Max smirked, tilting her head up with his chin, 

"I'll take everything you've ever loved away from you..." she growled, "Including the boys..." 

"You wouldn't..." His control over the other vampire fading, "You wouldn't know the first thing about raising boys..." Tiffany laughed as she broke from his grip, walking away from the power-hungry sire,

 "You know something, Maxi..." 

"What..." 

"You've no power over me... nor does Dracula..."

"You sure about that..." 

"Highly sure ... now if you excuse me, I've made arrangements with Paul and Jasper to go pickpocke-" she stopped talking as the ground under her began to shake, the infamous earthquake of 1906, the residence of the hotel had all rushed to the door,

 the chandelier had started crumbling down from the lobby ceiling. As a few people got caught from underneath it, Tiffany looked back to see Jasper, who was reaching out for his brother's hand, Dwayne looking at Tiffany, while Marko Paul and Stewart tried to help.

"You stay awake, do you hear me ?! don't you dare close your eyes."

 "Leave them, Tiffany..." Max said, watching as Tiffany tried to run from his hypnotic grasp,

 "I gotta do something..." she tried to pull away as he only beckoned for her to follow as well as the rest of the boys.

"Who has the power over who now..." he mumbled, the once ever so astounding resort torched with flames and burnt memories; faded into the night sky, leaving the sound of silence and howls of wolves in the background. "I'm sorry about your brother I-" Dwayne kept looking ahead as the two kept walking, 

"Don't worry about it, snookums, Dwayne, gets like that when he's upset..." Paul mentioned as Tiffany giggled, "Snookums eh... What god awful human did you learn that from."

"Some guy named Walter Emerson..." he looked at the pocket watch that he stole. He then looked back at Marko and Stewart, the two chatting away, while Tiffany looked at David, who had lost the love of his mortal life. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but his eyes looking towards the North Star said differently. 

Tiffany sighed as she kept walking, her boots getting stuck in the mud while her hair begun to stick from sweat to her face. " Can't we just fucking rest for the night... " The young woman groaned, 

"I mean David's fucking out of it, Stewart and Marko ate two rats, and Dwayne he's practically falling asleep, and Paul..." she looked back, "Holy Hell, where's Paul!" Tiffany turned to see the blond ripping the neck off a wolf open. Max grumbled both by his and her actions. He was irritated, but the nagging and the tiredness reminded him why he hated dealing with such newly turned vampires. 

"My Feet hurt..." Marko grumbled, 

"It's too hot..." David groaned. 

"FINE WE'LL STOP." Max turned towards the boys, his teeth out and ready to rip into anyone else who so had a complaint. They found a campsite with fire, a few tents, and what seemed to be a few drunk soldiers. 

"Tiffany, get rid of them." Max pointed in the direction of the men, "See boys: When you're more experienced, you'll also be able to cause as much bloodshed just like that..." he turned back to see limbs discarded amongst the ground, the perfect meal for a vampire feeding their young. "The place is all yours, boys..." 

As the boys went to rest, Tiffany did as well. Dressed in her nightgown, laying on the cot, she could feel a hand stroking her hair as it kept singing her name.  

Tiffany 

Tiffany

Tiffany 

She tossed and turned on the couch from up under her, teased out hair drenched in a cold sweat. "It's happening again..." Marko sighed, dabbing away beads of sweat from her forehead. Paul rushed over, holding her hand feeling, the odd heat radiating off her skin. 

 "Tiffany, sweetheart, I want you to drink this..." David said, trying to get her to look at him. It was the third time this month that Tiffany hadn't been so lucky when it came to feeding. She had caught a case of Blotoisis better, known as Vampiritis, a flu-like sickness that happens when a vampire consumes blood from a sick human. 

"I ... I don't wanna..." she shivered, her eyes closed from the lighting of the fire barrels, "You gotta toots..." Marko kissed her forehead. Dwayne rolled his eyes, placing another cold towel on her forehead, noticing Angelica, who had been holding hands with Sam, and someone else who he presumed to be a friend of hers that she met. 

" Babycakes..." Tiffany reached out to Dwayne, "Je ne me sens pas bien je veux des câlins." she pouted as Dwayne held her hand, "No cuddles until you feel better."

"I want you all to meet my friend..." Angelica said, walking further into the cave holding a can of chicken noodle soup. 

"Not now, kiddo..." David shooed her away. 

"But..."

"Tiff's sick..." Dwayne shrugged

"Will ya stop shooing away my girlfriend for one second," Jasper smirked, standing to the side, his dark hair almost as long as his brothers, 

"Jasper..." the boys said, turning to face him.

"Sheesh, love what you did to the place..."  

"I must be hallucinating ..."

[inorganicone2230]

The Caged Bird (Part 5) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

Part 4 Part 6/Finale

Summery: For the Gods of Life and Death, loneliness seemed a heavy thing to bare when confronted with the prospect of facing it for an eternity, even with each other. That is until a chance encounter with a certain someone prompts them to think that just maybe, that lonely eternity can be abated, as long as they have the right person to share it with.

Side Note: This is a prequel to my other Yandere!Erasermic story called Divine Intervention. If you have not read that one yet, I highly recommend you go and do that before reading this one.

Warnings: Not many for this chapter, just some light stalking and some kind of magical roofie.

You were awoken by an insistent knocking at your door.

A quick glance around at your still dark home, lit only by the glow of a small fire in the hearth, gave you an indication that it was still very late at night. And there was still a raging storm outside, if the howling wind was anything to go by. You’re first thought was that a traveler had perhaps gotten lost and was in need of a place to wait out the storm. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time, but it was always something you were very cautious about. 

You were just debating on weather or not you should answer it when you realized that the voice on the other side, though muffled by the door and the storm, sounded familiar. Very familiar…

“Sweetling! Are you in there!? Please open up if you are, it’s quite cold out here!”

“Hizashi?” You questioned, bolting up to open the door for them, you just assumed Shouta would be there as well. What in the name of The Gods were they doing out this late at night, and in this storm no less!? Ripping the door open, you were greeted by the sight of the two men. 

They looked the same as always. Both wearing gentle smiles on their faces and not a single hair was out of place on either of them. Even their clothing was perfect! In fact… the fabric wasn’t moving at all, even as you saw the harsh wind whip the snow in all directions, their clothes and hair remained still. It was… a little unnerving to say the least. But you ushered them in all the same.

Something feels off, you thought, shutting the door and grabbing a few logs to build the fire back up. It was true, normally you felt nothing but ease around these two, but something about this felt… wrong. That was the best way you could describe it. Maybe it was because it was the middle of the night, and you had only been awake for a few minutes, not to mention that one of the worst blizzards you had ever seen was raging outside. Then there was the matter of their physical appearance, neither of them looked like they had been standing out in a storm for a few minutes, let alone the amount of time it would have taken to walk or ride a horse here.

“I certainly hope you two have a good reason for showing up at my door this late at night. How did you make it here anyway? The road has to be completely covered by this point.” You sad, placing the wood over the still hot coals and holding your hand over the heat to warm them.

It was Shouta hero spoke first. “We have two very good reasons. Reasons that we just couldn’t wait to tell you about.”

“Oh?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in question.You hated that your curiosity was overpowering your rationality, your mind still unable to place where this trepidation was coming from.

Hizashi stepped forward and took your cold hands in his own, his skin felt so warm to the touch that you had to stop yourself from leaning in closer to him. “Yes. There are some things that we would like you to hear us out on. Something that we’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. Please keep an open mind until we are done, I promise that it will all make sense once we've had a chance to explain.”

Unable to think of words to use, you simply nodded. Both of them smiled at your compliance and placed their hands on your back, guiding you to sit at the table.

“Are you cold Kitten?” Shouta asked, he must have noticed your shivers the further you moved from the hearth.

“A little bit. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

The two shared a look, something that you noticed they did quite often, almost as if they were communicating without words. “Nonsense. Let me go grab your blanket.” He said, stepping away for only a moment. You swore you felt his hands gently run over your back and shoulders when he draped the heavy material over you.

“Alright you two, enough stalling. What was so important that you couldn’t wait until morning to tell me, or better yet, when the weather cleared up?” The words came out more nervously then you would have liked, and you suddenly found the table to be very very fascinating as you were unable to meet their eyes for very long.

“You do the talking Shou. I’ll probably blunder this if I try.”

“Very well.” Shouta turned to look at you, his dark eyes looking more intense than you had ever seen them. “Kitten, I’m going to be blatantly blunt with you when I say this… Shouta and Hizashi, those are not our true names, they are the names we call each other but not the names we are more commonly known by.”

What was he talking about. “Alright, I’m very confused. What does this have to do with anything? If Shouta and Hizashi aren’t your real names, then does that mean you’ve been lying to me this whole time about who you are?” You weren’t angry, just confused and tired. You just wanted this conversation to end and go back to bed.

“No no no! We haven’t lied to you about anything Sweetling. We just… omitted a few things. We were worried that if we told you about them right away, you might get scared.” Hizashi interjected.

You nodded, an indication for them to proceed. Though your gut was telling you to ask them to leave, you refrained. They were still your friends after all, you wanted to be able to give them the benefit of the doubt and at least let them explain themselves.

“For starters; to us, Shouta and Hizashi are our real names, the names we have always known each other by. But the names we were born with are-“ Shouta hesitated for only a moment, as if he might reconsider what he was about to say. “The names we were born with are Aizawa and Yamada.”

You blinked at them owlishly. Were they actually being serious right now? You waited, almost expecting Hizashi to bust out laughing and say it was just a joke. Because that’s all this could be, right, just a big joke. “ Aizawa and Yamada? As in the Gods of Life and Death?”

They both just nodded. 

You sighed, this was ridiculous. “Is this seriously what you came her for in the middle of the night, in this kind of weather? A practical joke? Because I do not find it amus-”

Shouta interrupted you, his voice eerily calm. “We can give you proof. We don’t expect you to just take our word for it. We’re not that unreasonable (Y/N).”

“Oh really?” Obviously you were skeptical, but something about their straitlaced demeanor was making you wonder, and that big question hung heavy in the air between the three of you.

What if?

What if they were telling the truth? It was crazy, illogical and far fetched to be sure, but recalling a few choice experiences from over the years, things that just couldn’t be explained with logical reasoning, gave you cause to second guess yourself.

“Prove it. If what you’re saying is true, then prove it to me. Prove that your not as crazy as you sound.”

Shouta’s attention turned to something behind you and, to your shock and amazement, his eyes turned a bright crimson that seemed to glow in the dim light of your home. You would have thought it was just the fire and your sleep addled mind playing tricks on you, but the longer you stare into those glowing orbs the harder it becomes to try and find a logical answer. That proves to be even more true when you follow his line of sight to see what he is looking at.

 Behind you sits a wooden cage housing two fully grown rabbits you had snared with the intention of keeping in case your food supplies ran low during the winter. Your eyes widening when you realized that both were slumped over on their sides unmoving, not breathing.

Dead.

“W-What? But how? They-They were just…” You can’t seem to form coherent thoughts or words as you attempt to process what you are seeing. The animals were just fine when you went to bed, having fed them a bit of collected grass and hay, there was absolutely nothing you could think of that would have caused them both to drop dead. Nothing normal anyway…

“Shouta has given you his proof Sweetling, but I still need to give you mine.” You hear the blonde say as you whip your head around to stare at them, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of Hizashi’s eyes glowing in much the same manner as Shouta’s had. But where Shouta’s eyes had gleamed a brilliant red, Hizashi’s eyes were no longer green, but instead were lit up a sparkling gold, brighter than the sun and twice as captivating.

He stood up as graceful as ever and walked over to the small cage, your gaze following him like a hawk, compelled to see if he was really going to do what you suspected he was intent on showcasing for you.

Stretching out his hands, he laid them upon the now dead animals. They radiated the same gold as his eyes and from one moment to the next, the two rabbits were moving again as if they had never ceased. They appeared none the worse for wear, shaking themselves and going right back to munching on hay.

Hizashi meanwhile, turned to face you with a cheeky smile on his face. “So, was that proof enough for you? Do we meet your expectations My Lady?”

Honestly, you were to flabbergasted to say anything at first. You had no idea how long you may have sat there replaying the last two or three minutes in your mind, but it was long enough that when you finally looked at them both again, they were giving you concerned looks. So you said the only thing you could think of.

“The Gods are sitting at my table… How the fuck did this happen?”

That less than eloquent statement is what seems to break the spell of seriousness that was hanging between the three of you, the two men bursting out into peals of laughter. First Hizashi, who is loud and boisterous compared to Shouta’s quiet chuckles, and finally yourself. You laughed so hard the blanket Shouta had draped over your shoulders actually slipped off. This went on for a few minutes before you all seemed to collect yourselves and you were finally able to speak past your shock.

“I’m not even sure how I should be acting right now. I feel like I should at least be bowing to you.” You sigh, your smile still in place when you look both of them in the eye, that feeling of unease finally fading. “You do realize that the shock of that could have very well given me a heart attack, right?”

Both of them instantly stopped smiling at you though, their eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite seem to place. Had you said something wrong? Were you being too familiar with them, not formal enough? You had gotten the impression that they wanted things to stay the same despite you now knowing who they really were. Did you miss interpret what they meant?

“Hay, did I say or do something wrong?” You asked wearily.

They gave each other that same look again before turning their gaze back onto you. “No, we’re not upset at you Kitten. Just please don’t ever say something like that again. Please…” Shouta whispered, sounding almost desperate.

You were very confused. “Don’t say what again?”

This time it was Hizashi who spoke, but not before both of them stretched their hands across the table, each of them taking one of your hands in their own. “Please don’t ever speak of yourself dying Sweetling. The thought is just too horrible to bare. I-” He looked to Shouta and then back to you. “We don’t know what we would do without you (Y/N). You mean the world to us.”

Once again you’re at a loss for words. The two of them are looking at you like you’re the divine figure, like you’re the one that they should be praising, not the other way around. Briefly, you try to tug your hands away from them, but they only cling on tighter than before. That nervous feeling is coming back with a vengeance.

“Y-you’re almost making it sound like you’re in l-love with me or something.”

“Because we are.” Shouta says bluntly, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to admit.

You waited to see if they were going to start laughing, to see if they were going to do anything other than stare at you as if you were the light of their world. They didn’t, and in turn you lost what little composure you had. 

“W-what?!” You shouted, looking at them in pure disbelief.

“We know that this must be a lot to take in all at once, but please believe us when we say that we are in love with you Darling. We have been since the moment we saw you pick up Zashi’s little cardinal.” Shouta said softly, giving your hand a little squeeze.

You were bordering on having a full blown panic attack, but something about that statement caught you off guard. “The-The cardinal? You were there when I found it?”

“Yes.” Hizashi said, almost looking a bit nervous. “We were out in the woods searching for it when we spotted you picking it up. We didn’t want to startle or frighten you, so we just let you take it home and nurse it back to health. We figured that after you released it, we would go and thank you properly. Obviously we couldn’t just outright tell you how we knew about it, or who we truly are, you would have thought we were insane. So we did fib a bit when we said that we lived nearby.”

Before you could even get a word in edgewise, Shouta was already picking up where Hizashi left off. “We wanted to get closer to you, and let you get to know us a bit before we told you how we feel. But, it’s not just about the care you showed the bird though, it’s about you.” He stopped for a moment, smiling as both of them looked at you fondly. “You’re so sweet and kind and beautiful. You always have a positive outlook on things and even when you do get upset, you always try to be reasonable and rational about everything.”

“And you’re such a hard worker! You have no idea how hard it’s been, watching you slave away for nothing in this dump. That’s why when you come home, we will be seeing to all your needs for you. One such as you should never have to lift a finger or toil away in the dirt for food.” Hizashi’s smile was near blinding by the time he finished off their declaration.

You had no idea what to make of this, it was just way to surreal. But so many things were starting to add up now. Like the way they always sought out excuses to touch you, brushing your hand as you gave them cups of tea or placing their hands on your back to guide or steady you. The endearing nicknames, and the fact that they always insisted on coming to visit you instead of the other way around. You never would have found their supposed home because it didn’t exist, at least not in the place they said it was.

“W-Why now? Why choose this particular time to come and tell me this?” You finally managed to speak, looking down, unable to meet their loving expressions.

Shouta just kept smiling, and you felt how he began to run his thumb back and forth over the top of your hand when you tried to pull away again. “Winter has come and we wanted to bring you home before the weather got too bad. There is no way we could ever let you keep living here now that it has gotten so cold. What if you got sick? We would never forgive ourselves.”

Hizashi just nodded along with his partner. “We’ll let you grab any trinkets or things you want to bring back with you, there is plenty of room at the palace, so don’t be concerned with how much you bring. We got you all sorts of new clothes though, so you can leave the ones you have here.”

Your head was spinning and neither of them were giving you a chance to speak and it was becoming a bit annoying. It sounded like they had already made the decision for you, or at least, were already banking on your agreement to be with them. 

Well, Gods or not, they were about to learn otherwise.

“Shouta, Hizashi!” That seemed to get their attention and they both paused their gushing to look at you. “Now that I have your attention, can you two please just stop and listen to me for a moment?”

Shout cleared his throat and both of them simultaneously let go of your hands which you quickly placed in your lap. “Of course Kitten. Our apologies for getting a bit carried away, we’re just so happy that you finally know the truth and we don’t have to hide it from you anymore. It’s like a weight has been lifted from us.”

You wish that he hadn’t said that, it made what you were about to tell them seem even more cruel, you thought, but you couldn’t just let them keep thinking you were okay with this when you weren’t. It wouldn’t be fair to any of you. They were kind enough to be honest with you, so the least you could do is extend the same courtesy back to them.

You take a deep breath, though you still find it too hard to meet their eyes. “Listen you two, I’m flattered, humbled actually, that you two think so highly of me and I value this friendship with you more than anything. How many can truly say that they have received the favor of the Gods?” You smile sadly, here comes the hard part. “But I have no desire to leave this home of mine, or to be in a relationship with anyone. I love this place, it’s a home I have worked hard to make for myself and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Not to mention my friends and family, I love them as well and would never forgive myself for just abandoning them without a word. Because I highly doubt you would be willing to reveal who you really are to all of them.” You can feel tears welling up in your eyes at this point. “So I’m sorry, but I am going to have to respectfully tell you that I just can’t return your feelings.” The tears are falling down your cheeks before you can even stop them.

After a few moments of weighted silence, you finally lift your head to face the men whose hearts you just broke. The two looked shell-shocked and you realized that you had guessed right, they had just assumed that you felt the same way about them, they had never even considered that you might say no. It filled you with an emotion that was both parts annoyed and guilty, you weren’t sure what to make of it.

Surprisingly, Hizashi was the one to speak first. His cracking voice and trembling lower lip just adding salt to the wound. “I-I… We just th-thought that you f-felt as s-strongly for us as we do for y-you. Did we do something w-wrong?” A few tears escaped the corners of his eyes.

Shouta is much less emotional than Zashi, but still looks equally as sad. “We’ve poured our hearts out to you Kitten, can’t you at least give us a better reason then simply not wanting to leave your home. That excuse is flimsy at best since you spend the majority of time isolated away from other people and only see your family on rare occasions.” If it wasn’t for the sad forlorn look on his face, you would have thought he was insinuating that you were lying, and you weren’t, you just omitted a few details. The fact that he picked up on this went a long way in telling you how well they knew you.

“It’s not as if it’s a big secret or anything, I’ve just never felt the need to be with someone like that… and to be honest, I doubt I ever will. I never felt infatuated with anyone from my village, not even the smallest of crushes. My parents and family understood this and never judged me when I told them that I wanted to move out here and fix this place up, that I preferred a life of solitude to one full of people. That’s really all there is to it. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I reciprocated these feelings you have for me. It never would have been my intention to lead you on like that. Not ever.”

You could cut the tension with a knife it was so thick. You just didn’t know what else to say. It’s not like you could magically make yourself feel the same way for them, or make them stop having these feelings for you in turn. It was an unfortunate situation all around.

“W-we understand (Y/N). We’re not mad at you or anything, it just wasn’t the response we were expecting. I suppose we did get a bit carried away when planning all of this out.” The God of Life scratched the back of his head and attempted to give you a smile, but you could still see the way his eyes glistened and his lips trembled. “We should have done more to make our feelings known, instead of just springing them on you out of the blue like this.”

You also gave him a weak smile in return and shake your head. “No. You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry for not realizing how you two felt sooner, now that I think about it, it all seems so obvious now.”

“It seems we’re all to blame for the misunderstanding. I don’t believe any of us need to be apologizing.” Shouta said.

“That is true. Perhaps we should all get some rest, I think we will all feel a lot better after we have had a chance to sleep on it.” Saying that though, did bring to mind something that worried you greatly and you had to voice the question before you could ever hope to go back to sleep. “What does this mean for us? Will the two of you still be coming around? I meant it when I said that your friendship means the world to me, I don’t want to lose either of you. Not over something like this…”

You felt one set of hands gently lifting your face to meet Shouta’s deep dark eyes, and another set hugging you from behind. You felt vaguely uncomfortable with their close proximity and under normal circumstances you would have pushed them away, but given the outcome of this night, you decided to let them have this little bit of comfort.

“We promise Kitten, you are not going to lose us. We are going to be apart of your life for a very long time to come. This little setback doesn’t change that we still care about you very much. I doubt anything could change that.” The God of Death said, gently tubing your tear stained cheeks with his thumbs.

You felt Hizashi squeeze you tighter and not in agreement with his counterpart. “You can’t get rid of us that easily Sweetling. Your stuck with us through thick and thin.”

You smiled, content to let them hold you like this for just a bit longer.

Until a yawn sounded from you and the two Gods decided it was time for the little human to go back to bed.

“I’ll make you some tea to help warm you up before you go back to bed. It’s the least I can do since we woke you up at this unholy hour.” Shouta stated, already moving to prepare the hot beverage.

“And I’ll put a few more logs on the fire.” Hizashi offered as he stood up as well.

A short ten minutes later, Shouta placed a steaming cup of tea in front of you and the two insisted on showing themselves out.

“We’ll see you soon, try to get some sleep Sweetling.”

“Have a good night Kitten, and please don’t forget to drink your tea.”

“Thank you both! Have a good night yourselves and I’ll see you next time.” You said with a wave, feeling genuinely happy as they turned at walked out the door, vanishing into the white world outside.

—————

Hizashi was shaking and sobbing as he clings onto Shouta for dear life, like he might vanish into thin air if he loosened his hold for even a moment.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this Shou!” He wailed. “She was supposed to smile and cry and say she loved us too. She was supposed to ask to be taken home. We should be showing her the nursery right now, and she should be begging us to make love to her, to give the babies we’ve been dreaming of for months!” It felt like his heart was shattered into a million pieces and you were the only one that could put them back together. How could you not feel the same?! He knew that you were the one for them the moment he heard your voice. It was destiny! How could you not see that?!

Shouta just rubs his dear Zashi’s back, trying to offer him what little comfort he could. He too was stunned by your rejection. He never once considered that you would turn them down and he was kicking himself for not planning ahead for all the outcomes, even the ones he didn’t believe were possible. He still didn’t believe that you felt the way you claimed, you must just be confused, you just needed time to come to terms with all the knowledge that had been presented to you this night.

And there was no better place to sort out your own feelings then in your future home, with them by your side to guide you through all of it. That is precisely why he had cast The Sleep of The Dead enchantment over your tea. It would put you into a deep slumber so that they could bring you home without any risk of you waking up.

“Shhhhh, everything will be just fine Zashi.” He whispered, petting his soft golden hair and kissing his forehead tenderly. “As soon as she falls asleep we will go and get her. She might be shocked and angry for a while, but I am sure that after some time spent with us in the Heavens, she will be just as happy, if not more so, then she ever was in this wretched place.”

Hizashi sniffled and looked up at Shouta, his bright green eyes hopeful. “Do you really think so? Because I can’t live without her Shou! I need her more than words can express. We need her!”

Shouta leaned down and gave him a kiss. It was sweet and chaste, but so full of the love and passion he felt for the other man that even Hizashi, in his shattered state, could not help but trust in him.

Shouta pulled back, a small smile gracing his lips. “I promise you Zashi, things might be hard at first, but it will all be worth it in the end. I swear it.”

So I lied, this will NOT be the last chapter. But the next will be... I think... maybe...hopefully... it really all depends on the characters. LOL

I hope you all enjoy!

This chapter is dedicated to @talpup!!! Thanks for all this awesome brainstorming sessions, as well as all the ones I’m sure will follow! And for posting that amazing chapter of Chaos early for me, it defiantly helped my day yesterday.

[johaerys-writes]

Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (3/3): Fast Approaching Dusk

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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This is the third and final part of the prequel fic I wrote for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved potate @solas-disapproves​ and I have been working on! Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut under the cut :)

Read here or on AO3!

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Pain, dull and hollow. Breath, short and panting. Head heavy. Lids heavier. Scattered thoughts, twisted images, broken shards of something that must have been whole, once, a long time before. A young girl’s laugh, blonde hair so pale it almost looked white. Blue eyes so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own. The gleaming edge of a dagger in the night. A viper’s forked tongue, flickering. A plunge into a yawning abyss.

Tristan woke up with a gasp, coughing and sputtering, agony spearing his sides. Bright light stabbed his retinas, searing white rays piercing his brain. He reached out, searching for his daggers, oblivious to the pain that flared with his every move. His daggers, he had to find his fucking daggers-

“Easy! Easy. It’s alright. You’re safe. Great Sun Almighty, you’ll undo all your bandages the way you’re thrashing about.”

That smooth, velvet voice made Tristan stop abruptly. He blinked, his vision clearing somewhat. Pavus was kneeling next to him, brows furrowed in concern. Tristan squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sunlight that was streaming through the foliage overhead, framing Pavus’s face like a halo.

“What- what happened?” Tristan said, his voice a forced croak. He tried to sit up, but the mage’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Lie down. You need rest.” He uncorked a water skin, bringing its mouth close to Tristan’s lips. His palm eased behind Tristan’s neck, holding his head steady as he helped him drink. His touch was gentle, caring. Tristan couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him with so much tenderness. He made a weak attempt to pull away, but as soon as the fresh water reached his lips he realised how parched he was. He drank thirstily, thin streams of liquid running down his cheeks, soaking his hair that clung to the back of his neck. He drank until the water skin was empty, yet he would have gladly drank a couple more. Pavus gently withdrew his hand from under his neck, his fingers soft as they brushed against his skin. He let his head fall back on the makeshift pillow that Pavus had made for him. It felt like one of his cotton undershirts. It smelt like him, too.

“What… where is the Fiend?” he asked, trying to take his mind off of Pavus’s scent that seemed to be everywhere around him all of a sudden.

Pavus quirked an eyebrow as he put the cork back on the waterskin. “Where do you think it is? Lying dead in a bloodied heap, where you left it.”

“Ah.” Tristan took in his surroundings. A merry fire was crackling close to him, its soothing warmth seeping into him through his woollen blanket. A pot was hanging over it, its contents simmering away. Pavus’ bedroll, clean and neatly folded, was almost touching his own. Had he slept next to him all the while Tristan had been unconscious?

The swell of affection that flooded his chest was surprising, and wholly uninvited. Tristan took a breath and cleared his throat in an effort to ease it away. He was still woozy from sleep. Must have been. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. More or less.”

“Two days? Fuck,” Tristan breathed. “What… what happened?”

“What happened? You mean you don’t remember getting skewered by that Fiend’s antlers?”

“Yes, I… I remember.” Tristan winced at the memory of the Fiend’s snout, its foul breath so close to him. Of its burning eye in the darkness, luring him into an agonising end. Of its claws and its deafening roars, and of Pavus's face, pale and drawn as he watched him teetering on the precipice of death. Tristan shook his head gently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them again. “What happened after?

“You were half dead by the time I dragged you off that thing. The antler had gone straight through your lung. Healing is not my field of expertise, but I did manage to stem the bleeding somewhat. Couldn’t do much about the scarring, I’m afraid. Had to stitch and wrap the wound with the healing kit I had on me. After that, I came back to fetch my horse and carried you back here.” Pavus let out a sigh, leaning back on his arm. A tiny teasing smile was on his lips when he gazed at him. “You’re much heavier than you look, you know.”

“Right,” Tristan said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

Pavus waved absently. “Apologise to my horse. The scent of the Fiend’s blood almost gave him a heart attack. He’s still jittery. The faintest sound can send him off. Your horse seems to be doing splendid, though.”

“She’s used to that sort of thing.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” Pavus stood up, leaning over the pot by the fire as he stirred its contents. When he came to sit back down next to Tristan, he was holding a steaming bowl of stew. “You should eat something. Shall I help you with it?”

Tristan shook his head, propping himself up on his elbow, wincing at the pain in his side. The stew was hot, burning his tongue as he took a spoonful. It tasted faintly of spices. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” Pavus said with a smirk. “Certainly much better than that bland porridge you made yesterday.”

Tristan grunted a half hearted assent as he chewed, then nodded at a small pouch that was lying close to the mages’ belongings, stained with blood. “Did you get what you came for?”

“I did.” Pavus glanced over his shoulder, following Tristan’s gaze. “That Fiend won’t be missing its third eye.”

Its third eye. So that was what he’d wanted all along. That was what Emhyr wanted to get his hands on. A Fiend’s third eye was said to have many powers and strange applications, but most of the rumours were simply that; rumours. Superstition. Old wives tales about knights who battled Fiends to obtain their third eye, which would miraculously bring their beloved back to life or that could be given to demons in exchange for riches and power. Tristan doubted his knowledge now. What could the Emperor of Nilfgaard possibly want to do with that eye? What were they up to?

In his dream-like haze, Tristan almost voiced those questions. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, he quickly snapped it shut again. Witchers didn’t ask these sort of questions. Whatever Pavus was looking to do with it, was his own business. And as soon as Tristan was paid the entirety of the gold promised to him, this whole affair would stop being any of his.

“You witchers heal surprisingly quickly,” Pavus said as he watched him eat, stirring him out of his thoughts. “I managed to make you drink one of those healing potions in your pouch while you were unconscious - at least I hope it was a healing potion. It reeked abominably to me. You didn’t die, so I guess it worked, yes?”

“You went through my potions?” Tristan’s eyes widened. “You know they’re highly toxic for anyone that isn't a witcher, right? And how did you know which one to give me?”

“Oh, please. I could recognise the smell of swallow and celandine anywhere. Although there was something else positively horrid in there that I couldn’t quite place.”

“That must have been the drowner brains,” Tristan said, smirking when he saw Pavus’ eyes widening, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Or the vitriol.”

“The horror,” he breathed, pressing his hand on his chest. “The things you poor fellows have to ingest. No wonder you’re so irritable.” Tristan glowered at him, and Pavus laughed mirthfully under his breath. He gave him a warm smile after his laughter had eased away, letting his gaze glide over Tristan’s features. Tristan felt that familiar flush returning to his cheeks, and he hastily looked away. When the mage spoke again, his voice was soft like a whisper. “It almost got you, you know. I’ve never seen a gash this nasty."

Tristan lifted the blanket that Pavus had draped over him. His armour had been removed to be replaced by soft cotton breeches. The bandages on his chest were clean, freshly changed, the strong smell of antiseptic ointment reaching his nostrils. And soap. A startling realisation suddenly dawned on him, making his breath hitch. Pavus had removed his armour, washed him, dressed his wounds, put him in clean clothes. Pavus had seen him naked. Fuck. Shit.

His face was burning when he swiftly let the blanket fall over him again. “I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, eyes fixed on his bowl of stew, hoping against hope that his furious blush wasn’t as noticeable, although he must have looked red like a pomegranate by then. He scooped up the last of his meal and pushed the bowl away, lying flat on his back with a grunt.

"That’s easy enough for you to say. You didn’t see the wound when it was fresh. If the Fiend's antler had got you just an inch to the right, I'm not certain I would have been able to do much. If it were your spleen instead of your lung you would have bled out before I’d even reached you."

Tristan shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. But it didn’t. And I-” he shot him a sideways glance as he spoke at him, and his words died in his mouth. There was worry lingering in the mage’s eyes, his brows drawn in a thoughtful frown. Tristan felt irresistibly drawn to that curious silver gaze, like a moth was drawn to light. "I, uh…" he started, gulping thickly. "Thank you. You…" He paused, letting out a low chuckle. It sounded weak and painful. "It seems I owe you my life."

Pavus looked at him quizzically for a long moment, tilting his head to the side. "You think so? It never occurred to me. I could invoke the Law of Surprise, I suppose. That might come in handy."

Tristan frowned at him. Invoking the Law of Surprise was no laughing matter, and he had heard of countless people getting into trouble for merely mentioning it. Pavus huffed in amusement when he noticed his disgruntled expression. "I'm simply joking, naturally. If anything, I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for you jumping onto that beast's head, it would have been me lying where you are now. If I were here at all." Pavus held his gaze, his gaze softening. "If thanks are to be given, then you should have mine."

Tristan's heart fluttered in his chest, a blade of grass trembling with the wind. He licked his lips, swallowing thickly. "You-uh… It-it's alright," he stammered. "You don't have to… You placed yourself in danger, too. If it hadn't been for you drawing the Fiend's attention while it had me in hypnosis-" He shook his head. “You could have ran off, then. Should have, actually. Yet you didn’t.”

"Oh, please. As if I would have left you to die out there. Not when you’d finally started warming up to me."

"I… what?"

Pavus' smile widened. "You grabbed a Fiend quite literally by the antlers to save me. You also haven't snapped or grunted in the last ten minutes. Not much, at least. If that's not warming up, then I'm not sure what is.”

"I don't… that's not-" Tristan frowned, pursing his lips in some desperate attempt to appear stern. “I gave my word to the Emperor that I would see you back safe. Witchers live and die by their word. That's what they should do, at least.”

“Was that the only reason you did it?” Pavus whispered, shifting just an inch closer to him.

Tristan’s first instinct was to edge back, safely away. Instead, he found himself watching him wide eyed, unable to move, a deer before bright lights. “I… I-” He dabbed his lips with his tongue, swallowing thickly. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt."

With a soft sigh, Pavus moved closer still, covering the distance between them. His lips were only a hair away from Tristan's when he paused, his breath tickling his skin. "I like you, too.”

As if drawn by a spell, Tristan leaned in, catching his plush, velvet lips in a kiss. The mage moaned softly, fingers threading in Tristan’s hair. Tristan’s hands tangled in his robes when he reached out, pulling him towards him. His injury nipped with his movements, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pavus’ lips were soft and warm against his, and he tasted of cardamom and cloves, and his fingers were soothing as they smoothed down the sides of his neck. Tristan could almost feel the vibration of his magic running over his skin, tingling, drawing him in.

“I want you,” Tristan whispered. He ran his palm down the mage's back, feeling his muscles under the thick fabric. “I want- I want-”

“I want you, too.” Pavus closed his teeth over Tristan’s bottom lip, nipping and sucking lightly as his hand left his neck to skim carefully over his bandages, palm brushing over the bulge in Tristan’s breeches. Deft fingers slithered under his waistband and it wasn’t long before Tristan groaned against his lips, thrusting into his hand when it wrapped around his hardness. “I want you so much.”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, hypnotised, riding the waves of pleasure that washed through him, unable to hold back. Everything else around him had faded away, even the pain at his sides, and there was only Pavus there, and his lips, his tongue, his hands- fuck, his hands-

Pavus’ mouth left his own to brush along his jaw, down his neck, along the dip of his chest. Tristan held his breath as he watched him trail ever downwards, every touch sending ripples of electricity down his spine. The mage held his gaze firmly, lips quirked in a teasing smile before they closed over his cock.

Tristan moaned, fingers snaking into Pavus’ hair. His mouth was warm and slick, his tongue smooth like velvet as it pressed against him. He shivered as he was swallowed whole, that rich heat enveloping him until he could think of nothing else. He wondered idly whether he had ever felt anything as pleasant, whether there was anything in the world that would compare to that, to that sweet torture, to that slow, agonising pleasure. His fingers were soft when they curled around the base of his cock, when they caressed his thighs, when they trailed upwards to touch the exposed skin of his chest. His sterling grey eyes were fixed on Tristan’s, his intense gaze stealing the air from his lungs. How had he held himself back from this- from him- all these days? How had he managed to keep his hands off him for so long?

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tristan rasped, pulling him up. Pavus hovered over him, straddling him. Tristan pried his mouth open with his tongue, the taste of him on Pavus’ lips sending shivers coiling and unraveling through him. He slithered his palms under the mage’s robes, feeling the tight muscles of his thighs, fingers digging at the firm flesh of his buttocks through his smallclothes. He hooked a digit over the waistband, the rich fabric retreating easily under his fingertips. “Silk?” he whispered, and the mage chuckled softly.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured against his lips. “Only the best kind.” He gasped when Tristan pulled at it, the silk fabric ripping at the seams. He edged back to look at him, a stern expression on his features. “You owe me a pair of very expensive underwear, you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Tristan brushed his fingers over Pavus’ mouth, then sighed as those full, luscious lips wrapped around his digits. Sucking gently, caressing them with the flat of his tongue. Teeth closing over his fingertips. Eyes trained on his own. Did Pavus even realise the effect his eyes had on him? Could he see, could he feel the rolling waves of lust that rushed through him with his every glance? The pulse that roared in Tristan’s ears with every touch?

He dragged his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his tongue. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Just bloody brilliant.” He reached down, closing his palm around Pavus’s length, brushing his thumb over the bead of dew that had gathered at the tip. The mage tilted his head back, sighing as Tristan placed a trail of kisses along the underside of his jaw, pumping him slowly. He took a deep breath, letting his rich scent fill his lungs.“And you smell so… so-”

“Yes?” Pavus breathed, reaching out for his bag, rummaging through its contents until he pulled out a small vial. He dropped some of the liquid on his palm, then reached down between them to smooth it over Tristan’s shaft.

Tristan’s mouth watered when the spicy scent of the oil reached his nostrils. His pulse quickened, a hot white rush that surged through him in a wave. “You smell so-” he grunted softly, thrusting in Pavus’ hand. “You-you smell... incredible.”

“What else do you like about me?” the mage asked, carefully angling Tristan at his entrance.

“You’re- ah- you-” Tristan’s eyes rolled back at the contact. He clenched his jaw, fingers sinking in Pavus’s thigh. “Your mouth. Your lips. Your skin. Your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re-” He gazed up at him, running his tongue over his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Pavus leaned down, brushing his nose over his. “You’re not that bad looking yourself,” he whispered, his lips curved in a smirk.

Tristan groaned at the back of his throat as the mage sank slowly, ever so slowly over his hardness, as the tip of his cock slipped inside his tight heat. “Fuck, this is- this is-”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Pavus said breathlessly, taking him in a little deeper. A deep flush had risen up his cheeks when he quirked an eyebrow at him. “Makes you feel like an idiot for not doing it sooner, yes?”

Tristan rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, though it was half hearted. Mainly because Pavus was right. “You talk too much,” he grunted, cupping his neck to pull his lips down to his, hips bucking upwards a bit more. He kissed him deeply, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, drinking in the gasps that escaped Pavus as he thrust lightly, shallowly until he was sheathed to the hilt.

“Yes- Sun, yes-” the mage moaned, grinding helplessly against him. He was tight -fuck, was he tight- deliciously warm, infernally good. He pushed into him over and over, chasing every sliver of that sweet bliss. Pavus threw his head back when Tristan closed his fist over his cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Yes- harder, please…”

The breathiness, the need in his voice, the flush of his cheeks, his glistening lips, they made the roaring fire that flooded Tristan’s chest soar to something uncontrollable. He gripped his hips, dragging him down as he surged up, driving himself deeper. His pulse was buzzing in his ears, warmth surging through him with every thrust, his breath catching in his throat, his breath-

Tristan stopped abruptly, his head falling back against the pillow as his lungs spasmed, seeking more air. His hold on Pavus’s hips tightened, holding him steady. “Wait,” he croaked, voice thick and strained.

The mage blinked at him, lifting himself up. “What? What happened?” He was panting, sweat gathering on his brow. It glowed in the evening sun, like beads of golden dew.

Tristan gulped, inhaling slowly through his nose. “I just- I need to catch my breath.” His wound stabbed him every time his chest rose and fell, making it hard to speak. Pavus was watching him wide-eyed, sitting perfectly still on top of him.

“Are you alright? Shall we stop?” he asked, anxiously searching his face. He shifted where he was, lifting himself up. “Perhaps I should-”

Tristan grabbed him tightly, pulling him back down. “Don’t- don’t move,” he rasped. He winced as his lung stabbed at him, and he felt the mage’s back stiffen, saw his eyes widen in concern. Tristan let out a slow exhale, caressing Pavus’s sides under his robes. His muscles were tight underneath his smooth skin, and Tristan let his fingers glide over them, tracing the line that led to his navel with his thumb. “Let’s just take it slow.” He languidly ran his fist down the mage’s length, watching with keen eyes as his eyes rolled back and his lips parted on a moan. “I want to feel you. Really feel you.”

“Slow. Yes.” Pavus nodded, breathless. “I want to feel you, too. You feel so good. So hard. So thick. So-” He rocked against him, palms bracing on the ground on either side of Tristan’s head. He was moving slowly, infuriatingly slowly, but his pace did nothing to quell the roaring blaze of want that surged through him. If nothing else, it kindled it even more.

Tristan fumbled with the buttons and buckles of Pavus’s clothes as the mage rode him - what need was there for all these blasted buckles, anyway?- until he was blissfuly bare, his robes discarded beside them. Until he was hovering over him in nothing but his skin. And what a glorious skin that was - smooth like velvet, rich like caramel, catching the rays of the setting sun, glowing. Tristan dragged his palm down his torso, feeling the contours of his taut muscles. He sighed when he brushed his thumb over a raised nipple, the tight nub stiffening under his touch. Pavus’s teeth closed over Tristan’s bottom lip, his hand slithering in Tristan’s hair as he moaned, as he picked up his pace, lowering himself over and over on his cock. “Tristan,” he breathed, long fingers wrapping around his strands, pulling. “Oh, Tristan-”

His name, spoken in Pavus’s breathless voice, was enough to set his blood aflame. Before he could stop to think, he gripped the mage tightly, shifting his weight to flip him on his back. The wound nipped under the bandage, and he winced in pain, biting the inside of his lip.

The mage gaped at him. “Wait- your injury-” he started, but only managed to let out a loud moan when Tristan thrust eagerly back into him.

“Fuck my injury,” Tristan grunted, crashing his mouth against Pavus’ again, ignoring the pain in his side as their lips touched, chasing every other thought and sensation away. There was nothing else in the world but him, his velvet heat warming him to his very core, his scent that flooded his senses, the taste of him that lingered on his tongue when he brushed it over his throat. He pushed harder, as hard as he could, hooking an arm under his leg to burrow more of his cock inside him.

Pavus’s head fell back, his fingers digging into Tristan’s shoulder blades as Tristan drove himself deeper. The mage’s lips that pressed against the side of his neck, the streams of garbled sentences and curses that ran over Tristan’s skin as he reached down to stroke himself in time with Tristan’s thrusts, his eyes that rolled back with his climax, they were all too much, far too much. The heat and tension that had coiled in his gut burst into something white hot and blinding as he shuddered, letting the vibrations of Pavus's ecstasy wash through him.

Tristan collapsed on top of him, suddenly feeling every last bit of his strength leaving him. His limbs ached and trembled, and the skin at his sides tingled when Pavus ran his palms over it. With soft, careful movements, the mage rolled him on to his back, his fingers lingering on him for just a breath before sitting up to pull a blanket over them both. They lay next to each other for a long while, the chirping of the birds and their own breaths, gradually softening, the only sounds between them.

Tristan inhaled deeply, taking in the quiet of the moment. He watched Pavus from the corner of his eye, studying his languid movements. His heavy lids, fluttering softly. The thin film of sweat that still clung to his brow. He wondered idly whether it had all really happened, or whether the past half hour or so was part of a fever induced dream. A wonderful dream, yes, but a dream nonetheless.

Pavus shifted were he lay, curling his arm under his head. “You can just look at me, you know,” he said sleepily. “You don’t have to peek.”

Tristan frowned, turning away. “I am not peeking.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been doing it ever since the moment you saw me.”

Tristan’s cheeks flared hot and bright, and he cleared his throat irritably. “I’ve been doing nothing of the sort.”

“For someone who prides themselves on their stealth skills, you’re not very subtle.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, huffing. “Are you always so mouthy, Pavus?”

“Well, of course I am,” the mage chuckled. “It’s one of my greatest assets. Something to which you yourself can attest.” He propped himself up on his elbow to fix him with a pointed look. “And, by the way, my name isn’t Pavus.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s not Pavus. It’s Dorian.”

“I know what your name is,” Tristan grumbled, pursing his lips. He felt like a petulant child all of a sudden.

“You know it, yet you never use it.” He leaned closer, brushing his nose over his. “Just try it. It’s not that difficult. Dorian. Do-ri-an.”

Tristan took a tremulous breath, resisting the urge to surge forward and run the flat of his tongue over those full, glistening lips. “Dorian,” he said after a brief moment of hesitation, poignantly drawing the vowels out. “There. Happy?”

“Very.” Dorian flashed him a wide smile, his finger tracing the raised scar on Tristan’s collarbone. “Now that we’ve learned the basics, we can move on to something more advanced, yes? Let’s start with… ‘You look positively splendid today, Dorian’. That’s always nice to hear. Or ‘I thoroughly enjoy your company, Dorian’. Or ‘Your wit and charm is unparalleled, Dorian’. Or…”

Tristan pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues twining. “You drive me mad, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed against his lips, pressing his body closer against his. “I love hearing that, too,” he whispered. “Especially when it comes from you.”

**

The days of travel until they got back to Vizima rolled by swiftly, much more swiftly than Tristan would have liked. Even more than he would care to admit. The long hours on the saddle by day, listening to Dorian’s voice, drinking in the sound of his laugh. The longer hours at night, when they lay together by the fire until the early morning rays found them. It was as if Tristan was in a constant dream-like haze, his mind filled with thoughts of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Pure, unfiltered bliss. Ecstasy in slow motion.

When the tall towers of the palace of Vizima rose before them, it was as if someone had stabbed him in the spleen and left him for dead in a shallow ditch.

They didn’t exchange too many words as they solemnly rode through the town’s tidy cobblestone streets. The people parted when they passed, with quick, uneasy looks at Dorian’s magnificent horse, Tristan’s armour and the amulet hanging about his neck. A few even flinched when they met his eyes, praying to their gods under their breath.

Dorian’s expression was serious and grim when their horses’ hooves reached the stone bridge that arched over the deep, broad moat that separated the castle from the rest of the world. They both dismounted, reluctantly handing their reins to the stable boys that rushed out to get their steeds. Var Heid was already waiting for them by the inner courtyard. He gave them both a small bow, hawk like eyes examining them when he straightened back up.

“Was the gentlemen’s journey satisfactory?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Dorian said with a sickly sweet smile. “But it was also long and tiring. So, you will excuse us if we go straight to our rooms, yes? I could use a bath.”

Var Heid’s gaze fleeted to Tristan, no doubt taking in every detail of his appearance. “I can imagine,” he said flatly. “I am afraid this is not possible. The Emperor has requested to see you as soon as you arrive.”

“I see.” Dorian straightened up, brushing his palms over his robes, then shot Var Heid a contemptuous look. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Var Heid sniffed as he turned around, leading them through the castle. Dorian rolled his eyes behind the steward’s back, his lips pursed in an annoyed frown. Damn it. He was beautiful even when he was irked. Perhaps even more so then.

A sharp pang of bitterness drove through Tristan as he followed him through the narrow corridors, secretly wishing for Var Heid to take the long way to the Emperor's office.

A short while later, Tristan was walking back out of the palace, his coin pouch significantly heavier than it was before. The sun was setting, casting its waning golden light upon the world as he made his way to the stables. Almond neighed softly when she saw him, chewing on some fresh straw. He reached out, stroking her forehead, letting his gaze drift past the stable window, over the tall mountains in the distance.

So. It was him, Almond and the vast Continent once more.

“We’ll manage, won’t we, girl?” he whispered. “We always do.”

“Are you talking to… your horse?”

Tristan turned around at the sound of Dorian’s voice. The mage was leaning against the door of the stables, watching him. A soft smile spread on his features, interest flashing in his sterling grey eyes.

“I spend a lot of time on the road by myself,” Tristan replied. “One develops certain habits when they’re alone for so long.”

Dorian chuckled softly, pushing himself off the door. He sauntered towards him, hips swaying ever so slightly. “My initial assessment of you was correct, it seems. You are sentimental.”

“So was mine,” Tristan retorted. “You are mouthy.”

“Was that really your initial assessment of me?”

They gazed at each other for a long moment before Dorian’s lips widened in a smile. Tristan let out a low, throaty laugh, letting his arms fall to his sides when Dorian took a step closer to him.

“So,” he said quietly, “this is it, isn’t it?”

Tristan's stomach tightened uneasily. Dorian's scent was hypnotizing, his lips so close to his, his eyes glittering, drawing him in. The light of the golden setting sun reflecting on his features, making him look as if he were aglow. Tristan ran his tongue over his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to take him into his arms, pull him down atop the hay and make love to him until the sun rose again. “I believe it is.”

Dorian’s finger trailed down his arm, sending shivers through him everywhere it touched. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against his. Tristan closed his eyes, tasting the spices on his tongue, drawing on his focus to discern every detail, every hidden undertone, etching the memory firmly in his mind. They kissed gently for a long moment, light touches that made Tristan’s skin prickle.

“Drop by sometime, will you?” he murmured against his lips, pushing a lock of hair behind Tristan’s ear.

“That is not up to me,” Tristan replied, a tinge of sorrow in his voice. “Witchers go where destiny takes them.”

Dorian brushed his nose over his. “You might be able to figure something out,” he whispered. “If that is what you want.”

Tristan leaned into his touch, helplessly drawn to him. He wanted to be close to him, as close as he could, for as long as he could. He reached out, fingers skimming his waist, itching to pull him into a tight embrace. With a soft sigh, Dorian took a step back. He held his gaze firmly, silver meeting slitted amber.

“So long, Tristan of Toussaint,” he said with a small bow of his head. He turned around, pausing to shoot him a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Tristan stared after him, long after his form had disappeared around the stable doors. “So long,” he whispered to the swiftly approaching dusk.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 5 - 11

AKA - The Beach Episode

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: migraine, emesis mention, medication side effects

~

The first thing Gavin became aware of was a faint, stabbing pain behind his left eye. His eyelids fluttered open, and he winced as the hot, dull ache stabbed through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light that filtered in through the curtains and assaulted him. He groaned, his hands pulling into fists, and curled into a ball under the blanket.

“Gavin?” came Isaac’s soft, concerned murmur.

“Nnngh,” Gavin moaned, swallowing the saliva that pooled in his mouth as his stomach heaved. “H-head, agh…” He whimpered softly and winced as even the sound of his own voice seemed to crush his brain against the inside of his skull.

Cool, gentle fingers carded through Gavin’s hair, and he cracked his eyes open to see Isaac lying next to him on the pillow, his eyebrows pulled together in worry. “Another migraine?” Isaac whispered.

Gavin’s head moved a fraction on an inch in a weak nod. He blew out a slow breath between his lips. “Y-yeah,” he rasped. His eyes slid shut.

The mattress jostled as Isaac smoothly pushed himself out of bed. Gavin longed to reach out and pull Isaac back down to the bed and beg him to be held, just beg for Isaac to stay with him through what Gavin knew would be an agonizing day. He lay perfectly still, trying even to stop his own heartbeat, just to relieve the pounding ache in his head. He wet his chapped lips and curled harder into himself.

“I can go get your medicine,” Isaac whispered over the sound of clothes rustling. “The riz— the migraine meds Finn brought a few days ago. We can see if that works.”

Gavin groaned his assent and tugged helplessly on his hair. He tried, desperately, to think of what helped last time – but each beat of his heart shoved away his thoughts until all he could focus on, all he could comprehend, was the pain of each second that crept by.

The door creaked open, the sound thundering through his brain, and Gavin was alone. He trembled beneath the blanket, his skin breaking out in sweat as waves of nausea rocked through him. He rolled onto his other side and let his head hang against the edge of the mattress, just in case he had to throw up. After a long moment, the door creaked again, and Gavin could hear the sound of Isaac’s bare feet on the rug as he walked to Gavin’s side. The mattress dipped under Isaac’s weight. Gavin’s stomach lurched with the feeling, and he opened his eyes.

“Here,” Isaac whispered. He held out a light orange, oval-shaped pill in his fingers. Gavin moved to take it from him and sucked in a breath as the movement sent pain exploding through his head.

Isaac pressed his mouth into a hard line and gently held the pill to Gavin’s lips. Gavin let Isaac drop the pill into his mouth, and shivered as Isaac cupped his chin and held a glass of water to his lips. He took a long sip and slumped against the mattress again. He prayed he wouldn’t throw up the water, and the pill, before it had time to kick in. If it helped at all.

“Finn said it should kick in within an hour,” Isaac whispered.

The pain spiked through Gavin’s head at the thought of relief. “Hmmn,” he groaned. He closed his eyes and tipped his head to the touch when Isaac drew his fingers through Gavin’s hair again. That seemed to bring a hint of relief. “Wh-what…” He swallowed hard. “Do you need to go into town today?”

“No,” Isaac said softly. “No, I can stay home today. Although, when I went to get your meds, the others were talking about heading down to the lake and maybe bringing a picnic lunch. Finn and Ellis are pretty much moved into their new house. It sounds like Gray and Edrissa wanted to have a going-away party for them, even though they’ll be right down the road.” Isaac huffed out a laugh. “I think Edrissa’s going to bake a cake.”

“You should go,” Gavin groaned. “I’m… ‘m good.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and sparks seemed to shoot through his head.

Isaac’s fingers paused in their path from Gavin’s temple to the back of his neck. “But I can stay here with you,” he murmured.

Gavin whimpered and reached up, lacing his fingers through Isaac’s. “But… if it’s their last d-day… fuck me, if, if it’s their last day at this house, then you sh-should… ahh…”

“But—”

“They’re your… family, Isaac.” Gavin wondered if he would be able to fall back asleep if Isaac left. Maybe, if he could lie in the dark and not move, maybe his head wouldn’t explode…

“You’re my family, too,” Isaac breathed. He squeezed Gavin’s fingers. “And you’re… you’re s-sick.”

“I’ll have plenty of migraines you can help me with,” Gavin said bitterly. “Isaac… please, go, I want you to have a, um, a g-good… Fuck, this is worse than before…” He gagged weakly. The mattress lurched as Isaac lunged for the wastebasket and thrust it under Gavin’s chin. Gavin shuddered and swallowed bile, pressing his face against the sheets. He wanted Isaac to stay, but the pain ratcheted higher, like a railroad spike being driven into his left eye socket, at the thought of Isaac missing Finn and Ellis on their last day at home. His throat clicked dryly as he swallowed. “Isaac…”

“I can get you a cold compress,” Isaac said weakly. “Would that help?”

“Um… I don’t know,” Gavin groaned, ready to scream from the pain and knowing the sound would shatter him if he did.

“Okay. I’ll go… I’ll go get one.” Isaac’s fingers slid out of Gavin’s grip, and the mattress dipped as he stood.

Gavin drifted in the pain, his heartbeat marking the time as it crawled by. He jumped when something cool pressed against the back of his neck. He hadn’t even heard Isaac come in over the pounding in his head.

Gavin sighed as the compress pushed away the pain, just a little. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “Do you… Gavin, if you really want me to go—”

“Once the meds start working, I’ll come out and join you,” Gavin ground out through his teeth. “Right now I just… need to focus on not… ahh…”

“Okay,” Isaac said quickly, and Gavin’s heart wrenched at the concern he could hear in his voice. “Okay. If you, um…” The compress shifted as Isaac pulled his hand away, and Gavin reached up to hold it in place. “I’ll come check on you in a few hours if you’re not out by then.”

“S-sounds like a plan,” Gavin breathed. He twisted against the sheets, desperate to find a position that would take off the pressure he could feel building in his head.

“I love you,” Isaac whispered, and Gavin felt the soft press of a kiss into his hair. His heart thudded in his chest.

“Love you, too,” Gavin whispered back. After a long moment, the soft sound of Isaac padding to the door and the creak as he shut it stabbed into Gavin’s brain like hot knives.

He whimpered softly and pressed the cold compress against the back of his own neck. It cooled his damp hair. Each heartbeat rocked through his head, each breath whooshed in and out of him, each moment crashed over him in another wave of agony. He drifted in the pain.

∴

Gavin blinked his eyes open. He squinted in the dim light filtering through the curtains and stirred beneath the sheets. The cool compress on the back of his neck made him shiver. He swallowed, and his throat felt dry.

The pain in his head was gone.

Tears of pure relief stung Gavin’s eyes. His chest swelled with gratitude for Finn and the pill that had taken away his pain. He experimentally pushed himself up off the bed. The room swam oddly around him.

He put a hand to his head and groaned. It was as if a thick fog had settled inside his brain, blunting the edges, dulling each thought. Still, his stomach felt settled, and the light no longer stabbed into his eyes. He dropped the cold compress onto the nightstand and sat up.

There was a pair of dark blue swim trunks lying at the foot of the bed.

Tears blurred Gavin’s vision all over again. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and clumsily got to his feet, wobbling slightly before he got his balance.

I don’t remember feeling this weird after.

Gavin shuffled forward and pulled the swim trunks on. After a moment, he crossed to the dresser and took out a t-shirt. He pulled it on over his head and shivered as it settled on the scars on his back. His fingers drifted over his chest, just below his right collarbone, over the scar there. His scar matched the one on Gray’s left side.

He shook his head and pushed the door open. As he wandered down the hall, the house was silent. Even as his head swam, he made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He caught himself staring at himself in the mirror, his gaze flicking between the scar on the bridge of his nose, to the one on his cheek, to the one stretching from the outer corner of his left eye and up into his hairline. Isaac always kissed those scars in exactly that order. Gavin blinked and bent over his rinse out his mouth.

Gavin wandered towards the back of the house with a strange, detached feeling. It was almost as if, as he moved through the air, it was thicker than normal. He seemed to notice everything a second after it happened. He walked through the laundry room and pushed open the back door, blinking in the sudden sun.

It wasn’t quite overhead, but then – it never got that high, this far north. Even in mid-June, the sun still cast shadows at noon. Gavin stumbled out into the long grass of the backyard and wandered down towards the lake.

Gavin blinked again; the day was stunning. The sun was warm on his face, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair, still slightly damp with his own sweat. It was just warm enough that he didn’t shiver in his t-shirt and trunks. The sun glittered on the surface of the lake, and his feet brushed through the grass as it gave way to rough, granite-gray sand. Gavin drew in a deep breath and felt a smile pull at his lips.

Down near the lake, Finn and Ellis sat on the same electric blue towel, Ellis’s legs draped over Finn’s, both of them turned towards the water. Zachariah stood waist-deep in the water, joyously fending off Edrissa and Sam as they both climbed him like a tree, Edrissa’s squeals and Sam’s laughter carrying over the water. As Gavin watched, Zachariah’s large hands closed around Edrissa’s waist and he heaved her farther into the lake. She disappeared beneath its surface with a splash and shot above the surface again, shrieking with laughter, her pale skin flushed red from the coldness of the water. She flipped her soaking wet hair over her shoulder before she clumsily swam to Zachariah and threw her arms around his neck. She planted a kiss on his cheek before he hoisted her and hurled her back into the water, laughing the whole time.

Tori and Vera stood at the edge of the water in their own bathing suits, their arms around each other’s waists. Even twenty yards away, Gavin could see how Vera’s scars stood out pale against the dark brown of her skin, and Tori’s scars shone pink over her black skin. Vera’s had faded with time. Tori’s would, too. They both laughed as Sam climbed, one-handed, onto Zachariah’s back and wrapped their legs around his waist. Zachariah ducked his head as Sam pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

Warmth curled in Gavin’s chest at the sight of Sam, Edrissa, and Zachariah together. I was wondering when that was going to happen.

Gray sat in a lawn chair turned towards the lake with a t-shirt and shorts, and a straw hat keeping off the sun. Gavin couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his throat as he looked at Gray and thought, they look retired.

At the sound of his laugh, Isaac looked up from where he knelt in the sand, pawing through a basket set on top of another towel, this one a blaring yellow. Gavin felt Isaac’s gaze like a thump in his chest. His smile stretched wider as he made his way to Isaac’s side.

Gray glanced up, and Gavin realized they were holding a glass of lemonade in their hand.

All they need is a book, and the look is complete.

“Hey!” Gray said with a grin. “He lives!”

“Yeah,” Gavin mumbled, and blushed as Isaac wound an arm around Gavin’s waist and pressed a kiss to his temple. “That medicine, um, did the trick.”

Finn glanced over and perked up when they saw Gavin. “Oh, hey!” they said, gently guiding Ellis’s legs off of theirs and climbing to their feet. “You feeling better?”

“Um, yeah,” Gavin said as he looked down at his own sandy feet. “I’m a little dizzy, but…”

“Yeah, that can be a side effect,” Finn said, and chewed their lip. “You feeling anything else? Pins and needles? You drowsy?”

“Yeah, a little drowsy,” Gavin murmured. He glanced up and flushed an even more painful red when he realized Finn, Ellis, Gray, and Isaac all had their eyes on him. “Sorry I, um—”

“You should be,” Ellis sniped, and they climbed to their feet and picked up the towel. Gavin found his gaze flicking to their abdomen, hidden behind a black one-piece bathing suit. They still weren’t showing, and probably wouldn’t be for another month or two. That’s what their baby book said. He blinked and returned his gaze to their face.

“We were waiting on you to have lunch,” Ellis said with a roll of their eyes, although their cutting voice was softened by a slight smile.

“No, we weren’t,” Isaac said with a playful grimace in Ellis’s direction. He looked back at Gavin. “I was just going to come get you. You hungry?”

Gavin’s stomach grumbled. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I am, actually. Really hungry.”

“Good,” Isaac said. Gavin melted at the smile shining on Isaac’s face.

Ellis turned to the others still in the water. “Hey, young people!” they shouted. “Get your asses over here, it’s time to eat!”

Zachariah stopped mid-toss, holding Edrissa out over the water, as his head snapped towards the shore. Edrissa shrieked as he dropped her unceremoniously into the water with a laugh and began to trudge toward shore, Sam still latched on like a barnacle. Edrissa giggled as she grabbed Zachariah’s arm and let him pull her to shore.

As Zachariah reached the edge of the water, Sam slipped off his back and landed lightly in the sand. Edrissa scrambled out of the water and tucked herself under Zachariah’s arm, shivering. Her lips were blue as she turned her head and kissed his shoulder. Gavin smiled.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” Sam said through chattering teeth. They made their way over to a pile of towels beside Gray’s chair and toweled off their hair, then wrapped the towel around their shoulders. “The rizatriptan worked?”

“How come everyone can say it but me?” Isaac mumbled at Gavin’s side.

“Yeah,” Gavin said, and took another towel for him and Isaac to sit on. “Doing a lot better.” He spread out the towel next to the basket and pulled Isaac down to sit next to him. Isaac’s scars shone almost white in the sun. Gavin laced his fingers through Isaac’s.

“I spent all morning getting this ready,” Edrissa said as the knelt by the picnic and began pulling out containers of food and sandwiches wrapped in napkins. “Potato salad for everyone… Egg salad for Ellis…” She passed the sandwich to Ellis. “Turkey for Finn, PB&J for Sam, turkey for Gray, tomato mozzarella pesto for Vera, ham for Tori, double turkey for Zachariah, mozzarella pesto for me…” she murmured as she passed out each sandwich. “Chicken salad for Isaac, Gavin I made one of those for you, too…”

Gavin gratefully took the sandwich from Edrissa and pulled away the cloth napkin. His stomach growled again, and louder. Edrissa kept pulling food out of the basket. “Pickles, olives – gross, chips… these chips are really good, they’re made by this married couple in Burmingham, they fry them in peanut oil, you have to try them… cookies…” A small pile of food was spread out on the towel next to the basket. “And if anyone wants more lemonade, I can just bring the pitcher…”

“Yes please,” came the chorus of replies.

Edrissa scrambled to her feet. “I’ll go grab it,” she said.

“I’ll help,” Zachariah said with a grin.

“I’ll come, too,” Sam said as they tripped after them.

Gavin smiled and wondered how much time the three of them were going to spend actually bringing the lemonade.

As Gavin looked around at his family, he smiled even wider. Vera was laughing as she kissed Tori, and Tori’s eyes were bright, focused, clear. Gray looked more relaxed than Gavin had ever seen them. Ellis and Finn had spread out their towel again next to the food, and Ellis was swatting away Finn’s attempts to tickle them through peals of laughter.

And Isaac… Gavin allowed himself a moment to look at Isaac, and was instantly, desperately lost. Isaac stared right back at him, the look in his brown eyes making Gavin’s stomach lurch like he was falling. Isaac reached over and laced his fingers through Gavin’s. For a moment, Gavin thought his heart might burst with happiness.

Isaac leaned forward and brushed his lips against Gavin’s scars: nose, cheek, eye. Gavin turned his head and sought Isaac’s lips with his. He smiled when Isaac lingered on the kiss.

“Oh, get a room,” Ellis said good-naturedly. Gavin broke the kiss, and his cheeks blazed.

“May as well start eating,” Gray said with a laugh. “Who knows when those three will be back. Apparently getting drinks is a strenuous three-person job.”

Gavin took a bite of his sandwich as he looked out across the lake. The wind stirred the trees on the opposite shore.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @whumpywhumper, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

[im-that-bitch-still-that-bitch]

A Place to Recover~s.b.

a/n: this is the first thing I’ve ever written on here, so I hope people like it! I just couldn’t get this idea for a story out of my head and had to write it. more parts to come... and it starts at the end of the first season with an alternate ending to the whole heading exploding thing

Part I-Homecoming: the prequel

The peaceful guitar melody of “Kiss me” by Sixpence None the Richer hummed softly out of Erin Brennan’s iPhone speaker as she put the finishing touches on her makeup for the homecoming dance. As she pulled loose strands of hair out of her half-up ponytail and laced up her converse, she couldn’t help but notice her hands shaking. Her best friend’s words earlier that week echoed in her ears,

 “You just can’t wear heels. No guy wants to dance with a girl who’s taller than him.”

Erin didn’t want to give off a “girl who wears converse with a dress to be quirky” vibe, but she despised ballet flats, so what else was there? 

She straightened up and looked into her full-length mirror at her lanky body in the pale pink slip dress she’d bought at a thrift store a week ago. The only thought racing through her mind was how stupid she felt, but that feeling always seemed to come with getting dressed up for Erin. She felt like an imposter. 

“Do you really think you can convince people you’re pretty?”

As her dark brown eyes met her own in the mirror, she noticed a single tear threatening to slip out of her perfectly curled lashes, “Fuck.”

She had promised herself she wouldn’t smoke or drink at all before the dance because of the homecoming debacle of 2018 when not one, but three of her friends she showed got kicked out and suspended for being drunk, but as soon as that little tear began threatening to fall, she caught it on her index finger and climbed out onto her roof with a joint in hand.

As she felt the joint burn down to a tiny nub and the heat in it growing closer to her fingers, she let it fall onto the wet grass of her backyard and climbed back in through her window. Her timing was opportune because just as she latched the window closed, her sister barged into her room, 

“Erin, we’ve been calling you for like ten minutes. Mom wants pictures,” Clare said, running out of breath.

“Yeah, I’m coming. Sorry, I didn’t hear you over my music.” She was in the clear luckily.

But as she strolled towards her bedroom door to follow in Clare’s lead, Clare stayed put. She whipped around and sniffed Erin’s shoulder. “You might want to put on some perfume,” she turned back and walked another two paces before turning to Erin once more to taunt, “Pothead!”

Erin laughed and spritzed perfume on her dress, then walked out the door. Mrs. Brennan squinted at her phone while snapping pictures of Erin with her best friend Kate, claiming she would only take “one more,” once every two minutes.

“We’re leaving mooom,” Erin called as she opened the passenger seat to Kate’s Mercedes Benz. The two had been best friends since middle school, making quite the dorky duo when they were both in puberty’s punishing grasp. When high school started, Kate blossomed into the perfect picture of a conventionally attractive woman, earning her lots of popularity. In a way, she dragged Erin to her new friend group. They were less than welcoming seeing as Erin was a bit offbeat, but they knew Kate was too stubborn to leave her other half behind. 

The two girls stepped into the gym and admired the golden glow of fairy lights hung from the ceiling. They spotted their friends immediately, and the bubbly girls ran to them and insisted on hitting the photo booth. Of course, they all immediately came up with about a dozen different combinations of girls they wanted in a photo, none of which included Erin. 

“I can hold everyone’s purses,” Erin spoke shyly. The girls all jumped on the idea, piling their clutches in their arms. Erin would get annoyed, but this was high school for her; catering to her so-called friends’ interests and needs because if they dropped her, where would she go, anyway?

Feeling more confident than ever due to her high, Erin marched up to the DJ booth, “What is going on with this set list?” The boy behind the booth shrugged indignantly, clearly not looking to cater to this girl’s music taste. The two argued for nearly five minutes.

“Listen, if you don’t wanna play Twin Peaks, then at least just go for a crowd favorite to play it safe.”

A voice spoke up from next to her, “Twin Peaks, huh? Not bad. I just came over here to figure out what the hell’s going on with this set list.” Stanley Barber stood beside Erin with his arms folded, staring the DJ down. 

“Oh, hey Stan,” Erin said, then turned to the DJ, “Listen, man. I’m just trying to help. Do what you wanna do.” And with that, she was off.

Stanley watched the girl walk away, sort of amazed that she knew his name, but then again, that was the popular people’s job; knowing everyone. She had actually first caught his attention in his debate class, when she’s known for sparring with Bradley Lewis. Two weeks prior, they’d had quite the nasty exchange:

“I just think people should be less harsh on men with all this ‘Me Too’ crap.”

“If you think that you’re part of the problem. The behaviors these men are getting in trouble for are toxic, and they were normalized in a toxic society.”

“Maybe you think that way, but not everyone’s a crazy feminist bitch,” he spat.

Erin scrunched her nose with distaste, “Call me a crazy bitch again, Lewis, it really gets me hot and bothered.” Of course, the inevitable came, “ooh’s” and gasps from their classmates and a day in detention for the two debaters.

It was days like that when the distinction between Erin and her friends became clear. She was stubborn as hell and refused to try to please people like Bradley Lewis. Stan respected her for it, but what did the local pot dealer’s respect mean? Nothing.

The rest of the night went as usual. The group of girls all danced together, squealing with excitement when their song came on. Erin was (thankfully) able to find a boy from the hockey team to dance with for the slow dance who was pretty nice, wandering hands aside. 

The trouble came when it was time to announce homecoming queen and king. “All right ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? Stop right there, please. It is my privilege to introduce your homecoming king and queen, Jeff Butters and Julie Frasheski!” Erin and her friends all cheered extra loud, as Julie had shown up with them. Jeff Butters began his less than graceful speech, only to be interrupted by none other than Erin’s infamous debate opponent. 

The boy jerked around on stage, trying to avoid the principal’s grasp, “I would like to take this moment to talk about something very important that affects everyone here. Sydney Novak. Hey, Sydney! Give a wave so everybody can see you.” 

Erin felt her jaw clenching with anger, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a bit thankful Brad hadn’t chosen her as the subject of this odd callout speech, as they were sworn enemies. 

He continued, “You see, what a lot of people don’t know about Sydney here… she is one hell of a writer.” The boy pulled a notebook out of his Letterman jacket pocket, and the tension in the room skyrocketed. “You know, it’s funny, because everyone is so fast to call me an asshole, but while I was downstairs banging Jenny Tuffield at Ricky’s, guess what Sydney was doing upstairs.”

Erin racked her mind trying to remember which party Ricky has hosted. The memories of playing beer pong with Julie, Becca, and Kate came flooding back into her mind. Becca puked in the bushes at the end of the night, and a football player had asked Erin for her “hot friend’s number,” which happened a lot.

“She was kissing my girlfriend,” Bradley spat into the mic. Erin anxiously chewed her lip, trying to think of something, anything, to do to stop whatever Brad was attempting. She didn’t know Syd, but she knew that getting made fun of by Bradley Lewis was no walk in the park, and no one deserves to be outed against their will.

The boy drew closer and closer to Syd, continuing his monologue of hatred, full of homophobic slurs, of course. As he continued to rib on the girl, even getting into her family life, Stanley Barber marched out of the crowd, gentlemanly as always, “Hey, man. Leave her alone.” His heroic gesture was cut short by Brad swinging a right hook punch right across his cheek. 

Erin grew more and more anxious. She hadn’t even noticed that she had been cowering backwards until she felt her back hit the wall. She gasped and turned around. She scanned the room, seeing that everyone’s eyes were on Brad. Another key thing that she observed was the fire alarm right next to her shoulder. Her mind raced at the speed of light: “If Brad is exposing whoever he doesn’t like, then I’m next… Falsely pulling a fire alarm is a federal offense… What if I tackled him…. He’d beat the shit out of me.” Her thoughts began to overlap and get more jumbled, when she felt impulsivity take over her body as she yanked on the fire alarm. The sprinklers turned on, and a chorus of whines and shrieks came from the students who were currently getting soaked. 

Erin’s chest began to rise and fall more quickly with every anxious breath. She stood frozen in place watching everyone flee the scene. After the main crowds scattered, she saw Dina and Syd each hooking an arm under Stan’s armpits and carrying him out of the gym. In a moment of bravery, Erin asked if they needed help and ran to the three. Syd and Dina accepted thankfully as Erin picked up the boy’s ankles and began to walk backwards, “Let me know if I’m about to bump into something, okay?”

The three finally reached Stan’s car and laid him down in the back seat. Just as Erin caught her breath, she heard tires screeching and saw Kate’s Mercedes Benz whipping out of the school parking lot with a drenched Julie and Becca in the back. “Shit,” she muttered.

“I-is something wrong?” Dina asked. 

“Um… yeah, my ride sort of just left.”

“Oh well, I’m sure Stan can drive you home when he wakes up,” Dina said with a friendly, but clearly shaken smile.

“If he wakes up,” Syd added with a blank look in her eyes. 

“SYD, don’t say that!” Dina yelped.

Sydney spoke up, looking at Erin, “Could you give us some privacy for a minute?”

Erin looked around awkwardly, “Uh, yeah. I’ll just… walk to the other side of the parking lot.” As she kicked the pebbles on the ground and watched Dina and Syd in a heated argument, she began to regret staying to help them. She probably could’ve gone home with Kate if she had rushed out like everyone else, but she was with two near strangers nursing another near stranger who was unconscious while the remaining teacher chaperones walked the perimeter of the school trying to see if there was an actual fire.

Erin was pulled out of her thoughts by Syd yelling (which she had never heard the girl do before), “Holy shit, he’s up.”

Erin began to jog back over to them, reading their facial expressions to see if they were done with their chat. Dina looked down at Stan intently, “Hey, buddy. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Stan furrowed his brows for a moment then sputtered out, “Brad… son of a bitch… how did I get out here?”

[linphd]

dad!aizawa x mom!reader | disturbing

shouta aizawa x reader

female reader

Aizawa brings his daughter to his class, but the day gets weirder for his students when his girlfriend visits them.

no warning

not a sequel nor a prequel of my other one shot with dadzawa, else I would’ve kept the same title !

The students from 1-A were mumbling because their teacher was late. Not like he usually was, this time, he was really late. However, they all turned quiet when he finally showed up, and not in his yellow sleeping bag. What was the most surprising was that he was carrying a tiny girl, with his hair and (e/c) eyes. Seeing them, she hid in Aizawa's shoulder.

           ''Before you ask any question, this is (D/N), my daughter. Normally she was supposed to stay with her mother, but apparently she had some hero work and the babysitter was sick. So she's here with us. She won't bother you, I educated her correctly.'' After he had finished, he put her on the ground, but she grabbed his leg to hide behind it.

            The man sighed and crouched in front of her, patting her head. ''(D/N), dad told you already, you needed to come with me. I'll give you some color book, and if you're bored, you can look around the classroom as long as you don't touch anything. Okay ?'' She nodded.

          Aizawa put an other chair behind his desk, giving the girl a little bag he has brought as well. It was surely hers, seeing the cartoon characters that were on it. She climbed on the chair and started to take things out of her bag. Seeing the look Aizawa gave the students who talked about his daughter and were asking questions to each other, he didn't want to give further information about her.

           After some time, she decided to look around, while her dad kept an eye on her, even though he looked like he trusted her enough to turn his back a few times. And, indeed, she was really well-behaved. She didn't touch anything. She looked at some students while she was walking between their desks. Mina smiled at her and waved, so (D/N) smiled back and walked faster after that, a bit intimidated.

Every students remained calm until someone else appeared. Aizawa jumped when the door burst open. ‘’(Y/N) ! What the fuck ?!’’ The girl gasps. ‘’And it’s my fault (D/N) says it ?!’’ The girl had (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. She was certainly the mother of the child, since they had the exact same eyes.

Izuku jumped from his seat. ‘’(H/N) ! You have a child with Aizawa-sensei ?!’’ The girl turned to smile at the boy. ‘’Yeah, I wasn’t really in at the ‘hospital for a deep wound’. We just didn’t want villains to know we had a daughter and get her in trouble.’’ The little girl jumped in her mother’s arms.

‘’But, you told in an interview that you were a trouble child, so why is she so shy ? Aizawa-sensei, were you like that ?’’ His teacher just looked at his daughter. ‘’No. Sometimes it makes me wonder if she really is mine.’’ Of course it was a joke, but how he said it sounded like how he usually talked, so some students couldn’t even tell he was joking.

Hearing that, (Y/N) picked up her daughter, and closed a bit her eyelids so they would look half-closed like her dad’s. ‘’Yeah, I wonder.’’ The students gasped, because with her tired eyes, she really did look like their teacher. ‘’Anyway, I’m here to give you a hero class.’’ Aizawa arched an eyebrow. ‘’That is the job you were talking about ?’’ He looked a bit annoyed, but the teenagers couldn’t tell why.

(Y/N) put her daughter back on the ground, and rubbed the back of her own head. ‘’Eheh, surprise ? -Then, (Y/N). You know what I’m going to ask.’’ She looked a bit embarrassed. ‘’Why. Did. You. Take. So. Long ?’’ She made a nervous laugh. ‘’There was TV outside... You know I love being on the spotliiiiight, Shouta !’’ She started to sound like a whining child so he sighed and stood up.

‘’Let’s go outside for the hero class, then. We weren’t able to finish the maths class anyway.’’ He said, giving a glance to his girlfriend ? Or wife ? The students didn’t know. Anyway, she gave him a nervous smile while (D/N) just looked at her dad, then her mom, then her dad, etc.

The students were just rushed to put on their hero costumes and go outside. And, oh man, they weren’t expecting this class to be this difficult. (Y/N) was making them overuse their quirk, and was making them all attack her at the same time. ‘’The Big Three can’t fight me, you think you can ?’’ She would say with an amused tone, obviously making fun of them.

She was so different from Aizawa-sensei, how did they end up together ? That was one of the questions many students from the 1-A class wanted to ask, but couldn’t anyway. (Y/N), aka (H/N) gave them a little break. She just enjoyed this moment to stretch a bit and talk with All Might, who had been watching the whole class.

And that’s when the students had finally time to look at their main teacher. He was sitting on the grass with his daughter, and they were playing some game. The man had some teddy bear in his hand, and was making it move and talk, doing a funny voice. That was the first time ever the students heard him with a different tone than his unamused and tired one. (D/N), her, was giggling and seemed like having struggle breathing while doing so.

It caught her dad’s attention as well, since he giggled a bit and put the teddy bear on the grass. He kept giggling as he rubbed his daughter’s back. ‘’Breathe, (D/N), breathe !’’ She stopped to laugh a bit to focus on her breath, and then laughed again when she managed to breathe again. It made Aizawa laugh loud, which was really disturbing and surprising for his students.

That’s when the man noticed them watching him. ‘’What ? Is something wrong ?’’ Denki was the one who spoke up. ‘’No, not at all ! It’s just... disturbing.’’ He said, hesitantly. Aizawa was about to answer him only to be cut by (Y/N). ‘’BREAK IS OOOOOVER !’’ And, even more disturbing it was, it made him turn to her and smile while watching her.

[caitielou-askew]

I haven’t watched the Star Wars prequels since their theatrical releases, so I’ve decided to watch them all in order.

3/4 of the way through Phantom Menace, here are my thoughts

- It’s amazing how few objects Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan touch in the first third of the film that aren’t their lightsabers. They’re literally just walking around and talking, then swinging their lightsabers. Even in the underwater vehicle sequence Qui-Gon just sits there like a stone, patting Jar-Jar’s shoulder every now and then.

- The plot is so abstract I legitimately checked to see if I’d accidentally started watching episode 2 twice. And by “abstract” I mean “poorly explained.” Who are the Naboo? Who is the senate? Why should I care about any of this, beyond the fact that it’s the plot the Jedi are interacting with? Palpatine’s speech to Amidala about how the Republic is failing and the senate is full of selfish bureaucrats would have been helpful context to have in the BEGINNING of the film, not over halfway in.

- Anakin’s dialog is even worse than the memes can convey. And I completely forgot they actually did a virgin birth thing with his conception. “Conceived by the midiclorians?” Big yikes. The whole script sounds like a first draft.

- And wouldn’t that mean his mom’s midiclorian count should have been off the charts too, if she had enough for an egg to spontaneously fertilize inside her? Qui-Gon should have been more interested in her, I think. And what’s stopping it from happening again? Did they all pass into Anakin? Is that how that works?

- Maybe the reason the Gungans and Naboo don’t get along is because the Naboo homeowners associations are such sticklers for lawn grooming the Gungan were like “fuck it, we’ll build our city underwater.” Seriously, there’s not a single blade of grass over 4 inches on the entire damn planet. Not to mention no bald patches, wildflowers, wheatgrasses, trees, hedges, nothing.

I hope they waited for the lawnmowing crews to clear the fields before starting the huge droid battle on Naboo. Hell maybe they recruited them. That’s the kind of post-release digital editing we need--an additional scene that shows the Grasshopper Cavalry riding into battle.

- At least John Williams is going hard.

Will reblog with more reactions as they come lol.

[ivyveil]

Love is the Punchline Prequel

the one where Harry is the universe and you are in love 

A Continuation of LITP (masterlist here)

You two had been drunk.

His hair was softened by the moonlight, tousled locks cascading across his forehead and curling against the tips of his ears. He looked disheveled and massively wasted. A Greek god who had stumbled into the sin of men, yet unable to fully shake his reverence.

You knew you were staring.

You couldn’t have been more obvious if you had a neon, flashing sign reading I’m Star-gazing in the Galaxies of Your Eyes. But what do kids who are told not to stare in the sun do? They stare anyway. So you continued, a dopey smile induced by whatever drink Harry had made you in his fancy ass kitchen, with his fancy ass kitchen supplies.

You wanted to nestle in his open jacket, feel the roughed cotton rolling into balls along the edges of the material, have the uneven tie-strings lay, lopsided, in between your heads. You wanted to place your head against the slope of his shoulder, into the darkened scruff of his neck, and inhale. Not for anything explicitly sexual, just because your soul craved to know what it was like to be his. Laying together in the silence that only belonged to you two, in the midst of a universe of noise.

You wanted to brush your fingers through his hair and get an idea of what it would look like in the morning. The thoughts that made your cheeks flush, a warm radiance perhaps indiscernible from the heat already surrounding.

Harry wasn’t oblivious however – in fact, the liquid racing through his veins made him unabashedly brave in staring back. Your makeup was a bit screwed up, the eyeliner missing in patches from when you were crying from laughter as he made stupid, stupid puns. He loved how you smiled when he was being an idiot, being himself.

He poked each of your cheeks (after missing once and pushing your nose inwards by mistake) and giggled to himself. To him, you were the epitome of feeling alive.

“My head is too heavy,” you mumbled, feeling the command from your body to relax your arms and let gravity do its work. You slouched further in the grass, resting your head on one of the pathway stones. You were in Harry’s private backyard garden, a bottle of rum tucked between Harry’s legs and a gathering of gnomes watching from the tomato patch.

Harry was slouched against the side of his house, donning an unzipped jacket, sweats, and god-awful Nike sliders. It was one of the few outfits he made you promise, multiple times, to never mention to anyone for fear it would leak to the public. Not that he genuinely thought you would, but after you saw his collection of ‘Normal Clothing’ you started continuously sending him pictures of clothing you considered “fuck-boy, Haz, it’s the shit girls don’t keep when the boys leave because they’ll find the same stuff anywhere.” He just wanted to make it clear, he would only be this expression of himself around you.

Right now, he wasn’t Mega Pop Icon Harry Styles, he was a drunk friend making O shapes with his mouth like a guppy and giggling quietly to himself, over God-knows-what. His butterfly tattoo movedwith each laugh, his skin patched slightly with dirt from when he tried to roll down a ‘hill’ that was genuinely nonexistent, a product of his drunken imagination.

“C’mon, over here then, love,” he straightened up, offering an arm to you and a spot next to him against the house. In an attempt to persuade you, he moved the bottle to his side and shook his hand through his hair. As if you would be goaded into curling up next to his shirtless form simply because he was cleaned up a bit.

Didn’t this boy know you would do anything he asked you to, and that would only get worse after a night drinking?

You slowly lifted yourself off the ground and crawled over to Harry, groaning as your body protested. Pushing some dirt off his shoulder, you tucked yourself under his arm and placed yours gently on his stomach.

The night was quiet.

“That’s better,” he whispered, eyes scanning the top bits of your face visible to him, as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

You loved it too much, you knew that perfectly well. You grinned nonetheless and tried to hide it by moving your face closer to his bare chest. Which didn’t necessarily help, because now you were surrounded by his aura and felt intoxicated for another reason entirely.

Harry wrapped his arm tighter around you, pulling your gentle beauty closer to him in the process. Your hair smelled like vanilla and that one hair product you always used – the one in the green bottle? He didn’t know the name, but he made a mental note to buy you 500 jars of it when he had access to his computer. Feeling smug at how greatly he would be able to provide for you, even in a small way, he nestled deeper in the space his body was occupying, taking a deep breath of the cold night air.

The world was spinning slightly after the bit he drank (“’M not a lightweight” he had, embarrassingly, slurred before you opened his patio door outside, but you both knew that was the biggest lie) but everything became extraordinarily sharp as he felt the puffs of your exhales against his chest. Maybe it was the feeling of masculinity that caused the swell of pride in his chest, some instinctive sense that yes, he felt complete. His heart was so full with contentment.

Harry had grown up with the idea that he would be able to clearly recognize when his soul had been etched with someone’s name, like the universe would send a lightning bolt and he would suddenly feel his home transfer from the physical into some emotional connection with another’s soul.

Yet he had known for a while - all that you were to him. It wasn’t anything worth words – the most basic, simple things of life didn’t need to be drawn out into massive explanations. He could wax poetic words like the best of them, but he hadn’t found the proper analogies for something as simple and pure as you. Whatever the universe was centered around, didn’t matter, because it had become you, for him.

Not in a massive, delusional way. More like the sunrise echoed only softly how your eyes would shine, a sky set on fire. The feeling right before a thunderstorm made him think of your movie nights together. Being wrapped up in “oodles of blankets, Haz, we need oodles” and not minding when you lit all 12 of his candles, because Tangled had so many lanterns and you wanted to mimic the lake scene.

“You’re going to need to tap into your enthusiasm tomorrow, Haz.”

Harry blinked, groggily searching through his fuzzy mind to try and figure out what the hell you were talking about. After a brief moment of expectant silence, you sighed and leaned out from your safe haven in his arms to look at him.

One eye was now completely rid of eyeliner, Harry felt certain it was on his chest somewhere, an addition to the rest of the ink already there.

“Your horoscope, H. Gotta get jazzed up for your life soon, change is coming.”

“Yeh read my horoscope?” It had never occurred to him, despite your amateur obsession with the topic, that you would read others’ daily advice. Could his heart grow any more for you?

“Course. Wanna make sure the universe is taking care of my boy,” you sounded casual, scrunching your face together in an attempt of seeming like an authority figure, but it just reminded Harry of bunnies twitching their noses.

He giggled.

“If I’m yours, I just want you taking care of me, love.”

He knew the words were coming out, it wasn’t a mistake. It could be taken completely platonically, but the hushed tone of his voice – the shred of hesitancy that clouded over the flow of conversation – transferred his stance. A moment before, he had been a source of comfort and ease, and then he suddenly became an emblem of fragility, fingers itching to reach out and touch the skin of a person they could never know every inch of, before.

The moment felt inevitable, exciting and the most natural thing in the world. Harry saw a questioning glance shade over your eyes, before registering into something he couldn’t quite place.

To put it honestly, you wanted to kiss him. In the wild, dirty sense of the word – it really wasn’t much of a rapid mental shift after Harry spoke, because the idea had been lurking just beyond the horizon of your mind all night.

To grind your hips into his and see if the bones connected as well as your souls. You wanted to kiss him because you wanted to see how he’d react if you pulled on his hair, your lips moving harshly against the stubble on his chin. See if his ears were sensitive, if marks on his neck were the key to making him moan, make his hands move faster than his brain.

You wanted to see his weaknesses and for him to see your strengths. You wanted to prove yourself to him in a way you had never before, could have never before. It echoed in your ribcage as an incessant longing, an itch you couldn’t scratch until you saw his eyes flutter closed, to see the millions of galaxies blindingly exploding on the backs of his eyelids.

But…

In the back of your mind, you knew he wouldn’t be able to remain for the commitment afterwards. To kiss him would be connected to the risk of never being able to kiss him in the same way again. Time changed people, an entire tour wouldn’t leave enough for you two to reconnect as the same individuals.

To know what could be, and to know it was possible both a beginning and an ending, caused your fingers to still from their pattern tracing his butterfly’s antennas. You were back, tucked into his side, feeling the heat radiate from his skin. Nothing had altered much in your outward countenance, or the way you kept your eyes focused on his potted daisies across the yard.

“(Y/N)…” It was strained, his eyes attached to a point on the roof so as not to be compelled to move before he knew what was on your mind. He had heard a low moan come out of your mouth as you were mentally imagining everything you could do to his body in the span of eternity, and it only made his own imagination run wild.

“C’mon, love, take what’s yours.”

So you did. Shifting yourself upwards, a bit slowly to ignore the dizzy sensation, you slotted one of your legs in between his. You two slowly took the other in, looking in the others’ eyes. His had never looked clearer, his tongue moving slowly around his lips as his eyes noticeably grew darker. He looked like a starved man, his head angled, tilting at a side to properly look at your beautiful face. He distinctly registered how red your cheeks were, how absolutely gorgeous you were at that moment.

You looked good all the time, in his truthful opinion, but it was an extraordinarily strange and surreal experience for him to realize that your beauty was so impressive to him at that moment, because it was all because of him. You were glowing because he made you feel like no one else. Harry only knew this because, for him, it was the same. You two were the same, identical cores pulsating under your breasts and echoing in your thoughts.

Like a trigger, you both set off. Tongue everywhere you could mark him, his hands grasping for anything they could manage in the suffocating exhilaration, the intoxication upping to unknown territories once he grew familiar with the taste of you. You swallowed your laughter at his excitement, how his breath became heavy and he shuddered with each bite against his collarbones.

His moans resonated in the air, sinking around the two of you and slowing down the constraints of time. The nature around you was in awe of his respiration, your gentle moans. It was something epic, beautiful, orgasmic in the natural rhythm of intimacy. Like a piano creating a melody out of thin air, he was an orchestra of harmony against your chest, his lips rushing crescendos against opening of your blouse.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered, exasperated, as your hips swayed against his. (The bones connected, your souls connected, you didn’t know life could feel this good). You knew right then, you could fill the emptiness within his soul, patch up the wounds left by others. You could decorate his hair with flowers and make him the golden god of the universe. Because right then, everything about Harry was hypnotic, the heaviness of his eyelids, his lips swollen from pushing, biting, enveloping yours.

“Haz, you’ve got to be the most exquisite man I’ve ever known,”

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, wrapping your fingers around his shoulders as you leaned in close to his ear. He was positively shaking, a quiet, inhuman noise escaping his throat as he slowly wrapped his hands around your waist to hold you steady. It only satisfied your theory that he was an entity beyond all humans, that the Sun would snatch him back in an instant.

“Y-yeah?” the strength of his grip wasn’t reflected in the staccato’ed pitch of his voice.

You nodded, humming a confirmation as your fingers drew close to the drawstrings of his pants, delicately brushing against the slew of tattoos littering his sides. The skin was delicate, pale under the moonlight.

Then, one of his hands reached forward to tuck between your two bodies, to wrap around your fingers. It was a gentle tug, enough for you to know he was regretful in doing so, but firm nonetheless.

“Y/N…I don’t, I don’t think that’s, it’s what we should do,” he started, seeing your gaze come up and his eyes shifted to either side of you, randomly staring at various points in his garden. You could feel his heart. It was racing.

“I have things I want to say. Before we do, I mean if we were to do-”

“Okay, Haz. We can talk, it’s fine.�� you assured him, moving slightly away from his body so you wouldn’t be fully straddling the poor boy as he attempted to catch his breath. You had some straightening up to do, as well, fixing your bra straps he had somehow tangled up in his rushed motion to reach all pieces of your skin.

“Thank you.”

You were sitting on a barstool in his kitchen, an untouched glass of water on the counter. Harry had poured you one, saying you should start getting hydrated before exhaustion finally kicked in. You were fairly certain it was all his nerves, though, that he wasn’t sure what to do after what happened in the garden. He had simply reverted to the safe place of playing Host. You slouched further in your chair.

He was leaning against the counter, facing you, running his hands down his face. His jacket was securely on again, this time zipped. You were sure Harry had realized the scattered beginnings of purple markings against his chest would just make the conversation more difficult to have.

You finally sipped some water, not taking your eyes off Haz’s face, wondering why it looked so squishy as he ran his hands back up again.

You weren’t nervous exactly, to hear what he had to say. It was going to be a confession, followed by an apology. Something like, “I think you’re a great girl” followed by “I want us to stay friends.” The letdown was already etched in your mind, your body ready to respond to the rejection and take it in stride. You were never expecting Harry to truly confine himself to just being yours, not when he was ineffably Everything the creators had blessed the universe with.

(You never claimed to be subtle or hold back exaggeration, not when Harry was the most true person in your realm of existence.)

“I really like yeh,” he began, staring deeply at the floor. His hands went from tugging at the roots at the nape of his neck, to being stuffed in his pockets.

“I like you too, Haz.” You set the glass down, folding your arms and leaning against the counter. Fighting against the sinking feeling, you couldn’t let him feel sorry for you.

“No, listen for a mo’. I…” he turned his head to the side, squinting his eyes shut as he tried to find the words. They were painfully clear to him, but his mouth wasn’t in collaboration with his mind, a blockade of fear and nerves pounding through his veins.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Your words were gentle. Your heart felt heavy in your chest. It tried to fight your mind, scream out the words it scrawled against the jail of your lungs for years, the poems and odes to things as stupid as how adorable Harry was when he washed his hands before setting the kitchen table. But, hearts couldn’t win in the game of Protecting Yourself. This wasn’t some movie, it was your real life and your life wouldn’t be the same without Harry. Nothing else mattered, keeping him close was what kept you feeling sane.

You could give up loving him, if it meant he would still be there. Couldn’t you?

Being something more with Harry would feel like a waiting game for you, it was the fear that kept you from being honest with him, with yourself. You rationalized that it was the concept of not being able to have someone, the obstacle of it being firmly rooted as a friendship and thus developing into a game that had kept Harry intrigued and wrapped in the threads of your lust for him.

You weren’t necessarily low on self-confidence, but how could you keep up with someone like him? His words moved the world, and yours couldn’t even leave your thoughts. Harry Styles was the epitome of feeling alive, to you.

There was no way you could measure up.

Thinking back over the whole idea, the quick thought of confessing how his laughter was the only thing lately drawing you out of the depressed haze of reality, your bravery shrank in the cold light of sobriety.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” you agreed to his nonexistent response, missing the hurt confusion that trickled down his face. His spine felt cold, doubt circulating the edges of his vision. Hadn’t you wanted it too, out in the garden?

It was your turn to keep your eyes down, to proceed on with the last words you ever wanted to tell him. Or maybe second to last words, since you were apparently too scared to confess anything honest.

“You’re about to travel, you’ve got work to do. I’ve got projects coming up. It’s our time to be there for each other. Can’t do that if we’ve mucked around throwing blurred lines on the perimeters of such a great, great friendship.” The bitterness was lost in your exhaustion of saying the words, the corners of your eyes stinging and your lungs burning as you looked up.

Harry was silently staring at you, his expression unreadable. It was unnerving, making eye contact with him in this way, and you wondered, with brief anger, if he was upset you didn’t want to give him a quickie before he jetted off around the globe for months.

In reality, that didn’t seem like him, but you never claimed to be completely rational. Not when everything in life had become so difficult, so quickly.

“Yeah,” he croaked out, nodding. The words were vapid, empty, a hollow agreement.

A brief hesitation, a determination sweeping over his features. His eyes were intense, boring directly into yours and softening slightly.

“I love…”

The silence was deafening.

“Don’t, Haz.” The lump in your throat was a mountain created in seconds, a pathetic echo replaced your voice as someone you had never known before. A woman, scared of love, scared of anything remotely beyond the comfort of predictability.

A woman who had caused Harry to freeze, devastation lapsing his entire body. His shoulders slumped.

Harry looked away first, nodding again as if it was the only programmed response he had in his turned-off brain.

“I love being friends,” he finished, the words sounding warped, strangled. He had a brief coughing fit, and reached for your water, looking up to ask for permission. You nodded, pushing the glass towards him and watching as he slowly drank the rest of it. His eyes were shut tight as he drank, and the echo of heartbreak didn’t leave his posture when he put the glass in the sink.

He didn’t look you in the eye when he shuffled off his god-awful Nike sliders by the patio door.

Or when he slowly locked it, pressing the panel next to the door that set the alarm for the night.

Or when he started to walk back to his room.

All he did was pause in the hallway, between the kitchen and the space leading to his room, shifting his body slightly to indicate that yes, he was speaking to you.

“I need sleep. Jeff’ll kill me if I’m hungover on the flight tomorrow.”

Hollow pangs of desperation stung, tearing its talons against your flesh, into your throat, around your mind. Your eyes were stinging with the need to cry, but your heart yanked back the waterfall before it could begin pouring out.

You had done this on purpose, with clear intention, there was nothing wrong with wanting to stay friends. It was keeping you both safe, keeping your lives orderly and not any different from the past few years, which had been some of the most joyful and content of your life.

It was only the drinks that had made this hard, you told yourself. Everything would be fine in the morning, once you two could reasonably look this over and agree it was a drunken, confusing, mistake.

All you could manage was a mumbled, “Okay” before he continued, his back still faced to you.

“Text meh. When ‘m away. Don’t want this to make..to have made anything weird between us.”

He left.

You both knew how his earlier words were supposed to have ended, how you were supposed to repeat them back, because it was the truth.

Everything was wrong.

You were in his dark kitchen alone. Your arms wrapped around your body tightly, nails digging into your sides without any mercy. Your back was hunched over, protecting your lungs and heart from shattering. Your body knew the process as if it had been trained to deal with this. You had prepared for this, after all. You brought this on yourself.

Slowly, with the distinct impression the night had not actually happened and you would wake up wrapped in Harry’s arms as he justified his midnight cuddle sessions as “just an accident, nothing I wouldn’t do with Nick, love,” you made your way to his guest room. The door was foreign to you, never having been where you spent the night, for the entirety of your friendship with Harry.

In fact the bed was unmade, Harry having assumed that you would take his room with him because that’s just what you two did. And him not having given it proper thought after you shred his heart apart in the span of seconds, mercilessly and intentionally.

You curled into a ball on your side, the naked mattress feeling like a shell against your skin. Against the overall intense feeling of nausea that had become a tyrant in your system, an insufferable bubble of laughter pushed through.

You felt sure you made the right, moral decision to maintain your relationship with Harry - to keep it clear of assured destruction and the eventual heartbreak when he discovered the depths of your flaws. It was the smart thing to do, because you were a smart girl. You made rational decisions that protected your future, that was all you knew.

Somewhere in the house, you heard a loud bang. Something had smashed against a wall. There was a brief silence, before the crying began several rooms away.

You had never felt so alone.

Love was a fucking joke.

A/N: Check the masterlist of LITP here, and let me know your thoughts if you would like!