#wicked is tiding me over though

[stargazinglesbian]

got a new phone case, a new charger, the wicked book, babel by rf kuang, a wicked poster, and like 2 shirts. I ❤️ GIFT VOUCHERS AND KMART

[mintwithchoco]

What You Need

tripleS Yooyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3260 words

Categories: smut, oral, facial, dom-ish!yooyeon (?) idk, she's just desperate to get that d

Inspired from;

“My go— Yooyeon! We’re still filming, we can't do this!”

“Shut up.”

There's nothing that can stop Kim Yooyeon from getting what she needs. She may seem cold and calm on the outside, but once an interest is sparked within herself, she'll do whatever it takes to reach it, no matter the situation. 

You know that you’re fucked all around when she sends you that look from afar a few minutes ago. Might as well blame it all on her at first for wearing that pink top, showing off her tight figure so well, forcing you to never peel your eyes away from her. She's bold and relentless, and it shows by the way she’s metaphorically fucking you with her eyes while filming, and you can only curse silently behind the camera, catching the secret message. It can only get worse from here on out (or better actually) as once she gets out of the frame, she walks past you quickly while whispering, “Fuck me, now.”

She slams the door shut as soon as she gets you inside the cramped bathroom. Before you can do anything to resist, she forcefully closes the distance between your lips by wrapping her arms around your neck. If you wanted to, you could just break out of her embrace and run out of the door. Instead, you have been poisoned by the emanating warmth of her body, the softness of her skin touching yours, and the sweetness of her lips, making you fall deeper and harder into her.

“Yooyeon—” She doesn't let you speak in the downtime of the makeout, dragging you back in as soon as she gets air in her lungs. “We can’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie. I know you’re craving for me too.”

You recoil at her undeniable statement—that voice is dripping with way too much arousal. “What if someone hears us?”

“I know, but, please,” Yooyeon’s hands rest on your shoulders. “Just for a while. I really need you.”

Fuck, she really knows how to make you submit. Those bright brown orbs, begging for her needs are crumbling your morals apart, inviting you to commit this wicked act that can potentially end everything you have in life. But if it does come to an end, I guess ruining your career with a pretty lady such as her isn't as bad as it seems, right?

“Damn it,” She shrieks when your hands scoot over her butt and squeeze them gently. “Let's make it quick, and quiet.” 

You overlook her cute little smile as your lips crash into hers again. The tides have now turned around with hunger filling you up almost immediately, overpowering the girl’s lust, evident by the way you’re aimlessly caressing every single part of her. Fear runs through your veins due to her moaning resoundingly into your mouth, afraid that the muffled noise would alarm anyone close by. Though, it was quickly diminished by her delicate fingers groping the raging tent on your lower half.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hard already.” Her tone is now deeper than before, and it arouses you even more.

You try your best to control your ragged breaths as the pressure is building up in your bulge. “You’re the one to blame. God, you look so pretty.” 

Another thing’s for certain is that you are addicted to leaving your marks all over Yooyeon. You generously land kisses on her neck nonstop while slowly sliding the straps off her shoulders. She giggles away, but also does the equivalent to you by slipping her hand down into your pants and continues her massage through the fabric of your boxers. Unfazed by this, you yank down her top to reveal a white bra, and you waste no further time to knead the covered breasts. Her soft gasps are like a muse to your ears, enthralling you more. Yooyeon is obviously weakening under your touch as her attempt to pull down both your pants and boxers fails as it only comes off halfway. 

Yooyeon’s expressions are fucking up your whole self entirely. You eventually finish off what she wanted to do, letting your cock feel the humid air in the bathroom. She feels the warm shaft throbbing in between her thighs, already leaking out with precum. While you reach behind to release her boobs from its fancy confines, her fingers are quick to wrap around your shaft and stroking it to full hardness. The white undergarment then drops to the tile floor, joining in the built up pile of your clothes.

Her husky voice rings in your ear once again. “Sit down. I wanna taste you.” 

The toilet is turned into a makeshift seat as you oblige to her request, sitting down on the cold surface. She quickly kneels down in between your legs, the raging shaft is now right in front of her breathtaking visual. You can never imagine that this innocent goddess would be a vixen in disguise, the one who triggers your hormones into this sexual overdrive. The contrasting thought has been completely erased however, as Yooyeon begins her oral teasing on your tip, drawing small circles while collecting your precum on her tongue.

“Holy shit—” is all you can utter when Yooyeon wraps her lips around the cockhead, finally getting a feel of her warm mouth. She starts slow and small, only taking in your tip momentarily before building herself up to take you in deeper. With her hands stroking your thighs, your sensations are heightened, the extreme pleasure shivering down your spine forces your head to unwillingly fall backwards.

And if that wasn't enough, she draws you in with her words. “Keep your eyes on me.”  

You muster up the will to look down, and you have never been more than grateful to witness Yooyeon doing wonders to your cock. Showing no signs of slowing down at all, this girl is filling up her wet cavern with the entirety of your length, her cheeks puffing up whenever she brings it to the sides of her mouth. You find it rather cute somehow, but it doesn’t falter the groan that leaves your lips every time she sucks you hard, and releases you by the tip. 

Her tongue rests on the underside of your shaft, vigorously licking it up to the head, and down to the base. She takes you in for the second time, and this time she's not holding anything back. Her head bobs furiously at a gradual pace on your shaft, making it fully covered with her saliva. The way her mouth perfectly envelopes with the shape of your cock is agonizingly pleasurable and mysteriously fascinating, as she never seems to gag whenever you hit the back of her throat, only leaving a great amount of spit when she disappointingly leaves your shaft.

“I can suck on this all day. It's so perfect.” The unexpected compliment compels your cheeks to turn slightly red.

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of Yooyeon’s handiwork; fingers delicately running up and down your lubricated shaft and her oral fixation; swirling her tongue around the swollen cockhead. While your whole soul is tearing apart when her dazzling orbs lock upon yours, pairing it with that small smirk and nose scrunch, her visuals clearly contradicting the sinful work she's doing. It goes to show how much she's enjoying herself, the desire that has been building up for the past couple of days finally breaks apart, thanks to her resilience.

You couldn't handle it anymore, plus your time is getting much thinner. Your hand creeps up to her chin, and you lean over to catch her lips amidst her strokes, sharing multiple kisses. As you suck on her lower lip, you slowly guide her into your lap. Your cock brushes against her midriff, which in return emits a low moan from Yooyeon, realizing that her clothed vagina is in the close proximity of the pulsating length. 

“Get this off me please.” 

Easier said than done. You’re too busy leaving kisses all over her neck, taking in all of her floral scent and having a hand full from squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples. Nonetheless, the free hand manages to remove her shorts by pulling down on different parts of it. You didn't bother taking off her matching panties however, as it is deemed essential in her disheveled look. 

You let out a satisfied breath. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.” 

With a steady grip on her waist, you dive your face into Yooyeon’s chest and engulf her right nipple into your mouth. Your hardness throbs upon the whine she lets out while your tongue does its best to stimulate the brown nub. The left side deserves some love as well, and a set of fingers playing around it is enough to induce an effect. Her small moans are being played into your ears directly, and it motivates you to worship this goddess to the fullest. You feel her hand pressing your head further in as you switch sides of your gratifying assault, this time attacking her left nipple in a similar way. 

“Mmmh, fuck! More, I nee— ohh yes, you’re so fucking good.” God, everything that she does never fails to make you swoon.

The heat in between her thighs could not be ignored anymore, and you know just the right way to deal with it efficiently. By bringing her body closer to yours, your cock makes contact with her crotch, and it drives the both of you to cloud nine. You soon realize how soaked her panties really is—it wasn't hard to make her grind against your shaft. The slickness from earlier’s blowjob really adds to the mixture of pleasure, as each sway of her hips is met with audible squelches. The dopamine courses quickly throughout both of your bodies, and it intrigues you to fall deeper into her sinning.

Yooyeon shrieks when your fingers pull her panties to the side, exposing her glistening pussy to you at long last. Even through the really tight space in between your bodies, your eyes manage to send the image of her lips fully covered in her juices, and dripping down on your cock to your brain. Continuing her hips rhythm onto yours is her breaking point of being discreet, as the skin-to-skin sensation makes her shamelessly spit out every curse words that she knows. 

“Please, please, please, just— oh!” Yooyeon’s desperation is cut off when you tease the opening to her hole with your tip. 

You really want to break her apart furthermore, but your rational thought comes forward in the heat of the moment, as you automatically place a finger on her lips. “Lower your voice, don’t want anyone to hear us.” 

Yooyeon snarls, “Fuck that, let them hear us if they want to. All I need is you inside me. Now.”

There's not a single resistance, let alone purity nor innocence left. Sinners are what both of you are, drowning into the depths of eroticism, unable to rise back up to the risks of reality. You grab the base of your cock steadily, carefully letting it glide on her lips to slightly spread them apart. Holding onto your shoulders, Yooyeon prepares herself mentally and physically to take in all of you, although her body is trembling just from your teasing. It didn’t take long for you to penetrate her pussy with just the first few inches, and it sent both of you to heaven in an instant.

“Fuuuuck…” Yooyeon cries out as her tightness surrounds you the lower her hips descend. Halfway inside her walls renders you to bury your head in her neck, its wetness and warmth is truly remarkable. The pleasure elevates when you feel her fluids leaking onto your crotch once you’re fully buried deep in her.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god.” You moan into her ears, before your hands familiarize itself with her slim waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Enchanted by your words, Yooyeon grinds her hips as much as she can, squealing in delight even in the smallest of motions. Her walls continue to constrict you with all its might, yet the pain only drives you into wanting more. And that’s exactly what the goddess did, as she began bouncing onto your lap in a slow rhythm. Gripping on her thighs and planting both feet harder to the floor, your hips began to move in a different wavelength than hers, forcing her to take a considerable amount of your length inside.

“You're— fuck, so big, so fucking big! Harder!” 

If it wasn’t for the loudness, it's possible that someone may have noticed the suspicious amount of time this room has been occupied. That thought wasn’t in any of your heads whatsoever—breaking it off right now would be meaningless. The risk of being caught in this moment is rather thrilling, and it certainly helps the pressure that’s been building inside you to grow.

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Her screams resonate within the tile walls. Immediately, you muffle them with a passionate kiss before she gets even more vocal.

Yooyeon has truly lost herself. She doesn't even notice the way her hips are driving faster and harder, her filled pussy continuously seeping out her juices. It’s a breathtaking view from any angle that you can catch with your eyes. Looking up from her ethereal yet depraved expressions, down to her divine body jiggling with each thrust, to the point of impact on both of your crotches—it would be a shame for you to not let out your deepest groans to make her truly understand how you feel.

A sense of dominance comes across your mind. You own her as a whole, and no one deserves her more than you. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Fucking cum for me.”

You don’t intend to slow down. As your hips begin pushing up into her roughly, Yooyeon tightens the embrace around your shoulders while profusely moaning into your ears. Eventually, your tip hits deep inside a certain area in her pussy, prompting her body to jerk violently. You stay there for a while before fucking into the same spot once again, this time with much more intensity, sending multiple streams of pure dopamine into the angel who has been tainted with lust.

“Fuck, please, please, make me cum! I wanna cum all over you!” 

Your shirt is now soaked in sweat, but that doesn’t deter your adrenaline in the slightest. The force of your thrusts continues to rock Yooyeon’s petite frame, and you gratify her need to reach her climax by latching your lips on her erect nipples anew, the right one being the first. You expertly divide your attention on both tits, and your tongue swirls around them swiftly, letting you taste the saltiness of her sweat. The mix of slick friction on her lower half, the tenacious teasing on her chest and the wordless groans she lets out is enough to lead her into the well-deserved orgasm.

“I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming!”

One powerful thrust followed by a high pitched scream, and she explodes on contact. The massive gush of her nectar washes all over your crotch and thighs instantly, while her pussy torturously contracts around your cock, releasing everything that she has. As her body becomes weaker throughout her peak, your thrusts into her haven't died just yet—you’re yearning for the same high that she reached. The wetness escalates, as her squirting prolongs itself to stain your shirt and your seat below. 

Still shaky from her climax, Yooyeon struggles to speak up, but her point was acknowledged. “A-Are you c-close?”

You simply nod, and in some way, she manages to come back to her senses to get off from your lap and sink down on her knees, just like earlier. Without any warning, she shoves your cock into her mouth once more, taking away your breath and compelling you to lean against the toilet tank. Her head bobs with precision, not going too deep nor too shallow, but close enough to keep you on this euphoric flow. The unanticipated head is proven to be the consequent snap to your own release, apparent by the excessive heaving of your chest and the twisting tension in your stomach.

“Oh my god, Yooyeon!” You groan out loud just as Yooyeon stuffs you deep in her orifice, her spit drenching you all over and your tip hitting the back of her throat. She withdraws from you with a gasp, and strings of drool trails itself from her lips to your shaft. Her fingers wrap around you straight away, moving back and forth expertly, assisted by the tormenting slurps on its underside. 

“Fuck, you look so adorable moaning away like that.” She means it well, given by the increased pace at her strokes, licks and sucks on your member. 

There’s nothing that can turn both of you away now. She’s getting what she needs, and you’re on the brink of manifesting it to reality. “Shit, Yooyeon, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cover my face, please? I want it all over me.”

Her gaze full of admiration and wonder is the last thing you see before your vision becomes a blurry mess and your vocal cords let out a shattered grunt, marking it as the last step over the edge to your release. In a split second, long streaks of white cum spurt out of your cock, painting all over the godly facial features of Kim Yooyeon. The hot semen marks its territory on her sharp nose, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes and most importantly, her slightly ajar mouth.  

As the last few drops land upon her chin, you take in the beautiful mess that you have created. You wish that you could save this deep memory—or rather, engrave it into your brain somehow of Yooyeon’s gorgeous look, completely covered in a coating of your semen, and it eventually drips down to her breasts and shoulders. It is truly a magnificent sight to behold, and you can never ask for anything better.

“Wow…” you weakly mutter while Yooyeon sucks the remains of your cum out of your tip. On top of that, she swipes some of the mess on her face with her fingers and licks it off cleanly to get a proper taste of you.

“Delicious.” Yooyeon responds with a hearty giggle. “Thank you, darling. This is what I really need.”

The cleanup didn’t take very long, as the essentials for it are already arranged in the room. Yooyeon quickly settles herself, so in order to avoid any suspicions, you ask her to join in with her members first. She agrees, and leaves you with a sweet kiss on your cheek before going outside.

Although Yooyeon is able to sneak out the door silently, a tall figure creeps up behind her unnoticed.

“What were you doing in there?” Yooyeon jumps in shock and looks behind towards the well-known voice.

Her nervousness was blatant. “Uhh, I had a really bad stomach ache—”

“I saw everything unnie. You didn’t lock the door.”

Yooyeon sighs and facepalms herself for her recklessness. “Shit. Don’t tell anyone please! I’ll do anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She smirks. “But you need to keep a secret for me too!”

“What are you— Hey!” She runs off into the bathroom before Yooyeon could say anything further. “Aish, this girl…”

While you take your sweet time in cleaning up and recovering yourself, the door suddenly opens up. 

“Excuse me, is this where I get to fuck?”

Your eyes widen upon the unexpected encounter. “X-Xinyu?!”

===========================================

note; now THIS is a fucking BFH. goodness gracious, yooyeon fucked me up in so many ways with these pictures.

i did kept my promise of having a longer story this time, even though this was definitely not in the plans LMAO but yeah, next one will be much more longer, more epic and definitely, more seggs. shoutout to @chunksworld for the quick beta read!

like always, thank you so much for reading, hope you guys enjoyed this one, and have a flawless day! <3

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[angelic--kitty]

Imagine Yae looming over you with the muzzle on still trying to bite an nip at your skin despite the impedance.

switch!yae miko x switch!fem reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, muzzle/leash, scissoring, asphyxiation

a/n: just a little something to tide yall over since i haven't posted writing for a bit! also, i think angey might have written something with miko and a muzzle, and it was sooo yummy

"you little minx." she spits through the metal bars, eyes narrowed in anger despite her wicked grin.

you tug her leash tighter, pulling her closer, teasingly. you know she wants to bite into your shoulder, leave pretty little indents from her fangs.

too bad she's muzzled, hm.

"you're being a bad girl." you giggle at her, kissing the muzzle, and she growls.

despite it all, she goes along with your charade, willingly handing the power to you as you tug her closer, pulling her into you. "behave yourself, and maybe i'll let you take it off when we're finished, yeah?"

miko huffs, grinding her cunt against yours like the good little pet you told her to be. soon enough, though, she's grown irritated. her ears are pressed flat to her head, teeth bared.

she's itching to bite you. she needs to sink her fangs into your skin. she hates that smug look on your face, as if you rule the world.

before you could speak again, she ripped the muzzle right off, pushing your thigh up harder to forcefully grind your clits together as you mewl, causing you to drop the leash.

you desperately try to grab the fabric, but she's faster than you. she merely yanks the collar off, tossing it across the room as her eyes practically glow, charged with electricity.

"playtime is over, little one. but i let you have your fun as i promised, didn't i?" she wraps a hand around your throat, gently squeezing to hear your breathy moans.

you grab her wrist, eyes teary as she scoffs. "oh, not so tough anymore, are we? looks like you aren't quite cut out to tame me." she laughs mockingly, leaning down, excitedly sinking her fangs into your skin to hear you cry for her.

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[thenervousmedic]

Got inspired to write again, mostly from @boredth's Vampire-Wick art (sorry for the tag <3) Seriously, go check out their work, their art style is immaculate and there's lots of fun AU stuff there too!

It’s just a short nearly 2k ramble for our beloved supernatural assassin. It was supposed to be a Halloween fic but i'ma little late aaaa happy late Halloween!

Summary: With a blood shortage hitting the Vampiric underbelly of the city, John finds himself no longer paying attention to the movie you'd come over to watch. [Fic below the cut] _____________

There are things you've learned since meeting John… little things. You weren't ignorant to the world sitting under your feet, not at all, the nightlife of the city had always been on your radar even if you personally didn't go digging into it.

Smartest decision of your life, really, to not go poking where others would readily risk themselves with delusions of grandeur; assume they won't be torn up and spat back out like any other powerless shmuck.

Still. What little you did learn was never not interesting, you'll give it that.

A lot of werewolves are more like weredogs than anything, there is still very much a way to summon demons (though not many are of the right bloodlines to do so), and vampires are very rarely accurately portrayed in the media.

He was staring again. You'd picked up on the subtle things, the minute expressions and inflexions in tone with his speech, so it didn't take long to realise this was the wrong type of staring. “... John.”

“Mm?” The way his eyes snapped to yours, narrowing as though they'd been a million miles away before his name had hit his ears.

He's usually so careful. So organised. The vampire population is substantial enough in the city that hunting is a thing of the past, with places like the Continental having under-the-table dealings with blood banks and hospitals, taking what they can spare. But lately… 

Shortages always hit hard, if he were a lesser man he likely would have already chosen an innocent bystander to tide over his hunger until the next stable arrangement could be made. But he wasn't. He couldn't be the lesser man, the world couldn't afford it.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” You ask with almost trace amounts of caution. You were afraid of him, which was… good in a way. Smart. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a little to hear the mild concern flickering in your voice.

“Running low on rations is all,” He huffs, putting on a tired-looking smile that slips away as quickly as it had come, a courtesy really, trying to turn his attention back to the TV.

“Running low?” Oh, the concern in your voice was so painfully sweet. Like you'd been told someone was off their medication, the way you sat up a little for a more serious conversation, the movie was now a backburner to the topic at hand.

“Decrease in donations, increase in demand…” He has to take a steady breath, leaning his head into his hand to pinch and knead at the bridge of his nose. He's been listening to the steady cadence of your heartbeat over the dialogue in the film and the way it picked up ever so slightly was far more effective of an appetiser than he’d expected. “I'm sorry, I should've called off tonight.”

“No, it… it's fine-” You start, almost immediately backtracking with a quiet “Well it's not ‘fine’, obviously, but-”

So you were right, he was having some thoughts. Involuntary ones, albeit, and clearly not something he wished to subject you to. It made you ache in a way you didn't quite understand, not quite pity or sympathy, but something.

“I can help.”

The words slip your lips before you can really think them over, and you can almost see the way he bristles at whatever images that sentence puts into his head.

“No.”

“John-”

“No. I am not taking from you.”

“You're not taking, I'm offering.”

He has to look at you again to confirm you're really saying the words that he's hearing, and not just making up a narrative in his thirst-addled brain to justify his runaway thoughts. The thudding of your heart had picked up considerably, and though he knows you can't hear it, probably can't even feel it, the sound to him was a thunderous drumbeat like tinnitus. But the look on your face. The look on your face.

Determination in the twitch of your brow, worry in the backs of your eyes. Stubborn. Kind. But not stupid.

He didn't need to tell you that it’d hurt or that there was a risk of taking too much, he knew you’d gone through that conversation in your head already and weighed the pros and cons.

“You don't have to.”

“I know. I want to.”

John is no fool. There are implications he hasn't the mind to dig into right now but the truth of the matter is food is scarce and if he turns down a willing participant then there's no guarantee he'll find another before getting to the inevitable breaking point even his nigh-impregnable discipline has.

The look of resignation on his face must hurt you so, with how your shoulders gently slope before you pull off your jumper and work on rolling up your sleeve.

“Let me.”  His hands came to you with a sort of gentle reverie you hadn't seen from him before. He’d never treated you as delicate or fragile, but the way the roughened pads of his fingers took your wrist with nary a squeeze was almost feather light, pulling your sleeve back down to re-roll it much tighter, sitting like a makeshift tourniquet around your upper arm.

The pad of his thumb pressed to your wrist, feeling the consistent pulse inside before it pressed a little higher, and again a little higher, working up the inside of your forearm with measured precision. Searching for something.

The right spot to bite. Just below the inside of your elbow, that ever-so-soft zone between your sliding muscles that would repair fairly quickly and have the least risk of harsh damage. Somewhere the bruise that’ll likely last almost a week won't be a hindrance on your day-to-day.

John was one for eye contact, it could be both sweet and unnerving depending on his expression, but the way he looked now- Eyes affixed to your skin, still clearly restraining himself, and not once glancing up at your face as he moved to sit closer and angle you more comfortably…

“Sharp scratch.” His soft rumbling tone brought you back to your senses, tensing with a hiss through gritted teeth but making sure not to flinch when his teeth sank in.

You’d pricked yourself with pins and had many-a blood tests and injections, but those were small, thin, metal barbs. These were fangs. It felt like getting stuck with two shards of frosted glass, even with how gentle he was being, the spark of pain and flare of heat from angry flesh brought a little water to your eyes.

It took everything in him not to draw. To just allow the pressure to do the work as the thick liquid welled and spilt into his mouth.

He was so fucking thirsty, and this… gods above this outclassed bagged blood by a million miles. It was warm and full, untainted by excess adrenaline, with a flavour he knew likely existed in other willing prey but could only in this moment associate with you. 

His eyes rolled shut with a long languid breath, that hard line of his furrowed brow turning up and dissolving. The hand still holding your wrist up softly squeezing and relaxing, kneading as if on reflex, while the other he'd placed on your thigh to lean over only relaxed some weight onto you.

The worst of the pain was over, and though it still hurt the only thing you could focus on was how his frigid lips had made a seal over your skin and, though there was no sucking, his tongue had started to lave back and forth over the punctures between an occasional swallow. The anticoagulants in his saliva thin your blood, keeping the stream steady while a relaxed hum rose involuntarily from the back of his throat.

Your eyes had fallen closed too, you couldn't recall the point when they did but you could still hear the television playing. Your own heartbeat. Both the quiet gulps and sighs coming from him and, less pronounced but no less present, the near-silent breaths leaving his nostrils to ghost over your arm.

Was it minutes? Was it hours? It was hard to tell with your head getting light.

At some point, the warmth spreading from your shoulder and chest, pooling deep in the pit of your stomach, had been replaced with a strange coldness, like an ice pack. Your limbs were a touch shaky and your skin had gone pale, a pallor John seemed to take note of when he pulled his mouth away to check on you, pupils blown wide, jaw slack and hung open.

It's as though he’d stolen your heat, the fresh feeding having put some colour into his skin and warmed the usually corpse-like coldness of his hands, you could almost swear you saw huffs of vapour from his parted lips. “Dizzy?” He grunted, looking you over as he lowered your arm and moved your free hand to the bite to keep some pressure on it so he could go fetch a cotton ball or two to stem the flow and let it seal. “Lay down.”

With a quick trip to the kitchen and the foyer, a pair of towels were spread on the couch cushions under your arm, the wound was dressed with the gauze pads and secured with tape, and he'd set a bottle of high-fructose fruit juice into your hand. “You'll be tired. More so than after a blood draw, our bites contain a mild sedative. Makes prey… docile,” He murmurs, seemingly hitching on the word ‘prey’ as though it wasn't intended to be said aloud.

This was not what you were expecting when you come over for movie night.

When did the film end, anyways? Did the disc skip and start buffering, or had you just spaced out the whole time?

Everything is a bit hazy and not quite piecing together.

Sipping at the bottle, you make no attempts to get up and move, just watch him carefully as he walks back across the room to flick a button on the player. “... Can we watch The Thing?”

There was a pause, the slight reflectiveness of his red eyes catching the dim lights of the room in sharp contrast to the loose and almost content way he looked as he glanced back at you. “... Yeah.”

_____________

Hope y'all like that. here's the AO3 link if anyone wants it <3

[rambleonwaywardson]

Salt Water

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: The boys take a trip to the beach, where Bucky learns that Gale is a little afraid of the ocean.

Word Count: 3020

Author's Note: This idea came to me out of nowhere, and I decided I don't care if it feels accurate or not because I wanted to write fluff about it. I've also never posted a fic on tumblr before, but I'm waiting until I have a larger collection of Clegan one-shots before posting them under a single work on AO3 and wanted to put this out there somehow before that happens. My AO3 is also RambleOnWaywardSon.

—

Gale is perfectly comfortable reclining lazily on a beach towel, book in one hand while he props himself up with the other, when a towering shadow blocks his sun and causes him to glance up through his sunglasses. Bucky, even through the glaringly bright light of a cloudless July day, may be the most beautiful human Gale has ever seen on this planet. Water droplets like glittering crystals cling to the pale skin of his chest and abdomen and drip from salt-water damp curls. Even today, his smile gives the sun a run for its money. 

But he is, in fact, blocking Gale’s actual sun. And Gale had been perfectly happy in the sun, thanks very much. 

“You’re blocking the sun,” he says matter of factly. Even so, he earmarks the corner of his paperback and sets it beside him on his towel, full well knowing that Bucky, giving him this facial expression that somehow manages to mix ‘hurt but hopeful puppy’ with ‘giddy, plotting boyfriend,’ will not be easily deterred.

He would be correct.

“You’ve barely gotten in the water all afternoon. Why the hell did we come to the beach if we’re not gonna swim?” Bucky’s puppy dog smile turns to a pout, and Gale rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses as he glances Bucky up and down.

“You’ve been swimming.” 

“But you haven’t!” Bucky steps closer to Gale and grabs one of his hands, tugging insistently. “Come into the water with me,” Bucky says. 

Gale lets Bucky work for it for a second, but eventually, reluctantly, allows himself to be tugged to his feet. It beats the inevitable alternative where Bucky uses his – extremely slight though not insignificant – size advantage to drag Gale into the sand before throwing him over his shoulder. “Bucky,” he sighs, running a hand through his own dry hair. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Bucky whines. He tugs Gale’s hand again, and Gale indulges him until they reach the shallow tide of the ocean, water lapping peacefully at their feet. Gale feels the cool water splash his ankles, the soft and gritty sand nestling between and over his toes. He stops ankle-deep in the clear water, staring at the tiny fish that dart around him as the tide pulls them forward and back.

“See?” Bucky says. “You’re not gonna melt if you get a little water on you.”

Gale looks over at him. Bucky ignores the fact that he knows Gale is rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses. Buck is sassy today. “I walked around in the water with you earlier,” Gale reminds him. “And no, I’m not the wicked witch of the west, thanks so much.”

Bucky ignores the last comment, practically having to physically force himself not to make some poorly executed joke about Gale, apparently, being a witch. A sassy witch. “You’ve been laying in the sun long enough,” he says instead, patting Gale’s cheek. This earns him another eye roll. Bucky doesn’t care. “You’re gonna burn your pretty face like that.”

“I will in the water, too.” Deadpan. Unamused.

“Gale,” Bucky pleads. “I wanna swim in the ocean with you. We don’t get to come to the beach every day, so can we please just make the most of it? For me?”

Gale sighs and looks down at his feet, shifts and presses into them until the sand is almost completely covering them, an anchor. Only when he feels Bucky drop his hand does he look up again, just in time to watch him walk away, without a word, into deeper water. Gale bites his lip and runs his hand through his hair again, trying to tamp down the feeling of abandonment rising between his ribs. This should not be such a big deal. This should not be so hard.

Once Bucky is a good few yards away, the water up to his thighs, he turns around, fully intent on calling Gale out on his bullshit. But he stops short. He doesn’t know what he really expected to see. Gale had been a little off -- difficult, sassy, John doesn’t really know — all day. But he did not expect to see Gale biting at his lip and staring down at the water around his ankles, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Bucky tilts his head and squints. 

When Gale hears splashing and glances up to see Bucky walking back towards him, wading through the waves, he feels the tight feeling in his chest begin to ebb. He drops his arms to his sides and straightens up, trying to seem nonchalant. Bucky doesn’t buy it. “Hey,” he says. He reaches out and grabs Gale’s hand in his again, this time insistence replaced with a gentleness that wasn’t there before. “It’s okay.” Gale just blinks at him, opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his feet. “Gale,” Bucky says quietly. With his free hand, he tilts Gale’s chin up again, so he has to look at him. “You’re scared of the ocean?”

Gale shrugs uncomfortably. “Not a whole lot of ocean in Wyoming.” He’d always been a good swimmer, it’s just that he’d never had very positive experiences with the ocean itself – the unknown of it, the unknown in it, the tides, the salt water that tastes awful on his tongue.

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he agrees. He lets go of Gale’s chin and brushes his fingers down his check just briefly, a thoughtless touch that's barely there. “Why did we come to the beach if you don’t like the ocean?”

Gale shrugs again. “You like it. Wanted to make you happy.”

Bucky about melts, and he’s not a melting type. At least, he wasn’t before he met Gale Cleven. He squeezes Gale’s hand tight and gently tugs again. Gale takes a step forward, then another. Bucky leads him a few yards out, where he’d been just a moment ago, where the water hits about mid thigh and the waves swell up to just below the waist. It’s here that he feels resistance pulling at his hand. When he turns to look at Gale, the other man is tugging back, his feet firmly planted in the rocky sand. He’s shaking his head. 

“Come on, Buck,” Bucky urges. “Just a little further.”

Gale shakes his head again. “This- This is good.”

Bucky turns a little more so he’s face to face with Gale and steps towards him, so close their noses almost touch. He takes Gale’s free hand in his, so he’s firmly holding both. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He starts slowly stepping backwards, pulling Gale along with him, and is relieved when the other man follows, unsure. Bucky glances behind him at the waves. The water is fairly calm today — Bucky is thankful for that now — but earlier in the day, here and there a wave would catch him by surprise. He doesn’t need any surprises with Gale. They just go slow, so very slow, one step at a time. 

By the time the water is at Gale’s midriff, splashing up towards his chest, he stops and shakes his head definitively. He will not, under any circumstances, go further than this. Bucky decides to take it. He decides that they don’t have to swim today. They can stand, float, whatever. His new task is simply to get Gale comfortable in the ocean that he loves. 

“Look at me, angel,” he says. He holds his breath for a second, worried the nickname will throw Gale off. He never really could figure out what to call Gale other than, well, Gale or Buck. Sometimes the nicknames he came up with were hit or miss — baby depended on the day; princess had earned him radio silence for about an hour, but he’d convinced himself that Gale just didn’t want to admit that he kinda liked it (he is most likely wrong but will not be deterred); darling was acceptable but how fucking boring; and sweetie was a very hard no.  Angel just kind of popped out now because, seriously, Gale looks so goddamn ethereal in the ocean sunlight, the highlights in his blond hair bright and glittering from the sea-spray. 

But Gale does look at him. He looks amused, but John can’t tell if his cheeks are tinged pink from the sun or because he’s blushing. Reaching a hand up to Gale’s face, he pushes the sunglasses up away from his eyes so they’re sitting on top of his head. “There you are,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me.” He tugs Gale closer, so they’re nearly chest to chest, nose to nose. Bucky can feel Gale’s hair, which has grown just a little too long in the front, tickling his forehead as Gale looks back down at the water rising and falling around them. It’s not so clear anymore; he can no longer see what’s under the surface. “Gale, look at me.” 

Gale obeys, meeting Bucky’s eyes. He’s suddenly very aware of how close they are. “People are gonna look,” he mumbles.

“No one cares what anyone else is doing at the beach.”

“They might…”

“No,” Bucky reaffirms. “And to hell with them if they do. Just keep looking at me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Bucky wouldn’t admit it – it would just scare Gale off – but he secretly loves these little moments where he can be Gale’s safety. He can protect him, reassure him, let him know everything would be alright. Buck Cleven was always so in control, seemingly fearless. Bucky loves that he gets to see this side of him, the one that can be unsure, the one that needs some guidance. He likes that he’s the one Gale looks to for that. 

Bucky guides Gale’s hands up so they’re wrapped around his neck and shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he repeats. “We’re just gonna stand here, okay? You and me.” Then he reaches down behind Gale's legs and picks him up, convinces him to wrap his legs around his waist so now Bucky is fully holding him, lifting him higher out of the water so he doesn’t have to contend with the waves alone. 

“Bucky,” Gale starts to protest, immediately moving to disentangle his legs. He feels silly, a little too dependent. It goes against everything he tries to let the world see of himself, and everything he’s careful to ensure they don’t see.

Bucky holds tight to his waist though, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around Gale’s middle. “Just breathe, Gale. Just stay here with me.”

Gale hesitates, but nods and re-secures his legs around Bucky, leaning back in his firm embrace. The water makes him feel like he’s floating while the arms around his waist anchor him. He tries to focus on the sounds of seagulls soaring overhead, waves breaking over the sand, the distant buzz of a plane engine somewhere up above. The water is cool against his skin, leaving him almost cold where it splashes up and recedes again. Bucky’s body is warm and solid against his. He focuses on Bucky’s face, all warm eyes and a soft, encouraging smile. Gale lets that ground him, almost smiles back. 

But then a larger wave comes and smacks him in the bicep, knocking him off balance and causing his breath to hitch as he tightens his grip on Bucky and shuts his eyes tight. “Bucky!” He’s a little ashamed of how nervous his own voice sounds. 

Bucky just grins at him, though, totally unfazed. “I won’t let you go,” he promises. 

When Gale opens his eyes again and stares straight at Bucky, Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like a teenager with a crush, the way his stomach flips at having the undivided attention of someone who may very well be the most beautiful man in the world – definitely the most beautiful in Bucky’s world. When they had first allowed their friendship to turn into more, Bucky was terrified that he wasn’t cut out for commitment. He never had been before. He was a low stakes, one night, paint the town red kind of guy. And Gale, well, Gale was not. He deserved so much better than Bucky. Even now, Bucky still beats himself up too much about whether or not he’s good enough, but slowly, slowly, slowly his anxiety over it had started to fade. Now, staring into Gale’s eyes, taking in his beautiful face, his hair, running his hands up and down his slim waist, Bucky is awestruck. Not for the first time, he can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else again. It physically pains him how much he wants to spend his entire life with Gale. 

“What?” Gale asks, smiling a little shyly as he quirks an eyebrow at Bucky. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky blurts out. 

Gale’s smile grows. He opens his mouth to speak just as another wave comes and catches them off guard, spraying salt water into his face. He splutters and gags, trying to get the unwelcome taste off his tongue. Bucky can’t help but laugh. 

“‘S not funny,” Gale mumbles. 

Bucky surprises him by pressing their lips together for the briefest of moments, relishing in the taste of salt and sand mixed with Gale. “It’s a little funny.”

Gale rolls his eyes and unwraps one arm from around Bucky’s neck so he can check that his sunglasses are still safe atop his head before clinging on again. Bucky shifts him up an inch or two higher, a silent apology and an attempt to spare him from the bigger waves. 

“Are we done now?” Gale asks impatiently. “Can I go sit on the beach again?”

“No.”

Gale huffs and looks away from Bucky, out to the great ocean and the horizon beyond, even as his fingers play mindlessly with the wet hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. “It is pretty, I’ll give you that.” When Bucky hums in agreement, Gale frowns. “Of course, I’d rather think that from where I was on the beach.”

Bucky lifts one hand to the side of Gale’s face, runs his fingers down his cheek and then presses his thumb to Gale’s bottom lip, which he’s still been worrying between his teeth. “You’re still nervous.”

“Yes John, I’m fucking nervous,” Gale snaps, and he immediately regrets it. Then he sighs, closes his eyes. The words rattle around in his brain like gunfire. “Sorry.”

Bucky barely reacts, though. He knows Gale doesn’t do well with nerves, or with being looked after, or really anything that shows him to be less in control than he wants everyone to think he is. “You’re doing great,” Bucky says. “Now what was that you were telling me earlier about how stars die? Fusion or something. All those smart things you know so much about.”

Gale glares at him, but there’s no more malice behind it. He looks more like a petulant child who doesn’t want to be coddled anymore. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. 

“And what am I doing?”

“Trying to distract me.”

“So what?” Bucky grins at him, and Gale can’t deny how much he loves that smile. How much he loves feeling their upper bodies pressed against each other as they just float. Or the way Bucky’s hand reassuringly strokes up and down his side as a silent I’m here, I’m with you, I won’t let you go. “Buck?” Bucky bumps their noses together, making Gale scoff. “Tell me about all your nerdy physics facts.”

So Gale does. He tells Bucky all about the life cycle of a star: the fact that the sun is made up of hydrogen and helium, and how hydrogen nuclei collide in a process called nuclear fusion to create helium and release energy, and how eventually the helium will start creating carbon and the star will become unstable, ejecting its outer layers into the cosmos like a fireball. Gale tells Bucky about all the types of stars and how they die in different ways to become different things — No Bucky, the sun will not become a black hole, sorry — and the fact that even the biggest stars eventually stop fusing when they inevitably create iron because they no longer have enough fuel to evade collapse. These are the stars that explode outward in a spectacular encore of literally stellar proportions, a supernova. 

All of this really is over Bucky’s head, but he’ll listen for hours if it means he gets a front row seat to Gale’s unfiltered excitement. The thing that catches his attention though is when Gale smiles at him, brushes his wet hair away from his face. “That’s where everything in the universe comes from, Bucky,” he says. “The Earth, moon, planets, the sun itself. You and me. We’re all made of star stuff.”

Bucky can’t look away from this amazing, beautiful man that he’s holding in his arms. He wants to make some comment about when did you become such a poet, but all that comes out is “That must be why you’re my entire universe.”

Gale’s expression somehow manages to be long-suffering and unamused but somehow so loving. A look that says you’re an idiot but you’re mine and I wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

“You doin' okay?” Bucky asks. 

Gale blinks at him, then looks down at the water again. One arm still around Bucky’s neck, he lets his other hand rest on the water’s surface, bobbing up and down with the waves. He finds the motion somehow satisfying, the physics of it as well as the repetitive rocking, the cooling feeling of water adhering to his skin. He has no idea how long they’ve been out here. “I’m fine,” he concedes.

“Maybe next time we can go out a little further,” Bucky says. “Ride the waves in.” Gale looks skeptical if not a little terrified, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Alright, that’s a no for now.”

“I think,” Gale starts softly. He pulls his sunglasses back over his eyes and bows his head, so his forehead is resting on Bucky’s as he tightens his grip on him once again. “I think I’m okay right here.” He feels safe, secure. And he finds he doesn’t mind admitting that. 

Bucky decides he’ll take it. He doesn’t need more right now. After all, he has his entire universe right here in his arms. 

[theespressooqueen]

Little restraint

The gym was alive with the murmurs of first-year cadets, excitement buzzing in the air as Emetterio, their professor, addressed the group. Standing before them were two of the most formidable captains in Tyrrendor: Captain Mira Sorrengail, known for her razor-sharp precision and fiery resolve, and Captain Drake Cordella, a towering force with unmatched strength and strategy.

“These are two of our finest captains,” Emetterio began, his voice commanding the attention of the room. “Captain Mira Sorrengail and Captain Drake Cordella. Both have won battles that turned the tide of war and have received distinct honors for their service. Today, they’ll be demonstrating hand-to-hand combat techniques. Watch closely.”

Mira stepped forward, her arms resting on her hips and a smug smirk curling her lips. Her golden-brown hair caught the light as her eyes scanned the eager cadets, already sizing up the challenge ahead.

Drake followed, arms crossed over his broad chest, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. His whiskey-colored eyes flicked to Mira, holding a playful spark that hinted at the storm about to unfold.

Mira rolled her shoulders, stepping into position. “Ready, Cordella?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

Drake chuckled, his grin widening. “Always, Sorrengail.”

The two circled each other, their movements fluid, calculated. It was like watching a deadly dance—Mira’s lithe grace countered by Drake’s raw power. The cadets watched in awe, leaning forward as the two captains exchanged blows with precision and speed.

Mira ducked under one of Drake’s strikes, sweeping her leg in an attempt to trip him, but he sidestepped, grabbing her wrist. She twisted out of his grip and landed a sharp jab to his side, making him grunt.

“That all you’ve got?” he teased, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“Not even close,” she shot back, smirking.

They continued their sparring, the room filled with the sounds of grunts, thuds, and the cadets’ gasps of amazement. Finally, Mira saw her opening.

With a quick, calculated movement, she tripped Drake, using his own momentum to send him crashing onto the mat. Before he could recover, she straddled him, pinning him down with her thighs and placing a hand at his throat.

The cadets erupted in cheers and excited chatter, clearly impressed.

“Yield,” Mira ordered, her voice firm.

Drake’s grin didn’t falter. He shook his head, his whiskey eyes locked on hers.

Mira tightened her hold on his throat and squeezed her thighs against his sides. “Yield,” she demanded again.

Drake’s smirk turned wicked. He bucked his hips beneath her, and Mira froze, her eyes widening as she felt his unmistakable arousal.

“You’re turned on?” she hissed in Korovish, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Drake’s grin widened, his gaze darkening. “Of course, I’m turned on,” he whispered back in the same language. “This is what you do to me, love. And it doesn’t help when you talk in my language.”

Mira’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Drake’s eyes flashed with surprise and satisfaction at the sound, but Mira used his brief distraction to her advantage.

With a swift move, she shifted their positions, locking her legs around him and twisting him onto his back. She climbed onto his shoulders, catching him in a chokehold, her arms strong around his neck.

The cadets burst into cheers as Drake tapped the mat, laughing heartily. “I yield!” he called out.

Mira released him and stood, offering her hand to pull him up. Drake took it, his grip lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Impressive work, captains,” Emetterio said, stepping onto the mat. “Thank you for the demonstration.”

Drake and Mira nodded, shaking hands as though nothing had happened. But as they left the mat, Drake leaned closer to Mira, his voice a low murmur in her ear.

“Don't think I missed that whimper, love.”

Mira rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the warming of her cheeks and small smile tugging at her lips.

-- --

The hallway buzzed with the excited chatter of cadets recounting the demonstration, but Mira walked briskly, hoping to avoid further attention. She had barely reached the quieter section of the corridor when a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into a shadowed alcove.

Her back hit the wall gently, and before she could react, Drake was there, caging her in with one arm braced against the wall and the other resting lightly on her lower back.

“Cordella,” she hissed, her hand instinctively pressing against his chest in an attempt to create some space.

Drake’s whiskey-colored eyes softened, an uncharacteristic pleading in them. “Drake,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “It's Drake. Call me by my name.”

Mira narrowed her eyes at him, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body. “We are not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, his gaze locking with hers. “We’ve known each other long enough. We’ve shared a bed, Mira, and kissed.”

She scoffed, her lips curling into a defiant smirk. “You kissed me. I didn’t kiss you.”

“Fine,” Drake replied, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers, and nuzzled her neck.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice losing its usual sharpness as his breath warmed her skin.

“Just let me have this,” he murmured against her neck, his tone raw and vulnerable. “I was holding myself back out there. I just need this, love. Just for a moment.”

Mira’s breath hitched as his lips brushed over the pulse at her throat. She wanted to push him away—knew she should—but instead, she found herself tilting her head, giving him more access.

Her heartbeat raced as his lips trailed lightly over her skin, his touch impossibly tender for someone as intense as Drake Cordella. Her hand moved almost on its own, sliding up to rest on the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes, her resolve crumbling as she whispered his name.

“Drake.”

He froze for a moment, pulling back just enough to search her face. His eyes, dark and full of unspoken emotion, bore into hers. “Say it again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Drake,” she whispered again, her voice soft but sure.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, one that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a featherlight kiss before nipping at them, leaving her stunned and breathless.

“You just made my day, love,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers for a moment. Then he stepped back, his hands dropping away, though his gaze lingered on her. “Now go, before I lose what little restraint I have left.”

Mira stared at him, her heart pounding, before finally pushing past him, her fingers brushing her lips as she walked away. She didn’t dare look back, but she could feel his eyes on her, a weight she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Playtime (Male! Vampire / Male!Reader)

Pairing: Male!Vampire x Male!Reader

Warnings: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY), Blood kink, Non-Consensual ( Hypnosis/ Compulsion), Biting, Rough Sex

Word Count: 1610 Words

Based off this Request (by @harukisakisblog ): Vampire x male reader. Non con (but reader enjoy it) also rough. Breeding i guess (bonus point if reader did get pregnant) also just reader begging to stop but in the end got turned into a cockslut. Mm、let's see.... I guess reader holes got so full that the cum started to get out of it while reader is just looking at the vampire asking for a second round. Idk man i'm horny so go wild please

If you had to describe the feeling of being compelled, the most apt metaphor you could think of is lying down on the beach. The sand leaves little pinpricks of fuzz on the nape of your neck and the back of your arms, the ebbing tide rund between the crevices of your vertebrae and rushes into your ears. It’s a billion different sensations that feel so small, yet so all encompassing.

That’s what your brain feels right now, body limp in the arms of this monster. Your conscious thoughts seem to ebb at the edge of being actionable, but fade before you can grab on. Your skin feels tingly, the freezing touch of the vampire now sucking on your neck so jarring yet unreal.

“Well, don’t you taste delectable.” The vampire purrs, not even wiping the fresh blood off his lips before kissing you on the cheek. “Yes, I think I made a fine choice. Don’t you agree? ”

The words are like slurry in your head, the vampire not waiting for an answer as he runs a clawed hand under your shirt.

“N-no….stop.” You slur, hand grabbing his wrist in the imitation of force. The vampire laughs, pushing your chest down and forcing you on your back. He wastes no time in throwing your legs over his shoulders, lifting your hips and slipping off your pants. A long, painted claw draws circles in the meat of your thigh, pushing up the hem of your boxers.

“Goodness.” The vampire moans, pressing his mouth right up to the skin and taking a deep breath. “You smell so sweet, I simply must have more.”

The sting of fangs biting into your leg barely registers in your mind, but your hands still push and claw at the vampire's chest, even as he remains immovable. The suction of his mouth, draining the blood from your thigh, is damn near erotic.

The vampire licks at your wound, face smeared in your blood and a wicked smile. His wandering hands moves across the fabric of your underwear and squeezes your cock. Your lower half jolts, unintentionally bucking into his grip. As your cock grows hard the vampire kisses down your leg, eventually reaching your clothed crotch. In a move far too gentle for the situation, he kisses your shaft, dangerous sharp teeth glistening in the low light. The open cut on your leg begins to burn, though it only lingers in the back of your mind

“P-please.” You beg, globes of tears dripping from your eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

The vampire tchts, moving his hand to stroke your erection.

“Aww, sweetheart. I’m only doing what we both want. What we both need.” He laughs again, that taunting laugh that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Now, just relax for me, hmmm?”

Another wave of compulsion washes over you and your hands go limp against his chest. The vampire presses another kiss to your crotch before pulling down your underwear. Your hard cock bounces out, standing stiff against your stomach. The vampire licks his lips, flicking your boxers to the side of the room, off of your ankles.

The vampire sticks its two pointer fingers into its mouth, sucking languidly before releasing with a pop. You know immediately what he plans to do, especially when he smears more blood onto his fingertips. He presses against your tight entrance and you actually thank how the compulsion has relaxed your muscles, letting him sink into your asshole with little pain.

“That’s it. Open up for me, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The pads of his fingers curl inside of you as the vampire reaches his knuckle. He sets a gentle pace of fucking you open, cooing petnames that glide right over you. The sensations shoot all the way to your toes, the vampire quickly finding your prostate and massaging it gently.

Your cock is left unattended, but not for long. The vampire spits into his free palm and begins jerking you off, matching the pace of his fingers and just teasing the heat in your belly. You bite your lip, your subconscious desperately telling you to fight this off. But instead your body whines when his ministrations stop, the burning in your crotch needing more when the vampire pulls his fingers out.

An animalistic keen leaves you, making the vampire laugh.

“So desperate. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

With the sound of an undone belt buckle and some shuffled fabric, the vampire throws your legs over his shoulders, bending your limp body into a mating press as something cold touches the bare skin of your ass. Your lazy eyes shoot upward, meeting the vampire's ravenous gaze as he strokes his cock in preparation. That desperate voice, trying to fight, is scared by his size. But the one in control, the unconcious running you right now, is excited by how it might feel.

“Now, I want you to scream for me, can you do that?” Another bout of compulsion, though much weaker than before. “I want to hear my name coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours.” A clawed finger runs across your bottom lip. “Say it for me, dear. Say Emil, please fuck me.”

“Emil, please fuck me.” The unconscious says and you wish it was the compulsion that pushed it to do so.

“Good boy.”

With that, he begins to push his cock inside of your asshole, spitting into his hand and stroking his cock as he does. The pressure is less intense than it could have been without the fingering, but Emil’s girth is still formidable, the compulsion only doing so much to the burn. It doesn’t help that he continues to make lewd comments, Emil groaning as he stretches you open on his dick.

When his hips hit your backside, he moans again.

“Look at that, it’s a perfect fit!” Emil spanks one of your ass cheeks, moaning again when you clench around his cock. “Now, for the fun to begin.”

A strong grip grabs your jaw and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, Emil hunched over your body when he begins pounding your asshole. He shoves his tongue in when you gasp from the pressure, already that tight knot stirring in your belly.

The sound of skin slapping skin is debaucherous, which Emil seems to revel in. He makes sure to elevate his moans and gasps, hands holding tight around your jaw and forcing you to look into his crimson eyes. He licks his lips as he presses and swirls his hips against yours, drinking in your reaction.

“I want you to be loud.” The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to be a threat. You feel your eyes rolling unto the back of your head, your breathless moans getting caught at the back. “Scream for me.” Emil squeezes your throat again, pushing your head onto the bed and sitting himself up as he increases his pace. The compulsion and the way he’s brutalizing your prostate send stars behind your eyelids, your crotch canting towards Emil’s thrusts.

“Fuck! Yes, please, more!” The pleasure is all you know in the moment, your balls feeling tight as Emil laughs. His thumb brushes against your cheek while his other hand spanks your ass again. The buzzing has shot down to your toes again, you cock aching from the lack of attention. You’re actively meeting Emil’s thrusts now, tightening your core and throwing up your backside against Emil’s hips, trying to search for more.

That dizzying feeling approaches again, only elevated when Emil wraps a hand around your cock and begins jerking you off. You gasp, trying to focus in on Emil’s face but everything feels blurry. You recognize his laugh, the way his grip tugs and fondles you, but the context of it all is lost.

“Aww, thats right dearie, come for me. Cum on your master’s cock.”

Even without the psychic powers you feel the tug at your brain and your core, cock twitching in Emil’s hands as fucks you. He’s laughing amidst his moans, his pace growing sloppy as he reaches his own orgasm. “Cum all over yourself, watch as I fill you up.” Emil punctuates his words with powerful thrusts and you know you can’t take much more.

“Shit! Fuck!” You cry out, lower half tightening as your orgasm exploded outward, cum splattering up to your chest. Emil’s moan is beastly as he cums inside of you, spurts of his semen filling you up.

The after glow is short, Emil pulling out with a filthy schlick, brushing his long black hair out of his face. He looks down at you, a self- satisfied smirk taunting you. You can barely lift up your head, limbs shaking from the exertion. Your mind feels like it’s sunk into jello, warped and fruitless to move.

Emil sits back on his haunches, patting your thigh as he just watches you tired body. His cum drips out of you, bite marks on your neck and thigh only confirming your place. You’re his, his play thing.

He moves to sit up, feeling gracious enough to get you a wet rag to wipe yourself off, but is stopped. Your ankle is still hooked around the back of his knee, although you couldn’t stop him completely, it's enough to get his attention. Emil looks down at your face.

Your voice, croaking and desperate, calls to him.

“More.” You pant, weak calves trying to pull him back closer to you. Emil sees your cock, half-hard again, as your pretty eyes practically beg for another round.

Emil smirks. Seems he won’t be needing the compulsion anymore.

[luveline]

jade!! i have a rooster request (ty if you do it, love u if u dont! ur my queen). i feel like rooster doesn't uh, relax a lot? so maybe making him chill out with a face mask or something? love u!

tysm for requesting, love u ♡ fem!reader

Bradley sits back against the headboard of his bed, listening to your quiet movements in the bathroom with that 'I'm so lucky' feeling coursing rampant through his veins. 

The bed is made —though the corners aren't as neat as Bradley would tuck them— the windows open, a box fan breezing the smell of a triple wick candle his way. Vanilla, coconut, and almond. 

He's trying to think of ways to pay you back for it while you're gone. You don't like accepting repayment for anything, not dinner, not stamps for your copious letters, nothing. He might tuck a twenty into your purse. Better yet, he might ask you to get married, have a portion of his wages wired to your account whenever he fancies. 

That way, you might miss him less. And he'd be much less stressed, if tonight is anything to go by; not because of your cleaning, which he is grateful for, but because your presence feels like a balm for bad nerves. You turn the corner into the bedroom with a muted blue pot in hand and his pulse genuinely slows. 

"Bradley," you say, opening your mouth to propose something. 

"Y/N," he says, putting his hands out to receive you, pulling you over his extended leg to sit across from him. You fold your legs underneath you, taller than him for once.

"Did you wash up when you got home?" 

"Clean as a whistle," he says, eyeing the pot with curiosity, and your dainty vest top with something else. "Want me to prove it?" 

"Do you want to do this with me?" you ask, placing the pot in your palm to show him the dark writing spanning the side.

"Clay Mask." He raises his eyebrows. "For my face?" 

"Yeah. It has chamomile and lavender, so the smell might be a bit cloying for you, but it's…" You tap the lid and shimmy closer, the sheets crinkling under your knees. This close, he can see the triangles of your lashes. The urge to brush them up rises. "Don't entertain me, okay? If you don't want to do it and this will actually make you more stressed, don't say yes. But if you're okay with it I think we could really chill." 

"I'm not half as stressed out as you think I am." 

"Well, half of your stress is triple a normal person's." 

Bradley puts his arms behind his head and tries to give his muscles a subtle flex. You know him too well, rolling your eyes fondly as his biceps dance. 

"It'll definitely relax me if you put it on me," he flirts. 

Your smile is impossible to hide. "You can close your eyes, yeah?" You shuffle closer still as he complies, the gentle hum of sound complimented by the quiet in and out of your breath and the shushing of of your plaid pants rubbing against his as you lean into his space. "It'll be cold," you warn. 

Bradley smiles. "Just lay it on me, sweetness." 

You unscrew your pot. After a moment, he senses your hand, and then cold spreads against his cheek in a soft lump. You smooth it down flat over the planes of his face, melting his heart with the care you show his scars. They were healed years before you met and still you worry you'll hurt him as your fingertip glides over his chin. The smell is heady but with a little hint of sweetness to tide it over.  

It could smell of chicken shit and he'd stick it out just to feel you touching him like this. 

"Do you ever wonder what your top lip looks like?" you ask as you paint the skin either side of it. 

"Nope. You like the stache, babe, you know you do." 

You sit back on your heels. Bradley opens his eyes, his skin cold and sticky. 

"How do you feel?" you ask. 

"Better already." And it has nothing to do with the face mask. He couldn't care less about how corny it is, but you've really made him feel better with your touch alone. 

"Will you do mine?" you ask. 

"You kidding? C'mere." 

He's halfway through painting your face when he starts to feel stiff around his mouth. "What's happening?" he asks, batting down his alarm. 

"It dries solid," you murmur, trying not to move too much under his touch. "Gotta wash it off." 

The mess of clay and water that runs down his arms as he does is enough to put his stress levels back where they were, but your soft laughter from beside him makes up for it. "Looking fresh, Bradshaw." 

He gets clay on his lips trying to kiss you. 

[luckycharms1701]

Maybe a request, you can ignore if you don't like the idea tho!

What about f!reader pegging one of the turtles headcanons? i'd ask specifically for Donnie in this one.

😬 gonna be real here anon-chan. i’m so glad you’re here but i’m not sure i’m the one to fill this request. see, the problem with sending this to me is that i am a bottom. i am like super bottom. pegging isn’t really my thing. but! the people i would send you to have requests closed right now, so i will do my best to tide you over until you can ask someone else. i am sorry in advance.

edit: uhhhhhhhhhh spicy. so spicy. i uh cannot emphasize enough, 🌶️🌶️🌶️

It definitely starts as an experiment, something he’s heard about and wants to try. When you do, he finds that he loves it. He loves it a Lot.

He creates a strap specifically designed to maximize pleasure for both of you. It takes him a couple of attempts to get it right. The less said about that the better. It’s worth it though, for what he ends up with. A double-sided strap-on, thick and heavy on one side for him and a rabbit on the other side for you. It vibrates. Everywhere.

He always makes sure to get you off before asking you to peg him. The more he wants it, the more orgasms he gives you first. One of his favorite things to do is fuck you with his fingers until you’re practically insensate and then ride you.

Even better when you suggest it. He gets this look on his face and practically tackles you onto the bed. He’s so happy that you enjoy this too that he gets overeager. The clothes practically fly off. Still, he’s the king of prep. Neither of you is doing anything with the strap-on until you’re both ready.

He loves that you can share this experience, getting to fuck someone you love. When he can, he’ll pay attention to how you fuck him and use that knowledge to absolutely devastate you when it’s his turn. You didn’t think he could get better at fucking you, but he proves you wrong.

His favorite thing. Is when you first bottom in him. He’ll whine and beg for more, even knowing you can’t go any further.

~~~~~~~

i. i’m sorry that’s all i’ve got headcanon-wise. however, a little blurb DID pop into my head that’s uh more my speed and therefore might be a little better? maybe? anyway it won’t leave me alone so here you go, a little extra for you. featuring donnie topping from the bottom.

edit: uh. well! that wasn't supposed to happen. what. enjoy?

~~~~~~~

Donnie whines as you bottom in him, and you shudder before forcing yourself to still. You are desperate to rub against the smooth silicone pressing into your clit, but you know what will happen if you do. You try to think about anything else as he continues to whine and pant and writhe, getting used to the strap-on inside of him. He sounds so beautiful, and you answer his whine with a moan of your own. His eyes pop open, and his lips twitch upward.

“Are you ready, baby?” He laughs lowly at how quickly and violently you nod your head, then stretches to reach the bed stand. You can see the way his movement causes him more pleasure, your cock deep inside of him rubbing against his walls. He picks up the remote that haunts your dreams.

The lowest setting immediately sets you to shaking, but you don’t move yet. “Good girl!” Donnie’s praise goes straight to your core, and you can only whine in response. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see you.” You raise your head from where it had fallen to your chest. The desire in his eyes sends an electric thrill through you that causes you to practically gush around the dildo deep inside of you. You start shaking harder for a different reason.

Donnie takes a deep breath and squirms as the vibration courses through him as well. He gets a wicked look in his eye, and an alarm goes off in the part of your brain that isn’t mush. Before you can say a word, he ups the vibration and thrusts upward, pushing the strap-on deeper into you.

You feel the sheets stretch underneath your fingers as your whole body stiffens, desperately holding back the urge to match the way he’s grinding into you. You cannot hold back the scream or the tears though. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes on Donnie. The satisfaction on his face as he drags you to the edge once again does not help with your struggle, and he knows it.

His eyes go half-lidded with his own pleasure as he continues to grind into you. His hand that’s not holding the remote comes up and presses into your lips. You obediently open your mouth and his thumb snakes in and holds your tongue down. “You’re doing so good for me, darling. So, so good.” You hold his gaze, trying to convey your desperation. You’re not sure you could speak even if his fingers weren’t in your mouth.

Donnie leans up and his tongue joins his fingers. He leisurely maps out your mouth, as if he has all the time in the world. Your moan is garbled with all of him in your mouth. He pulls back, hand leaving your mouth and stretching around your neck instead. He stares at you, still grinding hard, and waits. You swallow and open your mouth.

“D-Donnie… please… please!”

His smile is wicked as he clicks the vibration higher, causing both of you to gasp. “A-alright love. You can move.” You barely catch yourself from dropping your head in relief, then you pull back and start to thrust.

~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic @writinandcrying

[luvrodite]

honey i'll be dead (it won't always be like this) [756]

thunderstorms, gn!reader, allusions to depression/low mood, angst/comfort

the thunder outside seems a perfect end to the week you've had, booming outside your rickety bedroom window so fiercely you flinch from the blankets you've huddled yourself in. night falls on gotham and you wonder if you will see the familiar haunting glow of the signal cutting through the dense smog tonight. would crime stop for a bit of lightning?

your body locks tight with the next flash of white, tensing in preparation and – there it is, a bellow that makes you twist the sheets under your fingers anxiously. you half wonder if it isn't your own agonies that have manifested into the storm that's washed in over jersey this weekend, grief and fear and rage and seemingly every ugly emotion that had been swimming through your veins all week finally pouring out into the world to torment you once more.

jason comes in just as the power cuts out, lights flickering violently for a brief moment, as though considering whether to commit, before coming to a decision and plunging the apartment into darkness. one quick look outside the window shows it's extended to the entire block. it's silly to feel guilty. you feel it anyway.

the floor beneath his feet creaks – it's deliberate. he doesn't want to scare you, you can tell. there's a murmur of your name and you let out a breath. it's response enough and he crosses the threshold.

"what're you doing alone in here, hm?" it's said casually as he shucks his house slippers – the fuzzy black ones you had bought the first time he'd slept over, laid by the front door in wait of his arrival – and slides into bed beside you.

you shrug. i'm tired. i'm scared. i think i'm going to break. responses that go unsaid hang on the tip of your tongue, but it's weighed down by some invisible mass, and you stare into the space in front of you. the blackness pulses and swirls, shadows shifting as your eyes adjust to the dim light.

there's another roll of heavy thunder outside, so close it sounds as though it's right outside and your face feels taut with stress. your hand reaches for the one next to you, bumping around in the dark until your fingers brush against jason's. his hand curls around yours, one large palm swallowing yours and squeezing.

"'ve got an idea. come here."

you're lifted gently, arms cradling you to him and then the covers are being pulled up over your heads, your body curled up against his. the blanket does little to muffle the sounds outside, the rain beating against the windowpane only sounds marginally softer but he's managed to cut out some of the frigid cold in your apartment, leaking in through the poorly insulated walls. a dry heat settles in the small space and as you slump into him, a pitiful noise escapes your lips.

it's thin, and reedy, and a little wounded, and you can't help the flush in your face that follows, shame washing in like a tide when jason's arms tighten around you. it's dark under the covers, and your face is pressed to his shoulder. he can't see you, and yet he's seen too much in that moment.

"been a long week for you, huh," he mutters, so comfortingly your throat closes up. his hand is heavy on your spine, grounding you as your eyes water.

"so –" you cut yourself off, your voice, barely above a whisper, wobbles tremulously. "so long."

"made it through," he reminds you, but you feel something like a candle burnt too low, smoke plumes curling around a wick struggling to remain aflame. there is nothing in you left to celebrate, only a grief that buzzes in your head and heats your face.

you breathe out loud and it sounds like a sob. jason curls closer to you, and you press your lips together tightly, fingers twisting once more into the fabric within reach – his shirt.

"tell me it won't always be like this," you whisper, and you can feel the tears beginning to leak down the slope of your nose, wetting the pillow beneath your head.

there's a resounding BOOM.

jason's hands come over your ears, stroking the skin behind them. dry lips find your forehead clumsily, and he mutters a vow.

"it won't," he tells you. "it'll pass."

"promise me." it's demanding, and he has no power to wield your fate, but he kisses you as though he does, a reassurance pressed into the seam of your mouth.

"i promise."

me when i listen to it won't always be like this by inhaler whenever things are shit and only listen to that specific line because it feels like elijah hewson is promising me things will be ok. same energy as listening to don't let it break your heart and pretending it's louis tomlinson speaking directly TO ME! anyway i've had the shittiest week and a half and the weather has been so fucking awful and i'm scared of thunderstorms now! a lovely development that is SO useful when the weather decides to come down on us during what is supposed to be SUMMER. this is entirely self indulgent. but also born out of that one very lovely nonnie's thought that jason would come and comfort u during a thunderstorm. and well. if he is also scared, then. we are getting a pair of noise cancelling headphones.

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

falling to the music (jily)

a/n: band au jily band au jily!! i loved writing this, and i think it might actually ball-of-wool its way into being a full fic, so if you like this one keep your eyes peeled for a pt. 2

next

‘Alright, alright, let’s cool things off a minute!’ The lead singer flips his long black hair out of his face and gives a nod to the band behind him, ushering in a more toned down beat that chugs along in the background as he continues to address the crowd.

‘Now! Show’s not over yet, ladies and gents, but I do want to take a breather and chat to you about the amazing band I have with me tonight!’ A couple of whoops go round the room. Behind her, Lily hears a group of girls yell drunken variations on ‘I’m in love with you’. The frontman grins something wicked at this, and directs a wink in their general direction, which seems to go down well based on the audible swooning. Lily doesn’t really get it - he’s pretty, sure, all high cheekbones and roguish elegance, but she’s not about to throw away any and all sense of dignity she has for him.

‘As gorgeous as I am,’ the singer continues, ‘I’m afraid I’m absolutely nothing without my mates here on stage with me. So let’s give them a little appreciation, yeah? Holding it down on bass, it’s the love of my life, Remus John Lupin everybody!’ Cheers and applause as the bassist, who’s revealed to have gone slightly pink in the cheeks by the spotlight they’ve got on him, dives into a solo. It’s impressive. His long fingers move lightning fast across his fretboard, his scars appearing silver as they move like tides over his tendons, and Lily decides she likes him. Remus has a nice sort of quality, possessing less bravado than his band mates but seeming entirely immersed in the music. She’s a bit disappointed when his segment comes to a close. But soon the long-haired singer is speaking again, introducing the next member.

‘Drumming for his life all the way there in the back, let me introduce you to Mr Peter Pettigrew!’ The drummer is short and round-faced, a bit like a cherub, and his eyes shine at the attention he’s getting. He blows his floppy dirty blond hair out of his eyes and starts going at his solo like it’s all he’s got. Snare and bass drums thunder out arrestingly in the small venue. Lily claps along with the rest of the audience when he delivers a particularly complicated fill, and then his time is up too, and he pulls back into the steady rhythm he’d been playing beforehand. The frontman, who had stepped aside to give Peter centre stage, returns to the mic. He’s smiling broadly.

‘Now, showing us all up on lead guitar and yes, ladies, he is single,’ he proclaims, ‘it’s only James fucking Potter!’ Lily’s gaze drifts across to the man in question and fucking hell. She’s not sure how she didn’t notice him before, but now, certainly, she’s looking. He’s dazzling, sporting a blazing red guitar that contrasts delectably with the warm depth of his skin. She thinks idly that her red hair might have much the same effect, before admonishing herself vigorously. Get a hold of yourself, Lils. He’s just a random bloke who’s half decent at guitar. There’s a problem there though, because he’s not just half decent - he’s good. And he knows it, grinning like he’s on top of the world with each new wave of screams that come his way. The crowd seems to really energise him. Soaring to new heights again and again, his solo is mesmerising, the sound flying off the frets with a gorgeous vividity. Beside her, Mary nudges her in the ribs and leans in to speak into her ear over the roar of the music.

‘Interested?’ Lily rolls her eyes and feigns disgust.

‘Not at all.’

‘You’re blushing.’

‘Bitch, it’s hot as anything in here. We’re basically in a Heinz beans can of people.’ Mary laughs at this, but the sound is drowned out by the applause as James finishes his part.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ she smirks as the noise dies down.

Back up at the front, the singer claps James on the back good-naturedly, and pulls him in to say something the audience isn’t privy to. Whatever it is, it’s funny, because James laughs uproariously. His brown eyes glint with mirth from behind the frames of his glasses. Then, he beckons for the mic, and the singer removes it from its stand to pass it over.

‘You’ve heard from all of us, so now it’s time to boost the bastard next to me’s ego - not that he needs it, mind.’ James’ voice is lower than expected, liquid and easy like molten gold. You can hear him smiling when he speaks. It’s horrendously attractive. What a twat.

‘So, please join me in celebrating, the sexiest family disappointment that there ever was, Sirius Black!’ Sirius throws an arm up as the reaction his introduction garners threatens to blow the roof off. He makes a performance of it, putting a hand up to his ear like he can’t hear them and blowing kisses to the people in the front row. Lily isn’t really watching him though. Her eyes are drawn back to James, like he’s literally magnetic. She wants to pull him down off that stage and shag him.

Later, when the last of the encores is over and people are beginning to make their way out of the sticky warmth of the pub into the sharp coolness of the street, Mary decides she wants to meet the band. This tends to be a regular occurrence - she always did have a thing for rockstars. But it is made worse by the endlessly irritating fact that this time, Lily’s got a thing for one of the rockstars too. She doesn’t want to go. She’d much rather go straight home and forget this band and their sexy lead guitarist as quickly as possible, but Mary won’t take no for an answer, and leads her by an iron grip through the venue. Fat lot of good being a best friend does you.

When they get there, Sirius is packing up his guitar. He looks up sharply when he hears them approach, but quickly softens back into the charismatic smile he was sporting on stage.

‘Evening, ladies. Enjoy our set?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, it was okay,’ Mary’s tone is a mock disinterest, but she’s given away by the smile that’s playing on her lips.

‘Don’t lie to me, babe, I saw you singing along. You might’ve been the loudest of the lot. Got a name?’

‘Mary,’ she replies breathlessly.

‘Charmed, Miss Magdalene. And your friend?’ Lily goes to answer, but doesn’t get there in time.

‘This is Lily. Say, you don’t suppose you could call your friend over, the other guitarist? She’d quite like to meet him.’ Mortified, Lily shoots her best friend a look of pure death and whacks her soundly on the arm.

‘Hold your tongue, Macdonald, or so help me God I will set you on fire and use you to light a cig,’ she snaps, earning a huff of shocked laughter from Sirius. He looks at Lily, calculating, then at Mary, then back to Lily again. Slowly, a wicked grin starts to spread across his face.

‘Jamie, mate?,’ he yells, refusing to break eye contact with his victim. ‘You’ve got that redhead here to see you.’ It is in this moment that Lily Evans mentally declares Sirius Black to be her mortal enemy.

When he gets there, James is out of breath.

‘Welcome to the party, Prongs,’ Sirius laughs, punching him lightly in the arm. ‘This here, my fine fellow, is Lily.’

‘Lily,’ he repeats, almost reverently. Her name shimmers in his voice, and does cruel, evil things to her stomach.

‘Hello.’

‘You, erm. You wanted to talk to me?’

‘Well… no, you know what? Fuck it. Yes. Yes, I wanted to talk to you.’

‘I think we’ll just, uh, scoot over there a little,’ says Mary, bestowing her vice-like grip on Sirius this time, who yelps in shock as he’s dragged unceremoniously off to the side.

‘What was it you wanted to say?’ inquires James, now that the two of them are alone.

‘I suppose… just that you’re a really talented musician. Like honestly, watching you up there doing your solo, it was completely insane. I didn’t know guitars, like, did that.’ Lily looks up at him after that last bit, and notes painfully that he’s a very good height for kissing.

‘You really think that? Oh my god, I mean, thank you! Really, really, thank you, thank you very much. That’s a really nice compliment, that- that’s really lovely of you,’ he says, words tumbling out of his mouth like pennies. He’s beaming down at her like he’s a puppy, almost as wide as he was on stage. It’s sort of adorable.

‘Yeah, well. Y’know. And… okay, stop me if I’m crossing a line here but - could I give you my number? Only my friend will kill me if I don’t shoot my shot, and you’re… well, you’re quite attractive. Sorry if that’s forward.’

‘No, no, not at all, I’m, er, well, I’m honoured. Fuck, listen, I don’t have my phone on me right now - I forgot to charge it last night because I’m a dunce, and I’m with Sirius most of the time anyway so I figured it wouldn’t matter if I left it at home, which I’m realising now is something I definitely should never do again, but I digress. I- could I give you a pen? Could you like, write it on me?’ Lily laughs as she watches him flounder, then nods assuringly.

‘Sure, I can write it on you.’

‘Okay, brilliant,’ he breathes, before scrambling up onto the stage and grabbing a Sharpie off one of the amps. He hops back down in front of her and holds it out for her to have.

‘Where should I put it?’ Lily asks, taking the pen from him and pulling off the cap.

‘Anywhere’s fine.’ Humming, she puts a hand just above his elbow and pulls his arm across, giving her access to his bicep.

‘Less likely to rub off if I put it here,’ she explains, to which James replies with a shaky exhale and a nod. Lily begins writing down the numbers in neat, confident strokes, her tongue poking slightly out to the side as she concentrates. Once she’s satisfied, she straightens up, recaps the pen and gives it back.

‘Call or text me, then.’

‘Yep.’

‘Listen, I’ve got to go find my friend, she’s a bit tipsy so I’m in charge of getting her home okay. But it was nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

Lily turns to leave, then stops and swivels back round to look at him.

‘You smell really good, by the way.’

[victorluvsalice]

Happy Birthday hauntedcllhouse!

@hauntedcllhouse As per your request, here's Victoria and your OC daughter Lily hanging out in the ocean together, discussing stockings and the wearing thereof. :p Hope you enjoy!

--

“I’m just saying, Mamma, if I don’t have to wear stockings, I don’t see why you do.”

“Because it’s what’s done,” Victoria said simply, shaking her head at her daughter as they floated together, bobbing in the gentle swell of the ocean tides. “A polite woman in society makes sure she is properly dressed for all occasions. And that includes a proper set of stockings.”

“Yes, but – Mamma, are we actually in society?” Lily pressed, spinning herself around with one hand to look Victoria in the eye. “You and Daddy never attend any of the parties that Grandmother Van Dort sends you invitations to, despite all her complaining. And you barely keep up any correspondence with the people Grandmother Everglot has introduced you to, despite all of her complaining. We spend most of our time at home in the village, keeping to ourselves and not entertaining anyone. Even on this trip, we’re not going to any balls or dances or dinners – we’re walking the promenade and going to museums and swimming.” She sent a little playful wave of water at her mother. “There’s no one to impress with your stockings!”

“I – we’ve attended a few luncheons,” Victoria said, though even she knew that wasn’t much of an argument. “Played a round of croquet with Lord and Lady Kingsleigh. And we have visitors at home from time to time. We’re not total shut-ins.”

“Still! We’re hardly hobnobbers,” Lily said, kicking her feet idly. A faintly-wicked grin crossed her face. “And besides, Mamma, all your dresses reach the floor. No one could possibly see if you decided not to wear stockings. Why, you could get away with not even wearing shoes!”

“I most certainly could not,” Victoria declared, laughing. “Everyone would be able to tell in a moment just from my footprints in the carpet!”

“Oh, let them see your footprints,” Lily said, tossing her head as she spun away from her again. “Feet aren’t evil, you know.” She wiggled her toes in Victoria’s general direction. “Just occasionally funny-looking.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t think anyone coming to tea at our house would appreciate knowing that I’d served them barefooted. It seems at least somewhat unhygienic.”

“Why? Are you making the tea with your feet?”

Victoria snorted, then shook her head and used her arm to paddle a little closer to her daughter. “Lily, I know you think some of the rules of society are silly,” she said gently. “And that you hate the idea of anybody being forced to do something they don’t wish to. But when it comes to wearing stockings, nobody is forcing me to do anything. I like wearing stockings. I don’t feel properly dressed without them on – depending on circumstances,” she added, looking down at her bathing suit. “And I don’t think I’d feel comfortable wandering about without them, even if nobody could actually see.” She pulled tugged her daughter close to plant a salty kiss on her forehead. “I promise I won’t ever make you wear them if you don’t want. But when it comes to me – well, I do want.”

Lily squinted at her a moment – then sighed. “All right, Mamma,” she said. “I won’t throw them all away in the middle of the night. But I still think it’s silly.”

“Well, you’re allowed to think that.” Victoria gave her a little smile. “But also think this – what do you think your Grandmother Everglot would do to me if she ever knew that I was improperly dressed for an occasion?”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “She shouldn’t do anything – you’re your own person,” she snapped, then deflated. “But you’re right. I wouldn’t want to hear her carry on either.”

“Exactly – and neither does your father,” Victoria said, releasing her and going back to drifting. “Or your other mother, even if she can much more easily get away. So I think I’ll keep my stockings on.”

“Fine.” Lily tilted her head as a breeze passed over them, as if listening to some unseen whisper. “But – perhaps you could at least get some prettier ones than just plain white? Grandmother Everglot couldn’t object to patterns if they match your dress.”

Victoria flashed her a grin. “Now that I think I could take under advisement.”

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

When will we have more of Our Fathers Clad in Red?

Soon! @aifsaath and I are working on the next chapter now, but to tide you over, here's an excerpt:

“He lied to me.” Aegon frowned. Lord Larys had ridden ahead and was now laughing out loud at some remark from Lady Arryn. If his conversation with Aegon had discomfited him at all, Larys did not show it. “About Rhaena, in fact. He claimed to have knowledge of a plan to wed her to your brother. He says that is the true reason behind her sudden cooling towards Alyn.” “Cooling implies she ever warmed towards him in the first place,” Baela said, raising a brow. “But of course there are no such plans.” “I did not imagine there were.” He wondered though, when he had become so trusting. Baela could ruin him if she had a mind to, and that was a terrifying thought— and thrilling too. “Lord Larys is no fool. He was not mislead, no, he told me a lie knowing it was a lie. And he must have suspected I would know it too. To what end?” “To set you against me and my family?” Baela asked, frowning. “But the lie is too blatant, and too easy to uncover. However… perhaps he wished to test your faith. In him, or perhaps in me?” If that were the case, then his easy trust of Baela would certainly not go unnoticed. “Quarrel with me. Loudly." He pursed his lips. A spectacle would not do, he did not want to sow rumors of true discord between them. "But not too loudly. Enough for Larys to notice. Then we shall reconcile." "Shall we?" Baela gave him a wicked smile and then tossed her head before turning sharply to glare at him. “How could you ask me such a thing, Aegon? After all that we have shared, do you hold me in such low regard?”

[autistichalsin]

Snippet from the next chapter of Burdens, just to tide you all over since the chapter is taking so long <3

He inhaled, took a breath, and walked to their bedroom. He walked over to Halsin, lying on his stomach, head buried in his arms as his breath came quick and excited. Kiaran smiled to himself, chest swelling with affection, before he forced himself to turn serious once more. “My,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head as he entered. “My, my. You were so close, little kitten, to being perfect. But you just couldn’t accept your place, could you?” He walked over to Halsin, who rolled over, and tilted his chin up, tutting. “You could have just let me spoil you for the rest of your days, but instead… this.”

Halsin growled lowly. “I am a bear, not a kitten, and I am certainly not your kitten,” he said defiantly. “There are no pets in nature.”

Kiaran laughed darkly. “Sweet little kitten, you delude yourself. We aren’t in nature right now. We are in my home, and you will be what I want you to be, which means you are my pet.” He tugged at Halsin’s hair, forcing him to sit up. “If I say you’re my kitten, you are. If I say you’re my little bitch in heat, you’re that, too.” He tugged more firmly.

“Say what you will, but we are still a part of nature. And I remain loyal to my nature,” Halsin said, fixing Kiaran with a glare full of heat.

Kiaran gave a wicked smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Oh, I shall ensure you remain true to your real nature,” he promised, stepping closer to the bed. “I will never let either of us forget who you are again.”

“Good. You would do well to remember what happens when you provoke a bear,” Halsin said, baring his teeth.

It was interesting, seeing which bearish parts of Halsin were still such without the bear that lived inside him. It was hardly a surprise seeing that much of it was truly his own, but it fascinated Kiaran all the same. “Oh, cute little thing. I am not provoking a bear, I’m taunting a kitten. A cute little kitten,” Kiaran laughed, walking over and poking Halsin’s nose. Halsin growled. “A cute little kitten who will be spreading his legs and begging for more as soon as his punishment is over, and will then be crawling in my lap for pettings again. Which I shall give, because I am merciful, once the proper punishments are doled out.”

Halsin growled, swatting at Kiaran, but Kiaran just grabbed his wrist, as though he was the stronger of the two, but loose enough that it would never feel like a proper restraint, preventing Halsin from being reminded of things he didn’t want to remember. “Retract the claws, kitten, those pathetic little needles have no power here,” he scolded. “How anyone was such a fool as to let you think you were anything else is beyond me. You’re no bear, you’re a delicate, mewling house cat.”

Halsin growled again and swatted with his other arm, only for it to be pinned down too. Kiaran raised his eyebrows. “Are you quite done now? It will be very hard for me to enjoy your body this way, and I shall not be happy if you insist on making it more difficult. I already have to waste time punishing you instead of indulging myself.”