#I feel like there's this tension wound in my chest wrapped around in my ribs and it's being pulled on and tangling the ribs together

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

please pray for me and others, it's been an incredibly emotionally trying day

#nearly got into a car accident bc apparently if I get confident in my abilities I also get stupid and misjudge things #youth group was... rough. it just was. I can't say a whole lot but it just was really really rough #I feel like there's this tension wound in my chest wrapped around in my ribs and it's being pulled on and tangling the ribs together #which. I need you to understand. is a metaphor I haven't used since i was 17. that's where I'm at right now #please pray for me and the youth group kids. please #Lu rambles #prayer request #if you're a close close mutual I might be willing to divulge some vague details but otherwise I won't get into it

[peachsayshi]

I'm more interested in hearing ur hcs for JJK as dads:)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: fluff

wc: 1,104

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ girl dad hc's (gojo, geto, nanami, choso) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

...gojo stares at his baby girl like she's the secret to the universe's mysteries. there is no denying his strong attachment towards her, which is why the first thing he does when he returns home from a long trip away is see her. he watches with big, proud eyes as she waddles over to him, her small feet pattering lightly against the wooden floor of your home. she's still figuring out her words, squealing with excitement as he meets her halfway with two long strides. he arches his tall body forward, scooping her up in his arms before smothering her with kisses on each cheek.

she's so happy when he’s around, and it makes your chest feel tight, your ribs unable to contain the love pouring out from the valves of your heart.

"god, I missed my girls..." satoru breaths as she wraps her arms around his neck and rests her cheek on his shoulder. he turns on his heel to look at you, eyes filled with devotion and sheer gratitude. he places such a sweet, tender kiss on your lips before stating, "maybe we should take a vacation soon, just the three of us."

...geto thinks it's strange that only two years ago he regarded you as a stranger. now, you're fast asleep on his sofa, with mimiko on your lap and nanako on your shoulder. he checks the time to see just how late it is before turning off the tv and reaching for mimiko first. he brushes the hair away from her face, carefully lifting her up while smiling to himself when he feels her body naturally seek out his. the vacancy prompts you to flutter your eyelashes open, adjusting to the darkness of the room, and by the time you're fully aware of what's going on, you notice that he's picking up nanako as well.

"easy, sweetheart," he whispers softly, "just taking them to bed."

you meet him in his room afterwards, taking his hand as he draws you onto his lap. you rub your tired eyes as you mumble a hello, feeling his gentle kiss travel down the column of your neck, while his delicate fingers slip underneath your shirt to sprawl across the bump of your belly. he sighs into your neck, easing his mind of the noisy thoughts as he touches the life he's created with you.

...nanami arches his brow at the distraught expression on his daughter's face, her cheeks are so pink and her eyes are still welling with hot tears. the look is enough to crumple him like he's a flimsy sheet of paper, but he's holding his composed expression as to not worry her. instead, he shifts his attention down to the open wound on her knee - a nasty little cut unfortunately, but one that he's already carefully cleaned up. "there now, my darling..." he soothes with his deep voice, as he thoughtfully places the band aid over the injury, "we're all done."

she's still sniffling, her hands gripping tightly onto her dress. "still hurts, papa..." she whimpers. he eases the tension between his brow, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her knee. "better?" he asks, gazing up at her from underneath his blonde lashes, but she simply bites her lip and shakes her head no.

nanami picks her up, holding her close to his chest as he holds a pensive look on his face. "what else can we possibly do, hmm?" he coos into her temple as he leaves another kiss in place. she continues to sniffle, tiny hands clutching onto his shirt which she uses to wipe away her falling tears. "uhm, maybe...maybe we can get ice cream?"

her innocent tone is enough to make him smile with relief, and he glances over his shoulder to catch you shaking your head playfully in his direction, but even you can't stop yourself from grinning as you watch your baby girl twist your husband around her little finger.

...choso smiles at his daughter's reflection in the mirror. her hands reach for the pig tails in her hair, and she touches it before turning over her shoulder to gaze up at him. "I look like you, papa!" she remarks with pure joy, and choso can't help but bend over and kiss the top of her ahead affectionately. "you're the prettiest girl in the world, precious."

her cheeks turn rosy from how bright she's smiling. she stands on her feet, barely able to make direct eye contact with her father who is seated cross legged with his body upright. he has to hunch over a little, obliging her demand of placing his jaw against the palms of her delicate hands so she can hold him. "no, you're the prettiest in the world," she responds and the man melts into her touch almost instantly. he circles two fingers around her wrists to kiss her digits, then leaning forward to plant another one on the tip of her nose. "I'm afraid there's no competition."

she babbles on as he looks at her with amusement. fatherhood was never part of his plan, and he wasn't even sure how he would take to it when you told him you were pregnant, but it’s been four years down the line and he's the happiest he's ever been. he can hear you call for them from the kitchen, and carries his daughter in his arms before exiting the bedroom.

he seats her comfortably on the dining chair, lightly pinching her cheek as he announces that he will be right back. he finds you in the kitchen scooping out rice into the bowl, and takes the opportunity to circle his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you ease into his embrace as you serve the last amount before tilting your head slightly to kiss him softly on the cheek, "something on your mind?"

he sighs heavily when you turn on your heel, stealing a kiss in between before murmuring sweetly against your lips: "I want another baby"

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #choso x reader #choso x you #choso fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #jjk fan fics

[bonesandthebees]

time would never let her stay

I usually don't crosspost my fics to tumblr but I felt like it today. based off day 3 of purgatory, accidentally fits with today's prompt for @mcyt-yuri-week hurt/comfort except I forgot yuri week was happening until I'd already started the fic it was a total coincidence

anyway have some very soft lesbians :)

wc: 2884

crossposted to ao3

~

Tina’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

It was one of the most annoying side effects of respawn she had become all too familiar with over the past few days. Pain echoing through wounds that weren’t there anymore, aches flashing through her muscles every time she moved too quickly, a constant tremor in her fingers that she couldn’t seem to get rid of no matter how much she warmed her hands by the fire—the respawns here were different than they were back on Quesadilla Island. That much was clear.

She had to ignore it. That’s what she kept telling herself as she knelt down in front of her crops, curling her fingers in and out of fists to try and steady them before reaching to pull more delicate tea leaves from the soil. The dark leaves were soft, damp earth crumbling around her fingers as she dug her hands in to separate them from the stem. 

If there was one thing Tina could do for her team, it was this. She might not be the best at fighting, but she knew how to grow things. She relished in it. Even when the sky was the color of blood and she could still feel the phantom sting of a sword sliding between her ribs, all of that got pushed to the back of her mind when she watched those leaves unfurl from the earth. Satisfaction would curl around her heart when amber would seep out of the leaves in their cups of water, before she’d pass it off to one of her teammates to drink. 

Still, Tina couldn’t help but think of how different things were now to only a few days before. To kneeling in front of the crops by her house, hands steady as she plucked the tea leaves and wrapped them in loose cloth. She remembered the way she’d tie the twine into a bow before dropping the tea bag into the cleanest bottle she could find, the water turning amber before she placed the bottle in the bottom of a chest meant for Bagi. 

Tina didn’t have the resources to make proper tea bags here. It wasn’t that bad at least. Not the most pleasant taste, but she liked to think the tea leaves themselves had extra nutrients. Maximize strength and all that. Keep their team going for as long as possible. 

And when her chest ached after drinking another cup of tea, Tina told herself it was just because of the leaves. It had nothing to do with memories of sweet notes placed on top of tea bottles nestled in chests flashing through her mind. It had nothing to do with her thinking of how much better the tea tasted when she was sharing it with Bagi during their picnic date. It had nothing to do with Bagi at all. Definitely not.

Her hands still shook as she placed the tea leaves into the cloth pouch on her hip. Biting back a sigh, she tied more string around the pouch to close it before pushing to her feet. 

Although she enjoyed farming, her legs were getting cramped. She needed a breather.

Cool night air blew over the hills, ruffling Tina’s hair and sending a chill down her spine. Night had fallen several hours before, and the stars painted above her head were a welcome reprieve from all the red. 

She pushed her hair out of her face, her fingers brushing against the tiny horns on the top of her head. Sharp pain flashed through her skull, making her wince as she yanked her hand away. Her horns were so sensitive these days, and even though she knew why it was still a harsh reminder. Not a day went by that she didn’t file them down to make sure they didn’t poke out of her hair. As much as it hurt, it was a necessary evil. Mouse might’ve been able to wear her demon horns openly, but Tina wasn’t ready for that. Especially not now. Especially not when tensions were higher than they’d ever been between the groups.

Nothing felt certain these days. Tina couldn’t even trust the ground beneath her feet because this island had fucking earthquakes. But more than anything, she hated not being able to trust anyone but her own team. She hated the constant paranoia. She hated that she always had to listen for footsteps behind her. She hated that even taking a deep breath felt like a risk. 

The sand and gravel beneath her feet became dotted with grass as she wandered further away from the blue team’s territory. She kept a hand on her sword, her eyes darting between the shadows to look for any sign of movement. The pouch of tea leaves on her hip swung with every step she took. Maybe she should’ve left it back at the farm.

A twig snapped behind her. Tina’s heart leapt into her throat as she froze.

“Hello?” She called out, unsheathing her sword with her still shaking hands. “Is someone there?”

Her eyes continued to dart over the shadows. She listened as closely as she could for the sound of a zombie’s groans, or a skeleton's bones rattling.

Another twig snapped. Then, another. Footsteps echoed between the trees. When Tina looked down at her map, she couldn’t see anyone nearby. Whoever it was, they’d turned off their map marker.

“Oh no,” she whispered, pressing her back to a tree as her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. “No no no no-” 

The footsteps got louder. And louder. And louder.

Then,

“Tina?”

 Oh.

“Bagi?” Tina called out, slowly lowering her sword. “Where are you?” 

The shadows moved. Suddenly, Bagi stepped out from between the trees, and Tina wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nauseous at the sight of her. 

Although Tina knew they were all rather worse for wear at this point, Bagi had always been the type of person to look shockingly put together for whatever she was going through. Just found out her long lost twin brother was right in front of her and didn’t remember who she was? Her white and brown hair would be perfectly tousled. In the middle of threatening Cucurucho with a frying pan? Her sweater vest and trousers looked as though they’d just been pressed. 

Maybe she was biased, but Tina was convinced Bagi couldn’t look bad even if she tried. 

Even now, while it was a shock to see the tangles in Bagi’s hair and uneven green thread stitched up the side of her coat, she was still Bagi. Perfect, strong, lovely Bagi. 

Except Bagi was holding a sword, just like Tina was. 

Except neither one of them had made any moves to put their swords away. 

Except Tina was far away from her base, and hadn’t told any of her team members that she’d even left.

A beat ticked by, and it felt like an eon trapped in a second. Then, another one passed. And another.

“Hey,” Bagi finally breathed.

“Hi,” Tina replied, eyes darting between Bagi’s face and the sword still in her hand. 

The two of them fell silent again. Bagi’s own eyes fell on Tina’s sword. 

“Are-” Bagi cut herself off, blinking fast. “If you don’t want to talk, tell me now.”

Despite the fact that Tina’s heart was still racing like a jackrabbit, something in Bagi’s voice made her pause. There were cracks in her words that Tina had never heard before. She looked away from Bagi’s sword to meet her eyes again, and realized that her lovely Bagi was afraid. 

Bagi was afraid of her.

At that moment, Tina stopped thinking about the danger she was putting herself in. Bagi was scared, and Tina never wanted to see that. Not now, and not ever. 

“I- I won’t hurt you,” Tina stammered out, letting her sword clatter to the ground. 

Bagi’s eyes widened, adjusting her grip on her own sword. Tina’s breath caught in her throat.

And then, Bagi’s sword joined Tina’s in the dust. 

“I won’t hurt you either,” Bagi said. 

Oh thank god.

Slumping back against the tree she’d been pressed against, Tina let out the breath she’d been holding. Relief flashed over Bagi’s face as well, and after a beat, Tina waved Bagi closer. 

Leaving their swords on the ground, Bagi joined Tina leaning against the tree trunk. The two slid to the ground, their shoulders pressed together. For a minute, neither one of them said anything. Instead, they breathed in sync. 

In, and out. 

In, and out. 

Tina’s heartbeat began to slow. 

“I’m sorry,” Bagi said after another minute. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but-”

“No, it’s okay. I get it,” Tina reassured her. “This is all, uh, really crazy.”

Clenching her jaw, Bagi nodded. She blinked a few times like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to. 

Luckily for her, Tina was good at being patient.

“Cellbit didn’t try to talk to me,” Bagi finally said, her voice soft as she stared out at the trees. “I wanted to talk. I was trying to. But he just went for it.” She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath, before opening them again. “It’s fine. I get it. We’re in a really fucked up situation and it’s bringing back memories for him. It just… took me off guard.”

The ache was back in Tina’s chest, but it had changed now. A different pain than before. Lesser, but harder to ignore. 

Shifting closer, Tina reached for the limp hand Bagi had resting on her leg. She brushed her fingers against Bagi’s, waiting to see if she would pull away. When she didn’t, Tina laced their fingers together, and realized they hadn’t held hands since before they were all sent here.

“I’m sorry, Bagi,” Tina murmured, rubbing her thumb over Bagi’s knuckles. “Even if you get why, that’s still kinda messed up for him to not even listen to you before killing you.”

Sighing, Bagi leaned further into Tina’s side. “It’s not about me. It’s just the situation.”

Despite saying the words like they were a fact, Tina could tell Bagi was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince Tina. So she squeezed Bagi’s hand, and Bagi squeezed back. 

“But, uh, yeah,” Bagi continued after a moment, eyes dropping to their interlaced hands. “That’s why I wasn’t sure what you were going to do. It feels like nothing’s off the table these days.”

Tina nodded, focusing on the warmth pooling between her and Bagi’s palms. Besides friendly pats on the back and occasionally helping someone bandage their wounds, this was the first gentle touch Tina had felt in days. It soothed a rawness inside of her she didn’t even realize was there, and she didn’t want to let go of it anytime soon.

“I don’t think there is. Especially with Team Red. I’m pretty sure they’re losing their minds over there,” she then tried to joke.

Bagi chuckled at this, although it was weak. “We’re all losing it a bit, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Tina hummed, squeezing Bagi’s hand again. “But at least we all seem to be on the same page of, like, insanity, y’know?”

Instead of laughing more, Bagi only nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Another silence fell over them. There was something else troubling Bagi. Tina could tell by the way she kept glancing at her from the corner of her eye. But unlike before, this wasn’t a waiting game. Bagi stayed silent, and Tina did too. 

So instead, Tina let her eyes roam over Bagi’s face, taking in the changes since the last time she’d seen her. Like she’d noticed before, Bagi’s hair was tangled. There was dirt smudged across her cheek, and a cut that had already scabbed over sitting above her eyebrow. Although it was dark in the shadow of the tree they were sitting against, after a few more moments, Tina noticed the dark purple bruises starting to form around Bagi’s left eye. 

“Is that a black eye?” Tina asked, sitting up straighter to get a better look. 

Bagi nodded. “I don’t even know how I got it. Probably during a fight or a death thing or some bullshit like that.” 

Frowning, Tina nodded. It made sense, but she didn’t like it. She didn’t like knowing that Bagi had been hurt, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

She looked down at the dried blood staining the front of Bagi’s sweater, and knew that there were more wounds she couldn’t see. Either because they were hidden by her clothes, or because they’d been erased by a respawn. Gone, but not forgotten. 

There was nothing Tina could do about those wounds. They’d both been hurt, and they were both going to continue to be hurt as the days went on. That was simply the reality of their situation. She couldn’t protect either of them from that.

But there was one thing Tina could do right now. 

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the past few days making her more bold than she was used to being. Or maybe she was just overwhelmed with wanting to do something to help Bagi. 

Either way, despite her fluttering heart, Tina didn’t let herself think twice as she moved both of her hands up to cup Bagi’s face. 

Bagi blinked, but didn’t pull away. 

“Tina?” She whispered, her cheeks growing warm under Tina’s hands. “What are you-”

Before she could finish, Tina was leaning forward, and pressed her lips as gently as she could to the darkened skin near Bagi’s eye. Bagi fell silent, her breath soft against the side of Tina’s head as she peppered light kisses all over Bagi’s bruises. 

When Tina pulled back, she kept her hands on Bagi’s face. Bagi stared at her like this was her first time ever seeing Tina.

“Was that okay?” Tina whispered. 

Slowly, so as not to dislodge Tina’s hands from her face, Bagi nodded. 

“That- That was more than okay,” Bagi stammered out. 

A beat passed. Bagi’s soft breath was now puffing across Tina’s face.

Tina began to lean in again. But before she could-

“I was given a task to kill you today.”

Freezing, Tina’s eyes flew open to see the same fear as before flashing across Bagi’s face. 

Tina’s sword was still on the ground behind her, just out of reach. Bagi’s hands had settled on her waist, and although their grip was gentle, it wouldn’t take much effort for Bagi to hold her in place. 

“Oh,” Tina breathed, her face still inches from Bagi’s. 

“I’m not going to though,” Bagi then said, her thumbs rubbing small circles into Tina’s sides. “I don’t care if I lose points. I’m not going to hurt you, Tina. I swear.”

She could’ve been lying. Bagi was good at that. She’d lied to Tina before, and although she swore she wouldn’t lie to her again, that was before they’d been dropped on this hellscape island. Things had changed now. They both knew that.

But despite all this, Tina didn’t move away. Her heartbeat didn’t pick up speed. She kept her hands on Bagi’s cheeks, and Bagi kept rubbing circles into her skin.

“Okay,” Tina whispered, her nose brushing against Bagi’s. “Then I’m going to kiss you.” 

And finally, Bagi smiled. 

“Please.” 

Tina leaned in, and Bagi met her halfway. Her lips were chapped, and Tina knew hers were as well. There was the unmistakable taste of blood on her lips. But still, the kiss was soft. It was soft and slow and everything Tina dreamed it would be. 

There was nothing harsh about it. Nothing fiery. Despite the fact that they were in purgatory, Tina couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to get this little slice of heaven all to herself.

They pulled away at the same time. Bagi smiled at her, and Tina smiled back as she leaned forward to bump her forehead against the other girl’s. Butterflies fluttered around her chest. Her skin buzzed as Bagi continued to trace shapes into her sides. 

Seconds ticked by. Then, minutes. Tina readjusted so she was resting her head against Bagi’s shoulder, and Bagi had her arm draped over her shoulders. 

“We’re going to be okay,” Bagi said after a bit of silence.

Tina looked up at Bagi through her lashes, once again wondering how she managed to look so perfect no matter what. 

“Yeah,” Tina murmured, nestling in closer to Bagi’s side. “We will.” 

Later that night, when Tina would eventually wander back to her farm, Missa would be there checking on the crops. He’d ask her where she went, and she’d tell him she just went for a walk. He’d ask her if she was alright, if she’d gotten attacked by any mobs. And she’d tell him that she was okay. 

Her belt would be short one pouch of tea leaves, but he wouldn’t notice. None of her teammates would. No one would notice that her hands had stopped shaking either. Tina wouldn’t even notice until she went to pull the leaves off another tea plant.

And if her tea tasted better that night than it had since they all got trapped there, Tina would be the only one to notice that too.

#qsmp #tinakitten #bagi #qsmp bagi #qsmp tina #bagina #teaduo #q!tina #q!bagi #my writing #mcytyuriweek2023

[festival-of-pudding]

prompt: hypnotism ;)

since I already had my freak flag flying this weekend I figured I'd do this one first ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“I don't believe in hypnotism," Buck says to Eddie.

Eddie glances at the patient before shaking his head. “I don't either, but maybe don't say that while we’re still in here?”

“Oh, that's alright,” the woman replies. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words in this room.”

They're in a therapy office, Buck and Eddie watching while Hen and Chim patch up the therapist. She dropped a pot of fresh coffee and has some pretty nasty burns down one arm; Chim sprayed them with lidocaine, so she’s not in much pain, sitting on her couch while Chim and Hen prep the wounds for bandaging.

“Oh, I— I didn't mean it like that,” Buck says quickly. "No, see, I'm in therapy myself. Therapy’s great. I love my therapist. Right now we’re talking a lot about—”

“Buck,” Eddie hisses.

The therapist smiles. “I'm glad to hear that. And I’m guessing your therapist doesn’t use hypnosis?”

“Well no, I mean, I’m not trying to quit smoking or something. Um, no offense, I mean, I just—”

“You think it's all fake.”

“No, I—" Buck sighs. “I wish I hadn't opened my big mouth.”

“That makes two of us,” Eddie mutters.

Hen pats her uninjured arm. “Okay, ma’am, I’m gonna start wrapping the bandages now, so try to keep as still as you can.”

She smiles. “I can do that." And then to Buck: “So what is it about hypnosis that makes you so uncomfortable?”

Eddie rubs his face and sighs.

“Go on, Buckley, answer the lady," Chimney says. “You got yourself into this.”

Red-faced, Buck shrugs before stammering, “I—well—I guess I don't see how it would help anything. And honestly, yeah, it creeps me out. I mean, even if I did think it was real, no way would I ever let someone get inside my head.”

“Why not? There's plenty of room,” says Hen.

Eddie snickers, and Buck crosses his arms and purses his lips.

The therapist nods. “That's a pretty common belief. I hear it all the time, even from my clients. People think it's stage show stuff, some kind of magic or mind control. But real hypnotism isn't like that at all. It's not much different from guided visualization — the therapist simply helps the client get into a relaxed but focused headspace, so they can concentrate without the noise of constant distracting thoughts."

Buck's brow crinkles. “Really? You can do that?”

“Oh, I don’t do anything, the client does. Everyone has the power to slow down for awhile. I just help them find it.”

“How—how does that work?”

“It's not complicated. I just tell them to be still for a minute, not to fidget or move around, just to look at me and try to focus. Keeping the eyes fixed on one point is important. Then I ask them to notice their breathing: becoming aware of it, the rhythm, how the air moves in and out of the lungs. Anyone can do that, no matter how nervous they are. Anyone can feel their breath moving in and out as they inhale and exhale — ribs expanding and contracting, shoulders rising and falling… it's the easiest thing in the world. After a few breaths it often starts to seem like your heartbeat gets louder… like a drum, a pulse in the chest, the neck, the ears. You can time your breath by its rhythm. Inhale, beat, beat, beat… exhale, beat, beat, beat…”

Buck shifts a little on his feet.

“Often by that point you find your breath is coming a little slower, your heartbeat too, as everything starts to smoothe out and calm down. All that oxygen in your blood can make your head chest feel warm, and your head might start to spin a little. That's good, that’s when you know you're starting to relax. You know it because you can feel all the tension leaving your shoulders and neck and jaw, and all the noise outside and inside your head is starting to fade and become still and quiet. It happens without you even having to think about it, a little bit more with each heartbeat, until all you can hear is your heart and my voice.”

Hen has stopped wrapping the bandage. She, Chim, and Eddie are all staring at Buck. 

His arms are still crossed, but loosely now. His shoulders are no longer bunched and his fists have unclenched. His lips are parted, and the vein in his neck pulses visibly.

“By this time nearly everyone starts to feel a little sleepy — it's only natural, all that oxygen moving through you, your muscles relaxing, all those noisy thoughts finally going quiet… it makes sense that your eyes are starting to blink more, because you're not really used to relaxing like this, and it can be overwhelming, can't it?”

Buck's eyes blink rapidly, half-lidded.

“And that’s good, because it’s really nice to stop all the noise for a little while, isn't it, to slow down and calm your mind, let those tired muscles relax, even close your eyes if you want to. They're blinking more now and that’s okay, I know it’s getting harder to keep them open… mm-hm, just like that… a little heavier each time they blink… until you let them close.”

Buck’s eyelids flutter and fall shut.

“Buck—?”

Eddie blurts his name a little too loudly in a voice a little too high-pitched. Buck gasps and flinches, eyes flying open. He looks at Eddie, then the others.

“What? Why's everybody looking at me?”

Hen and Chimney glance at each other, eyebrows raised. “No reason at all, Buck,” Hen says, and returns to taping up the bandages.

Buck turns back to Eddie. He’s still staring at Buck: eyes round, face flushed, breath shallow. He swallows before he speaks.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? What's wrong with you, man? You look weird.”

Eddie clears his throat. “No, I, uh, I just remembered I gotta go… outside... for something. I'll see you at the truck.” He swallows again, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and nods to the others before making a swift exit.

“What's his deal?” Buck says, as Hen and Chimney exchange another look. Hen's jaw has dropped; Chim puts his hands up in his patented I’m-not-even-touching-that gesture, and Hen presses her lips together to stop herself from speaking.

“Well anyway,” says the therapist brightly, “If you’re interested in learning about hypnosis techniques, I have some literature you can take with you. I have a feeling you might be able to put it to good use."

“I—uh—okay, sure, I guess.”

“Take the literature, Buck.” He looks at Hen quizzically, and she adds: “Let's just say it might come in handy later.”

Chim stifles a giggle beneath a cough and begins packing up their medkits. As he and Hen get to their feet, Buck looks at them in confusion, then at the therapist, who grins at Hen before smiling up at him.

“You never know,” she says.

june fic prompts

#let your freak flag fly #buddie #fic prompt #writingtag #summer of trash 2022 #911 abc #fp:myposts #buckeddie

[lovesick-panmess]

Protect Them

Soo I know I'm way overdue with the 3rd part of my Armageddon AU but I've actually been replaying the lessons so I get a proper feel for what I'm writing, so to make up for it and to get this idea out of my head I've been thinking about it for days here is a related fic between the oldest brothers

-------

Levi can count on one hand how many times he's seen Lucifer coming home injured. The Avatar of Pride could easily crush irrelevant demons with his glare and he proved worthy of Diavalo's right-hand man for a reason... But the first time that Levi remembers was on a travel mission with Lord Diavalo within a year after their fall from grace. It was a distant memory, seeing Lucifer stumble up the stairs blooded up and adamantly refusing care from any of them, even Mammon who was following behind his every footstep. He had gotten used to such behavior and just settled for turning up his headphones on his way to the safe haven that was his room, stopping when he noticed the eldest's door cracked open. He watched Mammon gingerly wrap the bandage around his shoulder, blinking back tears in his eyes and shaking his head vehemently as Lucifer spoke. The music was loud and distracting he just settled for reading their lips-

"Mammon I need you to do this for me.."

"I won't! There's no need, ya just paranoid-!"

Watching the tears well up made Levi shift, uncomfortable and jealous, wondering what bond allowed them to be so vulnerable so open. Hadn't they all fought their father together? Rallied behind him so readily behind Lucifer, their Morningstar that only shined a light that only Mammon was allowed to see. He lingered before continuing to walk down the hall, to dwell in his own sunken loneliness but hearing Mammon speak one more time before the door had shut.

"..I'll do it, alright? Just stop ya crying, Luci.."

He had felt the deja vu of that very moment playing out in front of him, though this time he was hiding from Mammon in his secret spot in the living room. They had planned to go to the movies in an hour and Levi knew that Mammon would try to find him to convince him to pay for the tickets yet again so he decided to wait out the time so that scumbag would have to bring his wallet. It was a surprise to see the door open, everyone else is out and Lucifer's return to be scheduled for a few more days, but instead, the eldest had come early with visible wounds and beatings. Levi felt frozen, debating on whether he should slip out to help or stay putt but once again Mammon comes down the stairs like it's his calling. "Lucifer? Let me help you!" Denial was the first given reaction, the eldest's heart too hard and stubborn to ask for help before collapsing into Mammon's arms.

Levi followed with anxiety brewing in his chest, now wanting to just hide away in his room since plans were clearly on hold and he could do nothing to help the pair. Not like they would want his help, a shitty pathetic otaku wasn't much good at bandaging wounds, not like he was able to get much practice like Mammon did. Jealousy seethed, it made his heart race as he hid to the side of the door at the mention of his name.

"We have to tell him, Mams."

"We don't have to tell him shit! It's fine like this...Levi doesn't have to be involved."

It was confusing to be thrown out of the loop, but it hurt to hear Mammon so effortlessly fight to not include him. Maybe the second-born felt that Levi wasn't worth it? Too weak and unable to do..whatever it is they are arguing about, even so, it was odd-looking into Lucifer's room. Mammon unafraid of the eldest's temper and even being so bold as to glare at him while cleaning his cuts, Lucifer had an expression of utter fondness that was intertwined with an unlabeled fear, one that only he seemed to see.

"Mammon, you know it takes a lot out of me to..admit this. I'm almost jealous that you're able to view me so..."

Shit shit shit, he had been so entrapped in their conversation and his own envy he hadn't realized that it was emitting throughout the hall. He stiffens when Lucifer calls his name, slipping out from where he was hiding and now embarrassed. "Levi..come here please." He notes that Mammon refuses to look at him, biting his bottom lip hard as he sits next to his brother, so not used to this soft tone from him. He really must have stepped into a completely different world, one where Lucifer is willing to fight tooth and nail with his own pride in order to tell them the truth. And what a horrid truth it must be.

"Lucifer what's going on? Why is Mammon..." He trails off, feeling Lucifer's hand skim through his hair, and despite his own embarrassment leaned into the comforting touch and suddenly the bottle of Demonus was looking very tempting. "Levi...I would like to involve you in something very important, in order to protect the others." Lucifer's words were slow, each one taking some kind of will to overcome his pride, his wings twitching in what Levi could easily place as anxiety and one he knew way too well. "I'm not allowed to say anything about the threat outside of the Devildom but it puts us at risk and I...There may be a chance I won't come back."

His stomach drops, he doesn't realize that he's shaking until he feels Mammon's arms wrapping around his shoulder, shaking his head in pure denial. Not Lucifer, the most powerful one of them all, their eldest brother not coming back. Such thoughts were unfathomable to even believe, much less considered as a probability to the point that they had to talk about it. Acknowledge it and take action, Lucifer keeps talking and Mammon presses Levi closer to his chest, "I talked this with Mammon since the beginning but now we believe it's time to tell you in case something were ever to happen to the both of us and you would decide when to tell Satan..."

The prospect of such responsibility makes Levi feel like a fish out of water as he gulps for air yet in that same breath go on a rampage of self-deprecation and drowning doubt. How he's not ready, he's a good-for-nothing shitty pathetic otaku, he can't protect his brothers, he's weak, he's nothing, if Lucifer and Mammon are gone then there would be no fucking hope for them. The two oldest look at each other, small bits of regret building up from the pressure and burden they had put on him, Mammon gently rubbing his back and Lucifer cupping his face. "Leviathan please breathe."

His body does it automatically before he can think about it, the air in his lungs felt like boiling water as the panic slowly dissipates in his chest. All that was left was his own soft mutterings, so sure that Lucifer was probably disappointed that he has to trust in Levi of all people to protect them, he leans against Mammon who nudges him affectionately before resting his head on his shoulder. "I...I haven't really done anything good since...I was General...how can you be so sure in me?" He asks but squirms unready for whatever the answer might be, though he's unable to mistake Lucifer's radiating pride that he feels.

"Who's the one who came up with the plan on where to steal the weapons in the Celestial Realm?"

"M-Me but I-"

"And who helped convince the others to lay low while we defended the base?"

"I did but Luci-"

"Who's the one who took an arrow for Mammon while he was trying to protect me?"

"Lucifer-!"

He gets cut off with a flick on his forehead, his lips set in a pout but meeting the Morningstar's expression that made butterflies bloom in his stomach from overwhelming pride had him turn away and looking down at the floor. "Levi, get out of your head for one second and look at how smart and tactical you are. When it matters...when there is no time to panic. You're the third strongest family for a fucking reason, you should start believing it." The unusual confidence makes him flush but it's really Lucifer's words that bring the tears, no longer from fear but slowly coming to the realization that Lucifer and Mammon too had faith in him...they always did.

"Do ya still wanna join the pact? If ya wanna think about it, ya still can Levi." He blinks at the fact that Mammon had really been silent this whole time and just hugging him, the second born now getting up to tighten the remaining bandages. "Did you think about it, Mammon?" Levi knew the answer in his gut, only the blind would question the unwavering devotion that Mammon and Lucifer had for each other, only further cemented as the Avatar of greed simply shakes his head. He feels a small smile form on his face, "Then I don't need to think about it...I want to do this."

By the next few hours, any of the remaining tension and somber feelings had slipped away, replaced by a calm atmosphere that usually would not last long in the House of Lamentation. The melody of the cursed record floated and hung in the air as Levi rested on the floor in his demon form, the pact officially made and learning about the secret doorway by Lucifer's bookcase, definitely locking that information into memory. He sees Mammon grinning above him, curiosity embedded in his features, "So where'd ya decide to put the pact mark?" Levi lifts his sweater, the symbol of the three still glow fresh on the side by his ribs, and Mammon hissing with empathy.

He wanted it to hurt weirdly enough, to serve as a forever reminder that this pain was temporary but the pain of losing his brothers would surely last till the end of time. Mammon shows the mark on his hand, Lucifer clicks his tongue in disapproval as someone might ask about the pact but the second brother waves his concern away. He enjoys looking at the pact, the constant reassurance that they would be okay when the word goes to absolute shit, and Lucifer couldn't find any argument against that. They both look at the eldest who crosses his arms with a sharp, "No-" before puppy eyes come into play and Lucifer's pride can not save him from that.

What they both don't expect is for Lucifer to turn around and spread his wings out as if to show off, but then they see it. The markings trailing up his spine and next to the scars of where his two wings used to be, Levi is the first to reach up and touch it, internally blaming the remnants of Lucifer's pride that is making him so bold. He sees his hand tremble but luckily he is able to hold his voice steady, "Just because we made this pact..doesn't mean you both get to just fuck up. Y-You both should always come home." Lucifer nods, Mammon kisses his cheek and Levi struggles to hide his tears.

When Levithan leaves the room while closing the door behind him, reality, as he knew it just a few hours ago, wasn't all that different and he can hear Asmo drunkenly cheering as Satan carries him through the door. "Hey, Levi! Don't hide in your room- you better come join us." He doesn't give his thoughts a chance, heading down the stairs with a small smile. The world hadn't changed, but Levi would be forever.

----------

AHHH THIS HAS BEEN SITTING THE DRAFTS FOREVER I'M SO GLAD I FINISHED IT. Please please let me know if I should make an explanation post of how the pacts would work (it will most likely be headcanons cause I don't know how they work in canon 😪😪)

either way, I really hope you enjoyed the fic as I did writing it! I'm still working on the next part for the Armageddon AU so bear with me 😭

#obey me #angst #lucifer angst #mammon and lucifer #obey me angst #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date? #obey me leviathan #levi angst #mammon and levi #mammon angst #Lucifer angst #armageddonau

[stardustdiaries]

Kiss you Goodnight

Pairing: Sergeant Hunter x Reader

Summary: You and Hunter tend to each other's wounds as sleep threatens to creep up on you both. Your bed is too small for the both of you, but Hunter doesn't seem to care.

Warning(s): Brief mention of wounds, and a whole lot of fluff

Word count: 1,538

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“For Force’s sake, Hunter, could you please sit still?” you grumbled under your breath as you gently held his face, trying to clean the gash that ran over his cheekbone.

Hunter was sat on the couch that was nicely tucked into the living area of your small Coruscant apartment. Though he never wore anything with strong scents, his unique aroma of sweat and burnt teakwood flooded the air. Through the windows seeped in the golden light of the setting sun, painting Hunter’s features in a way that could only be described as angelic.

You’d sit and take in the view if he weren’t getting on your last nerve.

With a raise of his eyebrow, he offered a lazy grin. “It’s only a scratch, mesh’la. I could take care of—”

“You took a vibroblade to the face, Hunter!” you blurted. Your eyes refused to meet his, but you knew you were failing at masking the leftover panic that still burned in your veins. Quickly, you wiped away at the dried blood that had spilled from the wound and now stained his face. “Just— Please, stay still, okay?”

His eyes softened at the exhaustion in your voice. He couldn’t ignore the tension in your shoulders. Silence fell over the two of you, heavy and stiff, and neither one of you seemed to be in a hurry to break it.

Once you finished cleaning and medicating his wound, you cupped the sides of his face with such tenderness that he couldn’t help but instinctively lean into your touch. Your eyes searched his quickly. “You scared me out there, Hunt.” you sighed.

A frown settled onto his lips. “I know, mesh'la. I’m sorry.” His brows pulled together as he searched for his next words. “I just didn’t want you getting hurt out there. I guess I didn’t think it through before I jumped in.” he offered with a shy grin that made your heart soar.

You snickered teasingly before brushing away the locks of hair that clung to his forehead. “At least I have someone looking out for me, right?”

“Always.” he breathed immediately, chasing after the warmth of your touch.

Pulling away with a smile, you gently caressed his cheeks, mindful of his wound, and released whatever tension hung over you in a single breath. “Okay, Fearless Leader,” you said. Quickly, your eyes went down to the top layer of his blacks before meeting his eyes again. “We still have to check you over for more injuries.”

Another frown settled on his lips, making you roll your eyes playfully at him.  “Shouldn’t I also check you over? See if you got hurt?” His brows once again pulled together in a look of concern as his eyes instinctively went over you, trying to catch any trace of a wound he could’ve not noticed before.

Your thumb smoothed away the line between his brows gently. With a quirk of your eyebrow, you met his eyes. “Do I need to remind you that not only were you reckless enough to get your bucket knocked off and get sliced at with a blade,” you said. “But that you also tackled me away from a ticking bomb?”

“Still,” he began, shifting in place. “I should make sure that you’re okay; we were both pretty close to the blast.”

For his peace of mind, you let him play doctor for a bit. Hunter was very gentle as he inspected you for wounds he might’ve missed before, always a gentleman as he waited for your consent before tugging at the sleeves of your coat. His touches were feather-like, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine as you looked away to hide the blush that settled on your cheeks.

He spent several minutes making sure you were actually okay, not wanting to risk your health over something he could’ve missed. Hunter would insist on cleaning even the smallest of scratches and he grumbled under his breath over every bruise that covered your skin. You hadn’t bothered pulling away for the sake of bringing him some sense of peace, yet you couldn’t help but giggle after he had spent two solid minutes looking over your hands, searching for even the most minuscule of scratches on your skin.

“Hunter, I think I’m okay now,” you laughed. He still held your hands in his own, gently running his thumbs over your wrists as he continued his inspection. “You’ve been checking my hands for much longer than needed.”

Hunter looked up, his eyes twinkling under the soft light that spilled through your windows. “I know,” he chuckled. “Just wanted an excuse to hold you a little bit longer.” He said lowly with a boyish grin.

Your eyes widened at his confession, a shy smile forcing itself onto your lips. Ducking your head in embarrassment, you knew Hunter could hear the rapid beating of your heart, which only intensified the blush that settled on your cheeks.

“No no, c’mon, cyar’ika, let me see you,” he cooed with a laugh, his hands encircling your wrists gently as he eased your hands away from your face. The widest of smiles settled on his lips at the sight of your bashful look, cheeks still tainted a bright shade on pink. “There you are.” He laughed, cupping your face before planting a lingering kiss on your forehead.

You giggled softly, leaning into his touch, your lips chasing his once he pulled away. Your lips caught his and you couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss at the feeling of his lips curling into a smile. Pulling away, you huffed a small laugh as you caught sight of the dazed look that settled on Hunter's face, his smile making butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Now,” you smiled. “Let’s finish checking you over and then go to sleep— how does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hunter nodded before stealing a quick kiss.

The next few minutes sped by as you finished checking Hunter for any injuries you could’ve missed. You discovered bruises tainting the skin that settled above his ribs, cuts that  ran over the curvatures of his fingers, and you kissed them all gently before applying a good layering of bacta cream. With every passing minute, Hunter’s shoulders began to droop, the warmth of your gentle touches melting any traces of tension away from his muscles as the soft pull of sleep tugged at his heavy eyelids.

You smiled at the sight.

Your fingers unraveled the knot of his bandana, letting his curly locks to cascade around his face, framing his features in the most serene of ways. His eyes glimmered softly, catching the pale lights of a Coruscanti night that spilled through your windows, the light pooling in his eyes as if he were capable of keeping all the stars in the Galaxy within his very soul. The weight of battle had begun to loosen its hold on his shoulders, making him look so vulnerable as he leaned over, in search of your touch.

“Tired, Sergeant?” you laughed teasingly, eyes shining with a softness reserved for him only. Taking his hands in your own, you tugged him off the couch and guided him to your room, his steps sluggish with sleep. You helped him settle down on your small bed, fluffing the pillows before easing his head onto them. Feather-like touches brushed his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering as a response to your fingers gracing his skin. Draping extra blankets over him, you leaned down to press a kiss onto his cheek, smiling as his lips released a breath of contentment. “Rest, my love.”

As you turned away, a hand latched onto your wrist spinning you back to look at your lover. “Where are you going?” Hunter questioned; his voice raw with sleep rumbling through his chest.

“I’ll take the couch tonight, love. You know my bed is too small for the two of us.” you whispered, kissing the back of his hand to reassure him that you were okay with it.

Hunter, of course, wasn’t okay with it.

A frown settled onto his lips as he gave your arm a tug. “You’re not spending the night on that old thing,” he grumbled, his eyes still half closed. Another tug at your arm pulled you down onto the mattress. “C'mere.”

“Hunter, but you’re all bruised up; what if I hurt you?” you pout, tilting your head as he huffed out a short laugh.

Hunter brought you down to his side, scooting over to give you room as he wrapped his arms around your waist, sighing as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. “You could never hurt me, mesh'la.” he breathed against your neck, the warmth of his words against your skin sending your heart into a frenzy.

He tightened his arms around you, pulling impossibly close to his chest. Your fingers ran through his dark curls, the repetitive gesture easing his breaths into a gentler pattern as his figure molded itself against your own.

“I love you.” you whispered.

Immediately, his soft lips pressed a lingering kiss onto your neck before his sleepy eyes met your own with a glint of adoration.

“Not nearly as much as I love you.”

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°

🏷Fic taglist:

@sageislostinspring @degreeinsimping @mysticalturtleenthusiast @franken-fan @huntermeshla @xlittlemissydjx @queenie-chi-cosplay @imalovernotahater @badbatch-simp24 @cpnt616

#the bad batch x you #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x you #the bad batch hunter x reader #tbb sergeant hunter #the bad batch sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb x reader #tbb x you

[meetmyblondemuffins]

Movie Antics

Warnings: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex

“Tickets for two,” I said enthusiastically to the man standing behind the glass of the old, worn ticket booth. I heard an exaggerated sigh coming from the right of me. Looking over at Sirius, I raised my brows and jutted out my bottom lip, attempting to make him feel somewhat guilty. I squeezed his large hand and further intertwined our fingers. “You’ll live, Siri. It’s only a couple of hours.”

I’d been dying to see this new independent film that had been released a few weeks ago. I had been putting off watching it for some time now because I wanted to watch it with Sirius. I could tell he would’ve preferred being left behind. The entire ten blocks we walked from the cinema he drug his feet like a child who was being forced into a dentists’ office. I was surprised he didn’t throw himself on the concrete; kicking and screaming. Although he didn’t throw a complete tantrum, he did try making up a thousand excuses as to why he absolutely couldn’t bear to see one second of this ‘horrendous-looking film’.

It started from the second we stepped out of the front door and into the chilly breeze of a typical, dreary London day.

“Look how gloomy it is. It’s bound to rain—we should stay in tonight.”

“It’s gloomy every day, Sirius. And besides, I brought an umbrella.”

“But… why walk allllll the way to the cinema in the cold when we could snuggle up in a perfectly warm bed?” I giggled at his suggestion.

“Yeah, I’m sure all you want to do is snuggle up in bed.” I knew that for a fact, Sirius wanted much more than to lie in bed when he’d already try to rid me of my clothing minutes before leaving the house.

He seemed more sex-driven the past few days than I’d seen him before. Everywhere we went, he was ready to go; whether he spontaneously suggested the idea while lounging around at home, or in complete public. Refusing a cluster of his many advances always guaranteed nothing less than spectacular sex later on. It’s like all of his built-up sexual tension was released all at once; It was fantastic.

As soon as we bought our tickets and concessions, we walked into the dimly lit theatre. Scanning the rows of chairs from left to right, I noticed that not a single chair in the entire room was occupied. I supposed nobody was up for a film on a greyer-than-usual Sunday afternoon.

Sirius walked to the first row that was closest to the entrance, leading me with my index finger wound around his. We sat towards the middle of the row.

I would’ve preferred to sit closer to the front, if even just a few rows, but I decided to cut my pouting, child-like boyfriend a bit of slack. Sirius slouched down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest as the lights dimmed to complete darkness. Immediately following, lights of the previews that covered the far wall flooded the room. It was almost blinding.

Looking over at the silhouette of Sirius’s profile, the glow of the projection outlined the miserable look he had plastered on his face. I almost felt bad for dragging him here, but on the other hand, I think he was being a drama queen about the entire situation.

Reaching over the popcorn that I had resting in my lap, I brought the armrest that was separating us to a vertical position so that I could scoot closer to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, his flyaway curls brushing against my cheeks.

“I really appreciate you being here, you know.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, lightly kissed my temple, and rested his cheek on the top of my head. So he wasn’t completely resenting being here after all.

Sirius and I always did things for each other that we didn’t particularly want to do. We wanted each other to be happy, and it made our relationship stronger as a whole. I was awoken in the middle of the night to him leaving to go prank students with the other marauders and he went to nearly abandoned cinemas to watch films that he had no-to-negative feelings towards. It balanced out evenly.

Halfway through the movie (and also the bag of popcorn), Sirius’s arm that was resting across my shoulders made its way down to my hip. He leaned in to whisper into my ear.

“It’s not too late to get out of here. We could go out to a nice dinner, go for a romantic stroll through the park,” he drug out the ‘a’ in park, “anything. Anything you want.” Turning my full torso toward him, I cocked my head to the side as to say ‘why, why do you do this to me, Sirius Orion Black’. His expression was originally full of hope—hope that I thought this movie was as terrible as he’d predicted before we’d gotten here.

“Anything, huh?” His eyes filled with glee. But his face dropped immediately as I said:

“Well, I want to stay here.”

He went back to slouching in his chair, his head meeting the back of the headrest. I couldn’t stand seeing him act like this anymore. There was no way I was leaving this cinema until the film came to an end; but perhaps I could offer him a deal.

“If you stay until the end, I’ll do whatever you want afterwards.” A smirk form across his lips and I knew exactly what he had on his mind.

Moments later, I was once again engulfed in the film. The main characters had defied their near-impossible chances of being together, and the romantic/sexual portion came to its peak. I felt Sirius’s lips sneak below my earlobe and begin a trail to my collarbone. “I said afterwards, don’t be so eager,” I said placing my hand on his chest in an attempt to stay focused on what was happening between the characters.

“C’mon, even these poor bastards on screen are enjoying themselves. It’s like they’re mocking me.”

“Well I’m enjoying myself. And what, is ‘fucking in a movie theatre’ something you were planning to cross off of your bucket list before you die?”

“Well it wasn’t before but,—“ I cut him off with a look of disapproval. “There’s not anybody here, we’re sitting in the back. This is perfect!”

Before I could object, Sirius crashed his lips into mine. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. I’d caused him to suffer—or at least act like he was suffering—for a few hours and I suppose I owed this to him. I wouldn’t be missing out on the movie much. It was like I was experiencing what they were doing, but they weren’t in an empty cinema, it was a bit more romantic on their end. However, I didn’t mind much.

Our kiss deepened as his tongue brushed over my bottom lip before it entered my mouth, exploring every corner. His hand lightly cupped my cheek.

I felt Sirius’s fingertips lightly brush over the slightly thin material of my trousers that separated the pads of his fingers from my inner thigh. In a swift manoeuvre, his fingertips slid under the waistband of my trousers and pulled them down, then danced along my skin, igniting sparks as they made their way to my heat. His middle finger slipped past the side of my panties and made firm circles over my clit.

I’d quickly decided not to make this about me. I’d wanted to show Sirius just how much I appreciated him being there, even if I’d practically forced him to.

I palmed his hardening member through his pants and dropped to my knees in front of him. As soon as I unbuttoned and unzipped his skin-tight black jeans, pulling his boxers down slightly, his erection sprung upright, slapping against his stomach. I bit my lip and looked up at him through my lashes lustfully. He shut his eyes, bracing himself for the warmth of my mouth wrapped around him.

I let the tip of my tongue flick over his slit, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum.

“Fuck, don’t tease,” he groaned, loud enough for only me to hear over the booming cinema surround sound. The flat of my tongue glided over his head as I took the shaft into my hand and began stroking, feeling the veins on his thickness. With each bob of my head, I allowed him to venture deeper and deeper into my throat, hollowing my cheeks until I felt the need to gag. His fingers became entangled in my hair, but he let me go at my own pace. I altered my speed and pressure often which made it difficult for him to stifle his moans.

His hand gripped my hair tightly and he threw his head back onto the head rest, his mouth hanging open. I could taste the familiar flavor of his cum spread across my tongue and slide down my throat.

I stood up from the floor and lifted the armrest on Sirius’s left, allowing us more room. I straddled his lap backwards, his chest pressing against my back. The only thing separating us was the thin lace material of my panties. His right hand travelled up my torso, grazing my rib cage and kneading my breast gently. His left hand snaked around my thigh and pulled my panties to the side. He traced shapes roughly around my centre as I let my head fall back to rest on his shoulder.

He nipped at the sweet spot on my neck and I let out a light moan. As good as his fingers felt against me, I need more. I lifted myself up a bit and reached between us to position his hard cock at my entrance. Slowly lowering all the way back down, I gave myself time to adjust to his large size as he filled me to the brim. He continued massaging my throbbing nerves and I rested my hand over his, getting him to apply more pressure. Arching my back against his chest, I could already feel myself tightening around him and he felt it too. I could feel every muscle throughout his body contract. Every time I had sex with Sirius, it always felt like the first time.

Slightly angling myself to find my g-spot, I let out a muffled whimper and shut my eyes tight when I felt his head brush my

G-spot . I slowly began going up and down on his throbbing dick, grinding against him every time my ass met his crotch. With every motion, I felt my knees weaken a little more each time.

Sirius’s breath became harsh and uneven on my neck and I could tell that he couldn’t hold it much longer. Every individual muscle in my lower body starting in my toes began to tighten in a wave, one after another. The pleasure crept up into the pit of my stomach and I reached my high, becoming a shaking mess in Sirius’s lap. His warm load coated my walls and his fingers dug into my thighs, leaving light scratches.

Once I recovered from my orgasm, I noticed the credits of the film beginning to roll and the lights were returning to their original brightness. I collapsed back into my seat and Sirius struggled to reposition himself back into his jeans. I laughed at the sight of him.

“What?” he questioned continuing to fumble with his jeans.

“Maybe if your pants weren’t so tight Mr Black, you wouldn’t be having such a tough time right now,” I mocked him.

“Whatever, I just hope I don’t have as tough of time trying to get them off when we get home,” he grinned, “you did say afterwards, didn’t you?”

#sirius black smut #young sirius black #young sirius x reader #sirius black #x reader #sirius x reader #sirius smut #young sirius imagine #sirius black x y/n #sirius orion black #sirius imagine #fluff and smut #marauder era #fanfic #harry potter #imagine #marauders x reader #marauders #oneshot #sirius x you #smut tag #1800 abbie’s smut #abbies.smut

[ameliajessicawilliamspond]

PART 2

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A heavy kick to his ribs was Luke Skywalker's rude awakening.

"Rise and Shine, sweetheart!" A cruel voice mocked.

"Come on, Qiler." Someone responded, exasperated.

Luke looked around the room grogily. The jedi was surrounded by five men, his hands bound above his head to an old rusty poll in a cold, dingy bunker. His head was still spinning from whatever they had given him to knock him out.

"Hey, kid!" A man to his left slapped him across the face to get his attention. "What are you doing in our territory?"

Luke bit his lip, thinking. If they knew why he was here, they might kill him. If they knew who he was, they might kill him. If he said nothing, they might kill him. Either way, this was not an ideal situation to be stuck in. His silence earned him a punch to the stomach from the larger man to his right. "My friend just asked you a question. I suggest you answer."

"Haha! Good one, Keye!" Another laughed.

"I..." Luke began before biting his tongue once more. He had to decide how best to deal with this situation. He could use the force right now, break the bonds, take these ruffians out and be done with it. After all, Din was unconscious somewhere out there in the cold; freezing, dying, alone....

But these men may be their only help around for miles. Plus, they could be the smugglers who had found the holocron, which means it could be close.

He had to be smart about this.

Luke leaned forward, his mouth open as if he was about to speak, before sighing and leaning back against the cold metal behind him. "Nah, you guys wouldn't know what I'm looking for."

"What do you mean?" The man in the middle -Qiler, he remembered the skinny one say earlier- asked.

"It's just that...well," Luke looked them up and down, wrinkling his nose. "it's above YOUR paygrade." He said, as snoody as he could, earning himself another slap across the face. Qiler grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him close enough that their noses nearly touched.

"We are the famous Smugglers of Kajimi." He said, glaring into the jedi's eyes.

Luke blinked. "...Who?"

"The..." Qiler stuttered. "We're..." His grip loosened as he broke eye contact to look at his comrades. They all looked as surprised as he was. "You've never heard of us?"

"Sorry." Luke shrugged. "Must be local fame or something."

"Where are you from?" The skinny one asked.

"Ever heard of the Galatic Republic?" The jedi felt tension rush through the room at his words. "I was sent on a mission to find some artifact for them."

"What kind of artifact?" The big meaty one asked.

"Like I said, you've probably never even heard of it." Luke said, sitting back again, nonchalantly. "I mean, it's common knowledge where I'm from, but maybe not all the way out here."

Qiler reached forward at lighting speed, grabbing his jaw and pulling him close once again.

"What. Is. It?" He demanded.

Luke stared the man down for a moment before yanking his face from the man's grasp. "A Jedi Holocron."

The men looked at each other. Luke shrugged, regaining his non-chalant demeanor. "Like I said, I'm sure you've never heard of it. Why would you?" He laughed.

"Oh yeah, smartass?" Qiler yelled, turning back toward the table behind him. He reached into a drawer and pulled out an odd cube.

There it was.

Din was right. The Smugglers of Kajimi did find it. But they hadn't sold it yet!

"What do you think of that?" He said, tossing it in the air like it was a ball and not one of the rarest artifacts in the galaxy.

"I think you better give that to me so I can return it to the Republic." Luke said, his whole demeanor had changed, his tone low and serious.

Qiler let out a hearty laugh, putting it down on the table with a loud thump that made the Jedi flinch. "Empire, Republic, none of them have ever done nothing for me."

Luke took a deep breath before shrugging and leaning back against the pole that held him there, trying to regain his charade. "Oh well. The Republic would have paid you big for that, as well as for me." He made his eyes go wide, feigning surprise. "...oops."

"What was that?" Qiler asked, rising from his seat.

Luke stayed silent.

"Maskter, run a search on him." He said and the group turned their backs on him. Maskter ran through the bounty database before finally pulling up Luke's bounty.

"A jedi?" Maskter read. The group looked between each other. The bounty on him was...It was insane.

Just as they were about to round on the jedi, Luke sprang into action. He snapped his binds and stood, extending his hand and shoving the group apart with the force. He pulled Din's scarf from his back pocket and rushed forward, grabbing and wrapping the holocron in the fabric before making a break for the door.

It flew open, intense cold rushing in and wrapping around his body like frozen fingers gripping at his limbs. A sudden memory flashed through his mind of --Cold, so cold, Ben? Ben was here. Degoba? Pain, pain, pain...Han?-- He shook his head, pulling himself from the awful memory and rushed into the snow, cradling the artifact. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't care. He knew he had to get out of the area first, find the waterfall, get Din and get the kriff home. His mind swam with the last image of Din he had; laying on the bank, reaching for him...

Engrossed in his own worry, he missed the sudden sharp warning in the Force as something tore through his abdomen.

Luke stopped in his tracks, the air sucked out of his lungs. With wide eyes, Luke slowly looked down, his hand touching his stomach. When he pulled it away, it was wet with blood.

A bullistic. And not blaster fire, a solid bullet had gone through his body.

So, his bounty was dead or alive, then?

Luke dropped to his knees, one shaking hand gripped over the wound and the other clinging desperately to the wrapped holocron.

Behind him he heard voices. The smugglers were gaining on him.

Luke screwed his eyes shut, trying, desperately trying to push past the pain spreading through his body. He stood slowly, ever so slowly, placing the holocron down next to him.

He stretched out his fingers, trying to stall their shaking with little results. The men got closer, their voice grew louder. He raised his arms high in the air before slamming them down. The earth beneath him shook and a huge flurry of snow flew up behind him, blinding the group pursuing him. They screamed in frustration as they stumbled and got lost in the sudden snow storm.

Luke bent down, letting out a cry as his wounded side protested the movement, then ran as fast as he could. He ran and ran and ran, not caring where he ended up, he just had to away. Away from the smugglers, the bunker, the violence, the pain. He ran until his body didn't allow him to run anymore. He found a large snowbank and rushed behind it, falling behind the freezing cover, hoping it was enough to shield him from his pursuers. Luke gasped in breath after breath, trembling hands gripped against his wound, dropping the holocron next to him so both hands could put pressure on the wound. His body wouldn't respond anymore, too cold, too hurt to move. Luke choked back a sob as another rush of pain went through him.

He really hated the cold.

"I'm sorry, Din." He mumbled, before slipping into unconciousness.

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

"Luke!" Din woke with a start, the jedi's name dripping from his lips. He sat up before instantly regretting it, his aching body bringing him swiftly back to the ground.

"Well, well, the sleeping beauty awakens." A gruff voice says from behind him. He turns to see a woman entering the doorway, a pile of logs in her arms. She looked to be in her late 60's with long blue hair and shining orange eyes hidden behind the markings of wisdom her age had earned her.

"Where am I?" Din asked.

"You are a guest in my home, even if as a reluctant one." She said, tending the fire.

Din's memory began to catch up with him and he remembered his last cognitive memory; Luke being drugged and dragged away by strangers as they left him for dead. "Where is my companion?"

"I didn't seen anyone else. Although there were a lot of markings on the ground from what looked like a scuffle." She told him.

"Who's out here?" Din asked.

The woman froze for a moment. "There's been some activity around the waterfall within the last week."

"Pirates?" Din questioned.

Her glowing eyes latched onto his helmet. "The Spice Runners of Kajimi."

Din's chest tightened. If the Spice Runners discovered who he was, Luke would be in a world of danger. His face was plastered all over the bounty boards, and from what he last saw a few of those were marked "dead or alive." He stood up, rushing toward the door.

"Hey, a thank you would be nice!" The woman yelled after him.

Din froze, hand hovering over the door handle, before turning back toward his host. "How did you know to check the lake?"

The woman's eyes became distant. "I just...felt like I needed to go there." She explained slowly, like she wasn't sure what had brought her there herself. "There was this...feeling. Like the heaviness of desperation was burnt into the air, a silent voice begging for help through the wind..."

Din sucked in a breath.

--Oh, Luke...-- Din thought.

"Thank you for saving me. I have to go." He said, turning back to the door.

"This companion of yours, must be pretty important." She said. Din didn't answer. The woman stared him down, studying him before reaching down into a bag and pulling out a metal cylinder. She tossed it to the Mandalorian. Din caught it, studying the tube. It was Luke's Lightsaber.

"Found that near the lake. This friend of yours. He's one of those jedi." She said. It wasn't a question.

Din stayed silent.

"I used to run with them. I know where their base is." She said.

"Why are you helping me?" Din asked.

The woman turned her head and bit her lip, contemplating what to say. "One of his kind helped me get away from those people when they turned on me. It's only right I return the favor."

"You knew a jedi?" Din asked, stepping toward her.

"A togruta woman. She carries two of those. She was looking for someone, ended up finding me instead..." She reminisced. "But that's a story for another time." She said, making her way toward a drawer against the wall. She reached in, pulling a holomap from it, then handed it to Din. He activated it, the place where Luke was being held glowing before his eyes. He wasn't far. He thanked her again, shaking her hand. She nodded at him. "Go find your jedi."

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

Luke's could feel hands on him, shaking him back into consciousness. One was gripping his shirt, the other tapping his face. Someone was trying to wake him up.

"Din?" Luke whispered out, hoping beyond hope.

"He's alive!" Someone yelled. Luke screwed his nose up at the sound.

That wasn't Din's voice.

He was pulled roughly to his knees, the movement jostling his aching body and pulling a cry from his trembling lips.

"You wanna treat us like we're stupid?" The voice said above him, hitting him hard across the jaw. "You wanna pretend you're better than us?" He said again, a knee entering his sternum, causing the jedi to cough, blood mixed with spit falling on the prestine white snow.

"Please..."Luke begged, his body screaming against the assault.

"Oh, now you want to beg? Too late!" The man mocked. "You make a mockery of us, you don't leave alive!" He yelled. Something cold and hard was pressed against Luke's forehead.

"Hey, we may get more credits if he's alive!" Someone yelled from behind Qiler.

"No! You saw that thing he did with the snow! He's too dangerous, I want him dead!" The man screamed, beyond crazed with anger. The barrell was removed from his head, the man grabbing him by the jaw, ripping Luke's head up to look at him as a knife was pressed to his throat. "The only question is if I wanna do it fast or slow." He growled.

Before Qiler could make his desicion, the earth erupted around them.

Single spikes from what seemed to be bombs set off around the perimeter. A row of them cut off Qiler from the rest, seperating the party. Qiler looked around at the disruption before turning his wide, crazed eyes back to the jedi. "What did you do!?" He screamed. Luke was too cold, in too much pain to respond, he tried to shake his head to convey this wasn't his doing this time. Qiler hoisted Luke up by the shirt and flipped him around so that his back was flush against Qiler's chest, knife to his throat as the smuggler backed away from the commotion. Scattered screams echoed incoherently through the blinding snow as whoever was hunting them made their way through the crew.

Using the diversion to his advantage, Luke shoved the man off him with the little amount of Force he could muster, his broken body crumpled to the ground.

Qiler recovered, letting out a frustrated scream as he barrelled after the jedi. He grabbed his ankles and flipped Luke onto his back, pinning his arms above his head and digging a knee into the wound on his side, mounting him. Luke screamed, his voice cracking in the process. The knife was pressed to his throat once again, this time, drawing blood. "Bye bye, jedi." He mocked.

But his threat remained unfinished, thanks to the blaster bullet the just went through his skull. The man fell off Luke with a thump, legs still tangled around his damaged torso.

Luke didn't move, he couldn't anymore. Any adrenaline he had left was sucked dry the second he landed on the ground. He lay there, staining the white snow red like the sands of Crait, shivering so violently it could be mistaken for convulsing. He heard footsteps approaching him. Luke pinched eyes shut, waiting for whoever hunted down the smugglers to do the same to him.

"Luke?"

The jedi's eyes shot open. That voice sounded familiar.

The man kneeled down next to the fallen jedi. Luke gasped, in spite of himself as a familiar helmet came into view. "You're alive?"

Din Djarin nodded. "I told you we were getting off this blasted rock, didn't I?"

Luke's wrecked body finally caught up to him. Every nerve seemed to be frozen over, except for his side which screamed at every movement. He caught a glance at his reflection in Din's visor. His blond hair was thick and frozen, little blond icicles dipped in red from the blood that had pooled around him. His lips were purple, chapped beyond compare. His neck leaked blood from where the knife had pushed in and Luke realized this was the first time he'd ever experienced a murder attempt that was actually a threat since... He couldn't hold back the sob that escaped his mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Luke, this never should of happened. I'm so, so sorry." Din said, voice shaken as he put pressure on the wound, pulling a cry from the younger man. Din shook his head. "Kark that blasted holocron, I'm taking you home."

The Holocron! Luke looked past Din, spotting the artifact still wrapped in the scarf. Luke reached toward it, trying to pull it with the Force. When the thing wouldn't budge, Luke let out a grunt of frustration, trying to sit up. Din pushed him back down. "Luke, enough, please, cyare, enough." He begged, taking Luke's shaking hand in his own.

"No, Din, please, please!" He managed to say, ripping his hand free from Din's, pointing a trembling finger at the wrapped box.

Din glanced back, spotting what had Luke's attention. "I can get another one, it's alright." He said about the scarf, continuing his field medicine.

"No, no! Please!" Luke insisted, wiggling against the pressure on his abdomen, shoving at Din's hands. Din let out a sigh as Luke stubbornly pointed at the scarf again.

"Okay. Okay, cyar'ika, alright. Put pressure on this." He instructed, guiding Luke's frozen hands to his side, pressing them into it. He stood, fingers lingering over the man's wrecked body for a moment, before turning to go. "I'll be right back." He promised.

Luke watched with greying vision as the mandolorian reached down and picked it up. With a sigh of relief, he looked back up at the sky, watching the snow fall lightly around him. He had stopped shivering, something that should have worried him more than it was. He didn't have the energy to care, he was too tired. His eyes slipped closed and he gave into oblivion.

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

[TAG REQUEST! @asthefirerisesblog @reinaorgana @zarakem @16mistypaw @ryleeamberrr @bi-witch-rose @mayor-aaya @theonlyredcar @kineko123 ]

If there are any mistakes please let me know!

There will be a part 3!!!! Comment in the notes if you'd like to be tagged in it!

EDIT: Just went through and fixed a few buggy parts. Sorry, did not check this right the first time! Hopefully that's a bit better!

#dinluke #star wars #part 2 #fanfiction #fanfic #luke skywalker #din djaren #din djarin #the mandolarian #mandolarian #poor luke #I did him so dirty #its okay next chapter will have fluff #hurt/comfort #whump #like for part 3

[aenaxes-moved]

no light in a dark room

[fox x gn!reader] after fives dies by his hand, fox comes knocking at your door.

warnings: general angst

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: this is all @amaittrtd's fault for getting me on the fox train (i wholeheartedly believe that palpatine played some awful mind trick on him and that fox deserves a warm blanket and a hug). i'm also well aware fox has a regulation haircut, but i fell in love with @amikoroyaiart's fox design so there's that.

It’s near 0200 when you rouse from your bed and open your door after two rounds of insistent knocking, the first testing, hopeful, the second quick to follow and frantic as you pull a sweater over your nightshirt and shuffle across the floor. You can barely register that it’s Fox in the doorway before he’s crowding you back into the room and pulling you tight against his armor, burying the grooves of his helmet uncomfortably close into your shoulder as your door quietly closes behind him. It’s too much, too soon, and so late in the night for you to begin to formulate the questions flurrying through your slow return to wakefulness.

Why is he awake and roaming the upper halls this late into the evening? Why is he still in his armor? Why hasn’t he taken his helmet off? Why isn’t he greeting you with that soft smile and a cheeky promise of late night stargazing? Why is he so scared?

So you stay standing in the darkness for what feels like a long while, silent but for Fox’s breaths, short and trembling through his modulator. He holds you, clings to you, unmoving and tight, a man drowning.

“Fox,” you finally say, just barely above a whisper. You wince as his grip tightens on your waist, vambrace digging into your side. “Fox, let me turn the lights on.”

You feel him shake his head, the cold plastoid edges of his helmet grinding up against your neck as he squeezes you just that much tighter, like he’s afraid to let you go, to lose you. And judging by the way your suggestion has his breaths uneven and heaving anew, even in your groggy state, you know better than to pry your arms out from under his embrace and reach for the light switch.

“Let’s at least sit down, okay?”

He’s silent a moment, then you feel him shifting away, just enough that he can unstick his helmet from the junction between your shoulder and neck, only to bow his neck low, his visor pressing through your sweater and into the bone of your shoulder.

“Okay.”

If you weren’t startled awake by his sudden arrival, you’re fully awake now. Awake enough to register the weary, hoarse creak in his voice, the barely-there tremor as he presses his palms into your skin, the faint scent of blaster smoke. He squeezes tight one more time before he’s slowly peeling his arms away from around you, and through the darkness, you watch him drop them heavy at his sides, shoulders brought low under their weight. Why hasn’t he taken off his helmet yet?

“Let’s just…” Slowly still, you lift your fingertips to the edges of his ventilator, just barely able to feel his shaking exhales puffing through the seal of his helmet. But even in his obvious panic, Fox is a trained soldier.

���No!” he cries, whipping his hands up and squeezing painfully tight around your wrists, enough that you yelp in surprise. And as soon as he’s holding you, he’s gasping loud enough to crackle through his modulator and releasing you, recoiling like he’s been burned and stumbling back on his heels until the hard back of his armor clacks up against the durasteel of your door.

You hear it clatter, then a soft thud—he’s slid down against his back—and you drop down onto your hands and knees, feeling blindly in the darkness until your fingertips touch what you suspect to be a kneeplate. Trailing higher, you feel the visor of his helmet close above the plastoid, then his vambrace, then his glove guards by the crown of his helmet. It doesn’t take much time at all for you to piece together your senses: Fox is pressed up against the durasteel, curled in on himself, his head on his knees, his hands clutching the back of his neck, his modulator betraying his quiet, hiccupy breaths through the mechanical whirr. The steadfast commander of the Coruscant guard, the man revered for his quiet, stolid strength among his men and his clean-cut dependability on the Senate floor, your soft smile to call home: Fox is sobbing against your door.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks between stuttering breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—I just—”

“No, no,” you whisper, your knees knocking against his shin guards as you gently guide the side of his helmet against your chest. You’re sure he can feel the unsteady shake in your hands, your racing heartbeat, but how many times has he been your shoulder to cry on, all soothing words and grounding touch? He would argue otherwise, giving without any expectations for return, but you owe it to him to offer what small comforts you can. “It’s okay,” you croon, pressing your cheek against the top of his helmet. “You’re safe.”

Fox makes something that sounds like a dissonant cross between a sob and a groan, like the walls of a ship being torn apart particle by particle just before it dips below the event horizon and blinks out of sight. He wraps his arms around your waist and wails, and all you can do is hold him close in the darkness and hope.

Your knees burn by the time Fox’s cries have subsided to quiet, tremorous breaths, having held him close for what feels like a fraught hour. And when you’re just sure enough that he’s brought himself to a weak semblance of his usual calm, you lower your hands from the sides of his helmet, bringing one to gently rub at the back of his neck and the other under his chin to tip his head up towards you in the low light. He exhales shakily through the modulator.

“Better?” you ask. You wish you could lift the heavy helmet from his shoulders to see him in his fullness behind the plastoid, bared to you in all of his goodness and all of his fear, to ask to share in his burden, whatever it was.

Fox clears his throat, coughing awkwardly, but when he gently rubs his thumb over your hip, your heart warms; you already know your answer. “Yes,” he mumbles, bumping his visor against your ribs. “Thank you, my starlight.”

“The floor’s cold,” you murmur, kneading gently at the tense sinew of his neck. “Let’s go to bed?”

He nods against your chest, and you help heft him onto his feet, guiding him carefully to your bedside. Where Fox is normally straightlaced punctuality and organization that would put the regulation manuals to shame, tonight, you help him remove his armor piece by piece and let the plastoid clatter in a haphazard heap onto the floor by your bed. Tonight, he can be reckless and vulnerable and feeling. He deserves that much.

His helmet is the last to go when he’s bare-handed and stripped to his blacks. Without thinking, you reach for his head, but you’re quick to remember how that had started this whole ordeal in the first place, how he’d lashed out at you like a cornered animal, how he’d scared you half to death. You’re not opposed to him crawling into bed with you with his helmet—it’s a bit of an odd thought, his lean frame in his blacks topped with the bulky weight of his helmet that can’t be comfortable lying down, but considering the events of the night, you’re more than happy to make space for his comfort. You still ask anyways.

“Can I take your helmet off?” you ask, placing your palms on his shoulders and gently rubbing over his collar. You make sure to keep your voice as soft and low as possible so not to frighten him into another panic (what a notion! The unflappable commander Fox, startled by your voice). “I’ll keep the lights off. I promise I won’t peek.” You smile softly, though he surely cannot see you in the darkness. And for a moment, a searing bolt of doubt flashes through your gut as Fox stands before you in tenuous silence.

Then, his voice comes soft, almost timid, straining through the darkness.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Your heart aches. It burns.

“Yes, please.”

It’s the first time you’ve handled his armor like glass, having knocked on his helmet to say hello, dropped it on more than one occasion, and nearly slung the whole thing across the room when he’d heft you into his arms and laugh as you brought your legs around his waist. Your fingertips are light over the worn scrapes and crimson paint as you carefully, carefully press your palms into the plastoid and lift his helmet off his shoulders. It feels almost ceremonial, you think, as you see the dark silhouette of his head emerge from underneath until you can see the wavy top of his hair outlined in the low light. You carefully set his helmet on your nightstand and turn back to him.

It’s then that, for the first time this evening, you wonder what expression he’s wearing, how his eyes must be rimmed red and weary of tears, how all those years of fighting this perpetual war have deepened the furrow in his brow and the constant fatigue simmering just below his dark brown eyes. You wonder if he’s looking to you with an apology, with shame, with a silent plea for comfort, whether he’s seeking out your eyes as much as you are his. You have never been more desperate to see him in his entirety, open wounds and all.

But you have a promise to keep.

You thank the Maker that there’s just enough light for you to make out Fox’s outline, and you reach for him, lacing your fingers with his as you tug him a few steps towards your bed. You crawl in first, gently pulling him to follow suit. Normally, your nights sharing a bed with Fox begin and end with you tucked up against his broad chest as he curled secure around you. But in unspoken agreement, tonight, you shift yourself higher up on the bed, your back pressed against the wall as you open your arms to him, and Fox tucks up against you, his cheek pressed up beside your beating heart as you draw the covers over his shoulders and hold him close. You still feel the tension in his shoulders as you slowly comb your fingers through his wavy locks, but you are beyond grateful that the shake in his fingers has stilled, and so too, you hope, the wild thumping of his heart.

You open your mouth to bid him goodnight when, finally, he speaks.

“I swore I put it to stun,” Fox mumbles, just a hair above a whisper.

Oh.

“I thought I aimed for his arm.” His arms tighten around your waist, and he shifts so that his nose is pressed into the space just below your ribs, and you can feel the warmth of his breaths over your skin. “I knew I aimed for his arm.”

You continue to stroke over his hair. You’re not sure who he is, but you’re certain it’s one of his brothers. Fox had always been particularly sensitive to that. Loss. You want to ask, but you hold your tongue.

“And when the smoke cleared, I—I… I couldn’t look him in the eyes. How could I?” His voice is distant, the telltale quiver curling at the edges of his words.

“You did what you thought was right,” you murmur. If there are any lucid explanations to be had, they will come in the morning.

“I don’t think I thought at all.”

You aren’t entirely sure what Fox means. For all you know, it could be his unchecked grief stumbling over his tongue and placing words like plasters over the wounds left behind. It could be the aftershocks of whatever tragedy had occurred still rumbling through his lungs. It could be something more. You suspect it’s a combination of all three, but for now, for tonight, you dip your head low and press your lips against the top of his head.

“It’s been a long day,” you murmur, lifting your hand from his shoulder and stroking your fingertips down from his jaw to his chin. You lift his head just so, bringing him up just enough to crane your neck and kiss over his brow, feel him sigh against your chest. “Sleep. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

“You’ll be here when I wake?” Fox asks, lifting his chin to brush his nose over your jaw. The darkness will not let you see him, but you close your eyes anyways as you cup his cheek and bring yourself close. Pressing your brow to his, you’re close enough that you can feel his lashes flutter against your skin as he blinks, once, twice, waiting. You inhale, hold, and he exhales with you.

“Always, Fox. Always.”

#yayy back to thesis drafting #commander fox #commander fox x reader #clone wars fic #yaej.writes

[lightsovermonaco]

Water Weight (NSFW Max Verstappen)

Masterlist

Dual credit for this idea goes to my beta as always, @acollectionofficsandshit thank you my love!

“You watching from the garage today?” Max asks from the tiny bathroom. His fireproof underlayer lay in a pile just outside the alcove, his boxers quickly joining. Weigh-ins were simultaneously your favorite and most dreaded event of race day. On one hand, you got to imagine Max naked. On the other, the thought always wound up distracting you for hours afterwards. 

You flop back on the couch and pull out your phone in effort to distract yourself. If you glanced up, you would be able to see his bare ass reflected in the mirror of the door he neglected to close. “I will, but I’m not going out there right away. I’ll stay in the aircon until I have to.” Max swore softly, his hand darting out to snatch the clothes back. 

“What’s up?” You put a hand over your eyes, not trusting yourself to hold your nerve. The creak of the floor tells you he’s rejoined you in the main room, safely clothed. You drop your hand and pause.

“I’m overweight,” He says, emerging in his boxers. Well, that was a shock. You hadn’t expected to see quite so much golden, toned skin. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes drift to the planes of his chest, trailing down his stomach to the defined v that disappears under the cotton.

This was dangerous territory.

Oblivious, Max continues, “Only by a couple ounces of water weight but with all the gear… Guess I’ll have to work up a sweat before the official weigh-in.”

“I can help,” You blurt, the words bubbling out before you can think about what they imply. You clamp a hand over your mouth as Max freezes, turning to you. You could practically feel the years of friendship washing down the drain with those three syllables. 

Fuck.

Max opens his mouth, then closes it again. Your heart hammers against your ribs, stomach turning sour. Max was your best friend; you sure as hell didn’t want to lose him because of a dumb crush.

A pink tinge tints Max’s cheeks. “Are you suggesting-?”

“I mean if you want-”

He closes the distance between you in two strides. Your eyes snapped up to his face. If you just looked straight ahead-

“I do,” Max murmurs, so low you’re sure you misheard him. You laugh, attempting to negate the tension rippling between the two of you. A hand flexes at his side like he’s trying to restrain himself. Your heart speeds up so quickly you’re sure it could out pace his car. 

Your breath stutters as his fingertips brush your cheek. “I… I was just…” Fuck, you couldn’t even get the words out. Five pinpricks of lightning occupy your senses, short circuiting your brain. The simple touch carried so much… adoration. No, it was more than that. Love, maybe?

Blinking rapidly, you banish the thoughts. No way. You were Max’s friend, nothing more. But…

“I really hope you weren’t about to say ‘joking.’”

You realize his fingers haven’t moved from the curve of your jaw. All you can manage is a shake of your head. It was what you were about to say, but not what you wanted to say. 

Agonizingly slow, Max lowers himself to his knees before you so you are eye to eye. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his gaze falling to your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” He whispers, inching his face closer to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, a hand eagerly gripping his bicep.

“Never.”

And fuck, the moment his lips finally touch yours, every doubt you’ve ever had about his feelings for you vanish. It’s all portrayed in the tightening of his fingers in your hair, the way his tongue prods your lower lip, begging to be set free. His free arm crushes you to his chest as you open for him, setting yourself free. The first brush of your tongue against his has you sighing.

It feels so… Natural. Like it was meant to be all along, and every heartbreak endured along the way had only served to make the end so much sweeter. Desperate, your hands travel the valleys of his muscled back, determined to commit each curve to memory. 

Max stands, his grip on your waist propelling you upward. Stumbling towards the bed, you fumble with the buttons of your shirt. Dammit, why did you have to choose today to wear something nice for once?

Impatient, Max grips each side of the shirt and pulls. Buttons fly and you stare at him, gaping. “I liked that shirt!”

“Weigh in is in 20 minutes, no time,” He mumbles, tossing the useless fabric across the small space. The stupid hopeful grin on Max’s swollen lips turns your knees to jelly, allowing him to guide you onto the bed easily. He slots his hips between your spread knees, bodies fitting together in perfect bliss.

Kissing your bare abdomen, he pauses when his fingers reach the hem of your shorts. Despite the need raging in his expression, he forces himself to wait. But fuck, do you wish he would just take it. 

“Yes,” You say firmly. It sets him free, deft hands making quick work of tearing the shorts off you. His lips find your jaw as he slips off his boxers. He braces his forearms on either side of your head. You can feel his cock against your thigh, your toes curling.

Again he hesitates. There’s a conflict raging in his eyes. All you want to do is be his peace.

“No going back,” He says breathlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck. How many times had you imagined this moment in the years you’ve pined for him? How many times had you slept with other men and imagined it was him? How many times had his name slipped from your tongue when you had your own hand between your legs?

“I don’t want to go back,” You assure him, placing a soft kiss to those lips you’ve always dreamed about. He still doesn’t move, even though you can see the desperation written on his face.

“Fifteen minutes to weigh in,” You tease lightly. That snaps him out of wherever his mind had wandered, his grin returning. He rolls his hips, easing his cock between your slick folds. The sound that escapes you is one of pure ecstasy. Your imagination could never live up to the way he fits so perfectly inside of you, stretching you just enough to know that he was meant for you.

Your name tumbles from him again and again as he moves, slow at first. His movements quickly build up to his hips snapping against yours, the rickety bed creaking beneath you. Words escape you; all you know is the feeling of sweat-slicked skin beneath your fingers as they dig into his back, surely leaving red lines behind.

Heels digging into the back of his thighs, you encourage him to go harder and faster. After all, weigh in is in ten minutes. His thrusts become sloppier, his hips angling to hit that blissful spot inside of you, sending white hot sparks through your veins.

Pleasure crescendos, and you whisper, “I- I’m gonna-”

Max crushes his lips to yours, swallowing your moan as you shatter around him. He keeps moving as you come down from your high, pulling out seconds before he spills himself on your bare stomach.

He collapses beside you, chest heaving. “Damn.”

You laugh, using your now trashed shirt to clean yourself up. “You gonna make weight now?”

“I would bet that I will.” Max props himself up on an elbow to gaze down at you. He seems lighter than you’ve ever seen him. He checks the clock, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before getting up. “Gotta go. See you after the race?”

“I’ll be here, since I no longer have anything to wear.”

His laugh rumbles over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Wear one of mine.”

I may never recover from this, so thank you. I also never want to recover from this either. Post it, post it right now.

#only like 6 people follow me but oh wellllll #max verstappen

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 17 - Pet play - [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,265 Summary: Your Quirk is useless, it just made you small. Too bad Tomura thinks that makes you cute. Contains: noncon, kidnapping, Yandere!Shigaraki; DFAB Reader; petplay (Master/Kitty), Praise Kink, Size Difference, Forced Orgasm, stockholm syndrome/mind break

======

Your back aches, burns low in your spine. Every joint sings in the same agony, whines and pleads for you to just give in. You blink, shift in the plastic and lift your eyes onto the flashes on the screen. The avatar of his character runs through the winding halls of his castle, making his way to the NPC he’s looking for.

That’s probably how he sees you. An NPC, a side quest he’s working on. He’s meticulous about it, just like he is with his games- purposefully working towards absolute completion, metering out the pointless companion quests between the main storyline. At least it’s something to watch. Gives you any entertainment at all that isn’t…

His character has stopped moving. The NPC’s dialogue box sits long past the audio has stopped playing, the reminder of what button to press to continue the conversation flashes in the corner. You swallow, but goosebumps have already erupted over your skin. You don’t have to turn your head to know he’s no longer looking at the screen.

“I have your favorite…” He coos, the low rasp of his voice turning sickly sweet. You shrink down into the plastic, but you can’t make yourself look away from him. He turns, reaches into a little box by his bed. He returns holding the tiny tin foil wrapped candy and you can’t stop your mouth from watering. “All you have to do is sit.” He pats the floor next to him, “Will you be a good little pet?”

Sitting next to him… You can do that. You’ve managed that before, to set aside that hatred and disgust for a while… It has been some time since you’ve been allowed to just exist on your own. You bite your lips and look to the tiny piece of chocolate. It’s okay. You can do that. You nod- and Tomura’s grin spreads wide over his face.

He pulls the key to the padlock from his pants, undoing it and setting it on top of the crate. The springs in the door squeak as he pinches them, opening the grated door. He backs off then, gives you a moment. You’ll get to stretch your legs, your back- you’ll get chocolate. You just have to be a little closer to him than you were before. That’s all. Palms and knees ache as you crawl out. You try to ignore the pride on Tomura’s face.

“You’re so obedient now.” He coos again and you flush. He lifts his hand, shows off the bandage that’s still wrapped around his palm. “I nearly killed you, you were so much trouble.” He leans forward as if to touch you- and where you once would’ve bitten and screamed, you sit. Complacent, docile as he pats your head. “Kurogiri was right, you did come around… I just needed to raise your affection level.”

You cast your eyes down. A side quest.

Tomura scoots back, leaves space for you on his floor. Your muscles ache as you crawl towards him- you worry for a minute he’ll make you sit some weird way. Like a cat, loafed up for him or make you sit in his lap- but his face never changes as you sit next to him. Never falters from that giddy pleasure as you stretch your legs out. Like this you can really see the difference in your sizes-- your toes barely reach past his knees, his scarred face towering over you even as he slouches. There’s nearly a foot between you, but it seems to satisfy him. Holding it by the long paper trail with two fingers, he places the chocolate onto your lap.

You wait for the catch, but it doesn’t come. Tomura picks up his controller again- careful to keep his little fingers pressed on the side of his ring fingers. And that’s just it- he goes back to his game. You sit still for a long time, unsure of what you’re allowed to do. At least you allow yourself to shakily unwrap the chocolate and set it to your tongue. Red eyes slide over to watch you and you shudder, pretend not to notice. It doesn’t matter; Tomura returns to his game, speeding through the NPC’s dialogue.

It isn’t bad, you decide. The chocolate melts on your tongue and you are soothed by the easy music of Tomura’s game. It’s easy to forget like this- how you wound up here. To forget those first few weeks- waiting and waiting for a hero to come while Tomura’s patience with you thinned.

It had changed at some point. No longer him threatening to hurt you if you didn’t go along with his fetish. He spoke softly- not the rasping voice that commanded you to heel, but as though he were speaking to a stray cat. He moved your crate to sit near his desk so you were always with him.

And then came the treats. The first few times you rejected him outright; over and over his fist closed around his gifts and they faded to dust. He’d return hours later, ready to try again. Ready to just sit beside you, play his games, speak in quiet words to soothe your worries.

And all the while he’d fawn over you, how cute you are.

Your damn Quirk. Stray heteromorph gene that dictated your every interaction- a Quirk that left you clocking in at less than four feet tall.

You hated your Quirk before being locked in a dog crate, but now you longed to be Quirkless. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. You draw your legs back up, tuck them to your chest. You should be stretching out, enjoying your momentary freedom but now all you can think of is that disgusting face he’d made the first time you’d nodded and accepted his gift. First the awe and distrust- like you’d spit it back at him. You didn’t. You took the treat with shaking hands and cried.

He’d hushed you with a giddiness in his voice, That’s my good little girl…

Something touches your head- you jolt, spin to face him with wide eyes. He withdraws for a moment, but starts again with slow, careful motions- four fingers running through your hair, his thumb raised high and away. “No need to be nervous, pet.” You shudder, feel the cold creep down your spine as he hand continues on.

It’s not the reassuring hair-stroking of a lover, the calming head-patting of a parent- it’s something strange. Like he’s emulating something he’s only ever seen done. A halting pattern of his nail dragging over your scalp for a moment too long, starting again at the top of your head, sliding down to the base of your skull. It’s not soothing… but it is the only human contact you’ve had in… you don’t even know how long. How long since the heroes had stopped looking for you? His hand starts its stroke again and you close your eyes, rest your chin on your knees.

“You’re soft.” He states so quietly it might’ve just been for himself. Warmth graces your cheeks, the luxury of having shame one of the last bastions of your memory of the real world. He presses harder with his fingers, the nails- rough, uneven, scratch at your skin, trace down the curve of your skull- and this time he drifts further. Right on down to your neck, skimming over your heavy black leather collar, to scratch along the highest notches of your spine- you shudder.

Tomura hums, repeats the action and is rewarded with another shudder. You can’t help it- it’s sensitive there, unused to being touched. “This feel good…?”

In another world you’d gag at the thought of finding his touch agreeable. But here, his nails make your skin erupt into pleasurable goosebumps. The threat of displeasing him still looms overhead, so you tell yourself that’s why you nod. He grins wider and does it again, lets his hand drift even lower. Down and down- until four fingertips slide up under the hem of your shirt.

Your arms lock over your chest and you stare at him. He just smiles down at you. His fingertips are cold as they skirt across your skin beneath your shirt. Tomura’s never touched you like this before- always kept it relegated to his awkward head petting. You should fight. Should bite him again- and he speaks in that carefully controlled voice. “It’s alright. Good girl.”

good girl. you shiver. Close your eyes. Praise keeps punishments at bay. Means you get more time to stretch out your legs, more freedom-

So you don’t even struggle when he lifts your shirt over your head. Tomura doesn’t chide you for covering your bare chest, so you assume it’s fine. He doesn’t immediately go for it anyway: instead he keeps petting your back, drawing his nails lightly across your shoulders, the base of your neck. You give in: let your head fall forward, give him better access. It doesn’t go unnoticed. He scratches there, cards through your hair in affectionate motions until you nearly are purring.

You're nearly relaxed as his hands settle on your shoulders, urges you to lay down beside him. Fear makes your eyes go wide, but the lingering pleasantness of his touch makes you compliant, easy- your only resistance is a quiet "Tomura?"

"Shhh," His attempt at a calming voice doesn't quite soothe your nerves, but at least he's not angry. Reflexively, your arms tighten over your chest- but he doesn't even touch your arms. Instead, he eases his palms over your belly. The muscles there flinch away from him- and he pursues them, feels how they tremble with tension beneath his fingertips. Now that you can see them, the threat of that lethal touch isn't far from your mind.

His hands slide over your skin, rub in circles around your navel, up until his rough-bitten nails nudge at your forearms, always so careful to keep two fingers arched away. But he doesn't push more than that. Just strokes, slow, heavy passes of his hands, moving in wider circles out towards your ribs, down to the top of the curve of your hips. Any lower than that and he’d brush the threadbare pants he’d let you keep.

But there's a hunger in his eyes and you know it's coming. The inevitable pushing of your sanity- and those deadly, nimble fingertips brush across your wrists. You whimper, press your hands harder to your chest. He doesn't pull, doesn't try to force it- just works his fingers around your wrists and waits for your weak attempt to skirt his anger.

"I'm not..."

"Shh, kitties don't talk." He shushes you again, strokes his thumbs over the thin skin of your wrist. Any pressure there at all would have you wilting, capitulating to the pain- but he's had weeks to perfect his technique, too many long nights of discussing his goals with Kurogiri. A patience cultivated by sheer necessity and tempered by your slow acquiescence to his will. "You've been so good for me today. Don't you want your reward?"

A reward? Your eyes flit over to the little bag of chocolates, think of the still-easing ache in your legs. With hesitation, you nod. It can't be that bad.

When he tugs at your wrists this time you pinch your eyes closed, set your jaw, and let him. His breath shudders; a vein of barely bridled giddiness weaved into his voice as he tries to praise you again, "That's it, you're being so sweet." With his guidance, you rest your hands on the cool floor, curl your fingers into fists. Even with your eyes closed, you turn your face away from him, seek any reprieve from the shame of having Tomura stare down at you. His hands leave your wrists, walk spider-like across your waist, twitching with excitement. "Stay."

He leans back- and from the crumpling of plastic you know he's retrieving your reward. He sets the tiny swirl of tin foil next to you and you wrap your hand around it like a lifeline. Your stomach flexes as his fingertips ghost over your belly again- resume those large, heavy strokes of your skin. They tickle over your ribs- and the enthusiasm makes him rush upwards and stop. With your eyes closed your senses narrow down to his touch- and the ever increasing volume of his breathing.

He catches the curve of your breast in the crook of his thumb- and a single whimper involuntarily rises high in your throat. Tomura doesn't even hush you, too entranced by what he's doing that his hands are shaking. Even so, he's always aware of the placement of his fingers. He's spent too much time working on you, investing time in your side quests for you to disappear because of a quirk mishap. With a turn of his wrists, the weight of your breasts rest in his palms, index fingers pointed high and away from your skin. He experiments, plays with them- squeezes into the soft flesh there until it dimples around his fingertips-

You peek an eye open- and Tomura is staring, red eyes twinkling with the lights of his game, utterly bewitched by how your breasts roll and lift and fall and move with each motion of his palms. Like this, laid out on your back and him half curled over you, he looks even bigger. A glance down- and his hands nearly consume your chest, his long, thin fingers cover completely from one side of your ribs to the other. And past them- where his legs have come to straddle your own- a bulge sits prominently in his pants.

Sickly realization sets in- and you don't even have a moment to contemplate what's going to happen as his grip shifts, adjusts so only his thumb and index touch your skin- and pinch down on your nipples. You jolt- arms wrap around your belly just below his, gaze landing back on his face- and you want so badly for him to just this once be human.

"Please," breaks free from your lips. It won't help. "Stop, please."

The grin you’re met with is cruel, monstrous. "Just a little more, kitty..." Tomura licks his lips, draws the bottom on in between his teeth as he keeps on toying with your chest. A tweak of his fingers and you're jolting- he tugs on them and you're arching into his hands just to relieve the pressure. You bite your tongue to keep making any noise- but that seems to be the entire point for Tomura. He experiments, tries different angles, pressures, twists- and when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the tip of your nipple and your vow of silence is shattered by a single broken wail.

A lopsided grin carves its way across Tomura's face, reveals the teeth sunk into his cracked lips. "You're so cute." He croons, repeats the motion- flicks his thumb against the underside of the darker, sensitive skin until they raise up into stiff peaks. Tomura shifts his weight, lowers himself to rut softly against your thighs. The first iota of friction and he's groaning, eyes falling half-lidded- and the shaking fear resumes. You expect him to lose all control, so close to the prize he's been seeking for so long and from the way his hands tremble and squeeze at your chest you think he nearly does. But his thrusts remain slow, heavy on the downstroke as he forces his shaking voice from his chest, "Come on kitty, make your Master happy."

Your lower lip wobbles and does nothing to deter his hands from traveling again. Down, past the swell of your breasts, over your hands still clinging to yourself. His fingertips have warmed from your skin, but his touch is so light and delicate over your stomach it tickles- and his touch skates on downward, stopping at the last soft pouch of your belly. His breath shudders, wide fingers grabbing at your sides, at the curve of your hips while his thumbs squish the soft flesh below your navel.

He stops there, as though waiting for permission- glances excitedly between the apex of your tightly pressed thighs and your face. Your consent won't come- he knows that, you're not ready for that yet. One day he'll have you begging for him, but for now he's waited long enough to get a taste of his long awaited prize, just a taste of the achievement he's been grinding for. Tomura knows he should be slow, not scare you anymore- but the prospect of having to untangle fabric from your legs makes the itch flare- and his fingers close around the waist of your pants.

He coos to you, attempts to soothe the anxiety he's wrought, "It's okay, shh, shh,"

You squeeze your eyes closed. With his absence from your chest, you cover your chest and let one hand rest over the bottom of your face, to hide the worst of your quaking grimace. His hands stroke long paths across your now bare skin. Your body so small in his grasp he reaches from the underside of your breasts to the tops of your thighs without effort. It's meant to pacify your nerves, you think, these slow, heavy strokes- but the raw, innate knowledge that he's not anywhere near done with you keeps you on edge.

As soon as he realizes the trembling of your body isn't going to stop, Tomura moves on. He shifts, moves awkwardly until he draws your legs out from under him. You keep your thighs pressed together- and that's fine by him, your legs stretching up against his shoulder, sitting just under his chin. It's fine because he lifts you with one hand under your butt so he can rub the firm bulge of his clothed cock against your pussy. A sigh rips itself from Tomura's lips and you're digging your fingers into your own hair for any other sensation to focus on.

"Lemme see," and there's a mania in his eyes. Your nails bite into your skin- and your legs offer little resistance as he spreads them, forces them apart, draped across his thin thighs. One of his thumbs- so massive compared to yours, pulls your small, plump labia apart, stares down at your little pussy. Tomura moans. Shame burns your cheeks- and the overwhelming truth that there's no point fighting, no use in any of it.

He doesn't even touch you directly, too overwhelmed and already focused back on himself. His pants fare better than yours, end up shoved down around his thighs. The heat of his body burns into yours and he draws out his cock, already hard, standing proudly between his legs. You peek between your fingers, stare at him with wide, fearful eyes, unable to focus on either his thick, uncut cock or his gruesome, wide-stretched lips.

"Look, I'm so big." He says, his voice nearly cracking, betraying how wound-up he is. He holds it down on you- it's as wide as your wrist, dripping precum messily across your skin where the tip throbs against you. And as small as you are with your damn useless quirk, the thick head comes up to the bottom of your rib cage. It makes your stomach churn, fear taking root deep inside you- and in the same moment a heat settles inside you, a useless, unhelpful primal reaction to it all.

"I could break you." Eight fingertips bite into your thighs- and his hips stutter forward. The underside of his cock slides between your legs- and the meager slickness there eases his way. "You're so wet." You aren't sure if Tomura doesn't understand your body or if he's playing into his own fantasy- but it doesn't stop him from closing your thighs around him and rutting down again. "I won't, I won't- I promise. Don't want to hurt my little kitty, my- ah- my sweet little pet..."

The friction on your clit only increases with your legs holding him in place. He thrusts against you- and though on all sides except against your slit your skin drags, warms as it chafes, Tomura doesn't seem to mind. If anything, the roughness is only making it better for him as he rambles on, "I'd take such good care of you! I'd love you if you'd let me- you just have to be good." Through your fingers you meet his gaze; his eyes are glazed over in lust, the red obscured with his thin eyelashes. He pants through open lips, nearly drooling as he thrusts against you. "You want to be good for me don't you? For your Master?"

His angle changes, slots in closer to you- and oh. He hadn't been quite up on you before, the drag of his cock more along the full length of your pussy than the single point of your clit, but now--

The gasp is quiet, barely there. Between the slap of skin and slick noises between your legs, the gentle music of his game's pause screen, and his own ragged breathing you want to believe so badly he hadn't heard it. But his reaction is immediate: where his gaze had been half-lidded, lost in his own ecstasy, it is now wide, his pupils shrinking down in shock, leaving the crimson ring of his iris to glow in the low light.

"Here?" He says- and rubs the firm head of his dick against you again. You're too sensitive now to pretend it doesn't feel good, as much as you don't want it to. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head, the helpless little rises of your hips are all he needs to encourage him. As meticulous as he is, he keeps the pressure on your clit and doesn't let up for anything- returns to his long, swift strokes, the wetness of your pussy letting him glide through your folds and over your clit without resistance. Between your legs, his cock fucks your thighs, the head smearing your mixed arousal over your skin, leaking milky precum across your belly-

"See, see- I could make you feel so good, I'd take care of you, I could make you cum." He rasps, leans over you and lifts your hips with him, pulls your lower back clean off the floor so he can keep that sinful angle. He moves down as though to kiss you and you're so glad for once that you're too short- or perhaps he's too tall- for him to reach your lips. No, instead his chest comes in close to your face, the warmth radiating off him and you splay your hands across his pale skin just to weakly try to push him back. He doesn't even notice.

"I want to- the only one- only ever me-" He grunts, huffs, drops one arm down to hold himself up. He's close, the pleasured trembling of your legs only making it more enjoyable for him. "You're gonna cum." It's a demand, a promise- "Gonna be my good little kitty who cums on my cock."

There's no point fighting- and still your nail dig into his chest, scratch red welts into his skin as you turn your face away from him. Tomura hisses- and tears your hands off him, pins your wrists down to the floor with his wide palms. Though his face twists into a scowl, he never stops his rough humping of your thighs. And now, now there's no barrier between his skin and yours other than your own legs, your body nearly bent double with his need for closeness.

He groans- and you're restless under him, consider kicking him, biting him, anything, anything- and the fear of punishment keeps you still. He wants you to- to-

"Be good, come on- be good for your Mah-ster. It'll feel so good, kitty, just cum, just let go-" and you sob, close your eyes and lean into him. Every stroke has your clit tingling, aching-

"That's it, that's it!" He breathes, "Give in, let me take care of you."

You're crying, cumming, your legs squeezing tight around his cock and thrusting back against him, riding out your high as he praises you, curses. His hands pinching your wrists as he shakes, arches, drives down over and over- and hot cum splatters against your belly, up to your chest. He's gasping, shaking- and all at once he drops down over you, bends your legs back, pins them between your stomach and his. You grunt, squirm under him- and he's kind enough to lift his hips, dislodge his body from yours, and lowers himself again.

He's so big, he covers every inch of you- and he's just conscientious enough to leave you room to breathe. tocry. Because you haven't stopped, chest shuddering with each inhale- and with his orgasm leaving him boneless, pliant, you wiggle your hands out from under his. He stirs, shifts just enough to look down at you with suspicion, with that familiar disappointment that you'll try to scratch him again and-

and you wrap your arms around his torso. Broken by your own sobs, you can only force one word out between wails, "Tomura- Tomura-"

He sucks in air through his teeth. His arms shake as he pushes himself up to sit and drags you along with him. So small, you don't even reach the underside of his chin while in his lap, he holds you close, whispers sweet words in your ear, sweet kitten, good girl, i love you, shhh, it's alright, i'll take care of you.

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#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #bnha #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #kat talks #kinktober #kinktober 2020

[maybemanyskeletonhats]

A HEROS INJURIES AND AILMENTS. (Elves)

Realistically, it's only normal that the hero gets hurt right? Minuscule or near fatally right...? We'll go with near fatal. What? What's with that look? It's not like you're gonna die.

Unedited, Vehk served to be difficult, again.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Comfort. Slight humor.

Sotha Sil finds himself gripped with an unfamiliar sense of panic. What had happened? Where did they go to get injured so badly? Most importantly, who did it? Sil found an odd sense of something rising in his chest, something ugly, simmering just beneath. Anger, or...was it concern? Sil stood silently behind the healer, presence having gone unnoticed. "What happened to them?" He demanded, voice eerily calm. The healer jolted, spinning on their heel to face him, swallowing thickly at the god. He merely tilted his head, lips pursing tightly. "I'm..." The mage started hesitantly. "I'm not sure. They don't have any other injuries besides..." They gesture to the bandages wrapped around their temples. "Leave." He sighed, voice sprinkled with stress. The healer nods, making towards the door. "I have to remind you, my lord, that they may take some time to wake. And I can't...be sure they'll remember everything as soon as they do." The mage made sure to murmur quietly. With a small click the door shut and Sil was left with a sense of foreboding.

Almalexia could feel her hands clench and unclench every few seconds. She should have known that the feeling of apprehension she felt as the Vestige left for another adventure that something was going to happen. "What's happened? Who did this?" She grits her teeth as she asks. "We're not sure, they've been beaten savagely." She could feel the tension rising in the room with her eyes firmly locked onto the High Ordinator who had carried them to her. "How long?" She hissed lowly. The Ordinator shuffled on his feet anxiously, seemingly forgetting he was the one in the armor. "I'm not sure what you -" He was cut off by the Vestige's pained groans, a few stray tears trailing their way down their face. Ayem feels her heart clench in her chest. "You'd best hope your patrol partner spares some love for as I'm assuring you as your god that should I find you have waited to bring them to me, there will be much to pay." Almalexia promises the guard, and no one in a 10 foot radius could walk without feeling the boiling anger coming off of her in waves. "Leave us." She demanded. Watching carefully as they scurried out of the room. She heaves a sigh, looking down to the slumbering Vestige with her brows pinched. Wordlessly she puts her palm over their ribs, and uses a small healing spell to ease their pain.

Vivec should have felt the irony of it all. Seeing the Nerevarine get stabbed. It's not as if it wasn't going to happen at some point. Not everyone had good intentions, especially with them. His feet quickly touched the ground as he rushed to catch them, the gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it. "After them, don't just stand there!" His tone turned harsh, glaring holes into the ordinators standing alert at the entrance. Vivec hears them whimper, and his blood boils. This was the gratitude they got in exchange for saving Morrowind? "You're going to be fine, my love. Hush now." He soothed, pressing a hand to their wound, sealing it with a small woosh. When the Nerevarine continued to whine and clench their eyes shut he furrowed his brows. Why was..? His eyes widened upon realizing that they were likely poisoned. "A priest...a mage...get a mage." His words got more and more frantic. The god feeling guilt crawling into his system. He continues to hush their cries as one of his priests rush to get a potion to flush out the poison in their system. Each and every whimper of pain causing his frown to deepen, it was his fault in the end, again.

Voryn Dagoth heard the small cry across the room, fear welled into his stomach, making him spin on his heels. The recruit had spilt something on their palm, skin turning a painful looking red. "What have you done?" He asked in a voice admittedly smaller then he wanted. 'Burnt myself. Off of what, I can't be sure.' The tall brooding mer came to stand beside them, casually taking their hand into his to examine it further. The skin which would no doubt blister and bubble up later laid dormant as sickly red skin. "I can't fix this will a healing spell," He shakes his head. "It's festered to quickly for that now." They look up at him in alarm and he swallows thickly. "You won't die, so don't keep worrying over it. We'll just have to keep an eye on it, yes?" His lips rose into a shaky smile, that small feeling of anxiety chewing at his insides. With all that was going on, with the Dwemer, with the three...advisors. He numbly reminded himself. Yet with that feeling he got a sense of nausea passing over him. What if they got hurt? What if they died? Truthfully maybe he was being over dramatic. It was just a blister. They seem to notice, looking up at him and smiling what they hope is an assuring grin.

Mannimarco hates stray necromancers. They're meddlesome. He grunts as he backs into the Vestige taking a small glance over his shoulder to access the two Necromancers staring a hungry hole into the Vestige. He clenches his jaw in anger. They acted like animals, he swore up and down they did. While his head was turned the one in front of him threw an ice spike. The icy blade skimming past his cheek by mere centimeters. Conveniently hitting one of the two behind him in the chest. He barks out a laugh, stepping off from the Vestige. Fully intending to go nuts on the one in front of him. Somewhere behind him he hears rapid footsteps and objects being hurled, innerly praying that none would hit him. It wasn't too long when he was finally able to finish off the wizard, who had done a decent job at surviving that long. He breathes a sigh of relief, only to hear a cry behind him. As he turns around he sees the vestige roll off the side of the hill. "Vestige! Gods!" He growls, rushing past the corpse near the hill and peer down at the Vestige. "Are you alright?" He called down to them. Their form remained still at the bottom. Anxiety gnawed at his gut as he made his way down. "You'd be better not be dead!" He said loud enough to try to make them stir. He crouched by their side and looked them over, other then a few bruises and scratches they seemed...something caught his eye. Their wrist. It looked broken. Mannimarco cursed. This is what happens when he chose to be stubborn.

Neloth was well aware that the Nerevarine while completely immune to getting sick was not invulnerable. They were bound to get hurt sometime or another. Which was why he made things for that exact time...and they came in handy. Neloth arches a brow, feeling his lip twitch as his eyes slid up and down assessing their injuries. "I take the Sharmat is dead then?" He admits maybe he should have said something else. But it was the question most on Morrowinds mind. They glance at him for a second as they limp over to a chair in his room ans collapse into it. "Yes. At a great cost." They finally respond, sounding exhausted. "Such as?" Neloth huffs as he picks up the bag stashed on his bottom shelf. "That...that..thing, whatever it became. Ur I mean. Had nails like gnarled tree bark. Blunt if they caught you at the right spot but gods they hurt." They roll their neck, eyes resting on him and he opens a tin of oinment. "You're holding something back, what is it?" He demands as he grabs their wrist gently. "I downed so many potions during the fight i was sick." They admitted, face growing visibly warm. Neloth chuckled loud in disbelief. "You get used to it." He explained as if it was normal. "That's what Vehk said too..." At least they weren't dead, he added mentally. He wouldn't have that. He'll mend their scratches, as they have no one else.

Divayth Fyr knew that the Nerevarine couldn't get sick. At least not anymore. He made sure of that. Their lack of aging helped too, he added as an afterthought. That didn't mean that they didn't hurt themselves though in other ways. Mentally, physically, they could still very well be harmed. When the Nerevarine came into the room clutching their ribs and saying they had a problem, his immediate response was. "And let me guess, you caused it?" His snarky response was met with a sheepish grin and a huff of laughter only for them to quickly flinch. "What have you done?" He quirked a brow. Stuffing down the feelings of worry deep into his stomach where it turned anxiously. It made him nauseous. He realized. 'Probably broke some ribs, sure sounded like it.' The whisper carried their pained response. Divayth eyes lingered on thrm for a few more extra moments before he gestured to the chair at his side. "Well, can't say I didn't warn you. But let the greatest wizard on Nirn help you yes?" The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips rose into a smile. Divayth would push away the dread he felt, just so they wouldn't worry.

Teldryn Sero heard the shout too late. Had he been watching, he would have seen that mage hurling a fire spell in his direction. Things went into slow motion as his head turned, eyes quickly centering on the fiery inferno heading toward him. His muscles locked up as he braced for impact only to hear a shriek as the smell of burnt flesh flew through the air. 'No...' The distressed voice in his mind whispered. He looked down, the Dragonborn had taken the brunt of the impact in his stead. Teldryn quickly finished off the mage before stooping down, eyes brushing over the angry redness spread across any revealed skin on their right side. "Eh, now you've gone and done it haven't you?" He exclaims exasperatedly. Eyebrows drawn together in thought. He wasn't sure if a healing spell could do much for something that wasn't cuts, so he supposes he'll have to carry them to Ravenrock to see if the shokeep had anything to help with some burns. Teldryn could try to act as though the fear hadn't over taken his gut when he heard the sizzle of flames heading to him, eagerly wanting burn him to ashes. He shook the feeling off, he had to get them to safety.

#the elder scrolls #sotha sil #elder scrolls morrowind #vivec #eso #elder scrolls #divayth fyr #almalexia #teldryn sero #neloth #mannimarco

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Party - o2

CW: implied whumper changing Whumpee’s clothes, public humiliation, pet whump, asphyxiation, corset, defiant whumpee, swearing, intimate whumper, non con touch (non sexual)

[masterlist]

Len had to take off the straps for o2 to change, so they had replaced one restriction with another. A thick leather muzzle with metal rivets serving as small air holes.

There wasn’t nearly enough, but it was temporary.

They changed their pet into something more fitting of a party, more elegant and luxurious. No expense was spared for their pet’s first appearance, every article of clothing on him made especially for him. The shirt collar had been made low as to not cover the dark bruises that bloomed around his throat.

No, Len would never dream of covering those.

The waistcoat was black with golden filigree embroidered across it. It fit perfectly over the white dress shirt, double collar plunging to the center of his chest. His black slacks and shined shoes were left less ostentatious so as to not distract from the rest of the outfit.

Usually, Len wasn’t a fan of most corsets. Truthfully, something about the function made them uncomfortable. Shaping ribs and moving organs was wrong. Disturbing. However, a friend had suggested one that they simply couldn’t refuse.

It was black with golden ribbing, lacing tightly in the back. It didn’t try to rearrange the boy’s shape or cause his ribs to stick out. This corset was just pressure, just restriction, keeping his lungs even more contained in his chest.

O2 whimpered when they secured it, legs only barely keeping him standing. He had to lurch forward to hang onto the bathroom counter for support. Len smiled and ran a hand down his spine.

“Do you like it Sweetheart? I had it made specially for you.” They looked up into the mirror in front of them, looking directly into o2’s face. The muzzle covered much of it, but his expressive eyes were still there. They were hazy and pained, glaring back at them. Amused, Len wrapped their arms around his chest and placed their chin onto his shoulder.

His arms shook to keep them both supported.

“I like it.”

Len released their pet and turned to gather the next step of the process. O2 was fading fast, so they guided him to the stool they prepared next to the vanity. They had to keep a hand behind his head for support as they applied the eyeliner and shadow.

More straps, only three this time, were replaced around the boy’s chest. The buckles were gold with slick black leather, evenly spaced. O2 whimpered at the sensation and the way that combined with the corset. He couldn’t breathe out, or down, forcing his shoulders to rise and fall drastically to try and find space. Even gasping did nothing, barely able to get air past the muzzle pressed onto his face.

The marble of the bathroom started to grow fuzzy.

Len unclasped the muzzle carelessly, as if it was nothing. As if it was just another piece of fabric - not a death sentence that had been locked over his nose and mouth. O2 gasped loudly then immediately shivered at the wave of pain that swept over his throat. It hurt, it hurt so much. It stabbed and cut, every fiber sore and wounded. His pain earned him nothing but a smile a soft hand on his shoulder.

The last accessory that Len had for their boy was a golden circlet to sit in his black hair. It wasn’t too thin, large enough to clearly be seen in the dark locs.

“Mmmnn yes,” they purred, taking him gently by the chin. O2 squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to see the delight and pride in their face.

A few tears escaped and made their way down his face.

~~

O2 hadn’t been left in a corner. No no, that would have been too merciful for this nightmare. He had been left in the center of the room, holding himself up with the help of a side table. There were so many people. At first, he had been so shocked to see them, so excited at the prospect of getting help. This was obviously torture, obviously against his will. The bruises on his neck couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, and he was so weak. Even with the limited amount that he could talk, someone would have to notice, wouldn't they?

The guests that milled around did notice. They noticed the bruises and the way his legs trembled. They noticed the red marks from the muzzle that hadn’t quite gone away and the straps that cut into his chest. They noticed all of it, knew exactly what it was, and did nothing.

More than nothing, they enjoyed the view.

The first time one of them had come to lift his head up, to examine him closer he was so sure that they would lean over and whisper in his ear. Tell him it was an act, that they were going to get him out. That they were undercover and any second the door would be blown down and he’d be saved.

They never did that.

Instead, they palmed his head back and forth, thumbed over the bruises and brushed his hair to the side. They wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop and smiled when he winced as he swallowed. No one wanted to help him.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he? You wouldn’t believe how angry this one is when he’s given a little slack.” Len was always nearby, sipping their wine and keeping an eye on their guests and pet. O2 snarled at them from across the room.

“Seems to me that you’ve already given him enough slack,” their guests muttered. Len chuckled.

“I wanted him to be entertaining. At least for now. I don’t know if he’s the best one I’ve had, but he is my current favorite pet.”

“N-not… your, pet,” Kenji ground out, having to take a shallow breath between each word. He grit his teeth and didn’t let his gaze drop. The air was just barely enough to let him speak, so he would have this asshole know his mind.

Len smiled, infuriating him.

“Oh yes you are dear. But, if you insist to learn your place in front of all these fine people who am I to stop you?” They strode over and took him by the arm, dragging him to the center of the crowd. Kenji tried to wrench his arm away, but there was no point.

“Tell me Sweetheart - where do pets belong?” Len let him go, watching as Kenji wobbled on his legs. He grabbed his own arms to try and find some balance. Another scowl, but no answer.

“Fine, if you don’t want to play, pets sit on the ground. Do you see any of us on the floor? No? That’s because we’re not pets. But do you know who will end tonight curled up on this carpet - like a pet?” They began to circle their pet, well aware that their raised voice was attracting the attention of every guest in attendance.

O2 grit his teeth, “but I’m not on the carpet - am I asswipe?”

Len laughed politely as they slid a hand around the corset and settled over Kenji’s stomach. They straightened his posture, pulled his arms down. Slowly, they leaned closer to whisper into his ear “Yes, but for how much longer?”

With that, they retreated again and Kenji realized the game they were playing. The room was already beginning to warp and sway, strength starting to wane slowly away. It was hard to keep standing with his knees shaking so. Kenji swallowed and closed his eyes against the pain. He wouldn’t be able to keep standing forever.

Or could he?

If it was a test of will, of determination, then he could. He could make it forever to prove that he wasn’t a pet. That he wasn’t some weak thing that could be manipulated and made to feel like an idiot. He wasn’t sweet or precious or soft - he was a pain in everyone’s ass and twice as loud. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of watching him fail.

So Kenji straightened his back further and held his head high. It didn’t matter that that was what the bastard had wanted, didn’t matter that this kept the bruises on perfect display for the entire room. This was Kenji’s decision, Kenji showing all of them that he wasn’t some doll that could be dressed up and paraded around.

But the straps around his chest didn’t care about his resolve.

The corset gave no thought to his pride.

His lungs paid no heed to his stance.

One by one the pressure and tension got to him. His spine arched further down, knees barely knocking together. Shaking hands found his forearms and he tried to hang on again, tried to keep strong.

But it wasn’t a battle of wills. It was human necessity.

His vision whirled and he found himself losing balance. In a moment he went down, carpet only barely dulling the sound of his knees hitting the floor. O2 curled in on himself, hot, angry tears spilling down his face. No, no no no he wasn’t- he wasn’t.

“There you go sweetheart. Isn’t that better? More comfortable? Things are easier for you when you do what you’re told.”

O2 tried to take deep breaths, tried to get back onto his hands and knees stand up again. He wasn’t, he wasn’t - but he couldn’t stand. His act of defiance had stripped away the last of his energy, leaving him defenseless and limp on the carpet.

Like a pet

~~

@milk-carton-whump @whump-it @whump-me-all-night-long @mysticwhump @bumpthumpwhump

#o2 #implied noncon clothes change #public humilation tw #pet whump #asphyxiation tw #corset tw #defiant whumpee #whump #intimate whumper #Len #they have a name now!!

[winterscaptain]

co-regulating.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: following balancing out, an anon asked about aaron and mom’s first time after her recovery, so here it is!! our first fic of 2021! and it’s smut. who’s surprised? not me!! i’m doing blog housekeeping this weekend, so let me know if you want to be on taglist!

words: 1.8k warnings: smut (p in v penetration, creampie, very soft, quite tame), mentions of canon-typical injury and recovery, language

summary: “scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” - cormac mccarthy, all the pretty horses. au!march 2021

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You turn off the lights, crawl into bed, and slide under the covers, immediately rolling halfway onto Aaron and pulling his lips to yours. 

He makes a little surprised noise and takes the back of your head in his hand, his other arm wrapping around your lower back. You run your fingers up his abdomen under his shirt, finally landing with your palm over his racing heart. 

“Did you take your meds?” You whisper against his mouth. It wasn’t like him to forget, but his pulse had to be higher than a hundred. That might be alright for someone actively running a marathon, but for a fifty-two-year-old stabbing survivor with chronic health issues due to said stabbing it was less so. 

He laughs. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really. You’re fucking tachycardic.” 

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “That’s your fault. And yes, I did take my meds.” 

You hum. “Good.” 

“Any reason in particular you ask?” He’s still the picture of fond skepticism - eyebrows raised and a little smile curling at the corner of his mouth. 

You shrug. “Just got some clearances from physical therapy today.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhmm.” Your hand slides down past the waistband of his sweats, palming his cock through the fabric. He hisses through his teeth, his hips tipping up, searching for more contact. 

His eyes flutter shut as you stroke him over his pants, your touch gentle and slow. He swallows thickly, his breath stuttering for a moment. “Are you allowed?”

“I have to take it easy,” you tell him. “But I’m allowed.” 

He reaches down for your thigh, brushing up to your ass, and he inhales again, sharp, when he realizes you’re wearing one of his shirts and one of his shirts only. You oblige him and shift to straddle him, settling down against him and circling your hips for just a little friction. 

Aaron’s fingers play with the hem and a little flash of anxiety jolts through your belly. He sees it in your face and lets go, dropping his hands to your hips. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head. “Just got nervous about the scarring. I’m fine.” 

Aaron tilts his head to the right, studying you. “Do you want to leave your shirt on? It’s okay if you do.” 

“I know.” You take a deep breath and remove your shirt, your ribs only pulling a little as you lift your arms over your head. “But I’m good.” 

Of course he’s seen you - he’s the one who dealt with your wound care when you got home - but this is the first real sex you’ve attempted since your injury. It’s silly to feel insecure, really. Aaron loves you from top to toe and you know it. He’s also got scars of his own, and you know they don’t impact the way you see him, but it’s new to you. 

Scary. 

Aaron’s hands slide up to your waist, his right thumb just brushing the angry, raised scar over your left side. You run your hands down his arms, coming to rest on his forearms. The pair of you just sit there for a moment, breathing together. 

Co-regulating. You remember. That’s what this is called. 

“Can I turn on the little light?” He asks. 

You nod, knowing he can see you. One of his hands leaves you and stretches, sliding the dimmer on the bedside lamp just bright enough that you can see each other, but not so bright that it’s harsh. 

His eyes soften as they wander from your hips, up your abdomen, and finally meet yours, watching him look at you. He wets his lips as he shamelessly checks you out and heat floods you from head to toe. You know he can feel it when you start to throb between your legs, your center pressed against his hardness. 

“There you are.” His hands slide up, reaching your chest, brushing over your nipples with his thumbs. “I missed you.” 

You smile, despite yourself. “Hi.” 

When you nod, he presses his hips up into you and you lift up, giving him space to slide his pajama pants down enough to free his cock. 

You settle back over him, grinding without letting him enter you as you slide against him. Bring a hand to the back of his head, winding your fingers in his hair while your other hand rests on his shoulder for balance. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Aaron’s head tips back and gentle hands guide your hips back and forth, coating him in your arousal. His next words come through an almost-desperate gasp. “I missed you. God, I missed you.” 

There’s something in his voice that makes your breath catch, brings tears to your eyes. His eyes snap open and meet yours, his hands leaving your hips with fingers open and palms out. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I think this is what the kids call catharsis.” 

He laughs a little and sits up, kicking his pants all the way off and gingerly pulling both of you to the top of the bed so he can lean against the headboard and bring a leg up behind you. “C’mere, honey.” 

You melt into his chest, picking yourself up a little and slinging your arms around his shoulders. You feel his hand between you, guiding himself into you. 

You tense with a little hiss through your teeth, and he stills. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing.” You kiss his cheek. “Just gotta go slow.”

He presses his cheek to yours, his other hand brushing over your back. “Okay. At your pace, sweetheart.” 

You finally sink down with a deep breath, taking all of him. 

The hand that was between you slides up around your back, finding a place at the back of your neck and holding you close. Aaron barely moves, thrusting up into you just as far as he can without jostling you too much, taking all your weight on his hips while supporting you with his thigh. 

You take a shaky breath, the tightness in your throat hanging on until you let yourself cry into his shirt. Nothing hurts more than it should given your injuries, you’re not sad, but you missed him. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, pressing his lips to your shoulder. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

He doesn’t say anything else. The hand on your hip begins to guide you so he can pull out further before sliding back in. You whimper. 

The feeling of him moving within you is achingly familiar; he feels more like an extension of your own body than a separate being. 

There’s no hurry, no rush, no aim in his movement. Neither one of you tries to get anywhere, preferring the proximity to anything else. You literally can’t get closer to him. When he bottoms out, you can feel the pleasure and pressure behind your cheekbones, in your aching ribs.

He’s a perfect fit. Always has been. 

You tuck your face impossibly further into his neck, your lips locked to his pulse point, as your tears subside. 

His heart rate has slowed significantly, beating steadily, without haste, under his skin. He wraps further around you, the hand on your hip crawling up your back to meet the other between your shoulders. 

He doesn’t mean to, but he crushes you a little to his chest and you flinch, your ribs twinging. 

Immediately, his hands disappear and he stills. You lean back and press your palms to his chest for stability, breathing as deeply as you can with your eyes squeezed shut until the pain passes. You open your eyes to Aaron’s concern, guilt coloring the lines around his eyes. 

Bringing your hands to his face, you rub the tension away with your thumbs. “I’m okay, love. Just a little gentler. It’s okay.” 

His eyes flutter shut, but you keep your eyes and hands on his face as you lift yourself again, feeling the intoxicating drag of him against your walls before you drop back down. He lets out the breath he was holding as he bottoms out again, his hands returning to your waist. 

You lean forward, your foreheads meeting and noses brushing. His hands drop to your hips, guiding them to that angle that always leaves you both wanting for air no matter the pace.

Without fail, you find it together and the ribbons of pleasure curl up your spine, unhurried and gentle. You let out a breathless moan and Aaron steals it from you, capturing your mouth. Deepening the kiss, you drop your hands from his face to the nape of his neck, your fingers winding into his hair. 

The pace never changes, remains slow and meandering, even as you both get closer to the edge. You almost don’t want to finish - didn’t think you would, really - but the pleasure nevertheless builds in your lower belly, your walls throbbing in time with your heart.

Aaron’s thumbs pass back and forth over your skin where they work your hips against him. 

You reach your peak first, his precision and consistency tipping your body into a rush of pleasure that takes your breath and your vision. Aaron never frees your mouth, swallowing your cries as they leave you. 

“Good, baby. Just want to make you feel good.” It’s a mumble as he finally wanders away from your lips, wandering down your jaw. 

His command of your body prolongs your orgasm, drawing it out to a constant dull hum that thrums through you. 

Aaron never falters for a second. You know he’s entirely focused on you, but he told you once that the focus only makes it better. The effect of your pleasure on him is clear when you open your eyes, even weighed down as they are by sensation. 

Aaron’s eyes are closed, his breath leaving him in time with his movement inside you, his mouth pressed into a thin line. You fall forward into him again and his arms wind around you, gentle and mindful. 

His orgasm seems to surprise him a little, his hips and breath stutter as he thrusts up and pulls you down by the hips, spilling deep into you with a short groan. You gasp at the pressure, the last dregs of your own orgasm fluttering through you with renewed purpose. 

The two of you continue to move against each other as you come down, your body feeling looser and almost without pain for the first time in three months. Aaron’s hands trace up your back, smoothing over your skin and setting it alight. He softens inside you, but doesn’t leave your heat. 

Aaron curls forward, pressing his lips to your collarbone and wandering down your chest. You let yourself tip back, supported by his hands, as he continues down your body until he reaches the new scar. His lips pass over it three or four times before you feel a firm, but gentle, kiss right over the center. 

He straightens, bringing a hand to your face. “I love you.” 

The words sound so simple in his mouth. They make you smile. 

“I love you, too.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @mrs-marcus-moreno @dwellingsofrosie @pinkdiamond1016 @aaronhotchnerr @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @ssa-morgan @violet-amxthyst @capricorngf @pan-pride-12 @mandylove1000 @joanofarkansass  @cevanswhre @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @mandylove1000 @jeor @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @winqhster @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @crazyshannonigans @ceceguajardo-blog @brittanymcsharry

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

[pa-panda-heroes]

Do you do requests for Megumi? If so what about reader gets hurt on a mission and he rushes to their side when he finds out. Reader is assuring him it’s fine but he loses it realizing he could lose them at any time. And maybe they could comfort each other through some loving smut 😅

Feel free to delete if you don’t do this!

Absolutely!! My spiky haired bby 🥺 anoni, sweets, I couldn’t bring about the smut, my brain just isn’t going there for some reason 😭 I’m sorry!!

Megumi going off after his s/o gets hurt!

It happened before, Megumi watching on as a particularly strong curse or curse user lands a hit on your frame and leaves you with some type of wound. The murky swirling in his stomach as he sees your blood seep out of your skin while the thought of losing you has happened before, too. Yet that swirl of nausea, hate, worry, and fondness for you never wavered; he never grew accustomed to it. Like exorcising curse after curse, instances like these (not to mention those with your places swapped) had happened more times than either of you could count. It was just part of the trade. Or so that’s what you told him every time as a means of calming him. It had the opposite effect.

Fushiguro Megumi’s vision completely blurs as he sics his cursed hound on the fiendish being that hurt you, that dared lay a scratch on you. His ears ring, tongue dry, as he rushes to your slumped-over body, and it takes him a moment to discern whether you’re conscious or not. The cracked crater nestled in the concrete wall behind you was of great concern, seeing as it was created by the impact of your body slamming into it. He called your name, over and over, to get something out of you when he knelt down to you and shook your shoulders, the surprise his Demon Dog brought to its opponent giving it the opportunity to strike it dead. Or exorcised, rather.

Ten minutes.

You had split up ten minutes ago - and yet this happened. Damn it! This particular curse was of a much higher level than you’d been informed, and it had enough intelligence to band with other curses. Hence why you separated.

You jolt back to awareness, not having lost consciousness like he thought, and squeeze his wrists lovingly as you look up at him with a smile to tell him you’re okay. You see relief wash over him momentarily, but it’s muddled with something else. Concern or fear - maybe both. You brush some of his hair back out from his eyes, gentle smile still in place. “Hey,” you grab hold of his cheek, “I’m fine, really.”

“Y/n-“

“Seriously!” You gesture at your body. “Probably a hairline fracture here and there, a couple bruised ribs, maybe some cuts and scrapes, but nothing bad! I’m fine, babe!”

He obviously doesn’t buy it, as that almost comical, classic “I call bullshit” trademark Fushiguro expression is sent your way, before he sends a characteristic remark of, “You call all that ‘nothing bad?’”

Your enjoyment of exasperating him is short-lived, as it’s not soon after that he pulls you into his chest, hand cradling your aching (and probably concussed) head while the other grips your shoulder hard enough to almost hurt. “Stop trying to be cool by pretending you’re fine,” his tone is chiding and if you’re honest, it kind of smarts. “This kind of life isn’t one that forgives. No Jujutsu sorcerer dies without regret.” The mention of regret obviously meant his own, if you were to die at a curse’s hand, or every time you were wounded. “And very few of us get to die on our own terms. Do you understand?”

You bring an arm to reciprocate his affection. Unfortunately for you, the shoulder of your other arm was dislocated; otherwise, you would’ve hugged him as tightly as you could, as if to say, “it’s alright, I’m still here.” But you’re unable, so you settle with just one arm. “Megumi-“

“That’s means that, at any moment, any day, any minute, any hour, I could lose you.” Megumi pulls away from you, eyes intense as they glare into yours and glisten in the moonlight. His hands lay firmly on your shoulders. “And don’t tell me it’s ‘just a part’ of what we do! I’m tired of hearing it. I know that. But it doesn’t scare me any less when you get hurt.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the same for me, you know,” you mutter, looking away and furrowing your brows.

Megumi sighs - not at you, but at himself. Had he gotten so wrapped up in his own worry that the fact you could relate to his worry became drowned out to his awareness?

With that possibility running through his also-probably-concussed head, Megumi drops onto his rear end next you and leans his back against the wall. He’s quick to apologetically wrap an arm around you, and you accept by nestling your head on his shoulder as you both fall silent. After a while he seems to relax, the previous tension in his muscles being from his high guard, and he places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

“You’re pretty beat up yourself, mister,” you jab playfully, poking him in the ribs and earning yourself a pained grunt to prove your point.

“Yeah,” he breathes with a hint of acknowledging humor, “that’s nothing new.”

You giggle.

But you’ll both make it. That’s nothing new.

And you could only hope it stays that way.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #AAAAAH IM NOT SURE IF THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE ASKING FOR #requests are still open (*´ω`*)

[angelmavmurdock]

Our Little Secret: Part Four - A.R.

Word count: 3186 Summary: Arvin helps y/n with her wounds and things get heated.

-

Reader's POV

We got to the house and Arvin parked outside. We both got out and shut the doors quietly, not wanting to disturb Lenora in the back. Arvin opened the door and I went around to help.

"Hey, just need you to stand up for me." Arvin spoke softly to his sister, brushing the hair from her face.

She groaned lightly but then sat up with tired eyes and slid out of the car. Arvin held her on one side while I supported her other side. I shut the car door behind me and we walked Lenora up the stairs to the front door. I ignored the pain in my legs and continued supporting some of her weight. Arvin unlocked the door then we went in.

We walked her to her bedroom and I stood by the door while Arvin lay her down on her bed and helped take her shoes off then tucked her under the covers. She quickly nuzzled into her pillow and thanked us quietly. Arvin smiled and then stood back up, walking towards me.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He said quietly to me and we headed to the kitchen, closing Lenora's door.

It was so quiet without Mrs Russel or Lenora. The sun was just about to set so it left a golden glow in the room, still giving us some light and heat.

"Just uh...just sit up on the counter, there." Arvin directed awkwardly, coughing afterwards.

I attempted to hop up onto the counter but just hurt my leg.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, my knees buckling from the pain.

He hurled towards me in panic and caught me by the waist before I hit the ground.

"You alright?" He asked, concern lacing his voice as he brought me back to a standing position.

"Yeah, I just...I can't get up on the counter because of my legs." I said to my shoes, avoiding eye contact with him.

There was a different energy in the house. I don't know if it was just because we were alone and we had just been in this fight but it was almost...sexual. And I had never felt that before.

"Well, I'll help you. C'mon." He hoisted me up by my hips fairly easily.

I flinched when I sat on the kitchen counter, the coldness of the granite on my bare thighs. My shorts were skin tight and stopped just below my backside while my skirt only went to not even my mid-thigh.

Arvin noticed and gulped then pulled away. He rummaged through one or two kitchen cupboards before finding the first aid kit he had been looking for. He opened the small tin box up and got everything he needed out. I watched as he shed of his jacket and cap and then brought everything over to me.

"Alright, hands first." He said.

I held my hands up, palms up, for him. He wetted a cloth and wrung it out before coming back over to me.

"This might sting." He stated.

He took my hand gently and dabbed the cloth on the cuts. I winced and curled my toes at the pain but managed to keep still as he did the other hand, too. He looked closer at them then looked at me.

"They'll be fine. Just be careful." He said.

I nodded and watched as he put the cloth down then inspected my legs.

"Damn...those assholes better not bother you again." He shook his head and reached for a bottle of antiseptic germicide.

"Wrong place, wrong time, I guess." I sighed.

He shook his head again, "No. They're just fuckin' bullies lookin' for girls to prey on."

I looked into his eyes and they seemed filled with pain and anger. He put some of the liquid onto a piece of kitchen paper.

"Okay, this'll definitely hurt so just stay still." He said.

He hesitantly placed his hand on my lower thigh to keep my leg in place. My breath hitched in my throat and I felt my lower regions flutter with...I don't quite know what.

He placed the wetted kitchen paper onto my knee and I gasped, gripping his forearm in pain. I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming then just used my whole hand to cover my mouth.

"Just squeeze my arm, y/n." He spoke lowly.

I nodded and he patted the kitchen paper on my knee again. I gripped his arm, my sheer painted nails digging into his skin, probably marking him. I removed the hand from my mouth and just balled them into fists on the counter as he wiped over both my knees.

"Fuck, that hurts." I squeaked, leaning my head back on a cupboard.

"Just a second or two more." He said reassuringly.

"Anywhere else?" He asked, removing the kitchen paper from my skin.

I didn't loosen off though, I knew what else hurt.

"I uh...I landed on my hip but I don't know if it's cut or not." I said, eyes still clenched shut because the liquid was still cleaning my open cuts.

"You'll have to show me." He said softly.

I wasn't used to this side of Arvin. He was usually either upfront, sarcastic, mean or suspicious. He was never this soft or caring around me.

"I don't...I don't wanna." I shook my head.

He sighed, "y/n, I need to check to be safe. Would you rather it be infected or would you rather me clean it?"

I groaned, "Fine. But don't look too much."

He smirked slightly then helped me down from the counter. I looked at him so he could turn around but he didn't get the message.

"Arvin. Turn around." I said, gesturing with my hand.

"Oh- sorry." He apologised, turning his back to me.

I smiled at him, revelling in the fact he couldn't see my face. I felt heat rise to my cheeks and ears as I removed my shorts, leaving me in just my underwear and my skirt.

"Should I take my skirt off?" I asked nervously.

"Um...how high up is the cut?" He asked, turning his head to talk to me.

I flipped my skirt up and looked. It was a bigger wound than I expected. An open cut from my side to just on my ass cheek. I gulped then decided I'd keep the skirt on. I didn't want to be completely half-naked in front of him.

"It's fine I'll keep it on. You can turn around." I assured, kicking my shorts to the side.

He turned around and wetted a new piece of kitchen paper with the antiseptic.

"Alright, how bad is it?" He asked, his brown eyes looking into my own.

"Quite bad." I said.

I slowly lifted the hem of my skirt up, revealing the wound and my underwear. If I had known Arvin was going to be looking at my panties I would have worn nicer ones. They were just plain black with a little bow at the front.

Arvin gulped then stuttered.

"It's okay. I'll clean it then dress it." He said, nodding as if trying to reassure himself.

"Okay." I bit the inside of my lip nervously.

I turned to the side and kept my skirt lifted up. Arvin lightly held my waist with his left hand then started wiping some of the dry blood from my thigh. I shivered under his touch and he hesitated for a moment but kept going.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip, my brain confused if I was reacting to the inevitable pain or his touch on my skin and how he was taking care of me.

"Ready?" He asked quietly.

I nodded with a hum.

He pressed it to my hip first and I gasped, "Arvin!" I held his arm from behind me and squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard him audibly gulp and his movements became scattered like he was flustered. But then he gently started wiping at the wound.

"Fuck," I hissed as he moved it to the part of the wound that was on my butt.

"You okay?" Arvin asked softly.

I hummed, "Just stings- ah fuck." I cursed, gripping his arm tighter.

He gave a few more wipes and then pulled away. I relaxed and sighed with relief.

"Thank god that's over."

He chuckled, "I'll just dry it and dress it."

"Okay." I smiled.

He got a new piece of kitchen paper but this time just dabbed on my skin, collecting any excess liquid. I bit my lip, not from pain this time but from saying or doing anything out of sorts. Every time his hand grazed over my skin I felt a rush to my core and butterflies in my stomach. It was extremely odd and new. I had never experienced feelings like that.

Arvin pulled the sheet away and then opened up a huge band-aid looking thing. I lifted my skirt higher for easier access and he softly pressed it onto my skin, careful to where he was placing it.

He smoothed it over then stood back.

"All done." He sighed.

"Thank you, Arvin." I swallowed nervously, placing my skirt back down.

"No problem, y/n." He smiled then packed away the first aid kit.

I furrowed my brows and rested a hand on his, "What about you?"

He looked from my hand to my eyes, "What d'ya mean?"

"You got hurt, too."

He snickered, "I can take care of myself, y/n."

I held his hand tighter and made sure he was looking at me.

"But you don't have to..." I whispered.

He looked from my eyes to my lips a few times and so did I. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him.

"I only got some bruises and a bloody nose." He spoke, cutting the tension.

"Where are your bruises? You only have one on your cheek. Are there more?" I prompted.

He looked away, then down to his feet, then back up at me. I looked at him in concern.

"There's...there's some on my chest. I think it's right on my ribs." He finally said.

A soft smile grew on my face.

"I can help with that."

He looked at my lips once more but then pulled away, his hand coming out from underneath mine.

"Fine. But don't look too much." He smirked.

I smiled and shook my head, "Asshole."

He began lifting his white - now dirty - shirt off. First I saw the black, blue and purple bruising over his ribs and then I noticed his abs, and his evident muscles. I knew he was fit but I didn't realise labour got you like this. I gulped and ignored any thoughts that may enter my mind.

I walked towards him and placed my hands on his chest and then slid them down slowly over his bruises, careful not to hurt him.

It was so quiet in the house, only the sounds of bugs and distant traffic filling the silence. And now the touching of my skin over his.

"Did you hear a crack when you fell?" I asked in a whisper, feeling his bruises.

He winced, "No."

"How does it feel when you breathe in." I asked, looking up into his dark, brown eyes.

He swallowed, "A lil' sore."

"Take a deep breath for me." I requested, wrapping one hand around to his back and keeping one splayed just under his pecs.

He paused and then took a deep breath. I couldn't hear anything or feel anything. He exhaled slowly.

"How did that feel?" I asked, removing my hand from his back.

"Not good." He chuckled.

I stood away from him and went towards the freezer, "You'll just have bruised ribs. Nothin' too bad but you'll have to take it easy for a while. No work."

I retrieved a bag of peas from the freezer drawer and held it over his bruises. He flinched and hissed at the cold on his swollen skin.

"Just keep it there and keep replacing it. It'll keep the swelling down. Have some pain killers too." I spoke while getting the cloth that Arvin used and putting it under warm water.

"What're you doing now?" He asked.

I rinsed it through then wrung it out.

I smiled, "Sit on the table."

He raised a brow, "No."

I scoffed, "Just sit on the table, Arvin."

He squinted his eyes at me, suspicious of what I was going to do. He silently complied and slid onto the dining table.

I stood in between his legs and reached a hand to cup his face.

"I'm cleaning your face. It's covered in blood and dirt." I whispered.

He smiled at the gesture and let me take care of him.

I wiped the cloth over one cheek and then the other. I wiped it over his forehead, under his curly hair and then down his nose. He chuckled at that and I giggled back.

"Just tilt your head back a lil'," I instructed, cupping his chin and moving his head back slightly.

He let me and I cleaned around his nose.

"You know, you surprised me today." He said.

"Really? With what?" I asked.

"With the crow bar."

I gulped and kept cleaning his nose, "I did what I had to do."

"Just surprised me." He shrugged.

I smiled, "Well, Arvin, I'm full of surprises."

I pulled the cloth away and then wiped under his nose with my thumb.

"All done." I smiled and rinsed the cloth off in the sink.

He slid off the table and watched me as I wrung the cloth out again and placed it over the tap.

I looked behind me and squinted at him, "What?"

"Nothin'." He shrugged with a smirk.

"Why're you lookin' at me like I'm your Sunday dinner?" I chuckled, turning around and leaning against the counter.

He put the bag of peas on the table and then walked closer to me. My heart rate picked up and my cheeks flushed again as he kept walking closer to me.

"y/n, I know I'm Lenora's brother and you probably want nothin' to do with me but," He was speaking lowly and I could feel the heat come from his shirtless body.

"Arvin-" I placed a hand on his cheek, stroking over a bruise.

We both looked from each other's eyes' to our mouths'.

"-kiss me." I whispered.

He slowly and almost hesitantly leaned down and I felt as if my heart was about to break out of my chest. Finally, his lips touched mine and all my nerves evaporated just like that.

His lips brushed over mine softly, a complete juxtaposition to the tension in the air and what we were wearing. He slid his hands onto my waist, able to feel my skin on his hands. I pushed back on the kiss and I felt his grip tighten on me. He pushed me further into the counter and I wrapped both my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers into his hair.

His tongue brushed past my bottom lip and I welcomed it, feeling him push and swirl his own around mine. I moaned into the kiss and he wrapped his arms almost completely around me, bringing me as close to him as possible. Our tongues moved with fervour and our breaths got heavier against each other's skin. His hand slipped down past my good hip and rested on my ass. I gasped and bit his bottom lip in surprise. He groaned and grabbed my ass completely. I moaned into his mouth and leaned further up, trying to get more of him.

I had never had a kiss like this before. It was lustful and passionate. No one had ever touched me like Arvin. And I didn't mind it one bit.

His kisses began to move down past my lips onto my jaw, sucking and licking over my skin. He began to suck on a spot just on my neck and I moaned, tugging his hair in pleasure.

He was good at this.

His hands slid under my skirt and carefully grabbed at the flesh - avoiding my cut.

He kept sucking on my skin, then relieved the spot by licking over it and then going back in again. His hands snuck under the band of my underwear and I gasped, surprised and aroused at the same time.

And I had never truly been aroused before.

He twisted his finger around the waistband and I wondered what he was doing. But then he pulled up slightly.

"Arvin!" I moaned.

Whatever he had done had cause a million pleasurable senses to go off.

"Shh, gotta be quiet, darlin'." He spoke lowly and breathlessly into the crook of my neck.

"Do it again-"

"Hello?!" A voice suddenly boomed through the house.

We both jumped and clutched our chests. Arvin winced at the pain around his ribs then looked at me with wide eyes.

"We're back!"

It was Mrs Russell and Uncle Earskell.

Arvin panicked along with me for a few seconds and then he pointed to my shorts on the floor. I gasped and dove to pick them up, just as Emma came into the kitchen.

"Oh hey, y/n! Lovely to see you!" She beamed.

I gulped, hiding the shorts behind my back.

"You too!" I grinned.

She switched the kitchen light on and then gasped at the sight of me, "You have blood all over you, honey! What happened?"

She came to me with a shocked face, looking over my body.

"Uh-"

"Those bullies, Grandma. Not only do they bother Lenora, they're botherin' y/n too. She protected herself, Lenora...and me." Arvin spoke almost proudly.

"Well, my goodness. That is horrible. We'll need to wash these before you head home. Don't want your parents seeing this."

"No ma'am." I smiled.

"Put your clothes in the sink and I'll handle it. You can borrow clothes from Lenora in the mean time and did you get any cuts?" She asked.

I looked up at Arvin then back at Emma, "Arvin and I helped each other out. And Lenora is okay, she's just resting." I said, placing a hand on her arm.

She sighed, "Okay. I'll give you some privacy to change."

She sat her things on the table and then gasped when she looked at Arvin.

"You silly boy. Come on." She rolled her eyes to me and grabbed the bag of peas and left the room.

Arvin and I stood for a moment just looking at each other. I bit my lip subconsciously and he smirked.

"You've got a new bruise." He informed me.

I furrowed my brows, "What?! Where?!" I exclaimed, looking down at my body.

He chuckled lowly and then pointed on his neck. I was confused for a moment but then I realised.

I lay a hand over my neck where he had been kissing me and he smiled smugly then followed his Grandma into the living room.

I rushed to the mirror and gasped.

A blue and purple hickey had appeared on my skin. I bit my lip looking at it and a slow smile started to form.

-

{Tags: @notanordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy​ }

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