#your arms reach as far as they can and your legs reach as far as they can etc. your back too! up and out like you are being pulled!!!

[zorilleerrant]

What they didn't tell you, when you made that bargain, was that it changed from person to person how much you had to sacrifice. There have been complete strangers you've been able to resurrect for the price of a hank of hair, all the way on the other side of the world. Someone you never knew by anything but reputation might cost nothing but a palmful of blood or the skin from hands rubbed raw. The costs aren't hidden. For every potential resurrection, you know just exactly what you have to give to ignite it, and it depends on how much you care.

There are people you hate that you've managed to resurrect with a mouthful of spit. Even with your mouth gone dry from terror, you can bring back your enemies. Just because you hate them doesn't mean no one needs them back. Their families can tell how you feel, you're pretty sure, but they still hug you as they thank you for bringing someone back. They meet your eyes, afterwards, most of them. Some of them even thank you themselves. None of them bother to get in your way again, not after they're back.

You lost your smallest finger to a childhood friend. The two of you hadn't spoken in years, but still, there was that love that lingered, there were those memories like treacle making it so hard to tug a person back. When you heard, when they reached out to you on a long shot, you rushed back home.

It wasn't the first body part you lost, of course. You'd had to try. The first you lost was to the young prince, not because he was so beloved by you, but because the people wanted it badly enough it infected you with greed, delusions of grandeur, some certainty that you'd be held in estimation far above your peers. It cost you an ear, because ears are cosmetic, but it's enough to remind you, every time. How much you care is often personal, but not always.

It caught you in the mirror, right after. You hated the sight of yourself, then, staring at the brand new scar that looked years old. You wished you'd had the years to think about it. Instead, all you could do was practice until you were sure you knew how.

That was when you discovered it. Planning to dig divots into your arms and legs, you were confronted with a pit of unmourned dead, each one asking no more than a fingernail. A strand of hair. The brush of your eye against a single tear shed. You perfected your technique, that night. You practiced until you knew every shift and shimmer of the magic, and it cost you nothing at all.

You're known as a healer. You're known as a healer because you travel the land every day, in a cycle that's roughly predictable, and people can always apply for your aid. You rarely turn them down. You don't have the werewithal to care about other people's dead, anymore, which means you can care for all of them, with a sympathetic smile you barely feel on your face. Most of your kind have lost at least a leg, somewhere along the way, scarred more obtrusively than what you bear: only one whole hand, only one whole ear. There's a scar on the back of your shoulder where you were too shocked to wait for calm to bring a child back, and you think that's the last time it hit you, even if you sometimes still cry.

There was only one reason you undertook this quest, one person important enough to risk all of that, and you have to wait until you couldn't possibly care anymore, because a life that's important enough to take your life will ask it. Eventually this knowledge will wear you out. When it does, you know it will be safe to try again.

You can bring dead people to live again, but for every person you bring back, you have to sacrifice one body part

[lorasdolly]

Can i ask for Pregnant Wife!reader x Wife Ambessa. Reader is pregnant and Horny and goes and interrupts ambessa in her war meeting or some kind of meeting with like generals and important people, and Ambessa is very firm and kind and obeys her wife and just smut please 🌸

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀

You're early in your second trimester and to summarize it plainly; it's horrible. Legs cramps, swelling, headaches, backache, heartburn, and so much more. Additionally, you've have some increase in energy and lack of sleep.

Ambessa has been nothing but obedient since your pregnancy was announced to her and the rest of Noxus. She'll massage any and every inch of your body, kiss and worship it, shut down ceremonies for you, feed you, and anything that leaves your lips will be granted.

Today, your body was driving you crazy. The aching at your core, the heat pooling at the bottom of your tummy, and the slick from your cunt soaking the panties you had on. Ambessa had been quite busy too, meetings back to back, paperwork, hardly any time for you.

You wanted to fight and argue with her, mood swings tempting you to go storm in there and yell at her with tears trickling down your face. Call her all sorts of names; bad wife, meany, and more immature, childish taunts.

Yet the first time you did that, practically publicly humiliating her, she handled it far better than anyone else. She cradled your face, wiped your tears, and assured you she'd take care of everything you had going on.

Instead, today you decided to wobble your way over to the grand hall. Discussions were loud and sounded even through the thick walls, you could hear Ambessa's powerful voice calling for order and you already knew she was upset with the people gathered inside.

You swung the doors open, eyebrows knitting together as you made your way towards Ambessa at the end of the oval-shaped table. "God, 'Bessa!" You spoke, your heels clacking on the marble floor. Ambessa immediately stood, her arms wide as you stand before her.

"Dear, anything particular that brought you here?" She spoke lightly, not paying any mind to the murmurs in the hall. You nodded, your hands at her biceps for leverage. "Need you, 'Bessa, now!" You whined like a spoiled child and she sighed, her gaze darting around the room.

She grabbed your hand within hers, "Okay, dearest, let us go," She spoke firmly, placing her large hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door without making a grand disturbance. Ambessa was proud that you came in quietly and asked for what was needed instead of causing a scene.

"God, we're talking here!" A man yelled, his fists slamming against the center table. A shiver ran up your spine and Ambessa's jaw clenched. She would've taken care of that man right there, but it could've stressed you out, it might've put strain on your body.

She takes a deep breath and keeps walking before he speaks again, "Can't you control your damned wife? She's like a dog! Always getting herself where she doesn't belong—"

Ambessa thoughtlessly grabbed the man's jaw with her hand, practically lifting him off the seat, her eyes seething. His hand came towards hers, grabbing at it, his eyes pleading an apology. You were there, biting your bottom lip.

You didn't imagine you'd be this much of a bother. The only things running through your head were "Why do you always have to mess everything up?"

You grabbed at your gown and rushed out towards you and Ambessa's quarters, unable to watch the scene you had created any longer. Ambessa released the man without second thought and ran to you, opening and slamming doors till she reached the bedroom.

"Dear, god," Ambessa said, watching the tears developing in your eyes as you clench the covers in your fists. She sat besides you, cradling your body to her larger frame. "Why are you crying? Why'd you storm out?"

You tried to not let the crying turn into blubbering so you held onto Ambessa and took deep breaths. "I— I didn't think my request would cause so much trouble again–" She cut you off, her thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"You caused no trouble. That man caused it for himself, are you listening to me?" You wanted to argue and disagree, yet the firm spark in her eye made you imagine how she'd react to another disagreement.

You nodded, pursing your lips, eyes scanning the room everywhere but on Ambessa. "Now, what was that you wished of me, dearest?" She asked softly, laying you down fully on the bed with tenderness, careful not to give you too much movement.

You whimpered, hands tangling into her hair. "I feel so achey, 'Bessa." You spoke, legs spreading and make room for her.

"God, you are awfully childish with your words," She rolled her eyes yet playfully. "You require of me to help you cum, dear?" She spoke and you quivered at the vulgarity she resorted to. Her hands rested on your thighs, occasionally squeezing. "It's not— I'm not requiring you.."

She laughed, amused that you chose to focus on that segment of her words. Ambessa's fingers were already wandering beneath the waistband of your panties and hiking up your dress. She slipped them down and off your ankles, then neatly placed them on the edge of the bed.

She knew any disorder could spark a mood swing when you were pregnant.

Her hands circled your thigh as she kneeled between them, hearing your anticipatory moans as encouragement. Teasingly, her tongue circled on your inner thigh, never releasing eye contact with you. "Oh my— 'Bessa, fuck," You murmured in a high pitch regard, tugging on her hair and squirming, resisting the need to buck your cunt against her face.

"What happened to avoiding vulgarity? Watch your tongue dear, don't be a hypocrite." She taunted, pressing sloppy kisses on your cunt. You nodded frantically, avoiding the temptation to fuck her face. You trusted her enough to know everything she did had purpose. She attached her lips to your clit, all her tongue movements precise .

You moan softly, back arching off the mattress. It felt good, but you felt as if it wasn't fulfilling, Your moans died out slowly and she removed her mouth, an eyebrow cocked. "What happened, dear?" You tried not to get emotional as you spoke, "Can't see your face. Not.. doesn't feel good when you're not close to me." She chuckles, not expecting that declaration from you.

"Yeah?" She lifted herself to cover your body vertically, her hand then reaching down to your cunt, "Is this better, dear?" She asked, her head dipping low between your neck to add little wet kisses. You nod, arms circling her back and scratching at it. She inserted one finger, slowly and carefully curling it inside, then slipping another one in to match the movements.

Your face nuzzled against hers, huffing slightly with parted lips. She took that opportunity to kiss you, her tongue going between your lips as her fingers pace increased. Your hands traveled from her back to her hair, tugging once again. You could hardly return the kiss, her hand calculated every pleasurable spot. Her other hand rested on your tummy, rubbing it gently.

She began to pump her fingers in and out, the prominent squelching noises adding to the wetness between your legs. One of your hands held her jaw, sloppily continuing to kiss her. Her body engulfing yours was the only thing you needed and her hands pleasuring you added to all of the sensations.

You bucked your hips upwards against her hand and she moaned into the kiss, lips finally parting to catch your air. Her fucking you never stopped, kissing your jawline and cheek, spit all over both areas. "God– 'Bessa, I'm so– so close," You whimpered, hands moving beneath her shirt to knead her tits. Ambessa moaned throatily, quickening the pace and intensity.

Your head launched back against the pillow, cumming all over her hand within a matter of seconds. She chuckled, letting you roll your hips against her palm to ride the orgasm. "Did that cure your symptoms, dearest?" You nodded, watching as she laid down besides you. Your hands nearly immediately came to fiddle with her clothes, tugging at them, basically begging for her to help you remove them.

"Oh? Are you planning to do this again?" You shook your head at the suggestion in her tone. She quirked a brow, removing her top and tossing it to the same corners your panties were at. She then watched you tug your dress fully off and place it on the bed.

Your body came to cover hers, chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin. You whimpered shakily, needing to feel her warmth against yours. She smiled tenderly, engrossing you within her arms. "Here I was letting my mind wander... you're just too sweet." Ambessa whispered, allowing you to nuzzle between her jawline.

[boybandbaby]

Alienated (Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant!Non-BAU!Reader)

word count: 1215

warnings: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, jealous!aaron, fluff, angst? not really

note: just a silly 🤪 little idea that popped into my head - also i’ve been in the writing mood so plz send requests (please see pinned masterlist for who I write for)

Aaron had been gone for two weeks. TWO WHOLE WEEKS. 14 days. 336 hours and counting.

You had been gifted a body pillow by JJ in your first trimester. She swore by it. You didn’t need it much as Aaron was home more often now that you were pregnant.

Aaron promised to not go on any long trips when he found out you were pregnant but the last case was urgent and needed all hands on deck.

It’s Aaron’s first night back and as he adjusted his pajamas pants from under his feet, kicking his feet through the ends, he watched you fluff your pillow.

“You’re gonna sleep with that thing? It’s bigger than Jack.”

“Yeah, it’s so comfy.” You slap the sides and slam your head onto it, throwing a leg over it and sighing once comfortable.

Early on in your pregnancy, you could go without the pillow as he was around more often. But this time around you couldn’t sleep without it.

That first night back you hugged the pillow in between you on the bed. The fuzzy fabric tickled Aaron’s elbow too many times tonight. He figured he could suffer through the night with the pillow wedged into his side for a few more days. Days turned into one week. He then had to take a short trip to Minnesota for a case.

When he came back, his grudge against the pillow had grown. He would ask you to sleep without the pillow but each night he would wake to the cushion lodged in his back. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

He’d like to say it was the lack of sleep but deep down it was the lack of cuddles. Aaron would never admit out loud to being a man who loves cuddling. The team, especially Morgan would never let him live it down.

“Honey, you think we could do without the pillow for tonight? It’s far too big for our bed.”

“Handsome, I need it to sleep throughout the night. The baby likes it.”

He knew as soon as yoy said that, he would never be able to deny you the pillow. “Okay. I can’t deny my girls anything.”

“It’s a boy. I keep telling you I can feel it.” You debate. “You’re a profiler not a psychic.”

“I know that.” He deadpans as he slips under the covers and turns his lamp off. You watch as he pulls the covers over his stomach. He just looks so comfy and cute you toss your pillow to the side and snuggle up to him.

Aaron smirks triumphantly as your hand travels up his shirt and rubs his chest softly.

You focus on his deep breaths as he quickly succumbs to his sleep unlike you.

You toss and turn all night, huffing and puffing as Aaron clings to you. His arm is under your head as your belly rests against his ribcage. Aaron runs hot at nights and you need your blanket but right now you feel suffocated. You throw the blanket away from your body.

“Aaron. I can’t do this. I need to sleep with my pillow.” You groan and shift to sit up. Aaron groggily pushes at your lower back to help you up.

“I’m going to burn that pillow.” He mumbles under his breath. He believes he said it too low for you to hear but you do anyway.

“What? Why?” You gasp, pulling the pillow up from the floor.

“I haven’t gotten a proper nights sleep with that thing.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And,” he emphasizes, “you don’t cuddle me at night anymore.”

It’s rude and you know it but you laugh. A genuine, from the belly, laugh. When you thought he couldn’t look more grumpy and stoic, he surprises you. It only makes you giggle louder and longer.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m sleeping with Jack.” He throws the comforter off his lap and moves his legs over the side of the bed.

“No! No, I’m sorry.” You struggle to rise to your knees, crawling towards him and reaching out. You pull at his t-shirt before he can get off the bed. “I don’t mean to laugh but… are you jealous of my pillow?”

“I’m not jealous.” He huffs and lets you pull him back onto the bed. His back hits the mattress and you dangle over him, hands on his shoulders. He’s upside down and even then you can see how annoyed he is.

“I’m sorry I’ve neglected you, handsome.” You cup his face, fingertips tickling under his chin and thumbs rubbing his lower lip and chin. Aaron crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a barely there pout on his lips.

You lean down as best as you can with your belly in the way. You kiss his lips somehow soft even with a slight chap to them. He melts almost immediately. You sit up to look at him, hands now on your belly.

“You know sometimes, when you’re away, I wrap one of your polos or sweaters around the pillow. They smell like you and it helps me sleep.” You brush hair from his forehead. “And if I’m feeling nasty, I even put a button up and tie.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Alright, no need for that.” He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Fine, because that was really sweet and kind of funny, you can keep the pillow but it has to stay at the edge of the bed. Can’t be in between us.”

“No! I like facing you.” You pout. “I’m pregnant, you have to be nice to me.”

“I am very nice to you.” He states, sitting up. “We’re going to have to get a bigger bed.”

“That’s dramatic, Aaron but listen, I’ll compromise and sleep facing the other way as long as you spoon me.”

Aaron thinks for a moment, “deal.”

You stick out you hand for him and he immediately grabs it, shaking it.

You shake your head with a laugh before dropping back down onto the bed. You get comfortable as you snuggle against the pillow. Aaron watches and waits and when you’re settled, he shuts the light off and scoots his front flush to your back. His right hand snakes under his pillow and his left scoops under your belly.

“Just think, only a few more weeks of this and you won’t have to suffer.” You remind him, you’re reaching the end of your pregnancy.

He pulls you closer to him, head buried in the back of your neck. You feel him nod. He’s quiet and you gently twist in his arms to look at him. “You okay?”

“As much as I hate your pillow, I’m going to miss you being pregnant. I love seeing you with a bump.”

“Just think, we’ll finally have our baby. A little brother for Jack.”

“Or sister.” He whispers.

“Or sister.” You roll your eyes playfully. After a few moments of silence, you know he’s still awake, just savoring the moment with you. “Hey, do you think I can tell JJ about you being jealous of the pillow?”

“You tell JJ and she’s fired.” He jokes, “she’s my least favorite employee now.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that when I see her.” You laugh.

[peachsayshi]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when gojo has a crush on geto's childhood best friend (pt. 2)

minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

ೃ⁀➷ notes: please read part one here. my baby boy is so sweet and sincere when he's love, even though it's doesn't always come across that way x

ೃ⁀➷ tags: angst and fluff; unrequited(ish) love; pining; hurt/comfort

♡ satoru gojo was not your type. he was cocky, arrogant, obnoxious, childish and a slew of other things that you found deeply unattractive in a man his age. he somehow always manages to take everything just a little too far for your liking. his extroverted persona a bit too overwhelming for you. suguru went on and on about him, but you really couldn't see the appeal. nor could you understand what drew suguru so deeply to him.

♡ okay, maybe he's just awkward, you think. after watching this tall, muscular man walk directly into a closed door mid-conversation. he banged his face so hard against it, he made a funny noise, and you had to suppress a laugh. "are you okay?" you asked concerned, and the man simply grumbled a yes as his cheeks turned a bright pink. it's the first time you saw him blush, and your heart fluttered at the sight.

♡ "look, I know he can be a lot, but you know he's my best friend. other than you, he's the only person I would give my life for," suguru stated honestly. you were both conversing over a tub of ice cream. you were sitting cross legged on the sofa, digging your spoon into the ice cream angrily. satoru made an inappropriate joke in front of everyone that humiliated you. you did not appreciate it one bit. you rolled your eyes and left in a bitter mood. suguru stopped by your place with the ice cream trying to console you.

♡ satoru's face visibly falls when you reject hanging out with him for a movie. two tickets in his hand that he pinches together. it was his way of apologizing apparently, but you were not going to entertain the idea of spending anytime alone with him. "look," you respond with a sigh, "I forgive you, okay? but I'm busy tonight.". it seems your follow up sparked something inside him. he lifts up his face, a small smile highlighting those annoyingly handsome features. "wait, so we are cool? you aren't mad about what I said?" he asks. you exhale, "yeah, we are cool."

♡ "I think you're being really hard on him," suguru stated casually. your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "the guy is obviously making an effort to get along with you, and you keep shutting him down". you stared at your best friend with accusing eyes. "why are you taking his side?" you replied with frustration. suguru gave you a knowing look. "I am not taking sides. but I will defend either of you if necessary." you reached for your arm and pinched it with slight shame. you didn't realize how difficult you were being. "just go easy on him," suguru added on. "if not for his sake, then at least for mine. I just want you guys to get along..."

♡ surprisingly, things started going really well with satoru after you began making the conscious effort to do so. you could even say that you both were starting to become friends. satoru revealed that he was actually quite smart when you both were alone together and not in front of a crowd. he's also insanely talented but downplayed himself quite frequently and nonchalantly. his confidence, his real confidence, about his talents and wits was always subdued. you wondered if the persona he puts on for people is to simply hide away this part of himself. your heart started to expand and contract tightly when you listened to him spitball on some random scientific fact mid-discussion. satoru's incessant chatter not so annoying to you after all. as a matter of fact, he actually had a really nice voice when he was speaking calmly. at one point, he smiled and mumbled that he needed to learn to shut up. he casually ran his long, slender fingers through his snowy hair and gave you a bashful glance. your heart pattered a little faster. he can be really cute when he wants to be.

♡ you're spending a lot more time alone with him. and it's nice. like really, really nice. he's bloomed into someone unexpected. someone that catches your eye in an entirely different way. you do eventually agree to watch a movie together. the two of you were snuggled close in the theatre, sharing a bowl of popcorn. at one point you both reached for the bucket at the same time, the warmth of satoru's touch grazing over your fingers and making your thighs tremble. "sorry," he whispered as he casually lifts his hand, but his hot breath fans your cheek. you gazed up to see that his face is quite close to yours, your eyes falling to his pretty lips then back up to the sparkling blues. "i-it's okay," you answer, taken aback by the proximity of him in your space. you fold your arms over your belly swimming with butterflies, suddenly too aware of your own emotions to eat anymore.

♡ you're falling for him, when did that start happening?

♡ oh. you like him. you like him more than you should. you haven't even told suguru about it and it's eating you up inside. you haven't even admitted it out loud to yourself and that makes you scared. but you can't stop looking at him. he looks so good in his outfit - dressed to kill, and capturing everyone's attention at the party. "who are you staring at?" shoko asks. you try to brush it off, but utahime points out the obvious. suddenly you're bombarded with questions, your words failing you as you try to give an explanation.

♡ they don't accuse you, but they are curious and their wonder spins into hundreds of questions. everyone knows that you didn't like satoru gojo. what suddenly changed?

♡ "satoru is really sweet, but...he's not my type..." you blurt out in an attempt to save yourself and to give yourself some space from the weight of your realization. but only then do you see the girl's expression drop as both their eyes look above your head.

♡ satoru looks back at you crestfallen, having clearly heard what you just said. no, you think, no no no.

♡ he tugs at his collar, "excuse me-" he states as he spins on his heel. you all watch him disappear, and you're suddenly standing there wishing that the ground will swallow you whole. suguru asks the girls to give you both some privacy. the two of you stand in silence for a bit, and you realize that your best friend is giving you a chance to catch your breath. "I have to go talk to him," you blurt out, a sense of panic in your eyes. suguru just smiles. he knows you so fucking well. he takes the drink from your hand and gestures towards the door with the tilt of his head.

♡ "satoru..." you call out quietly, finding him seated outside. he doesn't react like usual, just stares at the ground before clearing his throat. he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands upright, his broad shoulders slumping. he turns around to face you, and the expression makes your brows furrow with concern. "you don't have to say anything," he explains.

♡ he stands upright, slides both his hands in his pockets and exhales in defeat. "I think it's fairly obvious that I like you. But they're just feelings right? It'll go away. I don't want to keep bothering you or wasting your time..." "satoru..." you interrupt.

"you clearly don't feel the same way, and I-I don't want to come across as a creep or make you feel uncomfortable..." "satoru, please" you beg, taking a step closer. "look, it's fine..." he says with a big grin, his eyes glossy and making you ache. "I'm a big boy, I can take rejection..." "it's not fine," you murmur with a shake of your head. "I have clearly been forcing this, making up stories in my own head. I shouldn't...I shouldn't keep taking up your precious time..." he walks up two steps, ready to bypass you but you quickly loop your arm around his bicep and tug him back. "wait-" you stammer, and he halts. frozen, you gaze at each other in contemplation. your other hand reaches for his jaw, and his body stiffens against your touch. "just...wait..." you softly add on, trying to rationalize your own feelings and what this could all mean. you tilt your head up, your thumb outlining his jaw. your eyes fall to his parted lips, your own seeking him out. you kiss him sweetly, apologetically, affectionately.

satoru is stunned. his eyes fall hazy like he can't believe what just happened. he looks so cute that you can't help but smile, your thumb moves to swipe the lipstick over his bottom lip.

"I-..." he mumbles dreamily, slowly angling his body in your direction. he gulps down the raw hurt. "I thought I'm not your type..."

"you're not," you answer back cheekily, your arms moving to circle around his neck while his own hands find your hips. "but I think that's exactly why I like you. you're everything I didn't expect."

his forehead drops against yours as a wave of relief washes over him. "you like me?"

you nip at your bottom lip, teasing the tip of his nose with yours. "yeah," you answer a little breathlessly, before smiling into another kiss "I really do."

♡ when suguru wakes up the next morning, the first text he receives is from satoru. after you both disappeared from the party last night, he had to follow up.

suguru: let me guess, did you both kiss and make up? satoru: I just left her place, heading back to mine now. suguru: spare me any gross details please. satoru: I feel like I am dreaming. last night wasn't real suguru: pretty real, bud. so, don't fuck it up. satoru: just pinch me when you see me, alright? I need to make sure.

[quinloki]

Quin's Terrible Two's

Here we are at the back half of the Tumblrversary event \o/ Some polls are closed, Some Are Still Going (go vote!)

The votes have been counted, the results have been assessed! Now it's time for What Happens Because of All of That <3

So without further ado -- /hands the results of the poll off to Marco, while Sabo's already caught you with his gaze/

Split Desires

CW: oral received, oral given, inappropriate use of DF, face sitting, over-stimulation, the gloves stay on, naked reader clothed blorbos

Sabo looks at you as Marco looks over the poll results.

“Smash both won, yoi.” He says evenly, eyes shifting from the results to your face, before looking over at Sabo. “I did get a few more votes, but it’s a slim difference.”

“Quite alright,” Sabo hums with a grin, reaching out and putting his gloved hand gently against the side of your face. His grin breaks into a smile as you nuzzle into the touch, lips parting softly as the pad of his thumb runs over them.

He presses just a little and you open your mouth, letting him press the leather of his glove against your tongue.

“Divine.” Sabo husks as Marco stands behind you.

Marco pulls the zipper at the back of your sun dress, leaning down and pressing kisses into your shoulders as Sabo watches you lick and suck his thumb. Soft hums moan against his digit as Marco presses gentle pleasures into your shoulders with his lips, brushing the sleeves of your dress aside and slowly lowering the garment down your arms.

“Nothing underneath,” Marco hums as the thin material falls around your feet. “Glad you were looking forward to this.”

Sabo’s eyes don’t move away from your face, still watching as your body flushes, teasing his thumb with your teeth and lips. You’re trying to look back at him coyly, but it’s hard to match his intensity. Marco has you widen your stance a little and then he whispers into your ear, but you can feel his eyes on Sabo.

“Be a good girl and sit on my face while you suck on something a little more… satisfying, yoi.” He hums, sending a thrill down your back. You think you should ask if he’s sure he wants you on his face when a long, deep blue, tapered tongue wraps around Sabo’s thumb.

Your eyes go wide and you watch the tongue go back to Marco’s  mouth before you swallow thickly, nodding a little as the hooded eyes finally pull your gaze away from Sabo’s for a moment.

Marco lays down on the couch and helps Sabo help you to straddle his face. The couch gives you enough room to put your knees on either side of his head, and steady yourself against the armrest. Marco puts his hands on your thighs, steadying you even more and easily shifting you as he needs.

Sabo steps back from the arm of the couch, just far enough away you can’t reach him, eyes watching your face as Marco’s normal tongue explores your folds for a moment. The skilled muscle slips between your labia, lapping and pressing against everything until he licks up in a rush and flicks the tip of his tongue along your clit.

Gasping, your legs shiver as he gives the sensitive bundle of nerves more and more attention, his longer fingers reaching between your thighs and spreading your lips open. You moan and nearly double over the armrest.

Sabo steps closer, pulling back his jacket for you and putting his belt close enough you can reach it. He doesn’t say anything, the action speaking loud enough, and you undo his belt buckle, and then his pants, freeing his hard cock. The flushed tip begins to leak as you lick your lips.

“Take your time, dove.” Sabo coos, stepping a little closer, keeping his hands on his hips, holding his jacket back.

As you lean forward, Marco sucks on your clit, causing you to cry. A soft gasp escapes Sabo at the sight, and his fingers tighten inside his gloves before you finally lick the tip of his cock. The expression on his face is easy and soft, but his entire body is tensed as you lick and suckle the tip, working your way down slowly, taking more and more, humming against his skin every time Marco bullies you.

After a moment Sabo sheds the coat he’d been holding back. Reaching out he brushes your hair back, holding it out of the way so he could watch you go down on him better. As he moves your hair aside Marco shifts between your thighs, his tongue prodding your entrance. The rigid tapered tongue presses in slowly and carefully, massaging your walls as his nose settles against your clit.

You moan against Sabo’s cock and his hand tightens in your hair, though he’s careful not to tug on it.

Large hands roam your legs, fingers squeezing your ass as his tongue coils and pushes in deeper. The control he has over the transformation has your eyes rolling back, just barely catching sight of Sabo’s tongue slipping along his upper lip. He pushes into your throat, his first truly active action since this began and you moan deeply.

“Listen to you,” he muses, voice low and soft as he pulls you deeper onto his cock. “You sound like you were starving for me.”

Pulling back a little you nod, rolling your tongue against his tip and looking up at him with the most focus you can muster, considering Marco’s tongue has found your g-spot. Your legs shudder, eyes going a little cross as Sabo uses both hands to hold you in place while Marco forces you over the edge.

“Keep your mouth open, dove.” Sabo instructs, his voice carrying more command and volume than it was earlier. He’s slowly sliding his cock against your tongue as it hangs out of your mouth. Uncouth sounds dribble from your lips as your fingers white knuckle against the leather of the couch’s arm rest, spots dappling your vision as what you thought was the peak was only the beginning of your ascent.

“You’re bullying her,” Sabo muses, his words more for Marco than you. “Quite effectively,” he sighs as he starts pushing himself deeper and deeper into your mouth.

Marco’s finger presses against the tight ring of your ass while his tongue coils inside your cunt enough to make you groan from the feeling. You breathe in deep as the long-building orgasm finally crests and Sabo shoves his cock down your throat. Marco’s iron grip holds you in place as he laps up and prolongs your orgasm, and Sabo grunts as he cums down your throat, coating your choking cry of pleasure with his own release.

He doesn’t linger, pulling out of your throat and helping you stay up right as you cough and gasp, breathing in deep and almost growling as Marco’s continued bullying has you moving toward a second orgasm before you’d even begun to process the first one.

“Saahh- Sabo,” you gasp as he cups your face and kneels down to be at eye-level with you. “I’mma, mmmmmngh… kuh-again, I’mma,” Sabo puts his thumb against your tongue, holding your face in place. His eyes are on his thumb in your mouth for a few seconds before he looks up into your eyes and smile.

“Try not to bite my thumb off, sweet dove. I don’t think he’s going to stop until you squirt on his face.”

“Ah ‘ever un at,” you try to explain you’ve never done that with Sabo’s thumb on your tongue, and Marco’s tongue licking your soul, but the words don’t really come out. The stimulation and exertion has tears in the corners of your eyes, causing Sabo to lean forward and carefully lick them away with the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sure you’ll have it down to a science by the time we’re done, sweet dove.” He assures you, drinking in every shivered expression on your face. You feel the warmth of his gloved hand against your breast.

“Allow me to help.”

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Blood brother

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: I kind of hate it. It's so long since I wrote something and it feels like first time again. I have wanted to write it for a while already but never got to it. It's a wonderful idea planted into my head by the lovely @thenameswinter99 in one of our chats but I know I made it different, so I hope you'll not be angry with me. Warnings: actually none. Some description of violence but nothing very graphical Word Count: 8,7 K (sorry 😅) Summary: having lost everything and thinking she's been abandoned by everybody, even her best friend Sihtric, reader on her quest for revenge founds out that life can be full of surprises and that there is always space for hope

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

The night was dark, the feeble, pale light of the new moon barely illuminating your path through the woods. You shuddered as if trying to shake off the cold, the chill air biting your cheeks and each exhale leaving a shimmering, silvery fog in the air. Yet you didn’t stop, didn’t turn back. Just the opposite. 

Your small feet quickened their pace, finding the path beneath them with the assuredness of a cat on the hunt, and with each step you took your eyes adjusted further to the darkness and to the eerie shadows and flickering shapes the moonlight made dancing around you.  

You should have been scared, a small girl alone in the middle of the forest, the familiar and warm lights of your home far behind. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You pressed on, ducking under the bony, outstretched arms of thorn bushes and leaping over moss covered, fallen trunks. Yes, there had been fear, but that was before. Before this forest had become your home, your secret ally, the protector of your dreams. Before you had learned to become one with it, to listen to its whispers, to feel its heartbeat in the quiet rustling of the leaves.

Before you had met him. 

—----------------------------------------------------

The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon, making the shadows grow longer, and a distant crack of a twig sent your heart racing. You had never been so scared before in your whole life. 

You had been picking berries, one step leading to another, each shiny little red perl hidden in the green tapestry of shrubs inviting you further and further from the familiar path until there was no path at all, only an impenetrable thicket of trees and bushes all looking alike.

You clutched the small basket you had been carrying as if it could shield you.

That was when you heard that low, unmistakable growl behind you.

You spun around and froze, your legs refusing to obey your desperate need to run. A wobbly step back sent you tumbling to the ground, a loud shriek escaping your lungs. 

Wolf, as if stepped out of the fairy tales your grandma told you before sleep. You had never seen one before but there was no doubt, your grandma had always been a vivid teller of stories. 

Eyes wide open you stared at the majestic animal before you and waited. Waited for the end to come. 

“Don’t move,” a soft and strangely calm voice reached you as a small silhouette of a boy probably the same age as yourself suddenly stepped between you and the wolf. “It can feel your fear.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered, as tears started to stream down your face.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

The wolf snarled, shifting its weight as though preparing to pounce but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, meeting the animal’s gaze head-on. A strange, low sound rumbled from his throat—a growl, so very similar to the one the wolf had made just a moment ago that you couldn't help but shudder.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a while they just stood there staring at each other. A soft whine escaped you from the burning feeling in your lungs as you realised you’d been holding your breath, and you felt wolf's gaze shifting between you and the boy as if considering his chances.

The boy leaned forward slightly, his thin frame taut like a drawn bowstring. The wolf snarled, its hackles raised, but there was a slight uncertainty in its posture now. The boy didn’t waver, his eyes locked with the creature as he bared his teeth.

The wolf hesitated, its tail giving a flick of irritation, and then with a final growl, it broke eye contact, lowered its head and started to step backward. Its movements were slow, reluctant, as if it hated admitting defeat, but after a few steps it turned and with a few leaps disappeared into the shadows.

The boy straightened, his small chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, and for the first time, he turned to you, “It’s gone,” he said simply but you just continued to stare at him, your ability to speak stolen from you both by fear and awe plainly written on your face.

The boy was thin and malnourished, with bruises on his arms and legs, clothes hanging off his bony frame and the dirt smudged on his face, his bare foot rustling against the soft forest ground. 

He looked fragile, even breakable, but it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that struck you most, it was his eyes. One was a piercing blue, while the other earthy brown, shining with an inexplicable mixture of defiance and warmth.

“You shouldn’t wander this far into the woods alone,” he added, tilting his head and observing you with open curiosity, and you noticed how melodic and soft his voice actually was. “It’s not safe.”

It felt like a dream. He extended a hand to help you up, and you took it, your fingers trembling against his. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he led you back to the path, your hand safely in his.

You both reached the edge of the forest in silence where he released your hand reluctantly, his fingers slipping away so slowly as though they didn’t want to let go. The boy's large, expressive eyes followed you as you stepped into the meadow, and it suddenly struck you that you had not the slightest idea who your mysterious saviour was. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, turning around and finally finding your voice even if it still sounded shaky.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting back toward the trees, as if unsure whether to answer or rather retreat. “Sihtric,” he said at last, his tone strangely wary, eyes darting to the ground. “Sihtric Kjartansson.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked.

His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. “Maybe,” he finally said, but the faint glimmer in his mismatched gaze told you he would.

The next day, you returned with fresh bread and a small portion of ham tucked neatly into your linen shoulder bag. You weren’t sure if he would really come, but you hoped, and as you crossed the meadow, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, leaning casually against the trunk of the great oak.

“I brought you something,” you said as you stretched out your hand to offer the loaf of fresh bread. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between your face and the bread, his beautiful eyes mirroring a quiet surprise. It seemed as if he wasn’t used to kindness.

“You saved my life,” you added. “Please, let me thank you.”

Sihtric’s fingers slightly brushed against yours as he took the bread, and the brief contact sent a surprising rush of warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to look away, as you suddenly became aware of the heat rising in your face.

“Thank you,” he said at last as he held the loaf carefully, almost reverently, as though it was something precious. 

—---------------------------------------------------

You stopped, listening to a call of an owl echoing through the stillness of the night, before resuming your run. It was the signal and you were late.

“And I already thought you’d chickened out and wouldn’t come,” a familiar voice greeted you as you stumbled into the small clearing, a faint taunt lacing the words. 

“Mom stayed up late with her sewing,” you replied, breathless from your relentless sprint through the woods. “I couldn’t sneak out before she went to bed.”

A small figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby trees. Without hesitation you grabbed the hand outstretched towards you and let it guide you to the center of the clearing with a makeshift arch formed by a strip of turf propped up by three spears.

“Sihtric, where did you get these?” you asked, your eyes widening as you admired the haphazard construction.

“Everyone’s busy packing and fussing around,” Sihtric replied almost nonchalantly. “It was easy to grab a few things and sneak away. But I’ve got to bring them back before dawn, or I’ll get the shit beaten out of me.”

You shuddered, turning to look at the boy beside you. Sihtric’s voice was steady, but there was that subtle set of his jaw and the faint quiver in his grip.

“Stay,” you said. You wanted to sound confident, resolute but the way the word trembled on your lips, that sudden crack in your voice, it all betrayed your desperation. “Hide in the woods, and when they’ll be gone, come to my house. My father won’t turn you away if I ask him to take you in.”

But you already knew the answer.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his response almost a whisper. “I can’t leave my mom. She needs me. I have to take care of her.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, wishing there was something else you could do, something else you could say to make him change his mind. You knew there wasn’t. Your small world was falling apart, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, withdrawing your hand and reaching into the small linen bag slung over your shoulder. “I brought fresh bread. Mom baked it just yesterday.”

Sihtric smiled faintly, just a shadow of his usual mischievous grin, but his gaze returned to the arch.

“Let’s do it first, if you are still sure about it,” he tugged you gently toward the arch. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You wanted to smile, but your lips trembled. “Of course I am. ” 

“Alright.” Sihtric let out a shaky breath, and crouched down to retrieve a small knife he’d hidden in the grass beneath the arch, its blade a bit dull but still usable.

Without any further hesitation he drew the blade lightly across his forearm. The cut was clean and straight, a thin red line beading quickly with blood. He hissed softly at the sting but held steady, extending his arm to you.

“Your turn.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you took the knife, not that you were afraid of the pain. It was the significance of the moment that made your heart hammer in your chest. Sihtric watched you carefully, something like concern flickering across his face.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared,” he said quietly.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed at Sihtric, tightening your grip on the handle and pressing the blade to your forearm, but your hand slipped slightly, and the cut ended up uneven and jagged. You gasped at the sharp pain, your free hand instinctively reaching out to press against the cut.

“You alright?” Sihtric asked, alarm evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “It’s fine. It’s just... shit, it’s so crooked.”

He gave you a small, encouraging smile. “Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

Sihtric held out his arm, his bloodied cut facing yours. You looked up, trying to read the expression on his face before pressing your wounds together. Sihtric wrapped a strip of fabric around your joined arms, and you helped him to tie it tighter.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Now we have to say it.”

You both spoke at the same time, voices barely above whispers but full of determination. 

“Our blood is one,

joined under the moon and stars.

Brother and sister for life and beyond.

Your pain is my pain; your joy – my joy.

Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone.”

The world around suddenly felt still, as though even the forest was holding its breath because you both surely were. 

You looked down at your bound arms, a small but proud smile touching your lips.

“Remember the wolf?” you suddenly asked, breaking the quiet.

Sihtric glanced at you, a small, knowing smile brightening up his eyes. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Liar,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. But deep down, you knew it was true.

He reached out to ruffle your hair with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but lough. “Come on, sister,” he said. “Let’s eat that bread before the night gets colder.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The door closed with a quiet thud behind you as you slumped your back against it, fighting to steady your frantic breathing, to silence the voice in your head, screaming that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Raising your trembling hand, you let your fingers hover over your burning lips. Your very first kiss. Light like a feather, hot like a fire. You hadn’t planned this. You didn’t even fully understand how it had happened. 

It was just that strange feeling as Sihtric’s fingers had hesitated to let go of your hand just like that first time you had met, that haunting look of regret and sadness in his beautiful, mismatched eyes and the heaviness in your own chest. It all had been too much to bear for your small, fragile heart, so you just did it. The only thing you could think of. 

You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

And then you ran. 

You ran as if your life depended on this, as if a hundred wild beasts were chasing you down, the touch of Sihtric’s soft but slightly chapped lips against yours burning in your mind. 

Your very first kiss. A good by. A farewell. A promise. 

You’ll not walk your path alone.

___________________________________________

You shifted carefully, stretching your numb legs one at a time. The night was cool but thanks gods – dry, a welcome change after an endless week of steady mizzling. That annoying faint drizzle was capable of seeping through every seam of your leather armour, soaking through all layers down to your undergarments and drenching it until there was not a single dry thread left. 

The Danish camp lay just beyond the treeline, its fires casting flickering shadows across the ground. You had been following them for weeks – them and other groups travelling from and to Dunholm. 

Your breath was slow and even. This was far from being new to you. Nights spent on the hard earth under the beautiful blanket of stars had long become your way of life. You didn’t complain, you had learned to endure, to let the numbness creep into your body without letting it dull your mind.

You shifted again, crouching closer, trying to get a better view on the fireplaces and to be able to catch glimpses of conversations. The underbrush rustled softly, and you froze, waiting for any sign that you’d been heard. Nothing. The camp remained busy but apparently oblivious of your presence.

Your fingers instinctively checked for the hilt of the dagger at your hip. All you wanted was to sneak through the bushes right into that nest of wasps, taking one life after another, quiet and deadly. But it was not yet the right time for that. 

You had dreamt of it for years. Of being here. Of finding your way into that damned fortress. Of wiping the name of the man that had taken everything from you from this world and any other worlds that possibly existed whether they called them Valhalla or Heaven. 

There hadn't been a single night that you haven’t woken up covered in sweat from the scattered images of the smoldering ruins of your home dancing before your closed eyes as clearly as the stars above you now. It was as if you could still smell the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh. 

Every fiber of your being longed to storm through Dunholm’s gates, to plunge your blade into Kjartan’s heart and to burn it all down to the ground as they had done to you. But you knew too well that this was not possible, that this would only lead to your own doom and not theirs. You had to wait and lurk in the dark, searching for a way that would ensure their ruin. You had waited years for this. You could wait a little longer. 

“Distracted, are we?” a soft voice murmured near your ear, calm and quiet as in the same moment you felt a cold steel pressing against your throat. Your body tensed up and your fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, readying for the strike. 

“Move, and you’ll lose your head,” the voice continued, the blade pressing just a fraction closer and a hand landed on your shoulder, keeping you in place.  

You cursed yourself silently, the threat was as calm as it was deadly.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

You hesitated, your mind weighing the odds.

“Now,” he snapped, his tone sharpening.

“Fine,” you said, slowly pulling out the dagger and then you felt it – a shift in his grip, the tiniest slackening of pressure. It was all you needed.

You twisted sharply, pulling away from the blade while driving your elbow backward into his ribs. His grunt of surprise was satisfying, but you didn’t stop. Spinning on your heel, you unsheathed your dagger completely and brought it up between you.

The two of you stood frozen, knives pointed at each other’s throats. It was too dark to see the man clearly. The firelight from the camp didn’t reach your hideaway, and the moon was new, just a small slice in the dark sky, casting only fleeting, shifting shadows over his face. 

All you could tell was that he was young, well built and lean, unmistakably a Dane and a warrior. You were pretty sure he didn’t belong to the camp you were spying on as you  knew by now all the men there – an observation that did nothing to calm you as he still could be an enemy. 

His grip on his own blade was steady and his breathing even. If he was surprised by your sudden move, he didn’t show it, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that kept you on edge.

“Who are you?” He was the first to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your dagger: “That depends on what your intentions are.”

“That depends on what you’re doing here,” he shot back, and for a split second you thought there was something strangely familiar in his slightly mocking tone.

You hesitated, your mind racing for some plausible reply as there was no way of revealing your true purpose. “I’m just passing through,” you said finally, knowing that the simple answer will not satisfy, but you needed some time to decide on your next move.

“Passing through?” the young warrior snorted. “Near a Danish camp, armed, and skulking in the shadows? Whom are you trying to fool?”

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to mask your nerves with defiance. “What are you doing here?”

But before you could continue the exciting conversation a distant shout shattered the stillness.

“Someone’s out there!”

Your breath hitched. The sound of boots hurriedly stumping against the ground grew louder, accompanied by the glint of torchlight weaving through the trees. The young Dane glanced toward the noise and then back to you as if weighing his options.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, pulling his blade back. “We can’t be found here.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep your guard up but the sound of the approaching Danes left little choice, and you carefully lowered your own weapon.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “But if you try anything—”

“Save the threats,” he snapped, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist, and before you could protest, he was leading you through the dense forest. You stumbled after him, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter with every step. He moved like a shadow, his pace quick but deliberate, his grip firm enough to keep you close without hurting you.

When you finally stopped, your chest was heaving, and your lungs burned from the frantic run. It seemed that you had shaken off the pursuers at least for now. 

“Now,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath, “who are you really? And why were you watching the camp?”

He didn’t seem like a raider nor one from Kjartan’s men but he was clearly dangerous, and trusting him was a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

“I’m no one,” you said softly. “Just someone trying to survive. I’m no threat to you. You were not keen to be discovered by the Danes in the camp, nor am I. Let’s just part in peace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Survivors don’t spy on camps full of Danes. And they certainly don’t carry daggers like yours.”

You glared at him, your fingers itching to draw the weapon again. “And what about you? You’re not exactly a farmer out for a midnight stroll.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

“Then maybe we should leave it at that,” you said with a sly smile.

He tilted his head, studying you in the dim light. “For now,” he said slowly. “But don’t think I trust you.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, even as a small part of you couldn’t ignore the strange pull you felt toward him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his voice, that spoke to you, that reminded you of something, making shivers run down your spine but before you could give it another thought a distant shout broke the moment.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone all serious again. “They won’t stop searching until they’re sure the woods are clear.”

You nodded reluctantly as the distant shouts grew louder and suddenly the torchlight started weaving through the trees like restless fireflies. Both of you tensed, instinctively drawing your blades and exchanging a sharp glance. An unspoken agreement passed between you: survival first, questions later.

Then the Danes burst through the trees.

“Over here!” one of them roared, his axe glinting in the firelight, and more followed.

The man beside you—lean, quick, and deadly—moved before you could think. His blade flashed in the dim light, cutting down the first attacker. You followed, blocking a strike aimed at your side and countering with a swift slash to your opponent’s arm. The Dane howled in pain, but there was no time to celebrate your small victory as another man charged at you, forcing you to dodge and roll, barely escaping his axe as it came down.

You fought together as if you had had years of practice behind. You couldn’t help but admire the way the young warrior moved, his movements fluid and practiced, filled with wild ferocity. The two of you were a perfect balance as if this were a dance where each movement needs to be attuned to the other, seamlessly covering each other as the Danes closed in.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp blow caught you off guard, knocking the dagger from your hand and making you stumble. You groaned in pain as a Dane’s boot sank into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. Before you could recover a blade was pressed against your neck.

“Drop your weapon!” the man yelled, jerking you to your feet and wrenching your arm behind your back. 

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies,” the Dane repeated, his eyes narrowing at your companion.

You snorted loudly, the sound sharp and defiant, despite the blade pressed against your throat. “You think that’s a threat?” you spat. “He doesn’t even know me.” 

You looked over to the young warrior, frozen for a moment, his knife and axe still in his hands, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something flickered across his face – annoyance, or was it concern as he turned, his eyes fixed on you for a brief moment before shifting to the man holding you. 

You could clearly see the hesitation in the young warrior, his jaw tightening, his movements deliberately slow as he scanned the Danes around all ready to resume the fight. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He raised his hands slowly, letting the weapons fall from his fingers.

“I surrender,” he said with a steady voice. “Let her go.”

The words hit you almost like a blow. Why would he do this? He could have fought his way out and fled. You were a complete stranger to him. 

The Danes exchanged glances and one of them stepped forward, pointing his axe at the stranger. “You’ll come with us, both of you.”

Before either of you could respond, rough hands shoved you forward, the blade leaving your neck but replaced by the iron grip of two men dragging you away. Your companion was similarly manhandled and brought to walk next to you.

You risked a hidden glance at the young warrior beside you, as you still couldn’t grasp why he had done this. What was his plan?

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“Saving your neck,” he replied quietly, meeting your surprised gaze for a brief moment.

And that was when you saw them – his eyes. The light from the torches caught him just enough for you to see the young man’s face clearly for the very first time of your hectic encounter. But you didn’t pay attention to anything else apart from the eyes. They were of different colour. One blue, one hazel brown. 

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t possible. It simply couldn’t be. 

You turned away as quickly as you could, stumbling over a tree root. The grip on your arm twisted behind your back painfully tightened but you almost didn’t notice it, your mind too busy trying to reconcile the image before you with another one. 

The mismatched gaze of a boy you had trusted, the boy who had stood beside you beneath a makeshift arch, who had held your hand as your blood mingled. The son of the man who had destroyed everything – your life, your family, your dreams. Your entire world, reduced to ash and bitter memories, and he had been part of it, whether by blood or by silence. 

You shook your head in a silent dialogue with yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. It can’t be him, you told yourself. It isn’t him. But even as you repeated the thought, a part of you still whispered that it might be. And if it was, you didn’t know whether to feel relief, rage, or something else entirely.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The coarse rope bit into your wrists with each futile struggle trying to loosen it. You sat with your back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree. The Danes had done a thorough job, binding the two of you on opposite sides of the same tree so tight to make even the smallest movement uncomfortable. 

Your companion on the other side of the tree, if one could call him that, had been absolutely silent all this time. Being a bit uncooperative when it came to letting himself be tied, he had earned several heavy blows to his abdomen and a split lip.

You shifted slightly, testing again the ropes that bound you both, and hissed as the fibers just dug deeper into your skin. It all just made no sense. It just couldn’t be him. The Kjartan’s men, you’d been spying on, were out to kill him and had tied him up without hesitation. They hadn’t recognized him as one of their own, as Kjartan’s blood.

You bit your lip, trying to coax both your body and mind to relax. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Sihtric leaned his head back against the tree. The sharp ache that radiated from his ribs almost made him groan. The blows he’d taken were nothing new; the pain being a constant companion in his life had long ceased to bother him. But this - being tied up, unable to move freel - this clawed at something deep inside him, making his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists against the rope, hoping that the sharp pain in his wrists would stop his mind from wandering back to the dark days under Kjartan’s roof, where being bound wasn’t just punishment but a lesson in submission, a lesson in unworthiness of his life to his own father. 

He had vowed to himself long ago never to let anyone have that power over him again. Yet here he was, beaten and bound like a dog because he had been foolish enough to be distracted.  

He cursed himself for his carelessness. He had seen the torches, heard the shouts, he knew the risk, he should have just left and run, yet he had lingered, drawn to you like a moth to flame. Why on earth had he decided to draw you with him?

There was something about the woman who now sat on the other side of the tree, that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. 

Sihtric closed his eyes, trying to force the thought away, but it lingered. With a loud scoff he hit his nape against the bark of the tree in frustration just to wince in the pain.  It had been stupid, yet he knew he would do exactly the same all over again.

He felt you shifting, straining against the ropes, testing their strength over and over again. It must be painful, he thought, yet you didn’t give up, you must have been scared.

“Hey, survivor, are you afraid?” he suddenly found himself asking, somewhat surprised by the hoarse sound of his own voice. “Spare your strength. You’ll need it. You’ll see, I’m getting us out of here.” 

The silence around the both of you stretched, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Danes, sitting at the fire. You just snorted at the stranger's question. 

Afraid? You couldn’t even remember the last time you were afraid. 

People are afraid if they have something to lose, something they care about. You had nothing. The last faint hope had left you as the rumors reached you that your brother Ragnar – the only one from your family who was not there on the night of fire – had suffered a shipwreck at the coasts of Ireland. 

You were alone in this world, you had nobody to care for, nothing to lose. You had nothing to live for apart from revenge and that was not a reason enough to fear death, to fear anything. 

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “Why surrender yourself to spare me? You don’t even know me.”

Sihtric tilted his head, staring at the dark canopy above. Here it was. He had wanted to calm you, to reassure you, to give you something to hold on to and you came back with questions. Questions he had no real answer to. 

“Are you complaining that I saved your life?” he said, his voice almost hollow. 

There was a pause, and he could feel you shift against the ropes again. 

“No,” you whispered back. “I … I just don’t understand.”

Sihtric closed his eyes briefly, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Sometimes it’s just like that. It just… felt like the right thing to do.”

“You risked your life because it felt right?”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You make it sound foolish.”

“It is foolish,” you exclaimed, unable to hide the bewilderment in your voice.

“Then you owe your life to a fool,” he countered quietly. 

You opened your mouth to reply but found no words and before you could think of something more coherent to reply you were interrupted by the crunch of boots nearing the both of you.

“Get up,” the Dane barked, crouching down to slice through the ropes binding you to the tree. The sudden release sent a jolt through your stiff limbs, but you barely had a moment to process it before his hand clamped around your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Sihtric’s voice was sharp and there was an edge of worry beneath his tone, impossible to miss, as he struggled fiercely against his own bindings. His movements were desperate but ultimately futile, the ropes biting into his skin.

“Not your concern,” the Dane snapped, his grip on your arm tightening as he gave you a rough shove forward.

You stumbled, barely catching your balance, his bruising grip forcing you to move forward. The Dane dragged you toward one of the larger tents near the camp’s center, and your heart pounded against your ribs as you sensed your chance of escape nearing. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the sting of it forcing you to regain focus.

Behind you could hear the young warrior’s voice, louder this time, laced with barely restrained fury, but it only made your captor laugh - a low, cruel sound that twisted your stomach in disgust.

—----------------------------------------------------

The Dane’s body hit the fur laden ground with a soft thud. You crouched down as you listened, fingers wrapping tighter around the hilt of the dagger you had snatched from the sheath strapped to his back.

“Men,” you muttered under your breath. “Cocksure arselings.”

You froze ready to leap, the faint rustle of the tent flaps catching your attention as a figure burst into the tent. You were ready to strike just to stop at the last moment as you recognised it. 

“Shit,” you hissed. “I could have killed you.” But the wide-eyed completely dumbfounded expression on the young warrior's face caught you off guard and made you let out a soft laugh. 

You always preferred a fair battle over the stealthy death in the shadows, but this time you had no choice. The majority in the camp were too drunk to notice anything at first and when they did it was already too late. 

You met the young warrior at the fireplace, both slightly panting, the blood covered hands and the eerie silence around you the only signs of what had happened. 

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, his large eyes flickering with the same resentment that churned in your stomach. 

“I’m fine,” you returned, only now noticing the raw and bloody red lines around his wrists where the ropes had dug into his skin, betraying his earlier struggle.

“You want me to clean them?” you asked, your tone more calm as the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away.

He blinked, seeming surprised by your offer, then nodded slowly. “If you can spare the time,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“Hey, you saved my life. Please, let me thank you,” you murmured, reaching into the pouch at your belt and pulling out a strip of cloth, a small flask of water and a tin of salve, and you didn’t even notice the warrior's eyes widening at your words.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to clogs at the fireplace. He hesitated before lowering himself, casting a few more surprised glances at your side.

Gently, you poured water over his wrists, watching the dirt and blood wash away. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing, his eyes following your every move.

“You shouldn’t have struggled so hard,” you chided lightly, trying to focus on the task but being constantly distracted by the sight of his muscular arms highlighted by the sleeveless cut of his armour. 

He let out a quiet huff. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Didn’t expect you to be so quick to deal with him.”

You smirked, dipping your fingers into the small tin of salve and smoothing it gently over the raw, red marks on his wrists. “Guess you’ll think twice next time about underestimating me.”

As you reached to wrap a strip of cloth around his wrist, he pulled his hands back slightly. “It’s enough… thank you,” he murmured, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

You raised an eyebrow, noting the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Are you embarrassed to let me help you?”

“No,” he said quickly, though the way he avoided your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck betrayed him. “I just… it will hamper me if it comes to another fight.”

You took his hands firmly yet gently, pulling them back. “Hey, don’t be foolish. It will not disturb you more than those,” you nodded toward the thick golden arm rings on his upper arms. “But it will definitely hamper you if these get infected and swell. Hold still. ”

He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, clearly unsure where to look. “I’m not used to—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Not used to what?” you prompted, glancing up as you tied the bandage securely.

“Being… taken care of,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you smirked. “Even warriors need someone to patch them up sometimes.”

“You’re good at this,” he muttered a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his voice, and you smiled, catching the faintest trace of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

You had no idea why you agreed when he suggested spending the rest of the night in the camp. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to leave it all behind  and never look back, but you just nodded and followed him to the bigger tent in the middle of the camp. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, survivor,” he smirked, showing you toward the keep of furs.

A hundred times, you wanted to ask it, to ask for his name, and a hundred times you swallowed back the question burning on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to know and you didn’t. You didn’t know what to do with the truth. You had been angry for so many years, partially blaming Sihtric for what had happened, questioning why he hadn’t warned you, why he hadn’t come for you when everything fell apart. 

You had no idea what you would do if this young, strikingly handsome, strong and deadly warrior was indeed the same wide eyed boy you had kissed on the edge of a meadow, your blood brother, the oath breaker.

You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you settled down into the softness of the furs. You wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on him but the uneven struggle ended far too quickly and your eyes fell close. 

Sihtric settled himself near the entrance, picking up the only task that made sense - sharpening his blades. Not that they really needed sharpening but he needed something to focus on – the repetitive rhythm of the movement, the sound of stone gliding over the blade, the simple feeling of purpose in what he was doing.

Not that it really helped this time as his attention kept straying, his eyes constantly drawn back to you.

He couldn’t explain it, that strange pull he felt toward you, that familiarity, that sense that he had known you for ages, that thrill and the way his heart had jumped in his chest when your fingers brushed against his skin.

You suddenly moaned in your sleep, your breathing turning shallow and uneven as you twitched and shifted. Sihtric stilled, his brow furrowing as he slowly set the blade aside.

He knew this all too well - the restlessness of the nights, the fear of closing his eyes, the helplessness of being dragged into the realm where will withdrew and dreams took over. And for all your courage, fierceness and confidence in waking life it seemed that in that realm you were hopelessly losing your battle. 

“Hey,” he whispered, slowly crouching closer and placing his hand on your shoulder. You stirred, but didn’t wake up. “You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

For a moment Sihtric just watched the shadows dancing on your face, hoping that you would calm down, but your breathing grew more ragged and another whimper rolled over your lips. 

He didn’t know whether it was a conscious decision or something else more primal, more instinctive as he carefully laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. 

You were ripped from your sleep by the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You instinctively froze, willing your breath to even out and preparing yourself to reach for the blade.

“It’s just a dream,” the soft murmur of his voice caught you by surprise. “You’re safe now.” 

The moments passed on but nothing happened, he held you just like that, his muscular chest pressed against your back, his embrace steady, firm but at the same time so gentle and protective. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had held you like that. Closing your eyes, you feigned sleep, somewhat ashamed for having expected the worse.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling your body relax and your breathing calm down, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“You could be her…,” he whispered, his voice almost too faint to hear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are her.”

You felt his frame tremble slightly and unable to pretend anymore, you shifted in his arms and turned to face him.

“I could be who?” you asked, holding your breath.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm,” Sihtric was quick to let you go, embarrassment flickering over his handsome face.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “Please… just hold me again. Can you?”

“If you want me to…” he murmured and his strong arms wrapped around you once more as you hid your face in his broad chest. 

He nuzzled softly against your hair, his arms tightened slightly around you, as if clinging to some distant memory.

“I was just a boy when I met her,” he continued and you could clearly hear a faint quiver in his voice. “She saved me. She saved me in so many ways, it’s even hard to explain. The only person who looked at me like I was something worthy, who laughed with me, who shared bread with me.” 

Your heart almost stopped beating as you listened, your nose buried in Sihtric’s chest, fighting back tears.

“But I couldn’t save her. I was there but I couldn’t save her. My father found it amusing to let me watch. He probably knew I would try to warn her, so he took me with him just to tie me up and let me watch how he burned down her house.”

“You look so much like her. The way you move, the way you speak…” Sihtric’s voice trailed off but then he suddenly continued: “Tomorrow Dunholm will fall,” he said with such certainty in his voice that you raised your head to look into his mismatched eyes.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“I thought you’d want to know. I think you are here for the same purpose I am. The same purpose my lord Uhtred and his brother Ragnar are here for.”

You kept looking at him, unable to avert your gaze. 

“I’m not a complete fool. Even if you might think otherwise. There must be a reason you’ve been watching the Danes come and go around Dunholm. I’m guessing your reason is the same as ours - Kjartan.”

You wanted to speak, to ask more, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Your whole world had just turned upside down. Uhtred and Ragnar were alive. It was impossible. Sihtric was here, there couldn't be any doubts about that anymore, holding you in his arms. That was even more impossible. 

This must be a dream, you thought, shifting closer to the muscular frame of your long lost friend, and if it was so, you certainly didn’t want to wake up from it, not now at least.

You waited and waited to be awakened from this strange dream, but the longer you waited the more you realized it wasn’t a dream. You felt Sihtric’s breath eventually evening out as his grip on you loosened and sleep finally claimed him, though his arms still rested around you. 

It was when the dawn finally broke that you slipped out of his grasp, careful not to wake him, and left the tent quietly.

Sihtric woke not long after, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He had slept surprisingly peacefully but the drowsy smile on his lips faded the moment he realised the space beside him was deserted. He sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the tent for you, but it was empty.

—----------------------------------------------------

You adjusted the helmet you had taken from one of the dead Danes in the camp, your face carefully smeared with mud. Just in case. You didn’t want to be recognised, at least not yet, not before you had found out what was happening, before you knew that Sihtric’s words were not just some cruel game, as you still couldn’t make yourself believe they were true. 

It wasn’t hard to find Ragnar’s forces and slip between the warriors just a few moments before the assault started. 

Eyes wide open you watched the massive frame of your brother, leading the suicide attack on Dunholm’s gates. What was he doing? Had the whole world gone mad? Had the Norns chosen you to entertain themselves, letting you find your brother only to see him heading into certain death?

Your surprise grew even bigger when the impenetrable gates of Dunholm suddenly cracked open, leaving the fortress to the mercy of the attacking Danes. 

From that moment on nothing else existed apart from the deafening roar of war cries, the clang of weapons and the frenzy of battle. You fought like a demon, too immersed in the intoxicating feeling of being invincible, unstoppable, the harbinger of death and justice. You had never felt like this before.

You were reckless, drunk on the bloodlust and adrenaline, and it would have cost you your life if a pair of steady and strong arms hadn’t yanked you aside, burying an axe in the chest of a hulking, red faced Dane.

“Trying to survive, huh? Try harder!” Sihtric shouted, sinking his foot in the gut of another Dane about to swing his blade at you. 

It was all over far too quickly, your head spun and you had to steady yourself against a pillar as you watched Ragnar butchering Kjartan, as you saw Uhtred pulling him away from the mutilated corpse and Thyra emerging from the back of the yard.

And then among all the chaos there was Sihtric, standing in the front line and watching the death of his father, triumph and satisfaction in his face fading into disgust and resentment. 

—----------------------------------------------------

“Here you are,” you exclaimed as you found Sihtric sitting motionless on a hillock outside the fortress. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn your way, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead on a small pile of stones.

You hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the right time, maybe he needed space, and yet you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t leave him like this. 

“I was looking for you all over the place,” you said as you reached him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Sihtric flinched at your touch, a faint shudder coursing through him, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“You found me,” he said at last.

You lowered yourself beside him, your hand still on his shoulder. “Hey…” you began, but he didn’t let you continue.

“They’re all gone,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to you. “Every single one of them. They’re all dead.” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the dirt beside him.

“I’ve had my revenge. And what? It didn’t bring them back. It didn’t make it easier.” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally turned to face you. “There’s nothing left for me. No family, no purpose, nothing.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your trembling fingers squeezing his shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” Sihtric interrupted you angrily. “I couldn’t save them. Not her, nor my mom. The only two people to ever care about me, and both ripped from this life by the man whose blood runs in my veins. And nothing I do - nothing - will ever bring them back.” Sihtric’s gaze shifted back to the pile of stones in the distance.

“Sihtric, please listen to me,” your voice quivered as you reached for his hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. He didn’t even seem to register that you’d called him by his name—something he hadn’t shared with you.

“I … I have to tell you something… I thought I’d lost everything too. My family, my home, even the sense of who I am…,” you swallowed hard, feeling the tears welling in the corners of your eyes but you didn’t fight them back, you let them flow freely, you didn’t even wipe them away. “But I was wrong. There’s always something to hold on to. There’s always someone.”

“Not for me,” Sihtric murmured, pulling his hand from yours.

“Sihtric, you did save her. You saved her so many times and you kept saving her without even knowing it. I let grief cloud my mind, cloud my judgement. I blamed you for what happened, blamed you for being Kjartan’s son, for not coming to warn me, for abandoning me, for breaking your oath. But the truth… The truth is, it was me. I was the oath breaker. In my grief and self righteousness, I never even thought to look for you. I never realised that you might have needed me. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sihtric turned to you and the confusion and disbelief written plainly across his face made you laugh bitterly.

“By the gods, Sihtric… Do you really not recognise me?” Hot tears pouring down your cheeks, you rolled up your sleeve, stretching your arm toward Sihtric.  

Sihtric’s gaze dropped to your forearm. Carefully his hand reached for your arm and  his fingers brushed over the uneven, jagged scar, running along your skin, tracing it as if trying to prove it was real.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at you, his gaze fixed on your arm and as the silence stretched fear slowly crept under your skin, fear that he would be angry, that he would hate you for not revealing yourself sooner. 

Sihtric exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze to the ground, and your heart sank into your gut, expecting the worst, but then his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them almost painfully.

“Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone,” he whispered, raising your palm to his lips. 

You cupped his jaw, letting your thumb hesitantly hover over his lips, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes falling shut, the dampness on his cheeks telling you more than any words ever could.

"I knew it. Deep down I knew it," he whispered.

Sihtric’s arms hesitantly encircled your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace and you melted against his muscular torso. You both just sat there for what felt like a lifetime, in silence, savouring the moment and each other's presence. 

You were no kids anymore. Sihtric’s broad chest heaved in the rhythm of his breath and you pressed your ear tighter against him, listening to the beating of his heart.

It was against all odds but you both were alive and here and that was enough. You didn’t even dare to think about something else. You were content in this moment, and you wanted it to last forever.

“Do you remember that last dawn? In the meadow?” Sihtric’s voice brought you back to reality after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve thought about it,” he said, “wishing I had been braver.”

“Braver?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met, Sihtric.”

“But I wasn’t brave enough for this,” he smiled and with a soft exhale, he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, his lips brushing against yours in silent reverence, almost as if he were afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it got more demanding with each passing moment, melting away all hesitation, all doubts, all fears and leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other and in the salty taste of tears on your lips.

[sourpeachsayshi]

(cw royal au; queen yuki x lady-in-waiting reader - dub con; wlw - use of strap; semi-public sex / minors, ageless and blank blogs dni) - read this for more context.

yuki's grip on your wrist is so strong, it makes your heart pound. the palace is lit up by only candles, and it's hard for you to see in the dark, difficult for youth be careful of her thick green robes trailing behind her. you're only wearing a sheer baby blue nightgown, made from the finest silk and lace, which was purchased by her majesty.

"my queen," you whisper, when she halts suddenly.

you both freeze as two guards patrol the hallway leading to throne room. your breaths are in sync as their footsteps disappear while they make their rounds.

she glances over her shoulder and gives you a cheeky wink.

your throat tightens uncomfortably. you can't help but think about the king - of what he would think knowing his wife wasn't in bed with him.

of him potentially seeking her out.

you enter the throne room, your footsteps echoing far louder than it needed to be. by the time you reach the throne, your body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

you fold your arms over your chest, a desperate attempt to hide your skin showing through the shed gown.

the palace gets so cold at night.

"your majesty..." you choke out, watching as she elegantly tucks her long blonde hair behind her ears and takes her seat with the natural authority that she claims.

"I wanted to show you something~" she seductively remarks angelically. she turns on her heel and finds her seat, her tall physique and the grandiose structure of the throne making you feel small even though you are merely a step down.

"an hour before sunrise?" you respond, hoping that your frustration doesn't come through.

she giggles, her fingers fiddling with the sash around her waist, and she slowly unravels her robe. "now that I am married, we don't get enough privacy anymore," she answers, "I have to make the time now"

"you need your rest," you insist, but a lump forms in your throat.

she really is the most beautiful woman in all the land. there is no denying that. the way her skin glows, the strands of her hair like gold strings. every feature on her face was perfect. sometimes it made you jealous looking at a woman so gorgeous, and other times you were smug knowing that her attention was in your favor.

she removes her robes slowly, the green fabric dripping onto the arm rests. her nightgown matches the cover, the ruching around the bust accentuating her tits. her hand roams over her stomach, and it was only then where you noticed a tenting poking up against the fabric. of her dress

your eyes widen, and yuki flashes you a sharp grin. she lifts the dress higher and higher, over the erect material to reveal a strap underneath. you've never seen anything like this before; only heard about it once through a piece of scandalous gossip regarding princess utahime & her most loyal knight shoko who serves her from another kingdom. you just assumed everyone made outrageous commentary about them only because of shoko's gender. but now...

you squeeze your thighs together. the harness is wrapped tight around yuki's muscular thighs, her eyes growing sleepy as she flicks two fingers in her direction. "come, sit."

it's not a request. it's a command. with shaking legs you walk up, her heart pounding against your ribs. yuki reaches for the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small jar of what appears to be oil. she pours it over the strap, her hand rubbing up and down the shaft like it's a member of her own. you climb over her legs, your eyes searching around the room in the hopes that nobody else can see.

"touch yourself first," she whispers, "you need to be wet."

you feel so ashamed, but you do it anyway, because serving her is all you have ever known. your rub yourself between your legs until your slick coats your fingers, before proceeding to align your entrance against the tip. "oh~my~god~..." you gulp, feeling the stretch as you glide down the strap, a sweet burn between your legs. you settle into the position for a few minutes, only to squeak when you feel a harsh slap against your ass. "up and down," she orders, her other hand digging into your hip and indicating you to rise. you follow her gesture, lifting yourself up before dropping back down against the strap. the pleasure making your stomach twist sinfully.

"there we go," she approves, her hands climbing up towards the neckline of your gown. her nails dig underneath the hem her grip pulling the fabric down to reveal your beasts.

she pinches your nipples hard, circling the pads of her fingers over the buds as you bounce on her strap. the sound of your squelching pussy like music to her ears. she starts moaning sweetly, humming and purring with approval. your cheeks burns, your hands resting against her shoulders for support. "my queen~" you meekly state, "w-what if-ahh...what if someone enters-uh-enters the throne room-..."

she pinches your tender nipples, making you hiss in response. the nonchalant expression on her face an indicator how little she cares. she hooks her fingers underneath your jaw, dragging you towards her mouth where she snags your bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles gently.

"so, you better cum before anyone shows up..." she responds with a lick inside your mouth, and before you know it she's deepening the kiss.

you move feverishly, bouncing up and down her length before the guards return from their patrol. you don't know how many minutes go by until you feel the snap in your belly, until your shuddering against her body as you moan loudly with relief.

her hands gently caress your spine, your hot breath against her neck as you come down from the orgasm. when you stand on your feet thinking that she's been satisfied, your shocked when you feel her weight push you onto the throne. your forearms rest against the plush cushion, your legs standing on the bottom step. "your majesty, please," you sigh, "the guards will be back...ohhh..."

the head of her strap pushes against your sopping folds from behind you, her hands firmly grab your hips as she starts thrusting from the back. your cheek falls against the cushion, your mouth partially open as small dribble of saliva falls from your lips and taints the queen's regal robe. the sound of skin slapping skin is loud and lewd. your body so pliable underneath her. you bite back a scream when you feel one of her hands reach for your clit, her fingers rubbing over it harshly as she squeezes the back of your nightgown to keep you in place. your brain and body go numb, a shiver ingsensation trickling up your thighs when you feel the pressure build far tighter in your lower belly. you choke out a sob, your vision going white when you cum harder this time. yuki pulls out, your slick sticking against your quivering thighs. when you manage to find the strength to look at her, she cups your cheek in her palm, and carefully leans down to kiss you sweetly on your lips.

"go back to your room," she commands, leaving you to journey the track back all on your own in your entirely fucked out state.

your so dazed, it makes you think that she wants you to get caught like this.

that she wants everyone in the palace to know that you are her dirty little secret.

[aangelinakii]

JUST THE ALCOHOL TALKING.

— certainly a confession.

summary : after a casual night of drinks, you're alone with your friend wally, and it seems like there's something he's got to say...

yet again wally west had outdone himself.

sometimes kids just want to be kids, and spend their days off playing drinking games; but sometimes wally can't handle his alcohol, or might drink too much of what's offered. a normal reaction would be to get annoyed, but everyone's used to his antics now.

whilst a cool night breeze whipped in through the open window, of which everyone else had squeezed through for a smoke break or fresh air (which don't normally go well together), you remained by wally's side as his eyelids lowered and rose sleepily over his green irises.

he's not the only one fighting sleep; you hadn't drank too much tonight, but last night's patrol had taken a lot out of you — but who were you to decline hanging out with your friends?

you gave a sniff as the show on the television went to another commerical break — there are too many of those nowadays — and leaned forward to swipe the tv remote from the empty beer can-spattered coffee table.

as your back hit the plush cushions once again, an arm extended to point the remote at the screen, something ghostly began blazing into your side; a presence, a watcher.

the show switched as you pressed down a channel, but you glanced over to your right, to find a limp, down-pulled set of eyelids fluttering at you, and the sound from the television became mere background noise.

sure, wally was drunk — the drunkest of everybody tonight by far — but something in the way he peered lazily up at you caused your stomach to quiver.

hey— no, he's drunk, don't think like that.

"what you looking at, big guy?" you teased, tearing your eyes away from him for the moment to change the channel again.

but you hadn't expected him to actually reply; him with his slowly rising and falling chest, him with his limp neck lulling as it rested on the back of the couch, him with one arm stretched lazily, fingers inches away from brushing the nape of your neck.

"you," wally breathed heavily, shifting onto his side to look up at you. "and there are two of you so that makes it better."

even as you attempted to laugh it off, that fluttering in your stomach returned, and you only looked back at the tv screen as you flicked on another channel.

you thought that would be the end of it; he's been managing to stay awake the past three hours in this state, surely he'd nod off now. surely...

"i dunno if it's the alcohol talking," he began, words slurred and sluggish, tilting even more so to face you, one of his legs coming up lazily to tuck against himself, the other remaining outstretched. "but i really, really like you."

oxygen hitched in your throat, suddenly unable to pass through your nostrils, nor go back down to your lungs. your mouth hung slightly open, eyes glued to the scene of patrick verona bugging kat stratford at her soccer practice that you'd coincidentally flipped on to.

this had to be the alcohol talking — wally west didn't like you.

you liked him. he couldn't like you.

that's just... not how it would work.

your heart fluttered with every childish laugh he gave at every immature joke he made. your eyes always found his vibrant toss of red hair in a crowd, no matter how large. your fingers always flinched towards him if he got too close, before you pulled yourself away from him completely.

he could never see you like that; you knew him, he just didn't do that.

even as your stare stayed stuck on the movie ahead, his tired eyes still burned holes in your flesh, turned the whole right side of your body fuzzy.

"i'm sorry," he hiccupped from beside you, moving away, the warmth radiating from his fingers at the nape of your neck dissipating. "i shouldn't... burden you. with this."

"hey, hey—"

before you could stop yourself, you were reaching out for him again, your palm finding his forearm and your fingers taking it carefully, but firm enough to halt him in his movements.

lips parted, eyebrows raising although his lids stayed hung low, wally stared up at you.

"sorry," you muttered, grip relaxing. "but, no, it's okay. you can... you can stay. we can just– talk about this in the morning, okay?"

nodding slowly, wally carefully rolled back beside you, although his shoulder was pressed against yours now.

"if you can remember it."

his head craned up to look at you, a lazy offense upon his features. "hey, i'll— i'll remember it. i'll remember it..."

but now as he lay beside you, body against body, you felt his bones slacken, and his weight began to fall against you, until his head was pressed right in the crook of your neck.

please, god, let him remember.

[neshamama]

journaling health and going insane but trying to let it out as part of the process of connecting with it and the world realities beyond the inward overwhelm

im without job and health insurance but i have 90 days of my MS medications and even though i am due for a neuro follow up and an echocardiogram i will wait until the state agents finish my applications.. i have mental health issues that haven't been treated in months besides telehealth therapy but i have prn anxiety medication.

the force of depression in multiple sclerosis looks like this: my legs especially hurt to the soles of my feet, rn the brain interprets wearing socks as rough and burning sensation because the brain and spine are damaged,.so there are sensory and spastic arguments, bilaterally, all day every day. the temp is 0⁰F so i can't go without wearing clothes or blankets that trigger symptoms. i also cant have anything too hot or it will cause a reversible exacerbation (even being on your period or getting overwhelmed emotionally can upset nerve conduction in demyelinated cells due to temperature change alone. i moved climate zones after tropical weather was too much. very real and strange phenomenon that i blame myself for not controlling - like the frustration of my arms going numb because my coffee is too hot)

this is all so lonely and when i get up my legs want to give up so soon. i plan breaks and place chairs around the house and of course i have to use a cane all the time. i leave interesting footprints in the snow by the way omg. basic things like taking out trash i cannot do and i wished to be dependent on no one growing up and it disappoints and scares me to adapt to a radically different outcome. i have to trust others and engage with them enough to meet my needs and even if it ends up ok, i feel so guilty for taking help. i will need financial support from my family and i feel so guilty.

meanwhile my brain has been locked on trauma because im not managing emotions very well and my thoughts are rogue and unregulated by stability and routine like of work. applying for jobs i do think of who was omnipresent in my life during my education and career in art and it's a pain held in my body. those years death was the most comforting thought, including the death of the primary abuser and i still think of it daily. i really wish i could move on because wanting to kill is disturbing. i got this way before all of this from deadly physical and sexual abuse from like 2 decades ago again obviously i survived and i really thought that was enough. i swear predators recognize who has survived already, they vet their vulnerabilities and then exploit and silence them again. still i struggle feeling safe anywhere. i need to do more emdr and in office therapy. Also see psychiatrist and update meds.

so im in and out of recognizing life let alone appreciating it which is dangerous cuz it makes it all easier to get out of living. i am afraid to reach out to my mother who is my local support because i don't want to worry and bother her

what i wish is to feel myself again and connect with others and the world again but that seems so far away. my heart is tarred and my brain - an electrical fire my legs prickly weights. very challenging to overcome how this feels and maintain positive beliefs.

first though i want to rest and recover physically and emotionally, see neuro and psych, upgrade level of therapeutic care, hold off on the shame of these struggles and simply try to get through them. right now without income or insurance i am in another tough situation.

im going to apply for a job today with the scarce descriptions of my experience cuz i think in this case details are less important and i can discuss work i did outside that triggering time so..see what happens

stay alive

[thoraeth]

Properly kissed | Paladin All Might X OC

words: 600

Tags: pure fluff, Toshi's oath includes chastity, Paladin!All Might, fantasy AU, Oracle OC.

Song inspo: Like real people do - Hozier

A/N: I'll yap into the void if I have to, 'cause this man is the ultimate sweetheart.

The paladin scratched his neck as the sparks from the bonfire reflected in his eyes . “Can I ask you a question? You’re the only one I could tell something like this without feeling like a complete idiot.”

Riva turned her head to face him. “Go ahead.”

“Am I overdoing it?” Toshinori hides his face in his hands. “I’ve been protecting people and serving the Goddess for my whole life. I'm beyond grateful for all that she bestowed upon me but… I feel I'm missing out on so much.” He looks up with a deep sigh. “Why can't I hold your hand or get a hug when I need one? Would such trivial things really make the Goddess angry? Or is it all in my head?”

Riva stood up, snuggling tighter in her wooden cloak. “There's no way of telling what could please or displease a God, Toshi. But I firmly believe faith is about bringing good into this world, rather than starving ourselves for divine approval.”

The oracle was rubbing her bad eye, trying to ease the discomfort of the night shadows clouding her sight. “You want to hold my hand? There you go.” She planted herself in front of the man and reached for his big hand.

The two stood face to face for a moment, smiling affectionately. Riva couldn’t help but think that Toshinori was a man of immaculate beauty: it wasn't just about his big blue eyes, and fair hair… The honesty and purity of his soul were out of this world. He was, indeed, worthy of a Goddess.

“Need a hug? No problem.” She leaned closer and slided her arms around his neck.

Shit. Toshinori knew he should have shoved her away. No touching women, it's the rule. And yet, he remained seated on that log. That night he was feeling so lost…he did need a hug. A couple of minutes couldn't outweigh all he's done so far.

His hands clutched around Riva's cloak and he clinged to her, pushing his forehead against her shoulder. May the Goddess forgive him, she was the softest and prettiest thing he's ever had in his arms.

The paladin indulged himself in the light pecks trailing down his temple, his ear, his cheek and he really, really had no idea how it all happened but he was startled by the feeling of her lips brushing against his.

He didn't even know what he was doing but he just let himself go and kissed her desperately. It was like his bones were turned to wax: every slight movement of her lips, their breathing against each others’ cheeks, everything sent powerful shivers down his spine.

It was all fun and games until Riva's hips were slowly moving under his hands and their kisses grew sloppier and more heated.

Toshi’s face twitched with the familiar feeling in his belly, the dreaded tight sensation between his legs. The Goddess would never forgive that. He pulled away, biting his lower lip.

“Is everything ok?” Riva whispered, tilting her head to read his gaze.

“Y-yes. But I… I can't.”

“I get it. Well, at least we’ve made up for some of the missing out.” She smiled softly and sat back on the log, next to the shaking paladin.

Toshinori ran his fingers through his hair, striving to calm his heart and body. Riva was right: now he could say he's been kissed. Properly kissed! He hid his face away from her and he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

[nessieart]

The Way Back. VIII

wc: 4.2k

Summary: These powers were meant to help people. Help The Avengers, your family. It felt like every time you used them, something bad always happened. Maybe someone has the answers, somewhere.

Bucky x reader || Steve x reader (eventually??)

AN: Next part! Please reblog and leave feedback if you enjoy this story. It let's me know that you enjoy reading just as much as i enjoy writing it!

Masterlist

Previously:

"Agent Spinner," Phillips calls out, the flaps of the tent open and in steps the man from earlier. "Agent Stark, meet your new handler." He motions to the man, who holds out his hand for you. He's tall and lean, dirty blond hair sticking to his forehead and blue gray eyes. You look down at his hand, then up at his face.

His smile is tight lipped, there's a small scar through his left eyebrow and another along his cheek. The smile doesn't reach his eyes as you both size each other up. Glasses sit high on the bridge of his nose.

You put your hand in his, and a chill runs through you as his smile widens.

"When do I start?" You bite out, glaring at the man in front of you, then shifting your eyes to Phillips.

"You've got one hour. Spinner will show you the way," he all but dismisses the both of you. He gathers up the photographs and places them back in the envelope, then locks it away in a drawer in his desk.

"And, Agent," Phillips calls as you go to exit. You spare him a look over your shoulder. "Not a word to anyone. Not even that brother of yours. Dismissed."

There's a dark tent on the outskirts of the camp Spinner leads you towards. The rain has stopped, for now, your combat boots splash in the mud and puddles as you follow your new companion.

"It's just through here," he speaks for the first time, really speaks.

"You're English," your surprised tone makes him smile, and he holds the flap open of the tent for you.

"I am, no one but the Colonel knows. I usually keep to myself or hide the accent." He follows you inside. "My name's Rupert, by the way. Rupert Spinner," You just nod and look around. There's boxes piled along the sides of the tent. It's spacious for how small it appears on the outside.

"Oh," Rupert makes an excited noise. He moves toward a box and chest on the far side of the ten. He pulls out a black coverall-like uniform. It looks more form fitting than the ones you own. A pocket on the left arm sleeve, several pockets along both legs, then Spinner holds up a belt. You scoff.

"A utility belt, really?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Oh, quite. There are several useful items in here," he begins to explain.

You portal in front of him, he startles and suppresses a yelp, the glasses on his face slipping down his nose. "Thanks, Spin, but I don't need your fancy gadgets. I'll be fine." You take the suit from his hands. The material is sturdy but light. It's pretty impressive, but you won't tell him that.

You unzip your current coveralls to put the new ones on. Spinner yelps this time and turns his back to you. You can see the red tint his ears from here.

The suit fits you like a glove, it's not uncomfortable, it's durable and breathable. "Not bad, Rue," you stretch your arms out, feeling the material move with you and contort to your movements. You felt the zipper down just enough for your scar to peak out.

Spinner turns, eyes glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes catch the blue of your scar, "Fascinating," he mumbles, turning all the way around, adjusting his glasses.

"What is it?" he asks, he leans in close, closer than you're comfortable with. You clear your throat, and a blush creeps up his cheeks again. "Apologies," he straightens back up.

You pull the zipper all the way up, "Magic," it's not technically a lie. "Now what?" He clears his throat again, adjusting his glasses. Spinner hands you a large radio.

"This is for emergencies. It's connected here," he motions to a large radio in the corner, "radio me if anything goes wrong. I'll answer, no matter what."

You're hesitant to trust this man, but there is something behind his eyes that makes you pause. "I won't need that. IF shit hits the fan, I can be out of trouble in the blink of an eye. Trust me."

"I do trust you, Ms. Charlotte," he says confidently. He pulls a folded paper from his pocket and hands it to you. "This is the location you'll be scouting. Try your best to not be seen. This is very important, leave nothing to chance." He hands you the belt next. "Please take it. For my peace of mind."

You sigh and take the belt, buckling around your waist. Spinner hands you a set of knives next and one automatic pistol. You raise an eyebrow at the gun.

"Just in case," Spinner says, and you nod. It's dark by the time you exit the tent, "You'll want to head out of camp before you do - uh- your thing," he wiggles his fingers in the air. Magic. You laugh.

"Alright, just… If Howard comes looking for me, you better have a good excuse." You turn from him and head to the forest just outside the camp. There's little light where you are now, surrounded by trees, you open the map with the coordinates you need, there's a list of things you need to watch out for and more things to avoid. You roll your eyes. This wasn't your first undercover mission. You've been on plenty with Natasha. But this feels different. You're on your own with this.

**

Future/Present 2020

"Hey, Boss," FRIDAY quietly calls out. She knows the baby is sleeping, and FRIDAY knows to lower her voice, just in case.

Tony scrubs a hand down his face, eyes squinting in the low light of his study. He feels like he hasn't slept in months. Has he ever been this tired before? Maybe, but he can't remember right now. He clears his throat, "Yeah, FRI, what is it?" He's up stretching his back. It cracks, and he lets out a satisfying groan.

"There's a package for you. Someone dropped it off a few minutes ago." Tony hums, he didn't order anything, right?

"Did Pep order something? Did I?" He's making his way to the front porch. It's quiet here, and he's really not sure he likes it yet. He feels restless.

"There's no record of any orders. I'm sorry, Boss."

There's a large box sitting on the porch. He can see its duct taped, addressed to him, but no sender or return address. The name just says STARK in someone's handwriting. The box looks like it's been in storage for 10 years. Tony brings it back inside to his study, setting it down on the desk. He cuts the tape off and opens the flaps. There's a bunch of books, journals, maybe. Folders, envelopes papers neatly stacked and old, he notices everything in the box is old and worn. Tony grabs the first thing on top. It's an old, well-used journal, it's creased and cracked with age.

Tony's eyes scan through a few pages as he carefully flips to a random page.

March 2, 1943

'43? Who's journal is this??

Today I met them. It was surreal and overwhelming. I haven't seen them since…well, Siberia.

Tony's breath hitches. He tries really hard not to think of that day.

I'm still not sure how I feel about seeing either of them. They're so young and innocent. Howie says to write down how and what I'm feeling cause he can't really understand what I'm going through, but he's trying. And I love him for it.

Steve. Where to begin? How to feel? God, what I wouldn't give to talk to Tony right now…

Tony stops and puts the book down so fast that he rips it. "What the fuck," he says aloud. "FRIDAY, where did this come from? Who dropped it off?"

It takes a few seconds for FRIDAY to answer, "It looks like it came from a Stark Industries storage facility. Though I can't tell who dropped it off, Boss." FRIDAY brings up surveillance of the front house, the driveway, and the porch. The person is very good at hiding their face and avoiding cameras they shouldn't even know about.

"I thought we took everything out of all the storage facilities…?" Tony mutters to himself. He grabs an envelope from atop the pile in the box. There's no name on it, but it's not sealed. He opens it, there's a letter inside with old frayed photographs.

Dear Tony, May 2nd, 1988

For so long, I've been dealing with a pain that no one's caused, and I took it out on you. The pain and heartache of losing my sister. It's such a terrible ache that nothing has been able to fill it. So, I drank. Probably too much.

Your mother has tried to help, God bless her, tried to tell me to remember the good times. But that was so long ago now, I don't think I can remember them.

I have these photos of her, but I can't bring myself to look at them. The friends I had because of her are gone. Except your Aunt Peg, she's still here, kicking my ass 6 days to Sunday. And not afraid to set me straight.

You'll know the loss of her, just like I did. She told me so. Maybe that's why I'm always angry. Towards you, your future… Because you get to have her, and I'll never see her again.

Tony stares long and hard at the letter. Baffled by his father's words. His father's sister? Aunt Charlotte? He doesn't know much about her, only that his father never talked about her. She had died young, and he knew that. But anything else was a mystery. And he certainly wasn't going to ask Howard Stark anything.

He tosses the letter back on his desk and picks up the photographs.

The first one is of his dad, he has his arm around a woman, she blocks her face with her hand, but Tony can tell the two of them are laughing.

The next one has Rogers in it. He's wearing his army uniform, standing next to Barnes in a matching suit. His Aunt Peg is there too, standing next to the same woman from the first, but her back is to the camera.

The next photo, he all but screams, drops the whole lot of them on the floor.

"FRIDAY, lights," he says breathlessly. The lights are all the way on now, and he can see her clearly from here. He stoops down to pick the photos up, fingers shaking slightly as he gets a closer look.

It can't be.

It's you. But how? It can't be you.

"FRIDAY, facial recognition," Tony holds the picture up, a blue light skates across the image. FRIDAY projects it on the hologram in front of him. It spins slowly.

Rogers is on your right, Barnes is on your left, and you stand in the middle. Sleek dark coveralls with a shooting star emblem on your right arm that streaks out from the center of your chest. Your arms are through Steve's and Bucky's, a big grin on your face as they smile down at you.

"Captain Rogers, Y/N, and Sergeant Barnes, Boss."

"Pull up a photo of Y/N from a few years ago," Tony instructs. "Put them side by side."

Your old SHIELD ID photo comes up, and Tony laughs wetly. He knows how much you hated that picture. The images are aligned now. And there's no mistaking it. You're you, but.. also his Aunt Charlotte.

Tony runs his hands down his face and grimaces at the box, then your pictures. He really doesn't want to do this. He inhales a deep breath before he changes his mind, then exhales all the way out.

Tony plops down in his char and hands his head, "FRI, call Rogers."

**

Past/Present 1943

There's an unnatural fog settling in. It was well into the night now, but you stayed, waited. For something other than heavy patrols to cross back and forth in your line of sight. The monocular you pull out of one of the belt pockets is small and compact. You had to give it to Spinner. His gadgets did come in handy.

There's a loud BOOM over head. The anti air mortar fire almost made you jump out of your skin. You flip onto your back, one eye seeking up into the sky to see who they were aiming at, but it's too dark. And this fog is too thick.

The firing eventually stops, the high alert siren fading back into nothing, and the patrols resume. You wait for the right moment to make your move. There's a convoy of military trucks making their way to base. Maybe now's your change. You can see the unmistakable blue glow of their weapons from here.

Yous stash away your gear and slink down the hillside you were on. You need a clear line of sight to see where you're going here. Don't want to portal in front of some Hydra goons.

You take a deep breath, wait a beat and port on the other side of a parked truck. The coast is clear, and you rush indie, silently closing the door behind you. You can feel the thrum of the Tesseract. It might not be here, but the power of it is.

The room you enter is large. You can see about 50 to 100 men in large cages. "What the hell," you mutter. Above is a grated catwalk, a few armed men patrol lazily across.

You slink along the outskirts of the room, keeping an eye on the men above and near you. The majority of the men are sleeping or too exhausted to even notice. The few in the center of the room are muttering among themselves.

You shrink closer, tiptoeing your way along the cages. One of the men catches your eye, and you inhale sharply, rushing forward and gripping the bars as he shuffles and covers your hands with his.

"Dugan?! What the hell are you doin' here?" You hiss. You look around the men in the cage, the surrounding ones as well. He can't be here. Where is he?

"Charlie, wha - I can ask you the same thing, doll. How did you get here?"

"What are you wearin'?" Another man asks, you pay him no mind.

"I'm here to get you out," you decide. You can't leave these men here. You look around now. Most of the men in the cages are looking at you, and you can't reveal your powers to all these people. You don't know what they'd do or how they'd react.

"Let me find the keys," you go to release the bars, but Dugan's hands hold yours tightly.

"He's here," he says, leaning closer. "Sarge is somewhere here. They took him in the back a few days ago and we haven't seen him since." His face is grim and shadowed.

You gulp and nod. Before you can get too far, there's a loud thud above you all. You jump and look up, startled.

"Steve?" "Charlie?"

You look away, around the men who look hopeful and frightened. Steve jumps down after taking out the guards. He has the keys in his hand as he comes to a stop next to you. There's determination in his stare as he opens the first lock.

"What are you doing here?" "Howard was out of his mind - me? What are you doing here?"

You both talk over each other.

"And who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"I'm - Captain America," he says. Each cell opens, and the men pour out around you.

"Is there anybody else?" Steve asks, stepping through the men to stand beside you, tall and imposing. "I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

You and Dugan share a look, and you nod.

You can feel the thrum again, stronger now, it pulses with your heartbeat. It's stronger as Steve brushes against you to lead the men and tell them to run for the trees. He's about to turn away when you grip his wrist. With more strength than he's ever felt in his new body.

"I'm going with you, Cap," and maybe it's the fire in your eyes or that faint blue glow on your chest that he seems to be the only one who notices.

"Charlie -" he hesitates. "If something happened to you, Howard would never forgive me."

You glare at him, "Howard knows I can take care of myself. I'm going with you."

It's Steve's turn to grip your wrist. The other men have stormed out, and the only one lingering is Dum Dum. He's at the edge of the room, guarding the door and waiting. Watching.

"I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you," Steve says softly. His fingers brush your cheek lightly.

"But, Cap -" You go to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you, and the fingers on your chin. "Damnit," you curse under your breath. "Bring him back, you hear me?"

Steve's shoulders relax, his thumb digs into your chin, and then he's letting you go. He nods, takes a step back from you, and turns to jog away.

Dugan clears his throat, an eyebrow raised when you look at him.

"Shut up, Dugan," you brush past him and he follows.

You both follow the sound of gunfire and yelling as you exit the facility. It's chaos. It's thrilling, every man taking revenge on the goons for what they've been forced to do.

You hear Dugan grunt a laugh next to you, and you both join in on taking the remainder of the guards out.

"Get these guys to the tree line," you tell Dugan. Your fist glows a slight blue as you punch a Nazi in the stomach. He goes flying several feet from you. When Dugan doesn't move from your back, you turn to him. "Tim!" He looks down at you over his shoulder. There's a wild look in his eyes.

"I'll be right behind you, go!" Dugan nods finally, shouting for the other to head toward the trees.

You want to go back for Steve, help him find Bucky, but you know what you came here for and what you have to do.

You find the office with ease, you take out Spinners' notes, and look for what you need to grab. After shuffling through the second cabinet, you find schematics for guns, grenades, and other heavy machinery. There's also drawings of a sort of robot on the desk. You push it to the side and grab more drawings.

There's an explosion that rocks the foundation. The fire light ignites the sky outside. With a deep inhale, you portal away. You need to get these files to safety first. Then you'd be back. For Steve and Bucky, and the prisoners.

The tent is dark, except for a small lantern, Sp[inner sits by the radio, writing in a notebook.

"Hello, Rupert," he squawks in surprise, nearly jumping out of his chair.

"Bloody Hell, Charlotte! I think you gave me a heart attack…"

You chuckle, slapping the folder with everything he requested on the desk in front of him.

"Y-you did it?" His features light up, "I- that's incredible! You're amazing, Charlotte, truly."

"Don't mention it. I've got to get back," He gives you a questioning look. "The missing troops, I found them. Schmidt had them working hard labor building something. Something big. I wasn't able to find the notes, but I'll keep an eye out." You nod at the folder, Spinner gives you a grateful smile, at a loss for words.

"We'll be back in a few days. Try and keep Phillips under control 'til then," you smirk at him. You're gone in the next second.

You appear a few dozen yards away from where you last saw Dugan. The Hydra base is up in flames now, smoke billowing high into the clouds. With one last look, you're running towards the treeline.

Dugan is waiting by the treeline, posted up on a big pine tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His bowler cap is lowered over his forehead. He looks almost peaceful, if it wasn't for how taught his shoulders were.

"Tim?" You hedge closer. He grunts and points a thumb further into the trees, where you assume the rest of the prisoners are.

"Y'know, it's funny," he says, a finger lifting his hat back into place. His bright blue eyes stare down at you, and one side of his mouth ticks up. But he doesn't look amused. "Most people look at me and assume I'm just big and dumb, being the son of Irish immigrants and all. Or maybe 'cause I was in the circus, makes me some simple-minded fool." He stares hard at you then, eyes piercing you to the spot. You swallow hard.

"Now, dollface, don't ya go underestimatin' Ol' Dum Dum, got it?" You nod.

You unzip the top of your suit, the blue glow of your scar illuminating the space between you. "There was an accident. For some reason, I survived," You zip back up, then your hands begin to glow. "Maybe I was given these powers for a reason. So I've been helping people as best I can. In any way I can." You look up at Dugan as your powers fade. You take a deep breath.

"If I can use the things I can do, to stop this war, end Hydra, the Nazis, all of it. Well, I'm damn sure gonna try."

There's a fire in your eyes, it's tinged blue, you clench your fists as you stare up at Dugan. He gives a huff of a laugh, then nods once, "Alright, kid, alright." He puts a large hand on your shoulder and leads you into the trees where everyone else is waiting.

"Only a few people know about this," you cover your chest with your hand. "My brother is one of them. Cap doesn't know, and Bucky doesn't know. They can't."

Dugan nods again, his lips a thing line, and he runs his thumb and pointer finger across them.

It's close to an hour after you've seen Steve that you hear approaching footfalls through the trees. You step closer to the sound, putting yourself between the men and whoever is coming. Dugan's behind you with the pistol you gave him.

Steve is the first one to come into view. You visibly relax. Steve's leather jacket is almost torn to shreds. He's dirty, covered in soot and sweat. The branches pull back as he steps to the side as Bucky stumbles and limps into view.

Bucky is also soot and sweat covered. He looks worse for wear. His face is bruised on one side, dark circles under his eyes. Bucky looks a little thinner than the last time you saw him. He's hunched in on himself, and Steve steps around him. Bucky's eyes shift around the small clearing. He seems so on edge, you're afraid to make your presence known.

Dugan laughs heartily, putting a hand on your shoulder, "Well, I'll be Goddamned!"

"It's about damn time! I'm freezing my ass off out here," a man speaks up. You heard in passing others call him Morita. "Can we get the hell out of here now?" Morita pushes past everyone to head back towards the road. A lot of the men grumble in agreement and follow after him.

You make eye contact with Steve, and you both share a smile. He nudges Bucky, who almost jumps out of his skin at the contact. He follows Steve's eyes to see you standing there.

His eyes are glassy as he pushes his way toward you.

"I'll see you on the road, kid," Dugan says as he follows the rest of the men up the path and out of the trees.

You blink, and Bucky is engulfing you in a bone crushing hug. He buries his face in your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your frame. You return his hug, smiling into his shoulder.

"Is it really you?" He mumbles into your skin. His hold on you tightens. Like you might disappear if he lets go.

"It's really me, James," you sigh. You look at Steve over Bucky's shoulder. He looks like a lost puppy. Brows pulling up and lips in a pout. He makes eye contact with you for a beat, then drops it.

"We should get going," Steve says quietly. He clears his throat. "it's a long way back."

Bucky straightens, hands cradling your neck, as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. You can see an abrasion on his cheek, below his left eye, dark circles. There's stubble across his face. The green sweater he wears is tattered and ripped. His dog tags hang low against his chest.

Bucky looks more worn out and dazed than the others.

"What'd they do to you, Jamie?" You mumble. Your thumb runs under the cut on his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut. A tear slipped out of his eye as he inhales sharply. He presses his forehead to yours as he exhales a shaky breath.

"It doesn't matter now," he says. His fingers tighten around your face, and he leans in to place his lips over yours. Maybe just to feel you, or for him to make sure he's really here, you can't be sure. But you let him. If he needs you to ground him, you'll happily agree. Bucky straightens after a moment, grabs your hand, and leads you back towards the road. Steve shuffles behind you both.

**

3 days later and the camp finally comes into view. You haven't checked in with Spinner since the recon mission, but he's standing behind Colonel Phillips when you all arrive. You squeeze Bucky's hand before you make your way over.

Before you get too far, Howard pushes through the growing crowd of people. His eyes are frantic, and it looks like he hasn't slept in days. "Oh, thank God, Charlie!" He runs to you, and you meet him halfway. Howard scoops you up into his arms and crushes you with a hug. "You scared me half to death, kid." He puts you down and looks down at you, eyes bleary, sunken, and tired. "I was out of my mind with worry. Do you know what that does to a person? More importantly, to me?"

"I'm sorry, Howie," is all you say. You can see Spinner over Howard's shoulder. He gives you a nod. You hope he understands you can't keep a secret from Howard for too long. "You know how I get," you say instead.

Howard grunts and pulls you into another hug. "Just don't leave me like that again, OK?" You just nod into his shoulder.

**

[sengoku-nadeko]

[classyrbf]

you find it so funny how people think your husband, nanami, is the sweetest, most innocent and romantic man they’ve ever laid eyes on, such a gentleman. Which, they are correct in some ways. Gentleman. Check. Sweet. Check. Romantic. Check. He’s always buying you flowers, opening doors for you, kissing your hand, taking you out on spontaneous dates, calling you ‘sweetheart’, ‘honey’, ‘love’, and treating you like some porcelain doll. But innocent? Oh no, no. You almost laugh because it may seem like your husband is ‘innocent’ or ‘vanilla’ whichever term they may use, but he is anything but that. While he may treat you like a princess in public, he absolutely sluts you out behind closed doors.

You don’t blame people for thinking he may look and act soft because that was your first impression of him too. So, imagine the surprise when you first had sex and he was pounding you in a mating press, tears streaming down your face. Yeah, best night of your life. And now that you’re married? God, it makes the sex one hundreds times better than before. He’s go you on your side, one arm hooked under your leg, reaching so far that he’s able to wrap his hand around your throat. The other wrapped around your waist, rubbing your clit while he fucks his cum into you. He’s forcing you to look him in the eyes, faces inches away from each other, because he wants to watch your pretty face when you cum. So innocent, right?

“Oh my god! Fuck!” You cry out, your breathing labored. He’s so deep inside of you, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again to the point it makes your head spin especially when he’s toying with your swollen clit. “I can’t! I can’t, Ken! You’re too fucking deep! Ah!” You grip onto the ruffled sheets below, bucking your hips as you attempt to make his cock not feel so good, but the bruising grip he has on your throat and waist puts you right back in your place.

“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can. You know why?” He pulls you in closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Cause you’re a fucking slut for this dick.” He thrusts his hips faster, skin slapping against skin and the mixture of your juices and his cum create a sticky mess between your thighs. “Awe, is that gonna make you cum? Being degraded? I can feel your pussy clenching me,” he darkly smiled, heavy breaths fanning against your damp skin. He rubbed your clit faster, carefully watching the way you threw your head back in pure bliss.

“Fuckkkk! You’re gonna make me cum again!” Your toes curled the closer you got to your orgasm, whimpering as you took in every feeling of pleasure coursing through you.

“Squirt all over this dick, baby. Be a good girl for me and show me how good I make you feel.” He felt your walls tightening with each passing second, sweat trailing down his forehead as he kept his pace. Your legs began to shake as you writhed under him, cursing and screaming as you squirted all over, soaking the blankets below you. “Messy fucking slut. Look at you, you’re still fucking going.”

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes!” Your brows furrowed as you watched him fuck you through your orgasm. “It’s too much, Ken!” You pulled his hand away from your clit, holding onto his wrist tightly while he slowed down his thrusts, now going deep and slow. You laid there in a dazed state, trying to catch your breath. His hand gently caressed your stomach slowly inching up towards your tits, cupping them in his hand while he placed sloppy kisses down your neck and to your collarbone.

So yes, while your husband may be such a gentleman, such a sweetheart, such an angel to others, in the back of your head, you think of those moments behind closed doors when he makes you cum your brains out, praising you and degrading you all within the same breath, choking you and treating you like some common whore. But after all that’s over, he’s back to treating you like the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. It’s truly the best of both worlds.

[tojbnuy]

art by @ _3aem on twt!!

bestfriend!satoru who spam comments under all your posts and makes sure to let everyone know that he’s the one who took the pic

bestfriend!satoru who doesn’t ever let your read your books. he lays his head in your lap and demands you read aloud to him.

bestfriend!satoru who’s always kissing your cheeks to say hello and bye bye. sometimes they linger a bit too long but it’s only cos he finds you so cute .

bestfriend!satoru who talks suguru’s ears off about you. every detail about your outfit, the new shade of gloss you had on today, the way your ass looked absolutely perfect in those jeans. frankly suguru is sick of him.

bestfriend!satoru who sulks as soon as he finds out you’re going on a date. he’d lie on your bed with your plushies squished in between his biceps and whine about you being too pretty for this guy.

bestfriend!satoru who waits patiently for your return and can’t help but smile at your tipsy state. clearly date didn’t go too well. he helps you undress, fingers caressing the smooth silky skin of your back as he lets your dress fall.

bestfriend!satoru who gets mad when you say you’re fine to sit in sugurus lap since there aren’t any seats left in the car. he abruptly slams the car door in sugurus face and drags you over to his side. ‘come on baby you don’t sit in anyone’s lap but mine.’ and next thing you know your snug in his lap with his bulky arms wrapped tight around your waist. ‘just to keep you safe pretty.’

bestfriend!satoru who claims ‘one kiss won’t change anything’ and then he’s pressing his plush lips to yours. his tongue making its way into your mouth as his hands pet at the small of your back. ‘course it’s fine we’re best friends’

bestfriend!satoru who towers over you and always has a spare hoodie ready for you because he knows you never wrap up warm. truthfully he adores the way you look in his clothes, his hoodie reaching mid thigh on you and still you had miles of legs left on display. he’s always saying how much he loves your legs but he doesn’t think you know to what extent. plush thighs and a round ass that he had dreamt of far too many times.

bestfriend!satoru who knows it’s sick but everytime you nap in his room he picks you up and places you in his lap. just so he can feel your soft breasts pushed against him. his hands will wander until one of them is squeezing at your ass and the other is stroking the soft skin at your thighs. ‘sorry baby you’re just so pretty when you sleep’

bestfriend!satoru who peeks at you when you’re changing in his room. baby pink underwear with a little bow dotted right at the front.

part 2 !! part 3!! part 4 !!

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, true form! sukuna, cūnnilingus, using his stomach mouth, dirty talk, praise, mdni.

“c’mere,” sukuna hoarsely utters, hunching over his throne that solely consisted of piles and piles of corroded dusty bones. with his head leaning down, he’s got a near-perfect view of you. he’s zeros narrow eyes down at your frame, focusing primarily between the gap of your legs and the panties that were already pulled to the side. as you take a step closer, you watch as he takes broad two hands, stretching the fleshy skin of his stomach mouth into a priggish grin. “closerrrr,” and you stare at the way his other beefy arms stack underneath each other. sukuna was big, even while hunched over. he notices your eyes weren’t focusing on him - but instead, his peculiar abdomen’s smile that spreads across his stomach with the widest, cockiest simper. “ah. don’t worry. it won’t bite.. for now.”

with a hushed soft-spoken murmur, you take your seat on his lap before meeting his cold, crimson-eyed gaze. “you can just . . make it smile like that?”

“oh.. i can make it do many other things, too,” and you gasp, feeling sukuna’s other unoccupied hands gently claw at your waist. now, you’re straddling him, feeling each throb between your pretty thighs accelerates by the second. closely leaning his naturally curved lips up against the soft shell of your ear, sukuna lets off a gruff whisper.

“how ‘bout ya try sittin’ on it, princess? it is pretty famished.”

the corners of the mouth that stitched against sukuna’s skin wetly drooled the more you brought your hips closer.

he could practically smell your sweet scent - and the buds that lived on his tongue sizzled with carnal anticipation. from the very cracks and corners of its mouth, you saw how it eagerly slobbered from both sides with glittery drops of saliva.

“o- okay..” you breathe, lightly bringing your palms toward his chest, pushing sukuna to recline back. you could feel yourself throbbing ferociously, each pulse nearly causing your thighs to glue together before you align yourself.

you weren’t even looking at sukuna—and yet, through bleary peripherals, you could see that same cunning grin from his stretching at each wry corner of his lips.

the flat pink tongue flops itself out of its mouth, running its feverishly wet tip down between the crevices of your thighs. you hover over sukuna’s stomach with a whine dramatically tearing out from your throat. “oh! f- fuuuck.” your brows would furrow together as the tongue wanders and dips its way into every orifice. it drags itself further, poking the very hot tip of the twitching muscle near your pearly clit.

it was almost like it had a mind of its own.

and oh- it did.

sukuna’s always had a long tongue . . but his stomach tongue was far, far wider.

he could extend it while inside of you, and it didn’t take long at all before he reached deeply against the spongy barrier around your g-spot.

your thighs forever continued to quaver over him as his tongue roams at all angles - sloppily roving everywhere, even lapping near your hole.

it’s tepidly hot, and your naturally glossed lips couldn’t help but part — cutely spreading into a gasping, agape ‘o’ shape.

it lolls its way flat against your pussy before sluuuurping up a long three-second suck. it’s so-so wet, and it even starts to drink up the remnants of slick that drip between the slot of your thighs.

“you taste sweeter than usual, little one,” he grunts, allowing his stomach tongue to explore through every nook ‘n cranny inside of your dripping cunt. “mhm, atta girl. just ride . . riiiide against it- against me. don’t be shy. it likes you.”

a shivering whimper was a response as your lips trembled. his tongue was wide, and it slithers its way deep before nibbling against your clit. sukuna darkly chortles, feeling your legs trying to close themselves shut but one of his hands grabs your thigh. “easy, eaaaasy girl,” he speaks in a smoky rasp, watching as your back creates an arch.

your hips couldn’t help but shimmy - writhing from his touch before the thick tongue swerves around in sloppy curving arcs. “good . . girl, look at those pretty hips movin’ all for me,” and you whine, feeling him bring three rough, callused hands toward your waist.

he’s slow — slowly guiding your hips to rock against his stomach tongue that’s just oh-so eager, greedily delving its way in and out of your gummy, soaked walls. every few seconds, pant after pant of such languid breaths leaves from your chest, leaving you utterly breathless.

“mmh- ‘kuna, fuck ‘m not .. gonna,” and you watch as the demon raises a pink slit brow. the fat, long tongue punctures its way deep and thoroughly makes itself known inside of you. as it continues to massage its tip through your folds, you let off the sweetest moan once the tongue’s texture abruptly changes.

and now — it feels a bit softer but forked. your eyes started to roll once his stomach tongue thrusts itself between your puffy droopy hoods..

each slick, slimy squelch that wetly sobs from between your legs got louder, louder until you were frantically grinding against his chiseled chest.

as your clit’s being repeatedly stretched by the bumpy flatness of the tongue—you mewl out the same desperate cries, nearing yourself closer and closer toward your longly awaited edge.

your thighs never felt more weak, and it’s like you could feel every chill run down your body at each slurp he took. the tongue that resided on sukuna’s stomach was the pure definition of greedy..

if you dared to move just a single inch, it would snarl - making the sharp edges of his canines playfully nip near your sopping cunt. inaudible babbles slipped past your lips in substitution of words before you ended up falling face first into his chest.

“su- hng- sukuna, ‘m cummin,” you’d squeal out, failing to catch your breath every time. each breath that tries to wind out of your overwhelmed lungs makes you gasp. pounds of ridden, tender flesh smear its way on his tongue in circles before you start to feel the impact — the impact being your poor, poor hips quaking over his abdomen. “fuckk!”

“thaaaat’s it,” he purrs, such baritone sweetly coating his voice like honey. two arms wrap around your torso as you’re losing yourself completely.

your treacly slick pours down the valley between your thighs as you whine, burying your face into his left shoulder. sukuna gives your back a praising pat as you’re succumbing to pleasure, riding out your elated high with the most blissful orgasm rawly following out your throat. “heh, such a dramatic girl. it’s just a tongue,” and as sukuna continues to take jabs at your cute, dumb state—he swats a hand against your ass.

“mhm,” he lets out a satisfied grumble, hearing your breaths turn from quick to slow within seconds. sukuna’s stomach mouth had more than an appetizing meal—and you could feel its lengthy tongue slap its way against your pussy before retreating into its drooling maw.

even still - it greatly drools from the sides with your slick glistening all over his bare, ripped stomach. “such a good little thing,” and you moan, defeated gargled whimpers desperately trying to escape from your throat before he grabs your chin. “c’mere, let me get a taste too.”

closing the brief distance between you both, you press your hot lips against sukuna in a hungry manner. the demon titters as your tongue weakly slips into his mouth, feeling his fangs nip against your quivering underlip.

a hand of yours idly slides its way down his puffed-out chest that was proudly covered with infamous ancient markings.

crowns of teeth sharply clash amongst each other as if a never-ending battle was occurring, and he’s slurping up every one of your moans.

one of sukuna’s hands that was stacked underneath his upper arm snakes its ways between your thighs, giving your sensitive wet cunt a teasing squeeze. “mmph-” you gasp, feeling the smirk stretch wide across his lips before the demon gradually starts to pull away.

you’re left panting—and sukuna eyes you curiously, looking down at you literally before he seductively slides his tongue across his pink lips.

“best meal i’ve had in centuries,” and you continued to quietly moan before watching him lean back against his throne again, patting his now closed stomach tongue. “but princess, don’t catch your breath now,” and you gulp, glancing at the lower placement of his hands.

sukuna does the same action from earlier—prying both corners of his stomach mouth apart into an eerily, haughty smile before watching the tongue roll out once more.

quickly - it licks over its entire mouth where some of your slick still perfectly remained and sukuna runs a stubby thumb down your pussy before letting the extra tongue get the first taste again.

“i think we could go for dessert right now too..”

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

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