#and even if he had was my discomfort not blatant enough?

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Would you please do a stepbro! Tommy smut with a piss kink? Maybe he makes reader hold it?

Summary: Your step brother finds you out stumbling drunk, there’s only one thing that must be done for you to learn.

warnings: watersports, piss kink, dom/sub dynamics, p in v, mentions of intoxication, humiliation, degradation, stepcest

Everyone knew Tommy was close with you, always around one another, joking around, sometimes playing games that step siblings shouldn’t be playing. 

You hadn’t been home since breakfast and though you were well old enough not to have a curfew, Tommy still demanded to know where you were, who you were with and that you’d be home before dark.

Yet here he was driving down the street in the piss pouring rain looking for his step sister whom he may or may not have a sick, twisted, far too loving relationship with.

Stumbling off through the dark alley giggling with your friends, a car pulled up by the sidewalk that you knew all too well to be your step brother Tommy.

Bidding you goodbye, your friends scattered off, frightened of him, while the brick wall you were now leaning against was the only thing keeping you up on your feet.

Tommy stepped out of the car the rain pouring down onto his head as he slammed the door shut in anger, walking toward you with vigours, thunderous steps.

“I’ve been looking for you all night, and you’ve been out getting drunk at me fooking pub?” Making a sly goofy smile, Tommy rolled his eyes shoving you in the car before driving off back to the house.

The liqour was creating a sense of sexual urgency, and need to be fucked. Yet unlike all other days Tommy disregarded your longing stares and seductive touches, instead leading you into his office, forcing you down on a chair demanding you not move.

“Since you love drinking so much, why don’t we see just how much you can withstand.” Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, Tommy returned, his heated gaze never swaying from your hazy eyes.

“Drink up, love.” He eyed you from the opposite side of his desk, pushing the tremendously full glass of water toward you.

Eyeing him nervously, you did as he said, allowing the cool liquid to drench your dry throat, relinquishing the headache almost immediately.

His ocean eyes impended directly on you, focusing on the discomfort you attempted to hide.

“You will hold it until I say so.” Whimpering, he stood from his chair, massaging your shoulders, his plush lips dusting against your ear.

“Maybe you’ll learn your lesson next time, eh love?”

You just hadn’t realized how far Tommy would go for a punishment.

Throughout the day he consistently ignored your begging to use the restroom. Instead refilling the glass with each complaint you gave him.

It wasn’t until five glasses in that you realized he wasn’t just messing around, he wanted to see you suffer immensely.

When Ada arrived home, she has voiced concern that you might be ill. Playing it off, you mentioned that your sleep cycle had been inconsistent, relying on the blatant lie of being drowsy and irritable while Tommy simply smirked in the corner, attempting not to laugh as he sipped his tea.

“Well, perhaps a movie will help you sleep.” Nodding, Ada removed her coat, recalling that history movies were a dull interest to you, and ran outside to get the post to see what would be playing on the television tonight.

Once she was out of sight, Tommy abruptly appeared behind your back, purposefully pulling you back against him, arms squeezing tightly around your lower abdomen.

Whining, your head fell back against his chest as his hand glided beneath your skirt, rubbing your aching heat.

This wasn’t fair, he didn’t hold Ada to these standards even though she was older. She’s never had a “curfew”, why should you be any different?

“How’s my little lamb holding in there? Gonna piss yourself right here in the kitchen?” The water slowly dripping from the sink faucet has your eyes drawn in as Tommy continued to massage your mound, the rain pattering against the window outside.

The dripping sounds and the stimulation, causing your mind to spin in a million different directions.

“Such a sensitive little thing aren’t you? Just imagining the moment of releasing the flood gates, draining yourself, completely?” Tugging away from him once the door opened, Ada motioned that your brothers and Aunt Pol wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but the good news was she had found a movie, only it was three hours.

After eating dinner, the living area was set up with blankets and pillows along with simple snacks.

You were currently seated in the middle of the sofa, Tommy beside you of course while Ada was in the recliner to the side.

As a obnoxiously loud scene came on, you took the time to address your brother.

“Tommy, please! I’m going to burst at the seams!” You pleaded, and begged to him, wishing to just dispel the extreme un comfort of your bladder holding the max capacity of piss. 

He simply chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval, enjoying how desperate you sounded.

Your eyebrows creased together when his hand guided toward your lower abdomen underneath the blanket, pressing firmly onto the bloated, hardened skin, causing you to squeam in slight pain and discomfort of his actions.

Glancing around the room, Ada was still awake fully indulged in the movie.

Shit, you were going to have to play normal for longer than you already have.

Shivering Ada stood up from her seat, complaining of how cold it was in the house even with the fire lit.

When she mentioned hot chocolate, Tommy’s eyes lit up with mischief and pure diabolical intentions.

“Y’know Y/N was just complaining of the same thing, do you mind making us one too?” 

Oh how you wanted to smack him in the back of his demented head, and rush to the toilet.

Every other minute Tommy was shifting, in his seat. How long was this movie? You wouldn’t be surprised had he picked on nearly three hours. But you could play this game better.

As the film continued on about an hour later Tommy’s eyes were becoming heavy, his slight minuscule snores just barely audible.

Taking the opportunity at large, you were careful standing up from the sofa, hesitant not to wake him before walking off toward the upstairs bathroom. Only thing was this was an old house with creaking floors. The night time shade made it hard to see where you were stepping, and then it happened.

The first creak and Tommy was awakened, turning his head to catch you red handed.

Glancing over, Ada was asleep and luckly for him she was a heavy sleeper.

Terror seeped over your eyes as Tommy stood from the catch, walking over and grabbing your arm, forcing you to his room.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear?” Barging through the door, you shed one another of your clothes, eventually, falling down onto the mattress. Tommy towered over your aching body, noticing how bloaded your bladder appeared, and how hard your nipples were even in the warm air.

You couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment from the fact that being degraded and controlled in such a way turned you on.

Pressing firmly down onto your skin, he smirked watching you squeal and squirm beneath him in desperation, while his hardened cock slid in an up and down motion between your moist folds.

“Tommy I- I can’t. Please let me go first!” He shook his head, plunging his length in your heated flower. The over filling sensation, causing extreme discomfort with a hint of pleasure.

“Maybe you should learn to listen to your big brother every now and then eh?” Your lips parted agape when he began to drill into your body, the head of his cock feeling like it was hitting your bladder with each thrust.

Surely he didn’t expect you to hold your piss through this.

“I-I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be home on time from now on.” His hands grasped at your boobs, feeling them bounce with each rhythmic thrust.

It was almost pathetic how soaked you were, how your pussy clung to his long length in desperation.

When he flipped you over onto your stomach, that was when the inevitable was about to happen.

“Tommy-Tommy I’m gonna- I can’t-“

“You can release now love.” As soon as he gave you permission, all of the piss inside your aching bladder pooled out onto the sheets around his cock. The relieving sensation was almost too satisfying to recognize the humiliating situation that didn’t seem to phase Tommy at all as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. The piss warming his cock like a popsicle melting from the hot sun on a warm summer day.

The white sheets now stained yellow beneath your sex, your cheeks burning red in embarrassment.

It wasn’t long until Tommy released his seed inside of your dripping hole, the overwhelming heat of your pussy and piss sending a tidal wave of pleasure through his veins as his toes curled with one last strong, powerful thrust as he rode out his orgasm.

“So tell me? Did you learn something useful today?”

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #ranaewrites #requested

[gay-dorito-dust]

For Aegon

❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜

You could feel him staring at you; No, you could see him staring at you from the corner of your eye as you skimmed the paragraphs of your book under the guise of ‘reading.’ So much so that whenever you braved to glance at Aegon, who only seem to thrive in being caught as he continued his blatant staring with absolutely zero shame as a smirk growing across his lips and a glimmer in his lilac eyes. You didn’t know whether you should laugh or cry out of disbelief at his lack of digression. It never ceases to baffles you how shameless Aegon could be, even within the eye of the public he would have the misfortune to rule. His words not yours.

“you seem to have developed a staring problem as of late, my prince.” You said without taking your eyes off of the book in your lap, despite your desire to read had long since became a thing of the past, “And more so then not that staring has been aimed at me for most of the time.” You didn’t even have to look up to know that his smirk had widened across his face for Aegon was a simple book to read, even a child could do it. “What? Am I not allowed to look at you now?” He asked amused, you didn’t reply. “If my staring causes you were so much discomfort, then why haven’t you voiced your displeasure?” Aegon gauges your silence as a means to continue voicing his thoughts. “Or perhaps, if I’m right in assuming, you actually like it.”

You snorted, closing the book and placing it beside you as you looked over to address Aegon, only to find that he has moved himself closer to you as he leant against the Weirwood tree, arms and ankles crossed over one another. Had he always been so quiet on his feet? “Don’t flatter yourself Aegon, I’m probably not the only one you’ve been staring at.” You mentioned matter of factly, recalling the times where his lusty lilac eyes lingered elsewhere as you fought against the feeling of jealously building within your throat. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way, Aegon didn’t seem the type of man to willingly commit to anyone and you seemingly detested his depravity and uncouth ways at every turn.

However you didn’t catch onto the brief flicker of sadness within Aegon’s expression when you turned back to attend to your abandoned book. “If it brings you any reassurance but my eyes have never looked at another the way they looked at you.” He starts as he brought himself down to sit next to you beneath the bloody eyed tree with crimson leaves, testing the waters by grasping your hand in his as he took note of how you froze momentarily as though to compose yourself before falling into a sense of ease that still held onto that little bit of tension. “They may look to others in lust but to you, they’ve looked at you with nothing but admiration, comfort and above all, love.” Your body stiffen at the word but your eyes were peaked with interest as a warm sensation began to flood your chest as though you were a hearth brought aflame.

“Whether you believe my words or not, I do not care for I know my feelings to be true because whilst I may not be born into a loving environment; I still crave the things I cannot have and love is one of them if not the sole thing I crave to experience the most.” Aegon paused, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed with his own emotions that they started to form themselves into the tears that brimmed his pretty eyes. Aegon was always a pretty crier, you’ve noted. He made it look like an art form and you couldn’t help but squeeze his hand to console him into continuing. “So whenever you doubt my devoting to you, it hurts. I know why you doubt me, I understand it more then anyone because I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of my own actions.”

Aegon lays his head against your shoulder, pressing a kiss there before burying his head deeper into you as though he couldn’t get enough. His hand gripping yours tightly but not so much so that it caused you pain. “Yet here I am, laying my heart bear before you, praying to the seven in hopes that you don’t ever break it.” He finishes, too emotionally drained to remove himself away from you, not that he’d ever want to anyway; Clenching his eyes shut in waiting for your rejection, for you to smash his glass heart into a million fractures so small they looked like stardust. “Don’t pray to the Seven Aegon,” you told him softly, “for they’re the type who’d come to collect what is owed in droves. They’ll rob you blind of everything in the name of faith.”

“Then I’ll pray to you instead.” Aegon replied hastily, moving his head away from your shoulder to look at you with his bleary, bloodshot eyes as he smiled weakly. “Then you’ll have too much faith in me. I’ll let you down should I not meet your image of me every time.” You responded, resting your forehead against his, rubbing your nose gently his own. “Then don’t, let us be perfectly imperfect together until the end of our days.”

#hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #Aegon targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen x reader #Aegon ii targaryen imagines #Aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii x reader #Aegon ii imagines #Aegon ii imagine #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x you #Aegon x reader #Aegon imagines #Aegon imagine #Aegon ii x you #Aegon ii targaryen x you

[lemonluvgirl]

Good

an everlark smutty drabble inspired by an anon prompt:

Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥

since I was cleaning out my inbox today I decided to try and write this. NSFW themes ahead. Read with caution, and pay attention to the prompts specifications.

We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin. 

“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed. 

He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.

 He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine. 

He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though. 

“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.  

“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice. 

Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him. 

“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.

I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink. 

“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love. 

“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought. 

He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace. 

“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now. 

“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason. 

Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic. 

“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.

Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly. 

“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more. 

“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop. 

“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this. 

I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. 

“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks. 

“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body. 

“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely. 

We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him. 

 I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him. 

“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still.  We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed. 

There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again. 

His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.

“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in. 

I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple. 

“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again. 

He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris. 

“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me. 

Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me. 

“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply. 

I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh. 

“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response. 

‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden. 

He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing. 

Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me. 

“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up. 

He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.

“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone. 

I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress. 

“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me. 

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt. 

My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him. 

“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again. 

I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta. 

“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts. 

“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release. 

“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up. 

I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face. 

“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise. 

His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me. 

I let out a broken, choked noise. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—” 

His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge. 

I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets. 

I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can. 

Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time. 

We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably. 

“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.

I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this. 

“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable. 

He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more. 

“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment. 

“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love. 

#thg #everlark #fanfiction #lemonluvwrites #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #lemonluvanswers #the hunger games #everlark smut #sub/dom vibes #nothing too crazy

[angelsworks]

Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter 7

Next chapter -> H E R E

Series master list -> Here

Type: series

Summary: Uthred forces you to bathe, which leads to a disagreement between the two of you.

Warnings: 18+ Dark themes, spanking, kissing, description of injury, light fluff.

You remove your black dress. Surprised at how dirty your skin looks beneath it. You see little of your back, but trying to take your dress of causes you pain. Stretching your arms in any way hurt. Even if you did try to bathe, you doubted your ability to properly wash your hair.

You sigh before dipping your hair in the water over the tub. When it’s wet enough you put a small amount of soap on the ends. Proceeding to dry it with a towel and redress. You wait a short while before leaving the room.

Sure your plan has worked, you walk almost confidently out to meet Uhtred.

He stands idly to the side of the room, taking off his leather chest plate and removing his multitude of weapons. He looks at you with curious eyes. Eyes that you do well to avoid.

You sit quietly on the floor furthest away from him. Playing with your now slightly cleaner fingers.

“You have bathed?” He asks. Not convinced in the slightest you had bathed.

You nod. Knowing your voice would break or waver in tone. Surely giving yourself away. Revealing your lie to the intimidating Viking before you.

He clicks his tongue, “Do not lie to me witch. You will not like the outcome.” Uhtred feels annoyance rise within him. Annoyance at your disobedience and your blatant lying.

You raise your eyes to his own. A quiet fury lies behind them, waiting for you to wake it. It pinches the skin beside his eyes. Making them crinkle up in a glare.

“I have bathed. Now I wish to sleep.” You try your best to control your tone. Hoping he’ll not question you further.

Instead he walks over. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Now directly across from where you sit on the floor. Your eyes stay trained on his leather boots. Dirt cakes them from days of travel.

“You will sleep when you have bathed, which I am sure you have not. You have one more chance to go and bathe. Or else I’ll do it myself.” His words leave no room for argument. The threat sends a shiver up your spine. A shiver you aren’t certain is discomfort.

But you won’t do it. You won’t bathe and your choice is final. You feel almost childish about your decision. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum. In other circumstances the idea of taking a bath isn’t so dire. Yet here you feel it is.

Days of travel, of being treated like a prisoners, of walking on eggshells around these Viking men. They’ve made you tired, frustrated, tense. Your back aches and it’s not something you wish to confront. You’ve decided you won’t deal with it. Even Uhtred of Bebbanburg can’t make you bathe. You are quite certain he can’t.

“I will not Uhtred. I refuse,” you tell him, eyes still on the floor. “You May go and bathe, I will sleep.”

The sigh that leaves his lips is almost a groan. He leans forward to rest his arms on his knees. Bringing his face closer to your level.

“You are my seer now, that much I’ve come to believe. If I am your master than you are to listen to me, are you not?” He questions, eyebrow raised.

“No. I do not listen to you Uhtred,” you become defensive, trying to distract him from your current predicament. “Do not pretend to care of our bond, when you’ve kept me bound for the last few days.”

It takes a minute for Uhtred to smile, a smile that does not reach his eyes. “You will bathe tonight witch. You decide if you do it yourself or not.”

His words are final.

Yet you feel differently. A streak of defiance, disobedience, of brattiness perhaps, shoots through you.

He stays in his position as he watches you get up. A second after you make a dash for the door he follows after you. Chasing behind you before wrapping his arms around you. He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder.

You thrash wildly in his hold. More so than you have before. He’s surprised you have so much fight in you. He greatly dwarfs you in size and strength. That much he’s come to appreciate.

“Stop fighting witch or I’ll punish your disobedience.” He all but snarls out to you.

His words do the opposite. Their desired affect failing as your eyes widen and continue your fighting. Your thrashing becomes more frenzied, bending and arching manically to try and loosen his grip.

He pulls you off of his shoulder, as he sits on the edge of the bed. Pulling you over his knees.

“Stop your fighting witch. Take a bath, then we can sleep.”

You breathe heavy breaths as you work up the energy to start thrashing. It’s difficult from your position. You lay over his legs, hands held by one of his own, binding them together like a cuff. One of his legs pins your own down.

Nevertheless you try to start and jerk around. A slap on your dress covered rear halts your movements for a moment. Before you start wailing and kicking, trying to get him off.

In return Uhtred lays down more slaps. He didn’t think the night would turn this way. The thought of spanking you hadn’t crossed his mind before tonight. At least it hadn’t surfaced from his subconscious mind before tonight.

With the women he’d laid with it was often simple. It was sweet, loving even. That was with Saxon women. With Dane’s it became a battle for dominance. One he enjoyed playing. Yet there was no promise of submission from either party.

Here he wanted to see if he could bring you out of yourself. To bring you to a state you could trust another. Trust him. He’d seen the way your shoulders slumped, how heavy they looked. How stress weighed on them like metal amour.

For the first time since he’d met you he saw your shoulders finally relax. Your whole body relaxed. Or maybe it was just limp. The tiredness from the past few days now bleeding out of you as you lay over his knee. Taking spank after spank. Crying loudly.

From your cries it would seem like his spanks hurt like burns, like the worse kind of pain. In actuality, a tight string inside you felt like it had broken. All your hurt and all your worries came rushing past the now open barrier for the second time today. This time you felt it empty your supply more. You felt your problems wash away and your body loosen.

You felt your mind go blank as you moved to a higher place. One where you didn’t need to worry about your parents, or Freya, or Steffen. You only needed to think about one thing. Uhtred.

You felt thankful his spanks stayed on your rear. He never hit further up. Never striking your back and the horrible welts and cuts that littered it.

His punishment didn’t feel like a punishment in comparison to what Steffen had given you. More of a light correction.

You felt your will to disobey weaken. Your fire put out and your desire to fight him off float away. More strangely you felt your bond to Uhtred strengthen in a way. You felt vulnerable.

He’d stopped his slaps a few moments ago but you reminded over his knee, crying hard. He pulled you up gently and sat you to straddle him. Embracing you loosely around your lower back.

When you had calmed considerably he spoke, “I did not wish to do that. But believe me when I say I will do it again. I know now you speak truth and you are to stay with us a long time. I need you to listen to me so that I can protect you.”

You consider his words. Protect you? You found yourself comparing him to Steffen. A man who roughly demanded your support and loyalty. Through means of violence and torture. Now Uhtred was your master. A man who has done nothing near to the damage Steffen had caused. A man who was respected by his followers.

You wondered what had made Uhtred so sure of you. You had lied today. You had left and met Freya, when he specifically asked you not to. Yet he chose now to believe you. Believe you were fated to him. Destined to be his seer. Destined to be his.

He picks you up and holds you easily around his waist, so you rest at his side on his hip. He walks slowly to the bathroom, watching you for any signs of struggle. He is slightly astonished to see you holding to him tightly, your head buried in his neck.

You enjoy the closeness. If this man was your future you would enjoy it for however long it would last. If he really did trust you, maybe you could start to trust him too.

He places you softly on the floor while he sticks his hand in the water. Finding the water to still be warm.

“Undress little witch, you still need to bathe.” His words are gentle. A great contrast to his large figure and sometimes violent nature.

You shake your head and he readies his hand to spank you again. But he finds your eyes glazed as you look away from him.

“Uhtred I can’t. It will hurt me too much.”

If the mood was different he might make some sort of joke about you befriending the dirt under your nails and how you were now saddened to see it gone. Something about the empty look in your eyes tells him your words carry more weight.

He reaches out to hold you chin up, meeting his eyes. “Whatever hurts you, I will do my best to fix.” He tells you honestly. Fate has made you his and he intends to keep you as well as he possibly can. To take care of you with all he has.

You sigh. With shaking hands you start to pull your dress up, while avoiding eye contact with him as you do. Mind going blank as you feel his hands help to pull it over your head your head.

The fabric falls in a pile out of his hands and on to the floor. His eyes widen as he stares, mouth agape, thoughts racing.

Your body is as frail as he suspected. Your ribs tight against your skin. He sees dark bruises along your body. On your legs and arms, spread in an array on your torso. Your skin is particularly sore around your wrists and ankles. The injuries looking similar to those made by shackles. He thinks about how they’d bound you with rope in these places repeatedly, and how much it must have hurt you.

He says nothing as he walks around you. Wanting to see if your back had remained untouched unlike your front.

He felt his stomach fall as he saw the cuts and bruises that lay here. Still dark in colour showing the age and force which made them. They act as a background for the lashes. Lashes made by a whip no doubt. The sight takes him back to his time as a slave, he himself being beaten with a whip. The pain was sharp, awful and searing. But any action after that would magnified it. As it caused the unsealed wounds to reopen.

His fingers brush lightly over the cuts. Some trying to heal, others still open. The skin that wasn’t cut was caked in dirt. It made sense if you’d travelled without rest to Uhtred. He doubted the man responsible for your wounds would take the time to clean you afterwards.

“I will call for a healer little witch,” he moves to stand in front of you. “First you bathe, your wounds will become infected if left in this state.”

He guides you over to the tub. Your naked form now feeling the cold of the room. You take a breath before stepping over into the tub.

The warm water does feel soothing against your legs. Any wounds below your knee are small and minor compared to your back. It relaxes your muscles and warms your bones.

You hesitate as you go to sit in the water. Feeling anxious again at the thought of the pain.

“It will be okay little witch. The pain will pass.”

Sighing, you move to sit. It reaches you immediately. Waves of pain that had the power to bring you to your knees, crashed against your being. Your face contorts and you hold you breath as not to scream. It feels as if salt has been applied to your cuts. The water rubbing it in deeper.

Slowly the pain retreats, becomes dull and calmer. It hurts, but becomes easier to bare. Although your breathes remain ragged and laboured. You move your body so you sit lower in the water. Now it comes to just below your collarbones.

“I will leave you to bathe.” His words short he tried to take his leave.

Your hand reaches out, grabbing for him. You don’t want him to leave. Maybe it’s because his company brings a kind of completeness to your life. Or you’re feeling vulnerable from sharing so much with this man.

“Please stay. I don’t want to be alone. Take your bath.” Your voice is small yet it fills the room. You feel bad that the water will soon go cold and Uhtred will be left to bathe in the cold water. Uhtred says nothing, quietly contemplating what to do.

He nods finally, starting to disrobe. He watches you for any reaction and is surprised when he sees you looking away.

You focus on the grey stone bricks on the wall. All different size, stuck together with cement. There are no windows in the room. The only light is from candles placed sporadically around the room. Most likely lit by the owner of the inn.

Tentatively, Uhtred steps into the bath. Lowering himself until he’s able to sit, his lower half submerged in the warm water.

He says nothing as he watches you. You curl away from him, arms wrapped around your chest, shoulders tense with unease. You sit huddled to the opposite side of the tub. Trying to both give him space and build back your walls.

The tub is only so big. With Uhtred stature it’s hard to angle yourself away from him. You aren’t sure exactly why you are doing it. From the interval of asking Uhtred to stay and now sitting in the bath with him, you started to feel embarrassed.

Embarrassed he had seen you so vulnerable. Embarrassed he was sat with you in the bath. Embarrassed that he’d spanked you moments ago.

“Come closer witch. I do not bite.” He tells you. Widening his legs and positioning himself against the wall of the tub.

You make no move to get closer, causing him to sigh. He feels as if your relationship has changed. Whether you feel it too, he cannot say. But he can sense your guard had lowered. He feels as though it had given the two of you have a chance to connect.

Slowly you move back towards Uhtred. Wadding through the water until you make contact with his front. He raises his arms to lean on the edges of the tub, caging you in. Yet you don’t feel trapped.

You lean back against his chest, letting out a deep breath pass your lips. With it the last of your tensions. You match your breathing to his own. Letting your chest rise with his and fall with his.

Slowly Uhtred moves his fingers. The tips lightly dance over your arms. Tracing from the tops of your shoulders to the ends of your fingers. At first it makes you shiver, ticklish even. Yet after a few stokes it becomes extremely comforting.

“Thank you,” you whisper out. “For staying with me.”

He lets out a hum almost, one of agreement. Not pausing his movements.

“I want to know more about you. To say you are my Seer I know very little.” He murmurs in your eye.

You shift slightly, trying to move to face Uhtred. You struggle to use your arms to lift your weight. After seeing you struggle Uhtred shift you himself, so that you sit across his lap, almost cradled under his neck.

“What do you want to know?”

“Hmm,” his eyes glint, a playful look in them. “You could start with your name?”

“Y/N”

“How long have you had visions of me?”

“Since I was a teenager.”

“Why have you been sent to me?”

You pause for a while. Needing to think about your answer. You look up to his eyes. You see the shades of blue that litter his eyes, all blending into one. Previously you’d thought they were light blue like the sky. Now you think they’re dark blue, more like the ocean.

“In truth I do not know Uhtred. All I know is that fate has brought me to you. I belong to you. I am your gift from fate.” You tell him in earnest. Hoping he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

It feels as though his head had gotten closer to your own. His breath fans your face. His lips draw close. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, yet he leaves a gap between the two of you. He waits.

You can’t explain why but you close the gap. Letting your lips connect. The kiss is gentle yet full of passion. You almost feel a spark run down your body at the contact. You place a hand on Uhtred’s chest to steady yourself.

He pulls away first, eyes now full of something more than playfulness. You feel a blush on your cheeks so you look away.

“You still need to be washed Y/N.”

For the next few minutes Uhtred helps you bathe. He washes your hair for you. Taking time to scrub deep in your scalp, along the strands of your hair. He runs his fingers through it to try and detangle some of the knots that have developed there.

With a rag he washes over your arms, legs and works slowly on your torso. You blush as he wipes over your breasts and the rag dips below the water to wipe between your legs.

Finally he uses a sponge to wipe over your back. He works in slow circles as he washes away the dirt embedded in cuts and smeared over skin. Occasionally it causes you to hiss out in pain, which makes him slow down even further.

When he’s satisfied he rises from the bath. Getting out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He picks a towel up to wrap your body in. Again being gentle of your injuries.

You follow him back into the bedroom where you see him start to dress back in his shirt and trousers. You start at him confused.

“I will fetch a healer from the village, you can dress in one of my spare shirts.” He tells you, about to put his shoes on.

You go to retrieve your pot from Freya, handing it to him. Now it’s his turn to looks confused.

“No healer. This salve should work just as well. It’s from a friend.”

He thinks for a moment. The pot looks similar to something a healer would give you and you seem to trust it. He nods his head. Starting to disrobe again.

You reach your hand out to take the pot back from him, but he pulls his hand back and holds it above your head. With one hand on your towel and one hand attempting to stretch in the air, you try to reach it.

“I can do it Uhtred.” You tell him, still trying to get it from him.

“You will not reach your cuts. I will do it. Lay on your front on the bed.”

Your arm drops to your side. Sighing you turn to lay down on the bed. Without being able to see him, you rely on his touch.

His hands move to lower your towel. You can hear the pot of salve open. Then finally the product being rubbed across your back. Along the cuts and welts that lay there. It stings and makes you wince. However you trust Freya and you trust the fact it will help in the long run.

His touch leaves you and you get up. Ready to wrap the towel around you once more.

“Don’t do that. Wear this, it’s looser.” He warns. Passing you his undershirt to wear. True to his words it fits your loosely and doesn’t make contact with your back.

“Let us sleep.” He guides you to lay on the bed. While you do, he blows out the candles around the room. Slowly letting the light drift from the room. When the last candle is out he moves back to the bed, lying down with you.

The heat from his body radiates to you. Warming you from the otherwise cold room. He pulls various furs over the two of you. Pulling you closer to him.

“Goodnight Y/N”. He whispers into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to drift off to sleep. Feeling a level of serene that has since been lost to you.

#dark #angelsworks post #the last kingdom #finan the last kingdom #osferth the last kingdom #sihtric the last kingdom #uhtred of bebbanburg #Uhtred of bebbanburg x reader #the last kingdom x reader #uhtred the last kingdom

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Febuwhump Day 1

Touch-Starved – Echo

Warnings: Pretty mild – some cussing, a bit of angst, otherwise just a lot of comfort via a much needed massage

WC: 2,255

In the three weeks since being reassigned, I’d barely managed to get updated heights and weights of the five misfits of Clone Force 99. Hunter relented at my constant pestering, but his body language clearly illustrated how he felt about the two minutes I’d robbed from him. Tech gave me the information immediately, readily showing his annoyance at my insistence to take the measurements myself, and the expression on his face when his numbers matched exactly still made me scowl just thinking about it. Sweet Wrecker was willing enough after my assurance that there wouldn’t be any procedures or need for injections, and Echo, at least, was apologetic during his blatant attempts at evasion. It didn’t take long to realize the depths of his fear, and, when I brought the simple equipment to him, away from the glaring lights of the medbay, he agreed with just the briefest hint of gratitude. That damn sniper, however… only after threatening to pull him from duty did he stand still long enough for me to quickly note my findings.

They’d all claimed to be miraculously unharmed after their first mission with me - then feigned perfect ignorance to the sudden disappearance of a full container of bacta gel and a splint. Assholes. They could have simply denied the transfer – made life easier on all of us, but that mission was also Echo’s first after coming back from the dead, so Tech stated that having a trained medic aboard might prove useful. Like hell… All my presence had brought since I stepped onto that ramp was stress. Echo, at least, occasionally made an attempt at polite conversation, though the undercurrent of innate discomfort was clear in the jittery flutter of his fingers and the way his eyes darted toward the door. Each moment of careful silence that followed me like a plague as soon as I entered a room left me more and more alienated, and I was sick of it.

Teeth grinding, I drew a breath, nearly a month’s worth of repressed frustration burning atop my tongue, but then something forced me still. It was such a small thing – a simple, tense roll of Echo’s shoulder, the slightest cringe of pain and flash of annoyance as his other arm tensed, scomp just beginning to shift before settling back against his thigh, and I could nearly hear the click of his teeth grinding. This. This was something I could fix.

Without a word, I stood and made my way back to the cramped storage room. Though I had few doubts Hunter could her me shifting boxes around, he seemed all too happy that I’d distracted myself with something other than pestering them.

“Echo?” I called after several minutes, “Could you help me for a sec? I can’t reach this damn bag.” There was a moment of stillness, and I was certain he’d turned to the others in a silent plea, but he’d been the only one to show even a façade of friendliness, so they were surely too happy to find me asking for his help instead of theirs.

“Y-yeah, sure.” He finally answered, and, even from across the ship, I could hear the resignation in his sigh before slow footsteps approached me. His brows pulled together at the sight of rearranged crates, and even let out a small chuckle at realizing I’d tried to craft some semblance of stairs.

“Yeah, yeah; laugh it up.” I retorted, earning the first genuine smile I’d seen in weeks, and the guilt it shot through my chest threatened to cripple me. But this was important. I could help him. I just had to prove that.

“The green one?” He asked, stepping toward the cargo racks.

“That’s the one.” I sighed, arms folding almost petulantly across my chest. I saw the way his jaw tensed as he stepped forward, but held myself back; waiting. His fingers barely brushed the material before a spasm tore through his shoulder, wrenching a barely audible grunt from his lips.

“I knew it,” I muttered, and, before he could recover, pointed to one of the crates. “Sit.” The order was gentle, but an order nonetheless.

“Look, Doc, I’m fine, I don’t”

“Do you know what I did before this?” I asked, words quiet enough that he had to silence himself to hear them. Teeth burring into his cheek, he shook his head, brows furrowed beneath frustration, fear, and a betrayal I desperately hoped he’d forgive me for. “I was a physical therapist – I specialized in sports rehab. My guess would be that Captain Rex found out, and that’s why he pulled me from my troop – you are why he pulled me from my troop.” It was a dirty play, but I watched the guilt steal over him, breaking his resolve. Gentler, I continued.

“Echo, I left my old life behind because I can help – I want to help.” He wouldn’t look at me as I spoke, hard eyes burring into the ground just past the tip of his scomp. “I’m not going to record this – no machines or medication, just… just give me your hand… please.” Several seconds passed in silence, and I could feel the heat of his glare shift to my waiting palm. Finally, his throat bobbed, swallowing back some of that stiffness, and, without a word, eyes still downturned, he held his hand toward me.

I could have sobbed, movements slow, deliberate. I didn’t press for conversation as I slowly worked my thumbs into the callused skin of his palm, carefully working over the tendons and gently manipulating the joints. I could feel the depth of tension coiled in his every muscle, and, gradually, I felt it begin to ease, watched his eyes follow my movements with something so near fascination before melting away into relief.

“Can I take off your vambrace?” I barely breathed the request, terrified that merely speaking would remind him that he wasn’t supposed to allow this, that he was afraid of me and everything that red symbol on my shoulder represented, but his eyes flicked up to mind, and something seemed to shift. I don’t know what he saw, but there was a stillness in his gaze as he nodded, and I didn’t shy from letting the depth of my gratitude show.

Falling back into that silence, I slid the armor from his forearm and continued the slow, rhythmic movements along taut, abused muscle, occasionally stealing mere glances at him for any sign of pain or trepidation, but, even as I began to pull at his rerebrace, he merely shifted to help me. Though his shoulder was my main goal, the utter relief stealing over him as I worked over his bicep in long, leisurely movements before starting on his tricep was all the encouragement I needed not to rush this. His eyes slid closed, head falling forward slightly.

“Sit down.” This time, it wasn’t a command. Hand tenderly guiding him back, I eased him down onto a crate. He barely registered the movement. Finally, I detached the shoulder bell. He flinched slightly as the heel of my palm swept over his deltoid, and I quickly softened my touch. He started to say something, to excuse the moment of hitched breath and tense muscles as anything other than what it was, but, caught in the quiet of my own movements, let himself fade into my touch once more.

When I reached for his backplate, however, that trepidation returned in force.

“Um, there’s… my back is…” He stammered, torn between staying and fleeing.

“I know.” I whispered, hand moving back to his shoulder while the other rested against the plate of armor. “The nodules lie between your muscles. They broke the fascia, so the tissues can’t lubricate themselves normally. It’s no wonder you’re so tight. Fluids, cellular wastes – it can’t get flushed out properly.” My thumb swept soothingly against him. “I can help with that Echo.” I promised gently. When he didn’t respond, my movements stilled, voice going even quieter.

“Do you want me to stop?” The way he tensed… it was so near to trembling, I found myself straining not to pull him against me as though something as simple as an embrace might ease his misery, but, eyes pointedly shut, he shook his head. The breath escaped me in something too close to a sob, and I quietly pulled the heavy plate of armor away.

Every ounce of tension I’d so carefully worked from him returned in an instant. I said nothing as my hand dragged down the knot of muscle sweeping up his shoulder to his neck, movements slipping effortless around the node of metal near his spine as though I’d worked around them all my life. And his chest hitched. I felt my own tears threatening to claw their way up my throat, but forced every ounce of concentration into holding them back, to easing the flood of panic and fear and pain from the man losing himself beneath my touch.

Neither of us spoke as I slowly made my way along his shoulders, spending a short eternity on his neck before starting down. Neither drew attention to his occasional shudder or the tears dripping from his chin, but I found myself realization something that brought him far more pain than a strained muscle: in the months since his rescue, he’d been so adverse to physical contact, terrified at the mere thought of a stranger’s touch, and now he’d found himself surrounded by nothing but strangers. How long had it been since he’d felt more than the fleeting touch of a pat on the back or brief grasp to help him to his feet? I knew his brothers were gone, and he’d known the others members of 99 scarcely longer than me. Trapped in a body he surely loathed and surrounded by people he hadn’t yet begun to trust…

My every movement suddenly felt weighted beneath a desperate need to justify this sliver of trust he’d granted me, beneath the need to offer him this glimpse of comfort when no one else could. I didn’t doubt that the others had long since noted our absence, and would have to thank Hunter, I was sure, for keeping his brothers’ doubtlessly creative taunts at bay.

Echo kept his gaze carefully trained on the far corner of the floor as I moved around him to remove his chestplate. I didn’t try to meet his gaze, focus pointedly locked on the movements of my own hands. Not wanting him to have to brace against my ministrations, I settled onto a knee behind him before continuing.

“I want you to lean back against me. Okay?” I said softly without allowing even a moment’s pause as I kneaded into the sweeping muscle of his chest. He hesitated for barely a heartbeat before letting my touch naturally ease him against me. Again, that tension returned, but this time it was quicker to leave, and he melted against me. Until he was ready, this was as close to an embrace as I could offer, and I didn’t doubt that he knew just as well as I did that the massage had become an excuse to give him what he really needed: touch. Simple and gentle and nothing at all while somehow being everything all at once.

So I let my hands work over him long after my own muscles began to ache, occasionally returning to a troublesome spot on his back or sweeping down his upper arms for the simple desire to draw out that sensation of touch until, finally, we both let out a slow breath. Still, we lingered in that quiet, hands resting softly atop his shoulders as reality slowly came back into existence around us.

“…I…” The fractured word caught in his throat, and my hands automatically moved down his arms once more.

“At least once a week, you’re going to let me repeat this. Understand?” I said it in the practiced expectation of a medical professional, shocking him enough to finally pull his gaze back to mine; to see the plea and gratitude burning through me, and he instantly quieted once more beneath a sudden understanding. “If something flares up before then, you come and tell me. Make me hunt you down like this again, and I will pull rank.” His shoulders slumped, body deflating in a flood of relief at the realization of what I was offering. This is not something he needed to suffer through alone.

His eyes closed as he nodded. With a final sweep of my hands over his shoulders, I finally pushed away from him and absently helped him slip back into his armor.

“One last thing.” I called just as he’d started for the door. The openness in his gaze as he turned back toward me made my heart soar – finally void of the fear and annoyance and frustration. “It was just a trick to get you in here, but I legitimately threw my bag back too far for me to reach.” The words seemed to linger in the air between us for a short eternity as his mind struggled to focus enough to process what I’d just said before laughter burst from his lips, body pitching forward beneath the force of it. Lips bunching against what I wasn’t sure to be a smile or sneer, I merely stared at him expectantly, but the brilliant smile he flashed me when he finally collected himself enough to retrieve the bag was well worth every grueling second.

Next Chapter

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#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #star wars echo #the bad batch echo #febuwhump2023 #febuwhump #comfort #touch starved #gender neutral post #star wars hunter #star wars tech #star wars wrecker #star wars crosshair #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb oc #my writing #tbb fanfic #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #massage

[owmyeyeballs]

A Bloodless Bard

On bite night things went rather awry for my sweet little gnome bard, Cyrill. Astarion took his midnight snack a bit too far, and poor anxious Cyrill doesn't know how to say stop. Without Withers in the camp yet, Cyrill had to be revived with a scroll, beginning the day with no spell slots and only one HP. Naturally, my brain decided this would be a perfect opportunity for Gale to nurse him back to health, and to have poor shy Cyrill (who doesn't yet know Gale's secret and just what he's letting himself in for) realize he's in deep.

Short, sappy nonsense... Enjoy!

When Cyrill awakens, it’s to a terrible, bone deep cold, a fierce ache in his neck, and a clamour of voices.

“I don’t care how hungry you were, if you think you’re going to lose control, you need to keep your fangs out of the people in this camp!”

“How was I to know he’d die so easily? I assumed he’d say when he was ready for me to stop! Hardly my fault he didn’t speak up!”

“Can both of you be quiet? I think I’ve got him back!”

Cyrill opens his eyes to a rather irate Shadowheart, her hands glowing softly with healing magic, which promptly dissipates.

“… Was I..?”

“Dead? Yes, you absolute donkey! Our resident leech drained you dry! I’ve not been awake five minutes and I’ve already had to waste magic bringing you back. Next time Astarion decides to try that, learn to say no!”

Cyrill flinches away from her anger, and tries to sit up. The world around him immediately spins, and he slumps down once more, eyes closed, shivering. He barely registers the sound of someone grunting in discomfort as they kneel beside him, and feels warm hands taking him by the shoulders, encouraging him to sit up.

“I doubt this bickering is helping our bard’s condition. Let’s just accept that mistakes were made, and work on repairing the damage. Now, can you open your eyes for me?”

Cyrill obliges, and finds Gale’s warm brown eyes gazing at him with concern. He attempts a weak, reassuring smile, trying not to shiver.

“There we are! Now, Astarion, I believe you have something to say?”

The vampire lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, and turns to Cyrill, giving a mocking bow.

“My sincerest apologies that my little midnight snack went a touch too far. If it’s any comfort, you didn’t even taste that good!”

Cyrill lets out a huff of annoyance, and attempts to muster up a glare.

“Well, next time you’re desperate enough to lower your standards to gnomes, I’ll be sure to tell you to stick to rats.”

Shadowheart gives a snort of laughter, and Gale holds up his hands to silence any further bickering.

“And lets leave that there, shall we? Shadowheart, can you heal him any more? He still looks dreadfully pale.”

“Not if you want me helping to scout that goblin camp. If things go badly, I need all the magic I can spare. I’m afraid it’ll have to be fluids, rest, and food.”

Gale claps his hands decisively.

“That’s settled, then. You can have fun with your scouting, and I’ll play nurse as well as cook. Come on, let’s get you settled!”

Gale helps Cyrill to his feet, steadying him as he sways and almost falls, and as he begins to shiver more violently, takes the blanket from his bedroll and wraps it around his shoulders. With Gale’s hand steadying him, Cyrill finds himself being led to the campfire.

“There we are! Now, you sit down and try to warm up, and I’ll fetch some things to keep you comfortable.”

Cyrill kneels by the fire, clutching at the blanket, and watches as the rest of the party leave for the day. He averts his eyes, ashamed by this blatant display of weakness, and trembling as the memory of the night before returns. The sharp, icy pain of fangs in his neck, the starving vampire lapping at the blood as it gushed from the wound, biting deeper to release more, not seeming to even notice as his body grew limp and cold…

“I need to learn to say no…”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Gale agrees, making Cyrill jump as he kneels beside him. “You gave us all rather a scare, seeing you like that. But I can’t fault you for compassion. You saw someone in need, and you gave of yourself without question. It’s a fine quality. One I’ve noticed in you rather a lot, as it happens.”

For a moment, Gale has a faraway look in his eyes. Then, seeming to remember himself, he displays a pile of blankets, furs, and cushions.

“These ought to do the trick! Given Astarion’s responsible for your condition, he can deal with donating some pillows. I borrowed the furs from Lae’zel, and I think you’ll find my blanket rather soft indeed. Now, let’s get you settled in, and I’ll start seeing to some food. It’ll be a nice change, having someone to talk to while I cook!”

Cyrill finds himself oddly tongue-tied as Gale arranges everything into a makeshift bed and gestures for him to lie down, then fusses with tucking the blanket over him, tucking it up under his chin. It smells vaguely like a library, and Cyrill lets out a soft noise of satisfaction, that quickly turns to a hiss of pain when Gale accidentally brushes the wound in his neck. The wizard holds up his hands apologetically.

“Forgive me! I say, that does look rather sore.”

“It’s nothing,” Cyrill replies, offering a reassuring smile and trying not to wince. “Really, you don’t need to go to all this trouble! I’ll be fine, I’ll just rest a little, really.”

Gale looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“You’ll rest, certainly, but you’ll eat and drink too. And, with your permission, perhaps you’ll let me try something? I’m… no stranger to pain.”

“Your knees?” Cyrill asks. “They seem to hurt you when you kneel.”

Gale laughs, agreeing a little too quickly.

“My knees, yes… Now, here we are!”

A whispered word, an elegant gesture, and flames begin to dance around Gale’s hand. Cyrill watches, transfixed. Whether it’s simple cantrips or great, destructive spells, Gale’s magic never ceases to fascinate him. He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until Gale dismisses the flames with a deft flick, then presses his hand gently over Cyrill’s aching neck.

Heat still lingers in the wizard’s soft hand, soothing away the ache a little, chasing away the unnatural chill that seems to linger around the wound. It’s gentle, comforting…

“Ah, ah! No nodding off yet! Though I’m glad that seems to have helped. Now, stay awake a little longer while I prepare you something.”

Cyrill struggles not to fall asleep, comfortable in his makeshift bed, while Gale sets out a chopping board and sets a kettle over the fire. His eyes are just beginning to flutter closed, when a gently steaming mug is pressed into his hands.

“There, that ought to warm you a little.”

With Gale supporting his unsteady hands, Cyrill takes a tentative sip. Tea, just perfectly sweetened with honey, warm enough to be comforting, not so hot as to shock his still shivering body. When the mug is drained, Gale takes it, and presses a plate into Cyrill’s hands. Slices of apple, cheese, sausage, some grapes, small slices of bread…

“There was no need to go to such trouble.”

“There was every need! Why are we travelling together, if not to take care of each other? Now, eat as much as you can, and I’ll fetch you some water.”

Eating is a slow process, but Gale seems to have infinite patience. He shakes Cyrill gently when he starts to nod off, makes him pause now and then to take a few sips of water, and steadies the plate when Cyrill’s hands shake. At long last, Cyrill can manage no more, and Gale takes the plate as his head slumps back onto the cushions.

“Well done. Now, rest assured, I’ll have talked you into a deep slumber in no time!”

Cyrill laughs softly, and true to his word, Gale chatters away as he sets about preparing a meal for when the others return. Cyrill loses track of what the wizard is talking about, and Gale seems to expect no response, only checking in now and then to make sure Cyrill’s condition hasn’t deteriorated. Cyrill’s eyes grow heavy, and he pulls the blanket tighter, nuzzling into the soft wool. The pleasing scent of old books soon has him breathing slowly and deeply, and he wonders if he dreams the soft hand pushing back his hair and feeling his forehead as he nods off.

The day passes in a blur, but a comfortable one. Cyrill wakes now and then, and Gale urges another bite of food, another few sips of water, and repeats his warming trick when his neck pains him. When he is awake, Cyrill watches as Gale peels potatoes, dices onions, chops meat, seasons and stirs… All the while, the wizard chats away. The differences in bardic versus wizardly magic, the first time he managed to conjure a fireball and set his neighbour’s roses on fire, a passionate rant on the magical inaccuracies in the works of one Volothamp Geddarm…

Cyrill does his best to offer a little conversation in return, but there is something mesmerizing in Gale’s easy flow of words, and more often he simply listens, enraptured. And each time Gale pauses to feel his forehead, or steady his hands as he drinks, he wonders at how soft the man’s hands are, and how gentle.

By the time Cyrill finally awakens feeling more alert and less shivery, the sky has begin to darken, the first hints of stars beginning to show. A rich, warm scent fills the air, and Gale sits by the fire, gazing up at the sky. The fading light and the glow of the fire highlight the creases around his eyes, the flecks of grey in his soft hair. Seeing Cyrill awake, he smiles and offers a hand to help him sit up.

“A beautiful time of day, don’t you think?”

Cyrill, who has penned poems and sung songs on the subject, can only muster up a tongue-tied “… beautiful.”

Gale goes to take the lid off the pot, and Cyrill closes his eyes, breathing in deeply as the savoury scent fills the air. He keeps his eyes closed, cherishing the moment, wondering if he might later try to preserve it in some poem, never to be shared… And then, there is a hand under his chin, raising his head, and he opens his eyes to Gale offering him a steaming spoon.

“There, tell me what you think of that!”

Gale blows on the spoon slightly, then presses it to Cyrill’s lips. A rich, warming sauce, flavoured with herbs and spiced just perfectly. Gale smiles fondly as Cyrill swallows, and uses his thumb to wipe a slight spill off his chin. Cyrill tries to find the words to compliment him, but this close, he can see how the firelight brings out the tiny flecks of gold in the wizard’s brown eyes.

“There, now!” Gale says cheerfully, as Cyrill blushes. “That’s what we want to see! Some colour back in those cheeks!”

Before Cyrill can reply, Karlach’s raucous voice rings out.

“Bloody hells, that smells good! I could eat a whole deep rothe! Hey, you’re looking better, little man!”

“And therefore, you’ll clearly have no further use for these,” Astarion adds, approaching the fire and plucking his cushion from behind Cyrill’s head. Judging by the blood on his armour, he’s either killed, or fed. Or both. The voices of the party fill the camp, and one by one they approach the fire, ready to eat. Gale sighs and starts lecturing on washing up before dinner as he serves up stew, and the spell is broken.

And yet, Cyrill thinks, pressing his fingers to his lips where Gale’s thumb had brushed, some strange, warm magic still remains.

#bg3 fic #gale dekarios #oc: cyrill #food as a love language #poor little gnome is in deep #hurt/comfort #heavy on the comfort

[thenexusofsouls]

Wanda could feel the hunger burning in her stomach, though she had tried her best to ignore it for as long as she could. She had hated what she had become, what Jacob had made her. Though she was far from the monster he was, she still had to drink blood in order to survive. Stirring next to Ivan, she moved in a little closer to him and gently whispered, "I'm hungry..."

Ivan felt his morals and resolve slipping away. First, he didn’t kill Wanda when he first knew she’d been bitten, when it was clear that she’d been affected in some way even if she hadn’t become a familiar. Then, he’d watched her die rather than let Jacob turn her, only to watch her rise again, the effects of whatever Jacob had done to her previously somehow preventing her from dying. And now, he was here with her, having fended Jacob off from taking possession of her for yet another day. Wanda... was a human vampire, and he was sitting here with her as if that colossal fact was nothing at all.

By all accounts, Wanda seemed to be the same as Jacob, except... she didn’t share his cruelty, his immorality. Ivan hadn’t had a clear enough head since it happened to mull over why that might be, but it was a small blessing, perhaps. However, something she did have in common with him... was the bloodlust. Ivan couldn’t let her harm others. At least not innocents. There he went again, compromising his values and forsaking his vows to make exceptions for her. How could he ever face Hicks or Lucy again, having told Hicks that he would kill his own daughter if he found her infected, and yet here he sits with Wanda, unwilling to act? Maybe that was just it, though. Maybe... if he’d found Lucy in a similar state, he wouldn’t have been able to kill her either.

Wanda, to her credit, had been resisting her strong urge to seek out blood. The longer she resisted, though, the grayer she got. The fire was fading from her eyes. Her hair looked duller. And she seemed to be in no small amount of discomfort. It made Ivan’s heart ache. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, he knew that. So either he found her someone she could essentially drink dry, or...

“I know...” Ivan whispered back. He took her hand and held it in his. My god, she’s so cold. Rubbing her hand gently, he sighed heavily and repeated. “I know...” It seemed at first that he wasn’t going to really do anything about her hunger, he just looked down at her hand he was holding, quiet and brooding. But then he let her hand slip from his and he began taking off his shirt. Gently pulling Wanda onto his lap, he cradled her in his arms and guided her to lay her head against his shoulder, putting her mouth and her fangs dangerously close to his neck.

“Go on,” he whispered “Do it.” As she began to protest, he cut her off. “Priests can sense when death occurs, things like pulse and heartbeat. They know when something will become fatal. Take what you need, and then use those instincts to stop before you kill me.” It was perhaps a blatant way of explaining such a grave matter, but Ivan had never been one to mince words with anyone. He added one final thing, though, to put her at ease. “I trust you, Wanda.” His hand affectionately pet her hair and then cradled her head, holding her so close...

#illbringthechaosmagic #muse: ivan pace

[aloudplace]

Dirty thoughts 3

I didn't say a word to him for most of the drive back to the compound. Usually, I'm not quick to anger–-or likely to hold a grudge–-but in this case, I was furious.

At first I didn't understand exactly why, but as I drove I kept getting angrier and angrier, and finally, I had to admit it to myself.

I liked Loki. I mean, really liked him. I'd sublimated it because of work, and the fact that he was an actual extraterrestrial, and a God , and because he was blatant about his disdain for human beings and...half a dozen other perfectly valid things, but... shit. I really liked him. And the way he'd treated me fucking hurt –-because I understood now, it had been a game to him. A game and nothing more. He had no respect for me because I was human.

He'd taken advantage of me at the very first goddamned opportunity, because he'd been cooped up at the Avengers compound for months on end, and I was an easy target–-his only available target–-and I had let him take advantage, proving myself the idiot, inferior human plaything he so clearly believed I was.

Had I secretly wanted him to–-even naively believed he could -–see me as different from the rest of humanity? Yes. Dammit, yes. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had thought we were friends.

Fucking idiot me.

And I'd let him kiss me. Let myself believe for just a moment that he might have actual feelings for me. That I was special to him, at least in some small way.

Dumb, dumb, dumb!

Truth was, I was more mad at myself than I was at Loki. I'd made a complete fool of myself.

I was definitely still mad at him, though.

"You are disturbingly quiet," he said, after about ten minutes of icy silence in the car.

I couldn't conjure a response that wasn't petty or otherwise inflammatory, so I said nothing.

"Is this the proverbial silent treatment?" he added a moment later, voice dripping amusement.

"I know you don't actually think this is funny," I replied bluntly. "You just alienated your one real ally on this stupid, inferior planet, and you're smart enough to regret it."

He chuckled. "You may want to consider the possibility that you're overreacting to a simple episode of playful dalliance."

My temper flared dangerously and I literally bit my tongue to stop myself from tearing into him.

My silence seemed to cause him some discomfort, which I shamelessly relished.

"I intended no insult," he said finally, but he said it as though my having taken insult was both idiotic and boring to him.

"Well insult me you did," I snapped. "Along with the rest of my race. But don't worry about it, because you won't get another opportunity like that."

Silence. And then, as we pulled onto the road that led to the back entrance of Stark Tower, he said, "You mean the kissing."

"You're damned right I mean the kissing. I may be human, Loki, but I'm not an idiot." We pulled up to the gate and I flashed my badge at the guard, who nodded us through as the gate rolled open. "Or maybe I am."

"Can you clarify that statement?" he asked, with obvious irritation.

I drove the car into the employee parking lot, pulled into my space, threw the car into park and twisted in my seat to give the God of Mischief my full attention.

The words came spilling out like a barrage.

"You want clarification? Fine. I'm pissed because you sexually manipulated me for your own entertainment. Where I come from, that's considered really fucked up. But more than that, I'm pissed that I fell for it because I'm smarter than that. But unfortunately, I also honestly fucking like you, and I stupidly allowed that to cloud my judgement, and now here we are, and it isn't fun anymore because I feel totally fucking stupid and humiliated, and I can't trust you, which I knew from the start anyway, so why did I even give you a chance? And why am I even telling you this, because you don't give a shit about me, I'm just a lowly fucking human, who–-I might remind you–-is in direct control of your future on this pathetic little planet, and I might be a good liar but I'm an honest person who suffers from an excess of human compassion, so as much as I want you to be happy, if you ever fuck with me like that again I will throw you under the bus so fast you won't even know what hit you."

The look on his face was equal parts shock and consternation. His mouth opened, closed again, brow furrowing.

"Just get out of the car and go inside," I snapped, turning back around in my seat. I made eye contact with the guards posted just outside the rear entrance and signaled them over. "Your escort is on its way."

"Listen, I think there may have been some sort of misunderstanding-–" Loki began.

"Don't," I held up a hand. "Don't patronize me anymore today. I'm at my limit."

"Bella, it wasn't my intention to-–"

I gave him a look that made his teeth click together. I cannot tell you how satisfying that was.

On the other hand, now that I'd vented my spleen, the anger was dissolving into plain old hurt, and I was pretty sure he'd seen it on my face and that was what had silenced him, which... wasn't a terribly satisfying thought at all.

The guards were almost at the car.

"You're not reading my mind," Loki said unexpectedly.

"No, I am not. I've had enough of you for one day." Shit. I was close to tears all of a sudden.

"You should," he insisted angrily.

One of the guards tapped on Loki's window. Loki waved him off with perfect aristocratic authority.

"Read my mind," he demanded.

I hit the unlock button and the guard pulled Loki's door open. "Out of the car, sir."

Loki ignored him. "Bella."

"Get out, Loki," I grated.

His face went hard, green eyes glittering with disdain. Finally, he turned and went, baring his teeth at the guards as he passed. One of them turned to follow him and the first leaned down into the open door.

"Is everything alright, Miss Bella? Shall I call Mr. Stark?"

"No, it's alright. I'll call him myself," I lied.

He nodded and straightened, shutting the door and jogging to catch up with the other two.

I sat in the car until the three of them had disappeared inside, Loki's long, angry strides forcing the guards to scurry comically just to keep up with him.

Then I sat in the car a while longer and cried.

...........................

As soon as I came in the next morning, I got called into the boss' office.

I'd taken the rest of the day off after returning Loki to the compound, but the guard-–despite what I'd said–-had called Mr. Stark.

"So he didn't try to hurt you or anything?"

"No, Mr. Stark."

"It's Tony, sweetheart. Or Iron Man, if you prefer." He flashed a grin, flirtatious as always.

I smiled, though I didn't feel much like doing so. "I'll stick with Tony."

"So what did he do? Bayley said you looked pretty upset."

Bayley was the guard. Damn him. I'd really hoped to avoid this conversation.

"I can see you don't want to tell me, but I don't think I need to remind you that it's your job to do so. If he's a danger to-–"

"He's not a danger," I said quickly. "He just pissed me off."

Tony frowned. "Bayley said you were crying in your car."

Fucking Bayley. Fucking me .

I considered lying, but I really did hate doing it, and I liked Tony a lot. He was a good boss, and this was the best job I'd ever had. The first place I'd ever worked where I didn't feel like a freak. Where I felt like I was doing something meaningful. I really didn't want to lose it.

"Come on, Bella," Tony said softly. "What happened?"

"I love this job, Mr–-Tony. I really do."

"Okay..." he said slowly, and I didn't need to read his mind to know that he perceived the guilt behind the words. "Well, you're an invaluable asset to the team, Bella. You're the best telepath we interviewed out of nearly a hundred. Head and shoulders above the rest, in fact. You'd have to do something pretty damned despicable to get the boot, here, sweetheart, so just tell me what happened. We'll work it out."

"He kissed me," I blurted.

Tony's eyes widened. "I'm-–I'm sorry, what? Are we talking about the same guy?"

I nodded.

"Thor's brother. Rock of Ages? He kissed you?"

Again, I nodded.

He looked at me like I'd said the guy sprouted wings and flew away.

Actually, that would have been more believable.

"Okay," he said like he was trying to get ahold of himself. "Okay. So, Rock of Ages kissed you. That means we–-we treat this as sexual harassment."

"I let him," I blurted, face burning.

His lips parted, face blank with shock. "You let him."

"Yeah," I breathed, choked by sheer humiliation. "I'm sorry."

"Why would you-–no, okay, that's none of my business." He held up a hand as though in apology. "So you have a thing for the God of Mischief. Who am I to judge? What's really important here is..." his expression twisted with confusion and discomfort. "What is important here?"

I gave him a helpless look.

"Why were you crying?"

I swallowed hard. "Because I felt stupid."

"Is that all?"

"No. I mean, sort of. He was just messing with me and I fell for it. I felt..." totally humiliated "...really stupid."

Tony nodded slowly, brow furrowed. He was having trouble processing the implications of what I'd said. He might have been a billionaire genius, but he was still a man. A woman would have understood immediately that I had real feelings for the God of Mischief–-hence the tears. I prayed like crazy that Tony wouldn't ask Romanoff, or Ms. Potts, or any other woman to interpret this incident for him.

"Okay," he said finally. "Thank you for your honesty, Bella." He sat back in his chair. "I'm not sure where we go from here. This is–-a somewhat unprecedented situation."

"I understand, sir."

He smiled a little. "You're not fired, sweetheart."

I am not too proud to say that I literally sagged with relief.

Tony's smile widened. "I'm glad you like it here. We like having you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Tony."

"Tony," I repeated dutifully.

"But maybe it's best we take you off Loki detail. What do you think?"

"I–-" I hesitated. Part of me was relieved at the thought of not having to see Loki again. The rest of me was deeply, shamefully dismayed. "Will Loki go to prison?"

"For kissing you?" He laughed. "No, sweetheart. We'll find him another babysitter. Although..." he shot me a look like he'd caught himself before saying something inappropriate. "Nevermind that. We could use you in PR, surveillance, investigation, internal affairs-–"

"I do some of that stuff already."

"I know, but-–"

"I can still do Loki detail, if that's where you need me," I said, "I've learned my lesson."

His lips compressed. "You sure interrupt a lot."

Flushing, I muttered, "I'm sorry."

He wasn't angry though. "They tell me it's a telepath thing. You already know what I'm going to say, right?" One of his brows arched.

"I don't do it on purpose," I mumbled.

"So how did Reindeer Games manage to get the best of you, hm?"

Dammit. "He can shield his thoughts. I put it in his three-month review."

He nodded graciously. "You also put that you can tell when he's doing it and that he can't hide his emotions, am I correct?"

Warily, I nodded.

"So, was he shielding his thoughts when he...made his move?"

"I..." Dammit, dammit, dammit! "I mean, he was right before. But not...during."

"So it was during the...er...incident that you realized he was manipulating you."

"Ah...no. After." What was he getting at? I tried to read him and got nothing but mathematical chatter. Seemed Loki wasn't the only one who could shield his thoughts.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Hm."

"Is that significant?"

"I don't know. I was just thinking..." he looked at me hard for a second, "You really want to keep the babysitting position?"

I swallowed. "I'm okay with it if you are."

"Because if he's as trustworthy as Thor says he is, he could be really useful to us."

"I know."

"And you might be the only person who can actually confirm his viability as a member of the team."

"I know."

He smiled. "That's why you want to keep going. You're a good kid, Bella."

"Thanks."

"You also care about Loki."

That took me by surprise.

His smile turned into a grin. "You don't always know what I'm going to say, huh?"

"You're projecting equations at me," I pointed out politely.

"I am. Thank you for confirming that it works. You believe we can trust Loki, don't you?"

Boy, he was really keeping me on my toes. "I...yeah, I do."

"Can you tell me honestly that your opinion of him isn't biased due to your...attraction?"

I thought about it. "No, I can't."

My honesty seemed to impress him. "Are you going to let him kiss you again?"

"No."

"That sounded very decisive."

"I have a healthy level of self-respect."

"Glad to hear it. You're still on Loki duty, but I'm going to send you some backup so you don't have to be alone with him. One or two of the guards should do it. You good with that?"

I nodded, relieved. I really didn't like the idea of being alone with Loki again. Although, if I was being honest, my heart did flutter with anticipation at the same time. I was stupidly happy that I would still get to be with him every day.

I wondered if Loki would feel as good about it as I did.

[warukunaimirai]

Tonight at a Jazz Bar ♦ A Quartet of Freedom and Passion | Episode 7 「His Worries」

A few days later—

Regular Visitor 1: —Tonight was another lovely show.

Regular Visitor 2: I’ve seen that man on the piano in here often but who knew he could play too…

Old Barkeeper: Thank you for today. You’re getting better and better by the day.

Nobel: No thanks is necessary. It’s an honour to have you listen to us.

……

Alto: Nobel-san…?

⋆　♦　⋆

Alto: Um, Nobel-san. Could I talk to you?

Nobel: Yes?

Alto: …I was wondering if there was something bothering you?

Nobel: !

Alto: I apologise if I’ve misunderstood but you seem like you’re feeling agitated after your performances?

Nobel: —Oh, that’s what you’re referring to. Well, taking the stage at my favourite jazz bar just gets me into high spirits.

Alto: High…spirits?

Nobel: Be that as it may, I can’t be so blatant about my cheeriness, now can I? Therefore, I do my best to remain calm, but…

I wasn’t able to fool you, it seems. Perhaps my facial expressions slip through easier than I thought.

Alto: Are you sure? Your expression made it seem like there was something troubling you…

Nobel: That’s truly all there is to it. Anyhow, it’s gotten dark. Let’s be on our way home now.

Alto: Ah, wait, please! …High spirits? Is that really it…?

⋆　♦　⋆

Nobel: It’s minimal—not enough to refer to as discomfort. Merely a pinch of flavour…

I have a rough understanding of what’s missing. Whether or not I fill it in won’t have any effect on the overall composition.

But……nevermind…

Is it purely egotism for me to think this? For their playing to be magnificent, I…

⋆　♦　⋆

Alto: …

Ruma: Doctor-kun, Doctor-kun.

Alto: Ruma-san. What’s the matter?

Ruma: I won’t beat around the bush, there’s a favour I’d like to ask of you…

Could you talk to Nobel for me?

Alto: Eh…!

Ruma: He’s been brooding over something ever since we began putting on performances. Wouldn’t you agree, Ein?

Einsatz: Yes. I have noticed that his response time is slightly delayed and his expression is somewhat gloomier.

It is a peculiar instance of there being a task that he cannot resolve within his own means…it is terribly unusual.

Alto: I knew I noticed something going on…! But why are you coming to me for help?

Ruma: Sadly, it seems that he’s set on hiding it from Ein and I in particular. He won’t show any weak spots at all.

Some things are all the more difficult to talk about with one's companions, so he may open up if you’re the one to ask.

Alto: Are you sure? I’ve already tried asking him but he shook me off…

Ruma: He isn’t cruel enough to respond in silence if he sees how truly worried he’s making you.

…Though, there’s no denying his secretiveness. Even so, if it’s you, I’m sure it will be fine.

Alto: —I understand. I’ll try asking Nobel-san again.

Ruma: Thank you. We’ll leave him in your hands, Doctor-kun.

Einsatz: Thank you kindly for your cooperation. 

⋆　♦　⋆

Alto: Nobel-san!

Nobel: Hello there, Doctor. Was there something you needed?

Alto: I’m sorry to bring this on you so suddenly but I’ve had that quick conversation we shared after the performance weighing on my mind…

Were you really telling the truth when you said that expression was the result of your high spirits? I find myself doubting that.

Nobel: ……

Alto: I’m sorry if it’s none of my business but on the chance that something is troubling you, I’d like for you to be honest with me,

You’ve helped me out a lot, Nobel-san. I mean, just the other day there was the time we were out shopping…

Would you let me repay that kindness, even just a little?

Nobel: ……Fufu.

I had been burying this in my chest so as to not worry you but it seems I’ve only added to your concern…what a foolish thing for me of all people to do.

…Well then, will you listen to me? Though, you may let out a laugh…

Alto: I swear I won’t laugh!

Nobel: Thank you. —Truthfully, it’s in regards to the shows we’ve been putting on…

I’m contemplating whether there’s room for another step of improvement.

Back | Next

#alto #ruma #einsatz #nobel #Tonight at a Jazz Bar ♦ A Quartet of Freedom and Passion

[frogtanii]

warm.

it’s too warm, was your first waking thought as you sluggishly waded through the mound of blankets that encompassed you to get a breath of fresh air (you assumed bokuto and kuroo were the culprits for your warm and fuzzy hellhole). your eyes first fell on the television playing the credits to the second or third pirates of the caribbean movie on mute, the remote haphazardly thrown somewhere to your left as though the person who did so left in a hurry.

speaking of people, there was no one left in the room as you slowly joined the land of the living. a part of you suspected everyone had gone to bed but atsumu or akaashi would’ve woken you up if that had been the case.

belatedly, you recognized voices coming from the front door and your still sleep-addled brain lit up. oh! you thought. food must be here! untangling yourself from the blankets proved to be an exhausting feat because by the time you were done, your body was covered in a sheen of sweat underneath oikawa’s sweats and sakusa’s hoodie.

ugh, gross.

you began to make your way towards the door, the blood rushing through your head preventing you from hearing the details of conversation but knowing atsumu, he was just haggling for a lower price even though you told him repeatedly, that isn’t how pizza places work tsum.

as you drew nearer to the commotion, you started to pick up on the heavy tension in the air, leaving you extremely uncomfortable. you had no idea what the cause of it was but you did know it was making most of the boys upset, who, by the way, hadn’t noticed you creeping around just yet.

a feminine voice rang out from outside the doorway and though you were still attempting to gain your hearing, the sound sent chills down your spine. it sounded saccharine, sweet, familiar, and oh so evil.

even with a head full of cotton, you figured now wouldn’t be the best time to reveal yourself, what with the clear discomfort permeating the atmosphere, but your big fat mouth apparently had other plans.

“‘tsum, just let the poor pizza lady go,” you muttered, the beginnings of a headache making itself known at the back of your skull. you were a little too caught up with the dwarf banging at your head with a sledgehammer to notice the shock that everyone in the room turned to look at you with.

a gentle hand grasped at your forearm, whispering something into your ear before attempting to pull you back to the living room, but that same familiar voice from the door kept you planted where you stood.

“oh, the princess finally makes herself known,” meiko sneered, her face finally coming into focus, striking you with pang of fear straight through your heart. “funny, i thought i left you speechless the last time we... ‘talked’.”

“ya shut yer fuckin mouth,” atsumu lunged at her but was stopped by sakusa’s arm around his waist, successfully holding him in place. meiko just giggled, taking a step into the house, her heels clicking as she glided across the hardwood floors.

in the back of your head, you noted that meiko looked unusually beautiful, her makeup flawlessly done and her outfit complementing it perfectly, almost reminiscent of how she used to be before... well, just “before”.

you watched the boys unconsciously angle themselves as a protective wall around you, the person holding your arm (who you now realized was koushi) pulling you in tighter until your back was resting against his chest.

a part of you couldn’t help but feel a little suffocated but the other, more self preserving, bit felt irrationally safe and protected around these boys. it was nice... or it would’ve been if meiko wasn’t taking herself on a tour around the house as though she hadn’t been living there for almost the past year.

“you all can tone down on the guard dog act. i’m not here to fight,” she said as she pretended to wipe dust off the island. “you’re not?” bokuto’s skeptical voice rose up from behind you, one of his hands finding yours underneath the massive sleeves of your (sakusa’s) hoodie.

meiko shook her head with an empty smile, her perfectly painted red lips stretching unnaturally wide. “no, of course not! i’ve just come here to collect.”

the boys collectively tensed around you, akaashi whispering for kenma to go find yachi and quickly. as he slipped away, you made eye contact with sakusa who gave you an imperceptible nod that you assumed meant one thing — keep her talking.

“collect what?” you asked, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, but you hoped she didn’t notice. she cocked her head as her eyes snapped to you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but judging by her growing smirk, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“my boys of course!” meiko clapped gleefully, clicking her way over toward kuroo to run her hand over his bicep, laughing when he jolted away from her touch. “they’ve always been mine, you know that don’t you?”

it felt like a cold bucket of water had been dropped over your head. you felt frozen again, the same feeling of dread creeping up your spine as it did when meiko attacked you. in turn, you barely noticed kenma’s return who whispered something to sakusa — an action that didn’t go unnoticed by meiko.

“what’re my boys talking about? are you plotting against me?” she pouted, scooting closer to the pair. kenma visibly paled and moved to hide himself behind sakusa’s broad shoulders. “we aren’t doing anything, meiko.”

wrong answer.

“oh, we both know that isn’t the case kiyoomi. i’m not a fucking idiot.” meiko’s voice filled with venom before moving even closer still. you felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, your hand gripping bokuto’s even tighter.

what if she brought some kind of weapon to the house? what if she hurt you? what if she hurt them?

before you could think, you were standing in front of the group, the boys calling out your name as meiko’s face lit up. “so the precious little princess wants to take a stand! let me have it then, huh? let me see what all the craze is about!”

despite the fear thudding in your chest, you stood tall, glaring at her with your head held high. “the boys are not yours, meiko,” you declared, her mouth instantly opening in protest but you refused to let her speak.

“they aren’t possessions or objects you can own and treat like shit. they are people, real living, breathing people and they aren’t mine either. they have full reign to do what they want, when they want, to make their own choices and decisions. and you know what? they didn’t choose you or me. they chose themselves and their happiness over any bullshit you or i could try and sell them. so please, for the love of god, get your shit together, put it in a box and take it to fucking therapy.”

by the end of your impromptu speech, your chest was heaving but you felt good. really good. adrenaline was rushing through your veins and you felt powerful. out the corner of your eye, you noticed osamu and daichi standing at the bottom of the stairs with something akin to awe on their faces.

yeah bitches. take it all in.

unfortunately, while you were basking in the feeling of badassery, you completely missed meiko’s eyes lighting up with pure, unadulterated,

rage.

you faintly heard someone call your name before you were taken to the ground by meiko leaping at you like an animal. the two of you scrambled about on the hardwood, her hands yanking at your clothes and leaving scratches on your skin but you were sure as hell giving her a run for her money.

you finally managed to get on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground but that wasn’t before you gained a hard elbow to the side and a bruise to your face. meiko thrashed and shook in your hold but you were not wavering, trying to keep her entirely still for...

well, for what exactly?

almost as though they were on cue, you heard the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer to the house. underneath you, meiko’s eyes widened before she began fighting even harder than she’d done before, her erratic movements making it much more difficult to keep your hold on her.

luckily, you had extremely muscular men at your disposal, one of which (osamu — even though he was a dick, he was still incredibly muscular dick) held down meiko’s arms as the lapd stormed the building.

the police officers easily retracted meiko from your arms and cuffed her, taking her to the back of the cop car, despite her loud and insistent threats on you and everyone you love.

very disney villain-esque.

a kind looking officer helped you to your feet and walked you out to the porch where he began to ask you and the boys a few questions. you answered them honestly and you were genuinely proud of how well you were handling the whole situation when—

“bubs, you’re shaking.” sure enough, when you looked down at your hands, you were twitching uncontrollably, the reality of the events that just occurred finally sinking in.

you were just attacked. again.

you and your friends were threatened.

meiko was sitting in the back of a fucking cop car.

“what the fuck,” you whispered, eyes staring unblinking at your palms. the same officer mentioned something about shock, prompting all the boys to gather around you; atsumu pulled you in between him and sakusa, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, kenma and bokuto took hold of your quivering hands, sugawara and oikawa sat off to the side watching you with blatant concern, and kuroo and akaashi spoke to the officer in hushed tones.

the man nodded and shook their hands before shooting you a pitying smile and heading back to the car where meiko was waiting.

“it’s over angel, ‘s over,” atsumu muttered into your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead in between each phrase. you leaned into his touch but you refused to take your eyes off meiko who was watching the whole scene from the backseat, her eyes wide with anger, hurt, and confusion.

you didn’t bother dwelling on it, instead focusing on evening out your breathing and looking at the car drive over the horizon. you heard yachi’s soft voice calling everyone inside, atsumu lifting you up to your feet and walking with you, never once taking his hands off of you.

still, his words echoed in your head, even as yachi spoke of the end of the hyper house, even as the boys brought you to your room, and even as they all automatically cuddled around you in an attempt to get you to sleep.

it’s over. it’s all finally over.

you couldn’t keep the grin off your face if you tried.

℗ poker face

it’s over

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - OK THE TITLE IS MISLEADING THE STORY IS NOT OVER YET SKENSM (there are 2 more official story chapters before all the endings :3) also m not the biggest fan of this chapter?? so i’d love to hear what y’all think <33 don’t forget to feed me!!

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #haikyuu x reader smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu #hq x reader smau #haikyuu angst #hq angst #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #daichi x reader #sugawara x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #sakusa x reader #tw toxicity #tw toxic behavior #tw toxic people #tw toxic relationship #haikyuu social media au #hq social media au #℗ poker face

[lemonluvgirl]

Hello! I love all your Everlark fics so much! You’re legit one of my favorite fic writers ever! Basically, my queen of Everlark smut 🥹❤️ I’m not sure if you’re accepting prompts right now, but if ever you decide to again, I have one I’m dying to see played out! 🥰

Okay so, we all know Katniss has a problem with authority in general but I lowkey believe she has a praise kink if its coming from a certain blond baker 😉

so basically, my prompt request is: Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥

So yea that’s it HAHA I hope you see this!! ❤️❤️❤️

Ok, so I've only dabbled a little in dominant!Peeta smut before, but this request was so sweet I decided to give it a try. Hope you like.

This is just straight-up smut, so anybody not into that need not read.

We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin. 

“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed. 

He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.

 He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine. 

He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though. 

“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.  

“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice. 

Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him. 

“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.

I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink. 

“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love. 

“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought. 

He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace. 

“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now. 

“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason. 

Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic. 

“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.

Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly. 

“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more. 

“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop. 

“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this. 

I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. 

“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks. 

“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body. 

“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely. 

We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him. 

 I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him. 

“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still.  We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed. 

There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again. 

His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.

“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in. 

I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple. 

“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again. 

He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris. 

“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me. 

Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me. 

“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply. 

I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh. 

“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response. 

‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden. 

He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing. 

Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me. 

“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up. 

He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.

“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone. 

I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress. 

“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me. 

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt. 

My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him. 

“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again. 

I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta. 

“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts. 

“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release. 

“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up. 

I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face. 

“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise. 

His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me. 

I let out a broken, choked noise. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—” 

His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge. 

I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets. 

I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can. 

Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time. 

We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably. 

“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.

I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this. 

“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable. 

He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more. 

“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment. 

“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love. 

#everlark prompts #lemonluvanswers #lemonluvwrites #everlark smut #fanfiction #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games #post-war smut #dominant!peeta vibes #nothing too crazy

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Prodigy Path (S.R.)

Summary: At a parent teacher conference, Spencer and Reader explain their seemingly unorthodox parenting style. Request: Spencer and reader are parents and they realize their young child is a genius like Reid and Reid refuses to put them on the same genius path he was put on as a kid because he doesn't want them to deal with what he had to deal with as a child prodigy Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Domestic Comfort/Fluff Content Warning: SpEd, education, teachers, arguing, crying Word Count: 4k

MASTERLIST

My husband has many tells. His emotions are clearly displayed in every inch of his existence if you care enough to look, even for someone average like me. Which is why I knew before we even made it into the classroom that he was nervous. With bouncing legs and fingers cracking as he pushed curled fists against his jaw to try and hide the way his lip quivered with unspoken thoughts.

There was nothing I could say to make an elementary school a more comfortable place for him. They were nothing but a constant reminder of a childhood filled with teachers, therapists, lawyers, and doctors. A collection of professionals with one shared goal of using a little boy to achieve whatever they needed to. All justified with the belief that later, he would understand. He would be grateful.

But that wasn’t how it happened. If any of them had checked in on the boy genius after he stopped being ‘useful’, maybe they would have figured it out.

“Are you alright, Spencer?”

I already knew the answer. I also knew he would lie. Just a harmless little nod of his head to maintain whatever calming effects he could from the blatant attempts at self-soothing. He was already used to having to stock up on good feelings as much as he could, acutely aware of how important it was to rid himself of any sign of discomfort or anything even slightly resembling the word ‘no’ before the teacher came.

Which is exactly what happened. When our names were called, his back straightened and his hands, still balled in fists, fell like heavy rocks to his side. Everything about him when we finally made our way to the two small chairs in the teacher’s office felt cold and clinical. Nothing like the lively, bubbly man I knew.

I understood why, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch. The poor woman on the other side of the desk wouldn’t get it, though. All she saw was an arrogant man who thought himself too good for a place like this.

If only people could see what I did. I think they would be kinder when they looked at him.

“Well, Dr. and Mrs. Reid, it should come as no surprise to you that your daughter performed exceptionally on the competency tests that we gave her as part of her IEP. She’s very bright,” she started.

A bad start.  

“She’s good at tests,” Spencer corrected with finality.

The teacher wasn’t going to argue, although I got the feeling she missed the importance of the distinction. That competency, ‘brightness,’ and performance were all very different things.

“Very much so,” she laughed. The kind of laugh that hides a deep discomfort. It wasn’t entirely her fault; talking to Spencer when he was like this was very much like arguing with a brick wall that somehow still outsmarted you.

“Her… ability to perform well is actually why I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of switching her to a more advanced classro—”

Spencer cut in swiftly, once again with a steel jaw and biting sound, “We’d have to ask her.”

“Of course, her opinion is very important but—”

“It is the only thing that matters to me.”

From the unintentional sidelines, I watched the exchange like one might watch a collision from the passenger seat. Perhaps it might be possible to grab the steering wheel, to try and prevent what I thought was coming. But that came with different risks; of overcorrecting him past the point of self-preservation. We would still crash, and he would also know that I didn’t trust him to fix the problem himself.

“I find that a lot of kids don’t really understand the long term consequences of a decision like this,” the teacher explained, folding her fingers together tightly. As her knuckles blanched, I felt the tension that I knew would form in Spencer’s gut at the implication that he hadn’t thought of any of her concerns first. As if he hadn’t thought of them 30 years ago. As if he hadn’t lived through the decision being made for him.

“Well, I do,” he said, trying and failing to control the tilt in his voice from turning to outright hostility, “I know what the consequences are, and I also know my daughter, and I know that she’s smart enough to figure it out for herself.”

Then it happened. The thing I was waiting for.

The woman turned to me, the other one in the room like her. Not a genius, Agent, or doctor. Just a plain, average Jane.

“What do you think, Mrs. Reid?”

But I couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. She didn’t know him like I did.

“I think my husband knows these things better than me,” I laughed, nervous and cautious before I added, “And I trust my daughter.”

Her face fell when she reached the conclusion she ought to have expected. I would be no more help to her than the useless sheet of statistics in front of her, urging her to convince us to acknowledge that our daughter could accomplish more if only we would let her.

I felt her compassion, but all that Spencer would hear was the condescension that certainly did exist underneath it all.

“She’s only seven.”

“Ted Kaczynski was eleven when his family allowed him to skip a grade, which he later described as one of the pivotal moments in his life that led to him becoming a domestic terrorist.”

The tension in the room was so thick that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And if the increasing force behind every breath in Spencer’s chest was any indication, he was suffocating all the same.

“I’m sure that you wouldn’t allow that to happen to your child. You skipped several grades to my knowledge, and you turned out to be very accomplished,” she offered with a hand outstretched and shaking under the weight of the vitriol Spencer was spewing into the room.

It wasn’t her fault, but we couldn’t explain it to her. Not when Spencer was too scared to even raise a hand while he spoke. Too paralyzed in perfect, acceptable posture and hidden twitches of his fingers.

“Accomplished isn’t an objective test determined by IQ points or degrees. The only kind of accomplishment I want for my daughter is the ability to make decisions for herself,” he said, his voice growing louder and cracking between strained cords, “To choose her own path and future, and to never let anyone tell her what she has to be just because it would benefit them.”

Once again, the room fell silent. I watched as the teacher slowly removed the shocked, disturbed expression from her face and replace it with the more appropriate sympathy. Unfortunately, my husband also has a tendency to cling to whatever he perceives as the more genuine truth.

Worded slightly differently: my husband holds onto grudges for dear life.

“Dr. Reid, I don’t mean to offend you. I just want you to understand she is capable of more than this—”

It was the end of the line. I’d chosen not to grab the steering wheel, and I could see now that it had been a mistake. I’d missed the way he was struggling to maintain control on his own and now it was too late. By the time he stood up from his chair, he was too far away for me to grab hold of his hand and rub soothing circles to bring him back. He was already on his way out, readjusting his suit jacket that must have felt similar to restraints from his past.

“Then I’m sure that she is better equipped to make the decision for herself than you are.”

The door shut, not slammed, but just enough to make his absence known. Two shaky breaths were released at once, and the two of us left behind in the wake of his anxiety exchanged a knowing set of silent glances.

“My daughter is very bright,” I finally said, hoping to explain my husband’s good heart in only a few words. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that. So, instead, I drummed up all the courage I could and added, “But so is my husband.”

“I never implied anything different.”

She hadn’t, but she had. In her own way, she’d questioned the only one of us who truly understood what it was like to be so stunningly different. Odd enough that it sometimes felt like they were the only two people on Earth like them. And while our daughter had her father, Spencer wasn’t so lucky.

He had been alone for as long as he could remember, which was a terribly long time.

“The things we experience in elementary school stay with us. Being a kid means that you have no power. Everything is decided for you,” I tried. The words didn’t sound right. But I kept going, wishing more than anything to have the same proficiency at language in this moment, even though I knew she still wouldn’t have understood me then.

“My daughter may get to pick skirts or slacks, but no matter what she chooses, they still have to be khaki or navy.”

“I don’t think this is about uniforms, Mrs. Reid.”

“Because it’s not,” I agreed. And unlike Spencer, my hands were free to move and collapse tired over my heart. Hopefully, it served as a visual representation of how intensely I felt and believed the words that followed.

“I’m not as smart as my husband or my daughter. I won’t ever be able to understand what it’s like to be both the youngest and smartest person in the room, but I can’t imagine it’s easy.”

Again, I felt the empathy she tried to project. I understood it because her and I spoke the same language. She could look at me and know that I only wanted what was best for my family without requiring the extra steps that were required to understand my husband.

“The children here are very used to prodigies,” she posited sincerely, trying to rebuild a bridge that had already started to burn, “It’s not like public school. It wouldn’t be like it was with him.”

But that was precisely the problem. This was just another unknown, one which we’ve only seen result in negative outcomes. If it had been mine or Spencer’s life on the line, we might have taken the chance. But it wasn’t about us.

“I don’t care if the chance is minuscule that she’ll be hurt by this decision, because there is still a risk there. And if I put her in that position even though she didn’t want to, I would hate myself for it.”

I could sense the judgment before she spoke. That didn’t stop her from saying it, though.

“You can’t shelter her from the world.”

As my blood began to boil, I looked at the space that stretched between us. I stared at the bridge embroiled in flames and realized that Spencer was right to light the fire. Because the truth was that she wasn’t giving us any new information. She had simply chosen to prioritize the potential of a child over the life that already existed in front of her.

And no matter how hard anyone tried, we just weren’t willing to do that to our daughter.

“You’re right,” I laughed, because I really found it funny how easy the answer seemed, “But I can let her choose for herself and support her choices even when they hurt me. Being smart shouldn’t be a death sentence for a normal childhood.”

“She won’t ever have a normal childhood.”

But what was normal, anyway? Was it something I even wanted my daughter to have? If it meant blindly following the path laid out for her by test results and authority figures, I wasn’t so sure. Above all, I just wanted her to be happy. The way that Spencer was never allowed to be. So I also stood from my chair with feet desperate to find him, and a relieved smile that accompanied the light feeling in my heart. I took a deep breath as I looked at the telltale symbols of childhood that didn’t fill me with fear or anxiety.

“Well, I’m willing to let her try,” I said quietly but confidently, “I think she can figure it out.”

The trip to the car felt so far knowing that Spencer was there alone. I tried to step faster, eventually just breaking out into a strange half-jog regardless of the odd stares. It didn’t matter to me what anyone else thought about our strange, imperfect family. Because I knew that as soon as we had our hands together, everything would be okay.

But things weren’t okay when I found him. He was slumped over the dash of the passenger seat, his suit jacket scrunched over his shoulders because he was too tired to even bother taking it off despite the discomfort. I heard the rage behind the nearly silent sniffles, and as soon as he heard the door shut for the last time, he didn’t hold back the words any longer.

“They really expected us to make that decision without even asking her?” he spat, clenching his teeth any time he was given the chance.

“I know,” I whispered back with a hand on his shoulder. I felt the tension start to fade away the longer the warmth sunk through the fabric. But then it was too much, and he shot up from his spot with arms that had come back to life after being held down for too long.  

“It’s her life! She’s not just... just a tool for their rankings or a trophy for their wall!”

Tears stung at my eyes just from seeing the red lining his, and I wondered how much he’d feared this day. How long he had seen it coming and held back concerns because he wasn’t entirely sure what it would mean for all of us. But he’d miscalculated. He’d underestimated just how much it would hurt to see the same thing he’d experienced happening to someone he loved. That fury, that despair and desperation, exploded from him like gas thrown on a fire. “She’s a person! She’s my little girl!”

It was no surprise to me when the tears started to flow again. Spencer didn’t even try to hide behind his hands. They were too busy finding me and holding on with hands gripped tight with the soft fabric of my skirt. The one place that he knew he would be safe and understood no matter the barriers that might exist.

“I know that you just want the best for her,” I reassured him. My hands ran through his unruly hair that reminded me of our daughter’s to an uncanny degree. And it accomplished the same thing, too. Within a few minutes or necessary catharsis, Spencer was able to steady his breathing well enough to shift into a more comfortable position with his head against my shoulder.

“They don’t know what it’s like. To be just one thing. Every failure, every mistake… They seem like the end of the world when the stakes are so high,” he mumbled, “They become the only thing that matters. All that you are.”  

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me,” I laughed. Cupping his face in my hands, I forced him to look at me to see how much I meant it when I replied, “I already know that you are a wonderful father.”

Then, in a weak attempt to prevent the tears that were already forming in his eyes, I pressed a hard kiss against his forehead.

“Let’s go see her. I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it.”

And Spencer laughed, too. A relieved, joyous sound that signaled an end to the spiral. When he sat back up, I took the time to help him remove his jacket unbutton the top few in the hope that it would help him understand that he was returning to the one place he would never have to be anything other than himself.

I think it worked, too, because by the time we made it home, the only evidence of the meltdown was irritated, tired eyes. Thankfully, our daughter was too happy to see us back to make any mention of them.

“Dad!” she shrieked, standing in her seat on the sofa and nearly toppling over the furniture to get to him faster.

“Hey!”

“You’ll never guess what I made while you were gone!”

“What is it?” he shouted back before scooping her up into his arms and hugging her just discretely enough that she wouldn’t notice how badly he needed it.

“A computer!” she continued, now waving an excited hand for me to approach, too. But Spencer stole her attention away again, with shocked gasps and an equally squeaky voice, “You made a computer?”

“It just counts numbers and does some very rudimentary formulas... for now,” she muttered with a mischievous sound that we would both ignore (for now), “But it’s really cool! Come look!”

So there we sat, as a full family tracking piles of redstone dust and switches flow across blocks on the screen. But every time our eyes got tired of the blue light, we would look just a few feet to the right to watch her bounce in excitement with a controller in her hand.

Eventually, watching wasn’t enough, and Spencer crawled onto the floor so he could pull her into his lap. She melted into his embrace like she always did, haphazardly and with a familiarity that almost made me jealous of their relationship. But then I would realize just how lucky I was to have them both in my life.

After she had settled back into the game, Spencer started to speak, slowly and with an astounding amount of vulnerability.

“Hey, how do you feel about the idea of you skipping forward a couple grades?”

“You mean… Like leaving my friends?” she asked without ever taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, you’d be with older kids.”

She paused, taking a few seconds to consider the idea. Although I couldn’t see her face, I knew exactly the expression she made as she squeaked, “Eh.”

“What’s ‘eh’ mean?” Spencer returned with an amused chuckle.

“Wouldn’t I be just as bored in fifth grade as I am in third?”

“Yeah, probably after a few weeks.”

Her little feet kicked the air as her whole body squirmed, obviously bothered by the topic but also knowing she would have to answer. With a very familiar sounding sigh, she continued, “And what about in a couple years? Will you let me date older people? They’ll be my peers.”

“A couple years?” her father responded with an ever-rising pitch, “Can’t you put that off until a little bit later?”

She did not relent.

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Dad.”

Spencer blew air from shaky lips that showed an enormous amount of restraint. “Within reason,” he warned.

That tone was always enough to make her laugh, which she did. But once that sound faded, she set the controller down on the floor and turned her full attention back to him before muttering, “I don’t know… It sounds like a lot. Older kids kind of scare me.”

“It’s not that bad. You get used to it. I’m sure you’d find friends. You’re very likable.”

“You’re my dad. You have to say that.”

“I don’t have to,” he corrected with a gentle poke of her nose, “I just want to because it’s true.”

But there was still so much on such small shoulders. It was as obvious as the way her legs started bouncing just like his did when he was nervous. Even as Spencer tried to play with her hair or do anything that he could think to distract her from the nerves, her voice was shaking as she worked up the courage to finally answer, “No offense dad, I know you did the whole skipping grades thing but… It kind of sounds awful.”

I watched from my seat on the couch as Spencer’s smile stretched steadily over his cheeks. “I’m not offended at all,” he whispered, and I wondered if she could hear just how true it was. I wondered if she could feel the relief that washed over him with an answer as simple as ‘No thank you.’ But then she spoke again, reminding us just how much she valued our opinion.

“I think I’d rather stay with kids my own age. At least for now.” Turning to look at me before scared eyes glanced up at her dad, she bit her cheeks one more time before muttering, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Spencer whispered back.

“Thanks. I was scared when my teacher brought it up.”

“It’s your life,” he insisted with both hands holding her cheeks the same way we always did, “You get to decide what you want to do with it.”

And while it would take a while longer to decide what the real answer to that question would be, the immediate answer was obvious. She threw her arms around him just he had done to me, affirming my theory that as long as we had each other, everything else would be okay.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too,” he mumbled back into tiny brown curls before he let her go once more. But she stayed, burrowed in his lap while she resumed her game like the whole thing hadn’t happened. I think Spencer preferred it that way.

It didn’t take long for us to all get tired from the exhausting emotions, and within an hour we had all settled into bed. I’d almost forgotten about the conversation entirely before I noticed the way Spencer still flipped anxiously back and forth in our bed. I waited a little bit longer to turn off the light, opting to just wait for him to turn to me and explain what had him so worried.

The next time his eyes met mine, he let out a dramatic whine with the words, “A couple of years? She’s seven!”

I snorted at how he had latched onto the most trivial aspect of the night, making the executive decision to torment him just a little bit longer. “I’m pretty sure she already has her eye on a few candidates, you know.”

“I didn’t even notice romantic attraction until I was like… thirteen!” he blurted out. It was too funny not to keep laughing, repeating the eloquent way our daughter had asserted herself before.

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Spencer.”

“Well my heart wants to go to sleep, along with the rest of me,” he scoffed, flipping away from me for a minute out of his own stubbornness. Trying to avoid the inevitable. But when I flipped the light off, I heard him whisper again, “Couple of years… that child will be the death of me.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

Looking for more Dad Spencer fics? Find my rec list here!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #reid request #dr spencer reid #autistic spencer reid #spencer reid comfort #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[illusionsofdreaming]

a little break;

Notes: In the end I still caved and wrote something for this. Not to be gross on main but I get the worst stomaches - so bad I just want to curl up and die at times. So this prompt spoke to my soul as I am suffering rn.

Ft: Cale

It could’ve been the river fish stew or perhaps it was the roasted rabbits - whatever it was, your stomach was not agreeing with it and it was making its protests known.

It was thankfully not bad enough for you to suspect foul play. You were not in immediate need of a restroom break nor do you feel the urge to purge yourself - yet. Small mercies. Even if it felt like someone took a dagger to your abdomen and wouldn’t stop twisting.

Two knocks from the carriage you were escorting signalled the need for a stop and you relayed the information to the front to halt the procession. Just as you were about to rap on the door to enquire on their needs, the door swung open to reveal the annoyed visage of its master.

“Get in.”

Your eyebrows rose with surprise. “Pardon?”

His eyes roamed over you and you stiffened instinctively to hide your discomfort. You thought you heard him click his tongue in annoyance but you must’ve misheard as Cale turned his gaze towards the red haired butler travelling by your side.

“Hans, take care of everything.”

Before you could process what was happening, Cale had latched onto your arm and pulled you into the carriage, the door slamming shut behind you.

“Cale!” You struggled not to trip over his long legs in the small space, planting your hands on the wall beside him in an awkward half lean as you met his eyes with wide-eyed shock. “What was that?”

“Sit down.” he said in a tone that brooked no argument as he patted the space next to him.

“Huh?” you stood and knocked your head against the ceiling having forgotten how low it was. “Has there been a change of plans? What’s the urgency-“

He tugged on your wrist, guiding you towards the seat stubbornly and you complied more out of confusion than anything as you took in his grim expression.

“Is everything alright-“

“You should rest if you’re unwell.”

You blinked, your thoughts grinding to a halt as you processed his words. You could feel a blush rushing up your neck as you snatched your wrist from his hand. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m fine!”

He crossed his arms before guiding his gaze towards your abdomen pointedly. “I could hear your stomach grumbling from here.”

Your face was boiling with embarrassment as your hand pressed against your stomach unconsciously even though you knew what he said was a blatant lie. A carriage this high quality would definitely be sound proofed, not to mention that if your stomach was growling that loudly, Hans would’ve surely made a comment!

“Something from lunch isn’t agreeing with me. I’ll be fine in a while.” you said stiffly and of course it was at this moment you felt a wave of pain twist through your guts. You willed your fingers not to clench and held your breath in hopes to ride it out but Cale’s knowing gaze dashed that meagre hope to pieces.

His finger tapped lightly against his arm as he glanced out the carriage window. “A person’s ability to notice danger is drastically diminished when they’re distracted by pain. You’ll be of more help by resting instead of being stubborn and prolonging your discomfort.”

He drew the curtains closed, dimming the carriage interior and met your eyes with that unwavering gaze of his. “So, rest.”

Your lips pressed together but felt your resolve crumble easily. Cale was right of course and there was no point in putting up a strong front now that he’s seen through everything. With a sigh, all the fight left you as you leaned against his shoulder, your impassive mask replaced by a wince you no longer held back.

“The others will talk.” you grumbled halfheartedly, a last ditch effort to cling onto your pride.

“Let them talk,” he said. “I’m only taking care of my people.”

You weren’t as surprised as you ought to be when he proceeded to guide your weight lower, until you were resting sideways, your cheek pillowed on his lap.

The carriage fell into comfortable silence and you were inclined to leave it that way as you focused on managing your pain by slowing your breathing. The rocking of the transport soon lulled you into a sleepy daze so it took you a while before you registered the warmth that had settled on your belly, rubbing gentle circles.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled.

“I heard it helps with stomach pain.”

It wasn’t really doing anything. But the weight of his arm along your side and the warm press of his palm against your abdomen wasn’t making things worse either. So you said nothing more and the gentle motions never stopped.

After a while, you couldn’t resist quipping.

“You’d let Hans lie on your lap if he had a bad stomachache too?”

Your back was to him so you couldn’t see but could very well imagine the frown that was on his face. “Just sleep.” he responded tightly.

You laughed.

Against the slow rocking of the carriage and the firm pressure against your stomach, your pain was but a dull afterthought.

Unbidden, your eyes slid shut and the furrow between your brows finally, smoothened out.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #tcf x reader #cale henituse #imagines #belly rubs #stomaches #cramps #comfort #fluff? #someone give me a bellyrub too #actually no don't touch me #just kill me painlessly #gods #it's all over the place but forgive me for im on death's door rn

[shoutogepi]

Spring Pollen

Takami Keigo

word count : 5.0k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]  

genre : edging, gagging (glove use), sex pollen, public sex

bio: You and your coworker Hawks are caught off guard by a villain’s naughty quirk while on the middle of patrol.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “sex pollen” slot ;) also pls go soft on me if this is rough as it’s my first hawks fic <3 TT

tags : @hawks-senseis​ @queensynderella​ @knifeewifee​ @prismaroyal​

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Working beside the number two hero had its ups and downs. For one, you were insanely attracted to him, and you absolutely refused to admit it— to him, yourself, really anyone who asked. Not that it came up in conversation often, of course. You made sure of that.

The blonde was known for his go-with-the-flow, playful attitude, and you were not discluded from such a privilege, despite your many complaints. Deep down, you didn’t really mind his flirtatious behavior. Being a hero, even if you were only a sidekick at the moment, was tiring work. You did not have much time for yourself, let alone time to find men who you could flirt with or even go on dates with. Or even find a fuck buddy. 

God, it had been so long since you last received affection from a man. Work was your entire life now, and while you found comfort in knowing you were changing the world for the better— cleaning away the stain of evil on your city— you found yourself feeling lonely when you would return to your empty apartment each night.

So perhaps Hawks’ borderline suggestive comments were nice, welcome even. Not that you would ever tell him that. You would rather die than live with knowing he was privy to your thoughts; the mortification would simply be too much for you.

Little did you know, there was much desire and intention behind his seemingly meaningless flirting— for he, too, found you more than attractive. A walking, talking, gorgeous and independent woman who apparently wanted nothing to do with him— you were more than enough to catch his eye. But alas, you were years younger than the already-youthful hero himself, and you made it very clear to him that you did not want to do anything that could jeopardize your career at the agency the two of you were slaves to.

So the attraction went unspoken between the pair of you. Hawks would make a comment just a little too cheeky and you would roll your eyes or swat at him, and that would be the end of it. It would go on and on like this for months, and before you knew it, it had been almost a year of supporting the ever-popular winged hero. And everything was fine and good…

Until the red string on fate had to show its ugly face. And everything as you knew it was turned upside down on the head— the tall, prison-like walls you’d constructed to keep your feelings locked away all came tumbling down, right before your very eyes.

It had been a rather uneventful day of hero work, if you could recall correctly. Hawks had commented on your winged eyeliner that morning, saying how it made your eyes sparkle and give you an “avian edge”, which he found highly commendable. You had brushed him off, as usual, and the two of you had taken off to start your patrol, much like any other morning.

The sun was high in the sky, hanging cheerfully over the skyscrapers of the bustling city. The spring heat had not yet scorched the asphalt of the winding roads, a cool breeze tickling your skin as you walked beside the blonde hero. His large, scarlet wings were relaxed behind his shoulder blades, the very tips of his feathers brushing against your waist as you were pressed close to him on the busy sidewalk. It was all rather ordinary, looking back at it— you had just thrown away the wrappings from your on-the-go breakfast, feeling strengthened enough to take on whatever the day could possibly throw at you, when she appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

Hawks sprang into action immediately, recognizing the wicked glint in her eye much sooner than you. You were on a dull sideroad, almost an alleyway to be honest— a small street tucked away in the midst of the hasty city, sandwiched behind a few large buildings and the backs of restaurants. It was really the perfect place for a crime to occur, for there were few passerbys and no security cameras.

In just an instant, the number two hero was on his ass, nearly hacking up a lung as the offender sprayed a noxious cloud of pink spores directly into his face. The woman sported a vicious grin as she turned to you, and though Hawks tried his best to warn you of her attack, he found he could not speak— instead crumpling over to hold his stomach as his body seized with violent coughs. Just like that, you had fallen victim to her as well, your knees folding beneath you as your mind clouded over in a haze. You didn’t even register Hawks throwing her into the brick wall behind you, your brian too foggy to recognize anything before you. He was struggling to cuff the woman when he first began to sweat, his body beginning to tremble first in his chest, then spreading to his limbs and rushing into his veins, like the venom from a deadly serpent.

Your body felt hot— god, so hot— it was like liquid fire had been poured into your bloodstream, every cell of your body igniting into an all-consuming inferno. Sweat began to bead along your temple, the valley between your breasts, and the backs of your knees. You slumped onto the concrete beneath you, clammy palms scraping the rough pavement as you gasped for breath. But with each intake the symptoms only seemed to worsen, limbs growing weak and an intense pressure forming in your stomach, like an intruder attempting to burst through a barricaded door.

Hawks was busy fighting his own internal battle— the same feelings bubbling up inside of him as he clicked the quirk-canceling cuffs onto the assailant’s wrists, perhaps a notch or two too tight. He could feel himself coming to life underneath his trousers, fanning the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. “What did you do to us?” he bellowed, a mix between a groan and a growl. The tip of a ruby feather pointed itself at the base of her throat, a slight tremor shaking through the quill as his knees began to tremble.

The woman only laughed, amused by his blatant discomfort. Her eyes traveled over to your figure, curled into a tight ball on the ground. Hawks followed her gaze, distress panging through him as he realized the pained expression twisting your face.

“Reverse it,” he snarled, fists seizing the front of her shirt and pulling her body to sit upright.

But the villain only smirked, her busted lip not seeming to bother her as her eyes twinkled with malice. “Sorry, can’t do that,” she chuckled, though it came out sounding more like a wheeze, “no takesies-backsies.”

Hawks bared his teeth at her, his ferality getting the better of him as he slammed her against the brick wall another time. Her eyes fell closed and her body went limp, signalling she was out of commission for at least the time being.

“Damn it,” he groaned as her clothes slipped from his fingers, the digits opting to push into his wild tawny locks instead. Whatever quirk this woman had used on him was working too fast, and its effects were too strong. His cock was rock hard, straining against the confining material of his pants, and his body was becoming much too strung out from restraining his amplifying desire.

Chills rolled down his spine as you called out to him, your voice breathy and rough. His gloved hands clamped into fists as he shut his eyes, praying to whatever god there was to lend him the strength necessary to keep himself from tackling you and ripping off your clothes. He had never felt so desperate for you before— never had he needed to touch and taste every inch of you like he did right now. Whatever longing he had harbored for you before this morning was nothing in comparison to the emotions clobbering his sense of self-control at the moment— god, if you even called out for him one more time, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking you, right here and now.

Little did he know, that was the one thing you wanted— needed, even— more than anything.

Your arms were crossed atop your chest, your knees tucking in to bend in front of them as you literally held yourself together. You could feel yourself leaking from between your legs, pussy twitching and itchy for any kind of attention you could get. “P-Please, Keigo,” you whimpered, your hands slowly trailing down your biceps, a palm clutching your own breast, thumb rubbing over the stiff nipple that stood out from beneath your hero suit.

Hawks couldn’t stand still for another second— the sound of his name from your lips too arousing, too intimate— he was on his knees before you in a flash. Both of you moaned as his lips slotted over yours, not a moment to spare as your body unfurled and wrapped around his frame, pulling him flush against yourself. His tongue pushed into your mouth, the tip twirling with yours and gliding against the back of your teeth.

Lost in the pleasure of his mouth on yours, your hands wandered over his shoulders, his chest, one taking root in his silky, fine hair. You could smell his aftershave wafting off his cheeks, the stubble on his chin tickling you as he began to kiss and nip at your jaw. He was insatiable, and so were you— your hands groping and wandering all over each other. Neither of you could get enough. 

You couldn’t believe that this was really happening, in the middle of this secluded, public alleyway, during your patrol as heroes— figures that the citizens of your city looked up to, no less. Yet you couldn’t find a shit to give, and Hawks had abandoned all sense of rationality the moment you dared to cry out for him. He didn’t seem to mind the public setting, for he didn’t harbor a shred of hesitance as he swatted your hand away from your chest. His own palm squeezed your breast as he suckled on your throat, making his first of many marks that would grace your skin.

It wasn’t long before he had you against the brick wall, your body snug between his firm torso and the roughness of the bricks at your back. His face trailed further south, his absence at your neck leaving your saliva-covered skin to prickle with cold. But you weren’t left pining for more long— his teeth gripping onto your nipple through your shirt, kissing and sucking at your covered chest as his hands careened down your waist, cupping your ass and lifting you off your feet just enough for your toes to drag across the pavement.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Hawks sunk to his knees, folding your legs over his shoulders and pressing his face into the apex between your thighs. His strong arms flexed as he held you up against the wall, your legs twitching as he pressed a line of kisses into your skin. Somehow you managed to wriggle out of your bottoms, your soaked panties now on full display for the winged hero, who only groaned at the sight before his tongue began to lather at the front of the material, right over your aching slit.

You felt itchy, itchier than you’d ever been before, your cunt pulsing and squeezing around nothing as you tried to wiggle your hips closer to his mouth. “H-Hawks,” you gasped as his teeth pinched the cloth, pulling it back and letting go, just to watch it snap against your drooling center.

“No, no, little bird,” he murmured sinisterly, taking a second to rub his nose along your slit, smirking at the clearly visible line of wetness that had soaked through the material. The teasing was torture, your body screaming for him to touch you again, for even more this time.

You cut him off, too impatient for his games. “Please touch me,” you begged, breath ragged in your chest.

Golden eyes turned to slits as he grit his teeth, fighting himself not to just whip out his cock and thrust into you right then and there. “If you’re gonna beg, do it properly. I wanna hear my name, dove.”

You couldn’t handle another second of agony; everything felt like it was on fire, every inch of you ready to be used, destroyed at his disposal. “Please fuck me— I— please Keigo, I need you so bad, I can’t stand it anymore!”

Hawks grinned as he ripped your panties off your body, the splitting of the seams shocking you into looking down at him. If anything, the ferocious action only turned you on even more than before, and you screamed out as his tongue immediately wove into your tight little hole. Your entire body shook as his hot muscle slithered in and out of you, alternating between tracing your entrance and rubbing against your slick, gummy walls.

There was nothing you could do but bask in the euphoria he was giving you, your jaw falling open as his tongue retracted and he wrapped his lips around your clit instead. Your eyes slammed shut, moans escaping you as your fingers delved into those bronze locks, fisting them as you ground against his face. His chin rubbed against your weeping entrance, and Hawks found himself wishing he had two tongues, so he could lap up the delicious slick that poured out of your gushing hole.

But it stopped all too soon, a sob choking out of you when he stopped satiating you with his mouth. His hand guided one of your thighs off his shoulder, placing your foot on the pavement and giving your shaking limb an encouraging squeeze before he took his hand away. His slanted eyes locked with yours as he brought his hand to his mouth, teeth securing the edge of his glove and ripping the accessory off, revealing his long, slender fingers to your lustful gaze. The hero then crumpled the leather into a tight ball, extending his arm up to your face and pressing it against your lips.

“Can’t have my dove making too much noise now, can I?” he mumbled, a feathered brow quirking up to give him a classic, mischievous look. “Too noisy and we’ll have to cut our fun short.”

At that you shyly opened your mouth, allowing him to press the glove past your lips. Once it was secure, his thumb brushed over your cheek as he grinned, his fingers then sliding down to pinch at your nipples. You moaned at the sensation, the leather glove in your mouth muffling the noise almost completely.

Hawks’ smile only broadened at that, leaning forward to take your clit into his mouth again. Your hips bucked against him, the thigh over his shoulder curling tighter and pressing him closer to you. It felt good— so incredibly good to have his tongue entertaining your pearl of nerves, lathering and swirling it, even using his teeth to graze against it. Your head fell back onto the wall behind you, eyelids fluttering shut as his fingers around your leg dug into your flesh, his other hand squishing at your chest before trailing down your waist, then down your thigh.

Suddenly his fingers were toying with your entrance, your slick stringing as he spread his fingers, golden gaze eagerly drinking up the sight of your arousal. Oh, how he’d longed for the day he could finally do this to his sweet little sidekick— to be able to lick and kiss and nip at your most sensitive parts, only to hear you moan and whine his name, gasping for more. It was even better that his glove was shoved into your mouth, muting your saccharine voice just enough so that no one else could hear you— your noises of pleasure were his and only his to hear, to soak up, and indulge in.

You cried out as two digits slipped inside of you, your wetness never having been so overt in your life. The extra slick dripped down the tops of your thighs, your pussy shamelessly slobbering for the man currently knelt between your legs. Your velvet walls sucked his fingers deeper inside, milking them as your cunt clenched uncontrollably, his tongue relentlessly lashing against your swollen clit. Hawks’ fingers pumped into you steadily, sheathing and pulling out just the first two knuckles into your waiting hole time and time again. The movements initially were slow, as if testing the waters. But after a few exploratory thrusts, he pushed the digits inside of you as far as he could, curling them toward himself and prodding your spongy walls.

He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop— you tasted too damn delicious, and his cock was leaking into his briefs at the premise of being inside you, your stifled sounds only adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. Your body was beginning to show signs of near-orgasm, and it only made him more excited to see you so reactive for him. Your eyes were shut tight, fingers pulling on his golden tresses so tightly he could feel his mind practically spinning. And your legs were trembling, almost so badly that he wondered if you were going to collapse on top of him at any moment.

You whimpered as his hand switched angles, the very tips of his fingers rubbing right against the most sensitive spot inside of you. Hawks noticed your body twitch, even though you tried your best to keep your reaction a secret to him, ashamed to already be so close to cumming. But the winged hero was feeling anything but shame— pressing his fingers into that spot again and again, savoring how your cries became louder underneath his glove in your mouth, your limbs quivering against his skin. You tried to warn him, your thigh squeezing tight around his shoulder, your fingers lacing even tighter into his hair, spine stiffening.

Hawks seemed to know what was coming, for his fingers began flicking back and forth inside of you, stimulating that soft, spongy spot that made stars blur at the corners of your vision. Your toes curled tight inside your boots, tears pooling between your eyelashes, your body feeling as though it was trapped inside an elevator surging toward the thousandth floor of a skyscraper. The tension was building, building, oh it was so close— you could practically see the heavenly, orgasmic light shining just before you, and then—

He pulled back.

Had his glove not been occupying your mouth, your whine of anguish would have echoed off the stone walls of the alleyway, your body slumping into his arms in complete dejection. Your brows were furrowed in torment, wondering how in the world Hawks had the strength to pull away from you when you were in such a state— you were practically imploring for his attention, body so hot and willing that you’d let him do anything he could possibly want to you.

You were too lost mourning the lost orgasm to notice Hawks haphazardly shoving his pants down, pulling his black, tight shirt halfway up his abs. His cock sprang up from its confines, his eyes just slits as he focused his gaze on your dripping cunt, still twitching in misery from his teasing torture. You only realized you were being maneuvered once it was too late— he had dropped the leg that had previously rested on his shoulder, instead taking the other and pushing it to press up against the wall, his fingers digging into your thigh. He was upright now, teeth taking the tip of your ear hostage as he rutted his heavy cock against your saturated slit.

Fresh waves of lust rippled through your body, your bones turning cold with white-hot anticipation. You could feel everything— his member sliding against your entrance, gliding against you from head to base, even the veins decorating his shaft as they brushed against your aching core.

Hawks’ breath was heavy in your ear, but that only made you want him more. It was the only physical sign that he was just as affected as you; the soft groan falling from his lips as you bucked against him was proof enough of that. Yet somehow he staved off from thrusting into you, despite your pussy coating his whole length in your slippery love syrup.

You tried to complain, but the glove between your lips jumbled any words into a muted mess.

He seemed to be amused by your efforts, his honey gaze seizing yours. “If I take that out for you, do you promise you’ll be a good little dove for me? Can’t have you singing too loud, alright?” His words were music to your ears, and you quickly nodded your head, eager to prove yourself to him. But he didn’t move a muscle; only his tongue wandered out to swipe across his bottom lip, which then disappeared between his teeth. His eyes darted south, and before yours could follow suit, he pushed inside you to the hilt.

You screamed as he forced your elastic walls to stretch around him, the thickness of his cock taking you by surprise. Intense pleasure burst into your body as he pulled out halfway, sheathing himself back inside almost immediately. Hawks’ eyes were shut tight, savoring the way your cunt hugged him so perfectly. Already you were milking him, and he knew there was no way he could last.

It didn’t matter, really, because the instant his hand slid down your pelvis and his fingers began to toy with your clit, you were gone. Instantly that intense pressure built just like it had before, for a split second it was all you could feel. And then you were crashing through your orgasm, his name the only thing on your brain. You called it out again and again, ecstasy zipping through your veins and toward the intense heat that the villain’s quirk had produced. The sensations clashed in a fiery explosion, your entire body straining as you did your best to handle the pleasure, your pussy wringing tight around Hawks’ cock.

Hawks gasped, his head falling to your shoulder at the intensity— at the snugness of your cunt like a vice around him, at the sound of your muffled cries for him, at the way your body trembled in his hands. He didn’t wait long, though, for after the initial shock of your orgasm arriving, his hips began to ruthlessly smack against yours. His grip was now tight on your body, fingernails digging little crescents into the skin of your thigh and your asscheek, which he pulled back to slide himself even deeper inside of you.

Your head smacked against the brick as it fell backwards, the pleasure flowing endlessly through your entire body. It was only then that Hawks bothered to take his glove from between your lips, and you immediately gasped for the sweet rush of air that filled your mouth. Small noises of content slithered out of you with every crash of his hips against you, impossible for you to silence the constant “hah” and “yes”’es. Not that Hawks seemed to really mind— in fact, he was eating up every sweet noise that left your throat, cherishing the cute, dazed look on your face as he pummeled your tight little cunt with his fat cock.

It was wrong to be this attracted to his sidekick, he knew. But maybe that was why it felt so fucking good, too— the forbidden, unspoken attraction that hung between the pair of you like a heavy shadow whenever you were together. The line had been crossed, and god, was the grass greener on the other side. If this was what being with you felt like, he didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t— he’d tasted your sweet ambrosia and he could never push you away again. You were pouring life into him as you took his cock so perfectly, and he could feel nothing but euphoria as he slammed your cunt onto himself again and again.

His release was building, but goddamn it, he was gonna hold out for as long as he could. He was gonna make you feel as good as he possibly could, and hopefully it was something that could mirror the intense bliss that you were giving him. From the way your irises rolled back in your skull, your nails gripping into his muscles tightly as your jaw hung ajar, his name slipping through your lips every other thrust— he guessed he was doing a pretty good job.

Meanwhile your brain was nearly liquefying in your skull, the aftershocks of your orgasm still stinging your bones with pleasure. Hawks never let you come down from your high, and he was doing a damn good job at keeping you on cloud nine— his hand holding up your thigh so he had a better angle to continue drilling into that sweet, springy spot inside of you. His wings began to flutter and stretch behind him, flapping gently with each swing of his hips. It felt so good that you could barely keep yourself from screaming for him, from letting the entire city know that it was him who was fucking you so good.

“K-Keigo,” you choked, a tear sliding down your cheek. Hawks moaned at the sound of his name on your voice, leaning forward to lick up the saline bead before he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, a shocking contrast to how hard he was pounding into you just a short distance south. “Feels so— agh! fuck— good, oh my goddd.”

Hawks nipped at your throat, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became more shallow, his pace beginning to falter. “You like my cock, dove?” he growled, chest heaving as that intense pressure started to build in his stomach. “Your pussy is so fuckin’ wet for me— T-Tight! Hah, shit— s’too fuckin’ good baby.”

You could only moan at his words, cunt clenching down on him on its own accord. Hawks gasped at the feeling, teeth sinking into your throat as the heat of the quirk clashed with the heightened tension in his abdomen. The collision of the two sensations proved to be too much for the winged hero to handle, a groan rumbling his throat as he painted your insides white with ribbons of cum, his wings unfurling and each individual feather quivering in sheer ecstasy. His body shook, muscles taut as he emptied himself into your dripping cunt, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he gasped for breath.

The heat from your bodies began to dwindle, the villain’s quirk exiting your systems and rendering the two of you boneless, breathless, and satisfied like never before. It suddenly dawned on you that you were in the middle of an alleyway, the cool spring breeze touseling Hawks’ blonde hair before your eyes. He was still wrapped around you, trying to catch his breath as his cock continued to throb against your silken walls. The pair of you stood still against the brick wall, the fact that you’d just crossed such a serious line with your closest coworker setting in. There was a sense of dread that began to bloom in your chest, your suppressed feelings for the hero unleashed and thriving, now more than ever.

Before you could overthink for another second, Hawks pulled back, warm golden eyes peering into yours. “I gotta say, dove,” he murmured, a hand coming to cup your jaw and stroke his thumb across your skin, “that was definitely the best quirk I’ve ever been hit with on the job.”

You chuckled at that, the weight of the situation instantly lightening up as you gave him a slow nod of agreement. Your heart began to beat quickly as you gathered the courage to take it a step further than his confession. “I’m glad it was with you,” you replied quietly, meekly averting your gaze to the side.

Hawks hummed, thumbing over your cheek again as a smile rose to his lips. He pressed his mouth to yours again, fingers creeping into your hair as he pulled your face close to his. This kiss was unlike any you shared before, conveying only a sweetness, fondness even— a comforting reciprocation. You smiled against his lips, too, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back, your fear dissipating as fast as it had come.

“I’m glad, too,” Hawks mumbled between your kisses, pulling away to quirk a brow at you playfully. “Can you imagine if I was with Endeavor instead?” he made the both of you laugh before leaning in to press his lips against yours again, the image of the serious, number one hero and your coworker in such a situation too hilarious not to laugh. But just as you started to deepen the kiss, he couldn’t resist throwing in the punchline he’d set up.

“I’d be a damn rotisserie chicken by now.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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sdfghj i never know how to end these and also why do i use this many dashes i am sORRY  if you enjoyed pls make sure to lemme know~~ 💕

➥ masterlist

➥ BINGO masterlist

#whew its 2am i did it #takami keigo smut #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #takami keigo fic #hawks fic #bnha fic #mha fic #skskksks I LOVE GLOVES SHOVE THAT SHIT IN ME MOUTH ZADDY

[kurimiaki]

T, R, N and P with Diluc please?

the uncrowned king of mondstadt, diluc ragnvindr.

yandere alphabet via dear-yandere! revisions i made are flaky so. my bad wwwww

cw: dark content, physical abuse, kidnapping, confinement, claustrophobia, extremely unhealthy relationship.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Just because Diluc may be attending to business elsewhere, does not mean you are free from his heady grasp. Distant yet coddling; his attentiveness is a curse just as much as it can be a blessing. You’re never without security, that much is true. Dawn Winery is his eyes and ears, every single servant wrapped around his finger, wrapping around and constricting you. Self isolation could never be a possibility, not when Adelinde ushers you out of bed without a minute left to spare, always in such a hurry, as if wallowing in utter boredom for days on end is anything of importance. From the very beginning, Diluc had made it a point to ensure your physical health was a top priority to those surrounding you; strict itineraries have maids silently mourning over their packed workload. A plethora of duties— take you on brief walks outside the winery, never longer than 15 minutes, feed and serve meals delicately planned and catered to your health, eyes and ears constantly watching, watching, watching. They keep you like a dog on a leash, no matter how pampered. They do so dutifully. They must. Who could possibly decline such a hefty pay at the expense of silence?

It would be a blatant lie to say your physical health had declined any whilst under his... care, however, the same cannot be said for your mental well being. He can’t, despite how much he hates his inability to do so, prevent your tears. And by the archons, do you cry. Diluc is unable to approach you some days, those days when the illusion of normalcy and domestic living he works so hard to put up simply melts away, when you can do little more than curl in on yourself and wretch into your silk sheets with a litany of tears flush in your eyes. He wills himself to allow you the mercy of a few hours alone, albeit with check ups and that blatant discomfort of his when you wail at the slightest touch to your shoulder. Of course, it’s a different case entirely when such cries are symptom of punishment— whereas Diluc will weakly attempt to comfort you with softened eyes when you work yourself up, flaky and visibly uncomfortable, his resolution is unflinching and unwavering should you choose to act out of turn. Wail, sob, beg and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, his mask of nonchalance will stay firm.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. Diluc is understanding that the situation he has thrust you into may not be ideal, he anticipates a lack of reciprocation and overall resistance, but he feels absolutely no guilt. In his eyes, this is for the best, the world is much too cruel— who better than him to make that judgement for you? Even if you do prove yourself to be capable of taking care of yourself, (with Diluc himself to measure up to) this Darknight Hero will find every minute, minuscule little thing to prove you otherwise. Just about every one of your shortcomings Diluc will try and use to his advantage, to put himself in a better light. Who else is as capable as he is, who else can prove themselves worthy of your companionship, your devotion, in the ways that he has? The longer you stay in his grasp, not that the possibility of leaving will come otherwise, the more difficult it becomes to prove him wrong. He feeds you with the utmost care, keeps you healthy, entertains you should you need conversation or otherwise, and provides, provides, provides. There may be a lack of freedom on your end, but really, do you have much room to complain? Without him, you may very well be dead. He ensures that point is driven straight to your heart, however many times is necessary until you grow compliant.

His will and rationality is fully reasonable, in his mind, hence why his wishes to keep you by his side shall forever remain solid. Perhaps it is the idea of you keeping close to him that entraptures Diluc so entirely, for he is a distant admirer. He would be contented growing old and without your touch, merely sharing your company for as long as life allows. All the same, he wishes to swallow you whole, skin, blood, guts and tears, if only to keep you with him. It is selfish, but he tells himself that is something of which he is deserving. He must.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Diluc is nothing if not dedicated to his goals, a driven man in everything he sets his mind to. In order to maintain the position he thrives in, he is forever alert, forever adapting, prepared for any strenuous situation thrown his way. Should you push past a line you are never meant to cross, jab at him a tad too harshly, well... it’s not as if he gives no thought as to how to keep you in line. Rarely are you knowing enough of his inner workings to be able to push him past the point of no return, a point where even you, his dearest, are not spared from his wrath. Emphasis on rare, for he is wholly tolerant and gentle with you, to an extent. Any person has a breaking point, and Diluc, despite his detached disposition and stoic attitude, can only withstand so much. He bottles up so much to remain composed, after all. When he snaps, he is unable to hold himself back any longer.

He is not one to take pleasure from the suffering of others. Lest they truly deserve it, is what he’ll tell himself, to at the very least maintain the illusion of normalcy. Sway not from the path of righteousness, forget not the splendor of dawn. His mind is able to concoct the most horrific scenarios he could possibly put you through, for he does the same with his enemies. In a way, when you act out of turn, an instinctual part of him, cultivated after years spent at the whims of the dangerous and unknown, sees you as just that— an enemy. He doesn’t often choose the more unsavory methods to keeping you in line, ie: beating or threatening you with his vision, further keeping true to said threats should you continue. Diluc is wholly capable of restraining the urge to simply slap the snark off of your face (he had done so regardless, once or twice), and much prefers isolating you on his own terms, away from everyone and everything, even himself. It’s a small room, not even on par with that of your shared bedroom, much more similar to a closet or crawlspace.

A room, but a cage all the same. Splintered wood floors, dank cobblestone surrounds you and few cracks in the stone leaves room for bugs of all nature to crawl through, allows the elements to rain hell upon you should you end up locked up during the harsher months. A lone maid, not even Adelinde, the head, attends to you, sparing meek glances should you call out when she gently places a meal of one roll, a piece of meat, and a few shoddily cut slabs of potato. No begging and weeping and screaming you may do will soften Diluc into coming back for you- again, his resolve is akin to that of steel, his will forever unyielding. He decides when you are thoroughly broken in, and when it is time to hold you in kind, he shines through like that of The Darknight Hero the people proclaim him to be. In the end, what is necessary is that he shows you how much better off you are when with him. He’s much too possessive and to a point, coddling, to ever consider discarding you into the wild and at the whims of hilichurl camps and abyss mages alike.

His hold is firm and grounding. Had he always been able to hold you with such ease? Had he ever truly held you in kind, as he does now? He’s warm. A familiar, comforting scent of smoke and acidic wine fills your senses and him, oh, him. He had left you, left you alone, all alone, in that room, not even a room, all alone, and yet you can do little more than gag and writhe and latch onto him with pleas of his name whispered hoarsely— ‘Diluc, Diluc, Diluc’. A cry of your savior.

He can’t look at you, won’t look at you. Won’t give you the mercy, but he couldn’t be angry. Not anymore. He holds you tighter and so flush to himself, with a ferocity narly shown to anyone but you, not in kind, not with this passion. You smell of dust, a husk of yourself. Faintly of his sheets, faintly of iron, of vomit, of filth.

Fresh memories of your betrayal burn hot in his mind. He’s contradicting himself. He cannot relent. It comes out as a whisper, barely even heard to himself, and he curses his very soul the moment it passes his lips.

“Strive to do better. Lest you want your time there to increase tenfold.”

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can bear with defiance and unwillingness on your part, to an extent. He can anticipate as much, for he is not delusional enough to fool himself into thinking your relationship is even somewhat typical to that of a normal couple, no matter how much he wishes that to be the case. No, for the initial few weeks of your captivity (he’s always gotten so mad when you refer to him as such, a captor) Diluc allows you to lash and sob and attempt to reason with him, attempt to soften him, attempt to hurt him. He’ll allow you to do so, but he himself remains impenetrable, unblinking, almost uncaring. He is prepared for about anything and everything, always expecting the worse possibilities as to save himself from further harm. For you, as well, he is constantly anticipating and observing. In hidden, minute little ways. It may even come as a shame to him if the fact that he enforces the maids to note down your every little move ever reaches your ears.

All in all, Diluc’s complete preparation for anything and everything you may throw his way makes him extremely patient, for better or for worse. Difficult to crack, impenetrable, almost— on one hand, the distance he keeps from you to accommodate for your lack of reciprocation may come as a blessing, but it makes it all too difficult to try and pester him into letting you go, to try and understand his goals and motivations in keeping you locked right away. Your complacency is inevitable, sooner or later, Diluc will begin approaching and weaseling his way into your routine in the smallest of ways, gradually and unconsciously causing you to grow fonder of his presence. It’s a slow process, one he had planned from the very moment his wishes of a domestic life with you grew much too much to handle. He loves you completely, yearns for your love, and for it, he will wait as long as necessary.

Blazing red eyes leer down upon you, your shame increasing tenfold for each second that passes subjected to that gaze of his. A fit of expaseration, you will admit, had sent the cutlery dear Hillie had so delicately prepared flying off of the white tablecloth and onto the hardwood floors, further staining the expensive rugs with wines and crumbs and oils from his favorite meal, a concoction of pasta and steak and cheese. He had prepared yours alongside with it, striking tonight as a tad more special than the rest. You didn’t blame yourself for what you did, not when he had proposed something as outlandish as marriage.

He keeps silent, leaning back in his seat, his throne, as if he were a king observing a mere peasant begging for mercy— quite frankly, you should be. But perhaps tonight he will be more lenient, you ponder, averting your gaze to the flickering embers sparking from the fireplace beside you.

He sighs, suddenly, worn and thoroughly put out by your antics, further embarrassing you by his facade of nonchalance. No, you could tell from the way his leather gloves creaked from gripping himself too hard, he was barely concealing his own anger.

“You hardly let me finish my scentence. Come, we’ll continue this conversation upstairs.”

#yandere cw #yandere tw #tw dark content #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #genshin impact oneshot #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc ragnvindr #yandere diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #tw abuse #tw claustrophobia #my writing

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

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