#swallowing hurts and everything tastes repulsive

[soryualeksi]

Me in October: "Man, all this drawing is fun but also exhausting. I'll take a huge break in November, just fuck around and relax and play videogames and maybe draw pr0n. :D"

Actual November arriving, first day: Everything comes crashing down.

#i can't get over the death of my colleague so quickly #when i think how young he was my head starts spinning and spinning and spinning #also I'm sick as a dog and eating is a chore but my body screams for food but it's DO hard to get in #swallowing hurts and everything tastes repulsive #my tonsils are coated in grey slime everything is raw and HURTS and everything tastes sooooo disgusting if it has any taste at all #i struggle to eat and my body is like 'no way i will give you the sweet relief of loss of appetite that normally goes with sickness :D'

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

I tried to bargain with the stars for more than half your heart (3)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, mentions of grief, Dom!Reader, sub!Wanda, spanking, use of pet names, Wanda calls R Doctor in bed, possessive behavior from R

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: This chapter somehow has everything hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, and smut all in one so please enjoy

May 4th 2016

Cap, Nat, Sam, and Wanda had just gotten back from a mission and you had already been hearing about it on the news. 

"Wanda. My office. Now." You call as she exits the quinjet, following silently behind you. You let her move past you after you were in you office, closing the door behind us and as soon as the lock clicked she was on you, arms around you waist crying into you back. 

"I tried so hard...all those people...how could I...?" She manages in between her sobs as you turn around, you manage to get her arms to move to you neck, moving you own to her thighs as you pick her up with ease. She wraps her legs around your waist now as you attempt to sooth her, rubbing her back and bouncing her slightly much like you would a small child. 

"You did the best you could. It was an accident. We can't blame ourselves because of an accident." You remind her. "I don't want you drowning over this Wands. You held out for as long as you could. We can't save everyone." More words that felt useless as your shirt and neck became soaked by her tears, and her saliva. you’re sure there is also snot, but you’re trying not to think about that part. 

You walk around the office with her in you arms, bouncing and soothing for well over an hour before the cries quiet down into soft sobs, and then into little hiccups, and eventually she stops and her breathing evens out, she tired herself out and fallen asleep on you. You can’t help, but let out a sigh of relief. 

"Oh you sweet girl..." You rub her back and do something you normally don't do without explicit permission from you friends and especially with Wanda; you pull the bad emotion out of her. She was drowning and you made a promise that you’d never let her drown again.

In the quiet of your office, you take your hand to her back, laying it flat and then move away with a pulling motion, focusing on extracting the heavy emotions that lingered within her. It felt like grasping a viscous substance, something that clung stubbornly to her psyche. With careful precision, you managed to pull it free, holding it in you hand.

The dark, swirling mass writhed in you palm, a physical manifestation of Wanda's grief and guilt. Taking a deep breath, You hesitated for a moment, feeling the unpleasant energy emanating from it. Then, without second-guessing yourself, you brought it to you lips and swallowed.

The taste was repulsive, a bitter and nauseating sensation that lingered in the back of you throat. But as you consumed the emotional burden, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction and relief. Wanda, now free from the weight that had plagued her as she continued to sleep peacefully.

"You're safe now," You whispered, your gaze fixed on Wanda's serene face. The act you had just performed was not without consequences, and it wasn't a method you used lightly. However, in this instance, you believed it was the right thing to do to help her heal.

Wanda wakes up a short time later in a startle, calling out for you, you were at your desk doing paperwork, after being sent an e-mail about writing a report up on Wanda's mental health and your evaluation on her. "I'm right here. Come here sweet girl." You roll you chair back, patting you lap as she comes over, blanket still wrapped around her. You had taken her shoes and jacket off from earlier and had since changed you shirt. 

She sits in you lap, facing you, once again burying her face into the crook of you neck as You pull us back towards you desk as You type away on you computer. "What are you working on?" She mumbles against you. 

"I've been asked about my evaluations on the rest of the Avengers by the Secretary of State. I tend to take you notes the old fashion way so I have to transcribe my notes from paper to digital.” She nuzzles further into your neck, kissing at the crook of it, making you smirk. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"If I am Doctor?" She teases, nipping and then sucking lightly at the spot. Your hands find her hips as you grip tight enough to leave marks of you own as a light moan pushes past her lips. 

"Then you're going to be in trouble because I need to finish these reports." 

"What are you going to do? Spank me?" 

"You're being such a little brat right now. I'm supposed to be the younger one here and yet," You move the two of you, the blanket falling to the ground as you bend her over you desk. "You're the one acting like a spoiled brat thinking you're going to get your way." You put one hand between her shoulder blades to hold her there. You understood why she was doing this, why she needed it. Without your help to put her in a better headspace she’d never stop worrying over what happened. "I want you to count and thank me for each one, understood?" You say, your voice dropping into a commanding one. 

"Yes Doctor." You start giving her a hard spank. "One. Thank you Doctor!" She cries out. Your spanks were harsh, but Wanda loved them. You had started off rather light at first letting her tell you to go harder as she pleased until you found that good slap. She squirmed under your hand, trying to look at you as you continue until you get to 10. 

Once you let go of her, she falls against your desk. You move away to grab some pillows and the blanket from earlier, making a little nest under you desk. She loved the small space under your desk and at this point it had become a sort of routine when you had too much work and she wanted to be close. You loved being able to look down and see her happily there at your feet. You knew Freud would have a field day with you if he were still alive. You hand her one of the tablets you keep around. 

"Here you go. I have all of your favorite downloaded on there. I need to get these reports done and then I promise you can have all of my attention baby girl."

The atmosphere in the room shifted from a playful tease to a more intimate and controlled one. As you continued typing away at your reports, you could feel Wanda's lingering presence beneath you desk, the faint sounds of her favorite show playing on the tablet. 

She settled into the little nest the two of you had created under the desk, surrounded by pillows and the soft glow of the tablet. You could sense the mixture of emotions in the air – a blend of submission, trust, and a subtle undercurrent of desire.

The discipline was a way to redirect her focus, to ground her after the emotional turmoil she had experienced earlier. It was a mutual understanding, a dynamic that allowed her to feel cared for and guided. You actions were not meant to harm, but to establish boundaries and bring comfort.

"Good girl," You whispered, you voice gentle as You planted a soft kiss on the crown of her head. "You enjoy your show, and I'll get these reports finished up."

As you focused on you work, You couldn't help but steal glances at Wanda from time to time. The sight of her curled up under the desk, absorbed in the familiar comfort of her favorite TV show, brought a sense of contentment. It was a unique moment of intimacy, one that spoke to the depth of our connection beyond the professional roles we played.

Eventually, as the reports neared completion, you could feel Wanda's eyes on you. She seemed to understand the importance of the task at hand, patiently waiting for your attention. And as you saved the final document, you closed the laptop, slid out from behind the desk, and joined her in the makeshift nest.

"Done," You announced, giving her a warm smile. "Now, how about we enjoy the rest of the evening together?" The tablet was set aside, and You wrapped you arms around her, embracing the connection we shared. In the quiet comfort of you office, surrounded by the soft glow of the tablet and the warmth of your bond, you allowed yourselves to simply be – partners.

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

Wanda and you had gotten back from the grocery store after deciding the two of you were going to make chicken paprikash meatballs, a dish she used to eat back home. You loved her having an outlet like this to be expressive. You helped with a few things, but you told her this was something you wanted her to do. You watched her with a smile and mostly was used to taste the sauce the meatballs would be going into and practically moaning at how good it was. "You're such a good cook baby girl. You'd make the perfect housewife." You say offhandedly.

"If I tell you all I’ve ever wanted was to be a stay at home house wife mom, would you be surprised?" She mentions.

"With what I know about you? Not one bit baby girl. I'd love that. Maybe one day..." 

"Hello ladies." You hear Vision and you know you shouldn't, but you roll your eyes. You can't stand the synthizoid. For one you can't read him because he isn't human. Doesn't have a brain. Doesn't have emotions or an aura or anything. Secondly, he always tries to get Wanda's attention. You swear he's trying to flirt with her, but without being able to read him You can't tell. 

"Hi Vis!" She smiles happily. "Harley and I were making dinner as part of my therapy." Wanda tells him which isn't entirely a lie. We haven't told anyone about our relationship. Figured it would be better if we didn't, not yet at least.

"Well that sounds like a wonderful idea. I know how much you love cooking." Vision mentions and you eyes slowly move and narrow on Wanda. 

"Oh do you now?" You ask with a bit of venom. You’ve always been a jealous person. When something is yours it is YOURS. 

"Oh uh well yes. Wanda and I had a conversation a few nights ago about it. she had also made dinner that night and I had come to her room to thank her for it." your jaw sets and locks as a predatory growl threatens to rip through you throat. 

"You know I just remembered I have some paper work to do. I'll see you two later." You head off towards you room and not your office which you hear Vision question, but don’t hear if Wanda responds or not. 

Once you get to you room You have F.R.I.D.A.Y sound proof you room and bring down the armor on you windows so they don't break and once she does you use you voice to scream out like a banshee, 

"FUCK OFF VISION SHE'S MINE!" You yell out. “You don’t even eat food! Why the fuck are you thanking her for making dinner!?” Getting your anger out of you the only way you can since you can't just pull it out of yourself like you can for others.

As the echoes of you outburst faded into the stillness of you room, You took a deep, shuddering breath, the remnants of you anger simmering beneath the surface. F.R.I.D.A.Y had dutifully complied with you request, sealing off you room from the outside world, providing a cocoon of privacy where You could let your emotions run wild without fear of judgment or consequence.

But even as the adrenaline coursed through you veins, You knew that you outburst was irrational, driven by jealousy and insecurity. Wanda had never given you any reason to doubt her loyalty or affection, yet the mere presence of Vision seemed to ignite a primal instinct within you, a need to assert you claim over what You perceived as yours.

You sank down onto the edge of you bed, burying your face in your hands as you grappled with the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. It wasn't fair to Wanda, to subject her to the brunt of you insecurities, to lash out in a fit of possessiveness. She deserved better than that, deserved someone who could trust her implicitly, without question.

But try as you might, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the back of you mind, the fear of losing her to someone—or something—else. It was a vulnerability you had never been comfortable acknowledging, a weakness you had always tried to bury beneath a façade of confidence and strength.

As you sat there in the silence of you room, you knew that you needed to confront these feelings head-on, to find a way to move past the jealousy and insecurity that threatened to consume you. And perhaps, with time and patience, you could learn to trust in the strength of your bond, to believe in the love that bound us together, unbreakable and unwavering.

But for now, all You could do was take solace in the sanctuary of your room, letting the weight of you emotions wash over you until the storm within subsided, leaving behind a sense of clarity and resolve. And as you prepared to face the outside world once more, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always fight for what was yours, for the love that had become the anchor of your soul.

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

Later that night, well after dinner. You once again had you room sound proofed by F.R.I.D.A.Y for a completely different reason.

Wanda was in the middle of you bed, on all fours. You left hand tangled in her hair, pulling to keep her upright and back arched. You right hand buried deep inside her as she moaned out in pleasure with you fingers pleasuring the deepest parts of her; Her most intimate spots that only you had ever gotten to touch. 

"Who do you belong to?" You ask through you teeth. 

"You Doctor!" She moaned out.

"No one else?"

"No Doctor! Just you! Only you! Only want you!" She cries out. "Please...can I cum, please? Been a good girl." 

"Go ahead cum for me baby girl." Waves of pleasure hit her. The only waves that you’ll allow her to drown in. You let go of her hair as she goes limp against the bed, panting with exhaustion. "My good girl. I'm going to clean you up and get you a water." You kiss her temple, getting a warm, damp cloth, and a bottle from you mini fridge. 

You help move her to lay properly on the bed before cleaning her off. Then You prop her up against the pillows. "Here you go sweetie. I'm going to grab you some undies and one of your baggy shirts." You tell her as she sips the water. 

You get both of us changed and we cuddle. You give her a bunch of kisses.

"Y/N?" She asks looking up at you.

"Yes sweet girl?"

"Why did you get so upset earlier?" 

"I don't like Vision..." You didn’t want to look at her. It was something you were hoping she wouldn’t ask you, but of course she did she’s Wanda and she’s attentive.

"Why?" You can hear the confusion in her voice because to everyone else Vision has done nothing to deserve you feeling this way towards him.

"I can't read him; at all. He doesn't have feelings or emotions, not real ones. It's completely different than a human. He doesn't have an aura to read either." You tell her, running you fingers through her hair. 

"I like Vision. He's nice to me. The others are too, but I can still tell they're scared of me. Vision isn't he never has been just like you." Wanda tells you. 

"That's what scares me." You admit, your mouth feels a lot dryer and your palms sweaty. You try rubbing them on your thighs, but it doesn’t really help. 

"Why does that scare you?" She sits up.

"What if...what if you think he's better than me? What if..." You can't even say it. There's a knot in you throat, you chest, you stomach. You don't realize it, but you’ve started crying. You only notice when Wanda is wiping your tears. 

"I love you Y/N." You stare in disbelief. The two of you hadn't said that to each other yet. You feel the words in you throat, you want to say them back because you do feel that way, but the jealous gremlin in you brain decides to say this instead, 

"Do you?" 

"What?" She asks in disbelief.

"You flirt with him Wanda! I know you do!" You pull away from her touch. "He flirts with you and you flirt right back! Also he's been in your room and you didn't even tell me!? Why the hell wouldn't you tell me!?" You yell and spit with venom, your words intending to hurt, but you never wanted to hurt her. Your jealousy felt like an uncontrollable storm. Something you had tried to contain for too long and now it was all coming to a head.

"You don't mean that Y/N." She moves closer. "I can hear your thoughts screaming out at me. I understand you're jealous, but I do truly love you. Nothing is going on between Vision and I." Her hands are on your cheeks again. You’re crying against her just as she's done a handful of times to you. 

"I-I love you t-too." You manage between you sobs.

"I know you do Malyshka." She says softly, fingers running through your hair and the other hand rubbing soothing circles against your back.

As Wanda's comforting words washed over you, You felt a mixture of relief and shame flood through you veins. Shame for allowing your jealousy to spiral out of control, for lashing out at the person you loved most in the world. And yet, in that moment, You also felt a sense of vulnerability, a raw honesty that laid bare the depths of your emotions.

Her hands on you were a grounding presence, a reminder of the love and understanding that existed between us. Despite you insecurities, despite the storm of emotions raging within you, Wanda remained steadfast by you side, offering you solace and support when You needed it most.

"I'm sorry," You whispered, you voice hoarse with emotion. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just...I let my jealousy get the best of me."

Wanda's gaze softened, her thumb brushing away the tears that streaked you cheeks. "I know, Malyshka," she murmured, her tone gentle and reassuring. "But you have to trust me. There's nothing between Vision and I. You're the one I love, the one I want to be with."

Her words were like a balm to you wounded soul, soothing the ache of doubt and fear that had plagued you for so long. In that moment, you realized that your jealousy had stemmed not from any real threat, but from you own insecurities and doubts.

"I do trust you," You said, you voice trembling with sincerity. "I trust you more than anyone else in this world."

And as you wrapped your arms around Wanda, pulling her close to you, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, the two of you would face them together, united in your love and devotion. For in each other's arms, you two had found a sanctuary, a haven of warmth and acceptance where your hearts could truly be free.

#ley writes #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff angst

[mentallyilllittleguy]

AU where everything in the world is the same, except Soap can read minds. PART THREE (trigger warning for descriptions of gore, violence and extreme levels of stress, anxiety and fear displayed by a character)

Soap can't stand the energy banging around in Ghost's mind. It feels like a man dying, a potent ocean of fear and repulsion.

His stomach twists, ill at the idea he's caused this feeling in another, but he swallows it and reminds himself that he is here for a reason.

"Why do you see me as a dead man?" he asks. His own voice is foreign in his ears.

The image of himself in Simon's mind wavers, the wounds fading and the skin tanning - before the death regains control. Ghost is whispering something that Soap can't hear out loud, but the words gurgle in his skull, guttural and horrific:

"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead."

Soap repeats the question, louder this time.

"Get out." Ghost's voice is a shadow of itself, low and guttural and brittle and hurt and all these other horrible things that Soap doesn't dare to name.

Soap shakes his head.

Ghost is backed fully into the corner of the room now, his whole body trembling. The knife he wields looks unsteady in his hands.

Everything in Soap screams that he should leave, that this whole thing is a bad idea, but he just can't let it go. There has to be an answer.

"Please, Ghost," Soap says, softening his voice, taking another slow step forward, "I just need to know why you see me that way. That's all, I promise."

It takes Soap a second to react when he sees the thought of Ghost throwing his knife- he ducks out of the way, hearing as the knife plunges into the wall behind his with a thunk exactly where his head had been moments earlier.

"Get out," Ghost snarls, his shoulders squaring, his voice rising to a scream as he says, "Get the fuck out of my head!"

Soap freezes. There is no way that Ghost could know that.

"Get out or I'll fucking kill you!" Ghost says, and Soap sees images of different ways Ghost can kill him, each one more gorey and depraved than the last.

Soap opens his mouth, but before he can utter another word, Ghost is barrelling toward him, grabbing him before he can react and slamming him into the wall with a knife at his throat.

All he can see is the dull glaze of Ghost's eyes. All he can taste is fear. All he can hear is screams that bounce around in his skull. All he can feel is the head of Ghost's hand and the cold of the blade. All he can smell is blood.

"I'm sorry, Ghost," Soap chokes out, not daring to move, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you-"

"You're going to die a slow and painful death," Ghost hisses. His voice doesn't sound real.

A slow, painful death plays out in Soap's mind, shoved into it by the mind of Ghost.

"I'm sorry," Soap cries out, now beginning to push at Ghost's chest, his eyes beginning to burn, "I'm sorry, I can't control it- I swear I won't tell anyone what I've seen, I swear!"

Ghost grip on him slackens slightly. "What do you mean?"

Soap doesn't even know where to begin to explain.

Part four will be coming!

#call of duty #cod #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #soap cod

[middleearthpixie]

Wanted Man ~ Chapter Fifteen

Summary: A price on his head, Loki of Asgard finds himself stranded on Earth and in need of one woman's help in order to free himself from the bounty and try to reclaim what he sees as his rightful throne in Asgard.

McKenna Carlin just wanted to put a horrible day behind her. She had no idea that things would get worse before they get better…

Pairings:  Loki Laufeyson x ofc McKenna Carlin

Characters:McKenna, Loki, Thor, the Other

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @fizzyxcustard @court-jobi @guardianofrivendell @piggledy-higgledy @evenstaredits

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here! 

McKenna's entire body hurt from head to toe and she sucked in a sharp breath as she tried to stretch her arms over her head. They were shackled at the wrist by thick iron bands connected by a short length of heavy chain. 

She fought to sit up, her heart hammering against her ribs at the unfamiliar surroundings. Her stomach churned with fear as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings—a cramped, dingy, damp cell with jagged rock walls and an uneven floor. She sat on an equally damp dirt floor, shivering as the cold bit into her with sharp, ruthless teeth. 

The links between her wrists clanked, as she brought her hands up to rub one eye. It took a bit of effort, as the iron was every bit as heavy as it looked and she was beyond exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her muscles burned. Her eyes burned. Everything. Just. Burned.  

“Where am I?” she muttered, her hands falling back to her lap as her arms refused to hold them up any longer. It was the oddest cell she’d ever seen. There seemed to be no door, but somehow, she didn’t think that was the case. Still, she rose onto unsteady legs, a sour taste flooding her mouth as her entire stomach just flipped over, and walked toward it, holding her hand out.

It was cool, but not glass. As she touched it, vibrations hummed up her arm. She jerked back, dropping to her knees as her stomach threatened to revolt. 

“I see you’re awake.” The low, rattling voice washed over her and she stared in wide-eyed horror as a creature moved into her line of vision. She’d never seen anything as repulsive as this… whatever it was. He stood on two legs and moved like a person dressing in flowing cloaks of blue and white, but when he held out one hand, she saw he had two thumbs. On the same hand. 

His face was hidden by a mask, but it wasn’t a solid mask, and when he spoke, white teeth in a blood red mouth were pointed and shiny. “Do you think he will come for you?”

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. “Where am I?”

“You need not worry about that. Or are you afraid he’s left you here to die, the coward?”

The tremble in her legs worsened, and she shifted to sit once more and as she did, her stomach roiled even harder. Nausea rose with a hot sting, one she swallowed hard against as she willed her stomach to calm down and shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.” 

“Are you so certain? Think you know him, do you? Because you are a fool if you do.” The Other asked. “Of course, coming after you means he would have to return to Asgard. Should he do that, he will find himself locked back in their dungeons. It will be all for naught. He will either die there or he will die at my hands.”

“No, he won’t.” She shook her head, her stomach finally going calm. “And if you think so, then you don’t know him, either.”

The Other laughed. It was slimy and evil, and hurt her ears just as a high-pitched whistle hurt a dog’s ears. She tried to cover her ears with her hands, but the chain wasn’t long enough and the bands were too heavy. Her arms shook, then her hands fell limp into her lap once more. Why was she in shackles, if she was also in a cage? Did they think her so dangerous?

“You would do well to take care with whom you trust, Midgardian. Loki cannot be trusted. He cares only for himself and for what power he can wield. You are nothing but a pleasant distraction to him.”

“Then why take me?”

“Because if he chooses to come for you, I will face him in my realm, not in yours.”

She managed to get back to her feet and staggered back to the cot. “You’re making a mistake. A big one.”

“Quiet,” he snarled, gesturing behind him. There, rising up from the dark brown sand, appeared to be a giant worm-like creature. It was awful enough for that sour taste to rise in the back of her throat again. “Whether he comes for you or not, you will beg for death, as for what you will endure will make you wish for something sweet as pain.”

Her blood ran cold at his words and she sank onto the cot, shivering. She shrank back against the rock wall as the Other walked through the invisible wall and bent over her. He stunk, like wet gym socks that had been left in the bottom of a hamper for weeks on end. His breath rattled as he drew it in and his voice was as slimy as the moss on the rock behind her as he whispered, “But not for a long time. A very long time, indeed.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as that awful two-thumbed hand reached toward her. He touched her head and she screamed from the horror that flashed before her eyes. Then she passed out.

***

Loki held his breath as he and Thor emerged from the Bifrost and he found himself looking up at Heimdall, the guardian of the Bifrost and overseer of all nine realms. Although he knew Heimdall couldn’t see through his disguise as Captain America, Loki didn’t breathe easily until they made it past him and strode out along the Bifrost leading to the golden palace of Asgard.

“Not much has changed. Although I see your grandfather has his head back.”

Thor obviously didn’t see the humor, since he was the one responsible for decapitating the enormous stone statue of Bor, Odin’s father. He scowled at Loki. “Quiet.” 

“Thor, where were you?” Sif smiled broadly at them as she approached, and her delicate black brows drew together. “Who is this?”

“Sif, this is Captain America. From Midgard. Captain, this is Sif. The fiercest warrior maiden in all the nine realms.”

Loki smiled. He knew Sif well, having grown up with her. But she eyed him with no little suspicion before returning his smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, ma’am.” Loki managed to change his voice as well, intoning Steve Rogers’s flat, American accent into his words. It wasn’t easy and made his throat hurt, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Where are you going?” Sif fell into step with them, her sword slapping smartly against her leg.

“To freshen up,” Thor replied. “Where are the others?”

“In the Healing Room. Why?”

Loki held his breath. He didn’t trust Thor entirely. It was still possible Thor would betray him. Not likely, but possible.

“I will need to speak with them.”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Loki broke in.

“It’s a fine idea.”

Sif looked from him to Thor and back. “Is something the matter, Thor?”

“No. Everything is as it should be.” He guided Loki through the wide hallway as if Loki didn’t know the palace as well as he did, when in truth, Loki knew it far better. Still, he allowed it because he didn’t want to break character and arouse Sif’s suspicions even more.

But to his relief, she nodded. “I’ll tell them.”

Once inside Thor's chambers, Loki breathed a sigh of relief as he sank back against the door. “She asks entirely too many questions.”

“She always has.” Thor moved to the golden basin filled with shimmering water and splashed some onto his face. “Now, what is your plan, exactly? And you needn’t worry. Heimdall cannot see us.”

That may be so, but Loki was not about to risk it, and so he remained Steve Rogers, no matter how much the dam suit pinched in the most uncomfortable places. “We’re going to ask Heimdall to find her. And he’s going to send us there. And then we crush the Chitauri.”

“The two of us? You honestly think we can do that alone?”

“You thought we could crush the Jötunn with only Sif and the Warriors Three.”

“And do you remember how well that worked out?”

Loki threw himself face down on Thor's bed. “Do you honestly think any of them will trust me? Or that I can even trust them?”

“No. And probably no. But I can and they will do as I ask.”

“Thor, this is of utmost importance. I know not how much time she has.” He rolled over and sat up. Sitting still was impossible. But pacing didn’t help much, either. And if Heimdall could see them, it would look suspicious just the same. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand. But if we fail—”

“We won’t fail.” He couldn’t even begin to entertain that notion. If they failed…

No. He wouldn’t think that.

He stopped pacing, walking out onto the terrace overlooking one of Asgard's many beautiful waterfalls. “I want to bring her back here, Thor.”

“We will.”

He looked over at his brother. “We better.”

Thor gazed down at Mjölnir and his voice was low as he said, “We need to tell them who you really are, then, if this is to work.”

“Are you mad? They’re all lining up to kill me, remember?” Loki sank onto the edge of the low stone wall. “And if that happens, then McKenna dies. I cannot let that happen.”

Thor set down the hammer to sit beside him. “I’ve never heard such words come from you, Loki, and I’m uncertain as to what to make of them. I think you honestly care for this woman.”

“Haven’t I already told you I do?”

“You have. I just don’t believe you.”

Loki let out a harsh sigh and rose to turn and look out over Asgard. A lush forest of beautiful trees lay below them, and he could hear the rush of one of the seven waterfalls surrounding the palace. When he had McKenna back, and she was safe at his side, he would bring her to the Sølvfoss—the Silver Waterfall—which was his favorite. It was secluded and he was the only one who knew of its existence. She would love it.

He glanced over at Thor, still seated on the wall. “I want to take as few chances as possible.”

“That also doesn’t sound like you. I thought you liked the risk almost as much as the reward.”

“Well, normally you’d be right. I do enjoy the risk, but this time? The stakes are too high now.”

“Tell me, what does your Midgardian look like?”

Loki smiled, leaning up against one of the golden pillars lining the walkway, holding up the ceiling, and folded his arms over his chest. “She’s beautiful. And perfect. Blonde hair. Green eyes. She has a gentle soul and a wildly free spirit and a beautiful heart. She cares easily, and is kind to all.”

“You’re opposite, you mean.”

“I suppose, yes.” Loki ran his hand through his hair, forgetting that it wasn’t a long tangle of black curls, but a shorn blond military cut instead, and a hint of foolishness surged through him. The stretchy blue fabric bit into his leg, where his thigh creased at his groin, and he grimaced as he tugged at it again. “Perhaps I should let you tell the others. Get it over with. Then I can get out of this silly costume for good.”

“I don’t know if Father will be as understanding. He mourned you, of course, but you’ve still disappointed him.”

“I know that. And I know my words, my promises, mean very little at this point, but know this—I will do anything in my power to bring McKenna to Asgard safe and whole. Even if it means sacrificing my life in the process.” He leveled Thor with a long look. “I should have proven that to you already.”

“Except you deceived me.”

“I did, but the result was still the same. I saved your skin. Now it’s your turn to save mine.”

With that, he held out his hand. Thor looked at it, then up at him, and then back down. Then, he clasped Loki's hand and nodded. “I will not betray you, Brother. I still harbored some hope you would finally come around, despite what I said in the dungeons. You have my word that I will help you—with your Midgardian, with the others, and with Father.”

Loki smiled. “Do you want to see what she truly looks like?” When Thor nodded, Loki turned to go back into Thor's chambers. Once they were safely from Heimdall’s view, he twitched his fingers and McKenna stood before them in a faint, glowing apparition.

The backs of his eyes stung unexpectedly as he gazed upon her silent, golden form. She was dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved tee shirt with some sports team logo emblazoned on it—what she’d been wearing the day they’d gone shopping. Her hair was pulled up and she smiled, her lips forming words that neither he nor Thor could hear. 

But he didn’t need to hear them. He remembered them well and they made him smile. 

“Sorry. I thought… Just be careful of the zipper. And go slow. I cannot emphasize that enough. Slow.”

She’d been right in cautioning him. Twice he’d nearly zipped himself into the jeans. And she’d cautioned him with a smile. She thought it funny, a god catching himself in a zipper. 

The ache in his eyes spread to his throat and he swallowed hard as Thor murmured, “She is beautiful. You didn’t lie.”

Talking without his voice breaking would’ve been impossible, so Loki just nodded and twitched his fingers again. McKenna faded from their sight. 

“Do you need know where she is, to go to her?” Thor didn’t understand how such projections worked. Frigga had not shared her secrets with him.

Loki nodded again, this time trusting his voice enough to say, “Have Heimdall find her. At least then I can go to her and tell her all will be all right. I can only imagine the horror she’s going through now.”

Thor lifted Mjölnir and moved to the door. “I will go now. As soon as I know, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you.”

Waiting took an eternity, but then Thor was back. “We’ve found her.” Loki's knees buckled as Thor added, “She is alive.”

“And in what condition?”

Thor hesitated. “If I answer you, you must promise to not go storming out of here in a rage.”

“Thor—”

Thor held up a hand. “She is well, but weak. She was sleeping when Heimdall found her in a cell in the northern woods.” He paused. “In Jötunheim.”

Loki muttered, “Damn,” beneath his breath. Their king, his father, Laufey, had died at Loki's hand. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be warmly received there now.

That meant they had little choice but to tell Sif and the others. They would need all the extra skill they could muster. Once Loki reverted back to his true form, he didn’t doubt the Jötunn would come to the Chitauri’s aid if it meant avenging Laufey’s murder.

But that would wait. Loki crossed to the far side of the room and, after a deep breath, returned to his normal self. He closed his eyes, bringing the image of Jötenheim to his mind. It was dark and cold, where snow fell around the clock for years on end and frost clung to everything. Icicles were the size of spears, and jagged rock sharp enough to pierce armor rose from all angles.

He concentrated on McKenna, his temples pounding as he struggled to remain calm when he picked up her scent and she slowly came into view. At first, she was soft and fuzzy, as if viewed through out-of-focus binoculars. But then, the edges sharpened and the softness faded.

She was in a dank cell, with mossy walls that dripped water on her relentless. Her wrists were bound before her in bands of iron so thick, they practically swallowed her entire forearms. Her hair was tangled and damp, and dirt stained her arms and legs and clothes as well.

Fury swelled, one that he fought to tamp down. She came into sharper focus still. Her left cheek was cut, dried blood smeared along the bone. A faint bruise shone under her left eye.

Death would be too kind for the Other.

He crept to her, casting a look over his shoulder. There was no one around.

As he came upon her bed—a narrow cot, actually—it was all he could to not try to touch her. He swallowed his anger as he crouched and whispered, “McKenna?”

Her eyes snapped open and she instinctively jerked back away from him, cramming herself against the slick stone wall. He held a finger to his lips even as he whispered, “Hush and don’t scream, love. It’s me.”

“Loki?” Her voice was thick as she squinted at him. “Am I dreaming?”

He shook his head. “No, but you must listen. I’m in Asgard, with Thor. We will come for you as soon as we are able. Are you all right?”

She shook her head, sinking back onto the cot. “I see terrible things when I’m awake and I dream terrible things when I sleep. I just want it to stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut as tears slid from beneath her lashes. “Please… please make it stop.”

“I know, love.” That was the Chitauri’s ability—to twist thoughts and memories, no matter how pleasant, into the stuff of nightmares. He’d experienced it himself and to know McKenna suffered as well made it nearly impossible to not just drop into Jötenhiem and slay everything between him and her. “I will as soon as I can. I promise you.”

Her hand trembled as it rose and stretched toward him. “Loki…”

“Don’t try to touch me. I’ll vanish if you do.” His fists clenched so tightly, his fingernails bit into his skin, but he only barely felt the sharp sting. “I will come for you. I promise you this.”

“To whom do you speak?” The Other’s raspy voice made Loki spin about and back quickly into the shadows.

“I speak only to myself,” McKenna said, her voice stronger now. “As you can see, there is no one else here.”

“You would take care to watch your tone,” the Other growled. “You might not like it otherwise.”

“Oh… God… no…” McKenna squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands to her ears. “Please, don’t…”

Loki bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet and practically had to stand on his hands to keep from flinging himself at the Other. Then, Thor grabbed him and with a sizzle, Loki found himself on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in his brother’s chambers.

“You were taking a step forward,” Thor explained. 

“We need go now.” Loki untangled himself from Thor and got to his feet. “I don’t give a damn who you tell what, but we need to go. Now.”

“No. We need to formulate a plan first.”

“To hell with that,” Loki growled, marching toward the door. “She needs me now and I’m not going to fail her.”

“Loki, wait!” Thor threw himself at his brother, catching Loki around the waist and knocking him back against the door. “If you go off like this, you will never leave Asgard alive.”

Loki threw Thor off him. “I defy anyone to try and stop me.”

With a growl, Thor pinned Loki down and held out his free hand. Mjölnir flew into it, and the air rushed from Loki's lungs as the hammer pinned him firmly to the floor. “Take it from me, now, Thor.”

“No. You need calm down. They are not going to harm her—”

“They’ve already harmed her!” Loki fought, struggling to push the hammer from his chest. Impossible. One of the hammer’s strengths was that only one worthy could wield it. Apparently, he hadn’t earned that worthiness yet. “Death will be too good for them all.”

“Calm yourself, Brother,” Thor said, his voice low. “They will not harm her more. She is their bait. If you rush in there, they will have the advantage. In the morning, we will all go, with a plan. And you will have your Midgardian here by nightfall.”

“And if we don’t?” Loki could only barely bring himself to even ask the question.

“We will.”

#Loki #Loki Fanfic #Loki x ofc #Tom Hiddleston #Thor #Romance #Is it hot in here? #Jersey girl #Marvel #Marvel fanfic

[g0dspeeed]

A Taste

John Seed told her he was simply "curious". A hookup with her ex's sibling proves to Cappie De la Costa that there might be more to it than that.

Sexual content ahead

Cappie couldn't tell what it was that stirred her, but upon feeling something warm tickle her inner thigh, she knew the answer wasn't a complicated one. 

Her head rose from the cold, wood floor, the effort sending it swimming with the familiar aches of a hangover, all to regard a very sleepy, very naked, John Seed snoozing between her legs, his cheek rested on the soft skin of her inner thigh and breath fluttering against her sex.

"The fuck?"

Voice was raw and her throat stung, the act of swallowing monumental for Cappie. Everything hurt from her thighs, her neck, and her arms. As she laid out on her back, her bare skin was chilled by what she recognized to be the floor of his bedroom. Their clothes were scattered about the sunlit room amongst broken wine glasses, a knocked over crystal decanter beside what she guessed was a puddle of bourbon, countless cigarette butts, a lotion bottle, two dabs, condom wrappers–

Her green eyes zeroed in on the last items, the scraps of thin foil.

"No…"

"Oh, yes."

Horrified, Cappie stared down at the bright blue eyes peering up from the apex of her thighs, unaffected by his position inches from her pussy.

"Good morning," he crooned in a rasp. 

John then had the audacity to regard her crotch, eyes hooded and dreamy.

"Good morning to you, too," he whispered.

Her legs snapped shut, closing his head in a vice grip. Twisting her hips was all it would take to end John's life, to crack his neck, but Cappie had enough impulse control to override the automatic thought.

"Don't ever talk to my pussy again," she hissed.

The hold loosened and of course John responded to her warning with a grin.

"Last night teemed with riveting conversation, at least what I recall. And I can still taste you. I hope I don't forget–"

His words were cut off as Cappie made a move to rise from the floor with shaking legs.

She could feel John scrutinize her, and when her own eyes observed where his landed, Cappie flinched.

Her skin was a muddied canvas of their late night affairs. Bruises the size of fingertips speckled her wrists, hips, shoulders, and thighs, along with a smathering of suck marks all over her neck, breasts, and legs. Cappie became aware of the burning sensation at the cheeks of her ass, no doubt that the flesh there, too, would bear a gallery of–

"You're disgusted."

The words were spoken aloud with a smile, but Cappie was observant, too. In his voice lived an anger. The voice stirred with accusation in it's cadence.

So she laughed.

"Nah, ain't disgusted," she breezed. "Just shocked, I guess."

His smile faltered, and in the rare speechlessness of one John Seed, Cappie saw her own handiwork. His skin bloomed with bruises, scratches, and nips of teeth, a trail of hickeys from his neck to the border of his sparse, pubic hair. Her brows lifted at the line of purple on his right wrist.

"Kinky shit," she blurted.

"Hardly," he sniffed. "But your enthusiasm was certainly enamoring."

"Oh, enamoring? Ha! You were pretty excited yourself there, pretty boy."

John rose from the floor, his joints popping as he straightened and stretched. He chuckled at the way her cheeks warmed, at the coyness daylight brought.

Cappie De La Costa was far from his typical interest. Lean with the toned frame of an athlete that had no business for someone who drank and smoked so much, she lacked the softness John usually found himself drawn to, save for her full ass, he could admit. 

Blunt, brazen, and impulsive. An arbiter of mischief and a grater of his nerves, she repulsed him on purpose and flirted with his temper.

Never would admit it to her face, but John, too, found himself shocked at how erotic their coupling was the night before, his mind supplying images and sensations from the fun and games in rapid fire.

"Maybe I still am," chided John, his eyes drifting over her breasts and sex. Cappie could see how his pupils already started to swallow the blue.

Not to be outdone, Cappie took a step closer. Their smiles matched, devilish and wont for tasting, as her hand reached out to cup his balls and tug at his half hard cock. She relished in the small gasp that left him.

"Sure you are," challenged Cappie. "All talk–"

Fingers then dug into her scalp as John pulled her mouth to his, his trim nails tangling her hair and scraping the tender skin. The kiss hurt before she allowed him more access, his tongue urgent as a groan hummed in his throat.

Their kiss broke as Cappie moved back to the untouched bed, her thighs hitting the edge of the king sized mattress and the cool softness of the navy silk topper. John allowed no more than a foot between them, already following and making her move up the mattress in a rush, blue eyes committing to memory the way her chest rose and fell with hardened nipples, green eyes dilated, and how that signature cheeky smile spread across her plump lips. His own latched on to her throat as Cappie settled back with a sigh, enthused as she gasped when his fingers, those twitchy things, dipped to her sex and found her wet. He sucked hard on her pulse to leave a bruise atop a bruise.

Cappie writhed at his touch, at how he worked her quick and to the point without any fanfare. That's how it was the night before, she remembered, between dabbles of substance use they fucked each other into oblivion, smearing pleasure and pain like watercolors. 

Dark locks of hair were gripped in her hand to yank John away from her throat. The muscles in his face twisted at the discomfort.

"Just do it," she groaned in the shell of his ear. Her hips rolled, starving for stimulation and earning a circling of her clit with the heel of his palm. "Just, just do it–"

John silenced her with his mouth again before rasping, "Take a deep breath."

Cappie did just that as his cock shoved all the way inside her, leaving no time for adjusting. She arched at how he filled her, at the sting of his fingernails in her thighs, the heat of his own gasp.

"Fuck! " he bit out with clenched eyes.

She laughed something breathy and cupped his cheek.

"You almost lost it, didn't you?" Cappie teased, rolling into him. "Almost came like a, like a fucking teenager–"

His hips snapped, burying himself deeper, and shutting Cappie up.

"Please," mocked John while moving to seat her in his lap, lifting her so he could kneel on both knees. "Don't flatter yourself."

The annoyance in his features fell away with each thrust and the lift of her cries.

He knew what he was doing, Cappie could give John that much, and boy was he a sight. 

Locks of dark hair that were typically stylized in top dollar pomade stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead, if not falling over blackened, hooded eyes. The gallery of scars and tattoos glistened in the sun, flesh flush and lean muscle flexing underneath. His full lips, swollen from her own, gaped as he worshiped her, at their joining, at the way John made her breasts bounce with each harsh snap of the hips and the little curses that fell from her mouth like prayers.

And when John caught her, caught Cappie marveling at his body, at the fullness, the friction, drunk on how he made her feel, his pace slowed.

"I get it now," he breathed.

Fingers rubbed at her clit, harsh, forcing her eyes shut and her body to arch.

"I get what all the hype was about. Why Jacob neglected his part so much. You're fucking addicting."

In a last ditch effort to shut John up and to chase that delicious end that he teased so well at her core, Cappie shifted her leg to rest against his shoulder. A warm hand steaded her thigh, grip tight and massaging the thick muscle. John spread Cappie to slot himself with a sloppy kiss against her calf.

A flicker of uncertainty, a foreign thing that didn't seem to belong there, danced across the features of John's face.

Cappie smirked and pat his hip.

"Spit it out, Johnny."

Little crescents joined the bruises on her legs, a punishment for her teasing, she knew, but Cappie didn't care. Her emerald eyes held their playful light, much to John's chagrin, and didn't break the magnetism in the pull of his stare.

"You can."

The words were small and quiet.

But she said them again.

"You can," she whispered with a roll of the hips. "Just fucking fuck me ,  John, Christ."

Never until meeting John Seed did Cappie see madness spread like wildfire so fast in the mind. It overcame him the moment her words registered, in the blues of his eyes, the twitch of his lips, the pace quickening and brutal. The fire that had dulled from his uncertainty roared as his heated body crowded hers, as he folded her because holding her leg just wasn't enough, John had to kiss her, to bite her, to taste her as he buried himself deeper and deeper.

Cappie came in a cry, in writhing, and against a rough kiss. 

A hand snatched her jaw, forcing her to face him, to witness. 

In her sweaty, twitchy high Cappie grinned up at John, watching as his face twisted and his hips stuttered, becoming erratic and wild like his thoughts. He came against her throat, against her fluttering pulse, buried inside her and with a sharp 'Fuck'. John all but collapsed on Cappie, panting and running an open palm up and down her body.

Green eyes observed the elaborate woodwork of his bedroom ceiling, at the twisted iron of the overhead light. Dramatic, but Cappie didn't know why she was surprised.

John still was inside her, softening and quivering. His arms trembled, but he seemed resolved to make their coupling last.

Her tongue wet her lips before she spoke.

"Never thought you as a cuddler–"

"And I never thought you to be so quick to move on from a breakup, but alas, I don't want to let you go. Don't think I could now."

She winced at the wetness of his pulling out, at his victorious smile, and how his words both excited and wounded her tender feelings at the same time.

John laid on his side to hold her face in the palm of his hand, against the scarred cheek to loom over, to pick through her thoughts like a scavenging animal. 

"A stranger to tenderness, aren't you?" she replied. 

He laughed, but there is no humor in the echoes of his high ceilings.

"You're deflecting," cooed John.

"Mm-hm–"

"Horribly so."

"'Kay, ass, then why did you come to the Spread Eagle last night?"

John grinned, all white teeth and vibrant blue eyes.

"I was curious."

Her brow knit, but he continued on. Those devilish fingers found her hair, twirling a curl.

"Jacob just seemed so… sad and told Joseph that he was committed to our cause now more than ever before."

A lump as thick as wet sand formed in her throat, but Cappie shook off the sting of his explanation.

"He, he said that?" she asked.

John paused to think, to torture her, and cocked his head.

"In less words, but yes. And I thought it odd. So 'busy' in the last year, and suddenly so dedicated."

"You're such an asshole–"

"Fine, sure, I'm an asshole, but I had to know–"

"Know what?"

His mouth was upon hers the moment the words fell out, capturing whatever upper hand Cappie thought she had. She gasped at the prick of pain she felt from his teeth to her bottom lip.

"I had to know," he breathed, hot and rasped in the shell of her ear . "I had to know if your madness matched mine. If you're as unhinged as me, as trapped as me. And I think it does. And I meant it. Oh, did I mean it! Now that I have a taste, I don't think I could quit you. I don't want to let go."

Before Cappie could find any words to respond to that , John released her. He pinched a nipple, laughing as Cappie cried and failed to slap him.

"Come shower with me, darling," he sang. "Let me take care of you!"

The echoes of his light footfalls quieted, leaving Cappie in a stupor of a good fuck and turmoil.

"Fuck."

#oc: cappie de la costa #john seed #cappie de la costa x john seed #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfiction

[thieving-magpiexhunting-tiger]

tagged by @naughtynecromancer

Jim

Anger. You are a pot of boiling water, your anger a bubbling liquid that froths and spits, threatening to overflow and destroy everything in its path. It is a consuming fire, an unstoppable force that burns everything in its path, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Please, do not blame me- I was trying to protect you. Every bruise you inflict- trying to return your pain- strays you farther from humanity. When you enter purgatory, you will see the Devil’s face and think of yourself, for your rage turned you into a monster.

Seb

Guilt. Your guilt gnaws at you like a cancer, slowly destroying you from the inside. It is a constant reminder of the mistakes you have made, of the people you have hurt, of the opportunities you have wasted. You deserve to suffer for what you have done, and the only way you can atone is by punishing yourself, by making yourself suffer. You want to torture yourself, knowing you let everything happen, and your pentinence will eat you whole. It is a small price to pay for the pain you have caused others, but do you truly deserve it?

Vic

Disgust. Your disgust is like a rot, a vile and toxic waste that festers and spreads, poisoning everything it touches. It is a feeling that leaves a bad taste in your mouth, a feeling that makes you cringe at the mere thought of it. It is like a disease that spreads, infecting everything in its path. Why do you feel repulsed at the sight of yourself? Is the weight of the world so much that you must push it away? I can see you swallow down your words- the scowl on your face is enough to know why.

#vics was a shock #honestly surprised me wtf

[shouga-nai]

What Emotion Are You?

Disgust.

Your disgust is like a rot, a vile and toxic waste that festers and spreads, poisoning everything it touches. It is a feeling that leaves a bad taste in your mouth, a feeling that makes you cringe at the mere thought of it. It is like a disease that spreads, infecting everything in its path. Why do you feel repulsed at the sight of yourself? Is the weight of the world so much that you must push it away? I can see you swallow down your words- the scowl on your face is enough to know why.

Guilt.

Your guilt gnaws at you like a cancer, slowly destroying you from the inside. It is a constant reminder of the mistakes you have made, of the people you have hurt, of the opportunities you have wasted. You deserve to suffer for what you have done, and the only way you can atone is by punishing yourself, by making yourself suffer. You want to torture yourself, knowing you let everything happen, and your penitence will eat you whole. It is a small price to pay for the pain you have caused others, but do you truly deserve it?

Denial.

Your denial is like a thick fog, obscuring your view and making it difficult to see the truth. It is a comfortable lie, a way to avoid the harsh reality of your situation. It is like a cloud that hangs over your head, a veil that hides your true feelings from yourself and the world. Poor soul, you can’t even look into the mirror without denying reality. It’s not your fault- you can blame everyone else. When you’re done, you’ll see what you truly desire.

Tagged by: @healingbrews Tagging: @electric-ecclectic , @featherchan and anyone else who's keen!

#just for fun || dash games #oof ;; #dossier #north winds || genji #enigmatic smiles || hakkai #glacial waltz || kaeya

[cupidzgf]

Hi! I suck at requests and I don’t know if you take them. But if you do, can you write more hange x reader? It’s just so hard to find fics like that and your writing it’s SOOOOO AMAZING.

If not, just ignore it. Lots of love ❤️

𝖠 𝖲𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌

aww thank you, that means a lot to me. i hope this one was just as good as the last!

a quiet, as serene as an ocean wave enveloping the shore, fills the room, charging it with energy. it's nice, you think. you could almost get used to the silence- the serenity of it all. 

there's a knock at the door, a voice, and the retreating steps of a soldier that are the painful reminder the stability you cling to is on borrowed time, a stolen moment out of hundreds. 

then you're back to work, out of the warm embrace of your lover, shrugging on your uniform, letting your fingers work the straps like they've had hundreds of times. each one pilling on top like a weighted blanket, a comfort in the uncertainty surrounding the new…well, everything. your little world was changing faster than you could wrap your mind around, faster than you could catch up to. 

marley is outside that door, waiting with bated breath for the destruction and death you're going to bring if you follow eren's plan. you've dammed your soul the moment you took the life of another in vain, but when will it stop? when can you fall down the path of redemption if you can't forsake tarnishing the lives of others? 

a body, sheathed in blankets, tentatively brushes your hunched figure on the cot you share. hands roam over the clothed plains of your back, making a point to trace the knobs of your spine, fascinated- almost curious. the word explained hange better than any other. 

"we have to go." you hate the way they taste on your tongue, they're vile words, and you're repulsed by how they slip so easily past you. its an excuse to leave and return the world that demands your abilities while you still have the will to do so. 

"i know."

it's a truth you can barely swallow with a shudder down. the world, even fate itself, awaits outside your door, one that will spare no mercy and claw its way to your throats until you suffocate under the pile of bodies you've created. you crave a moment longer with her more than anyone could know, desperately reaching for the clock to turn it back and grant yourself more of the affection hange graciously affords you. however, you, of all people, should know time is a luxury you cannot afford. 

hange's body presses behind you in such a way you can feel the curve of her breasts, the weight of her touch settling heavily over your weary limbs. 

"one more moment." it's a plea, out in the open with desire laid bare, whispered from lips that press a kiss to the junction of your neck. if only it were so easy to ignore the fighting outside this room, then maybe you could cling to your last shreds of humanity with the person fighting the same sins as you. 

"we can't." 

you two were a secret in the shadows, lust hidden behind comradery. yet it didn't stop these instances you stole from losing any value, and if you could, you would never leave. if it was that simple, you would have abandoned this regiment long ago. 

it's a cold reality you had pledged yourself to, tugging you away farther and farther from a distant future you two could have. doomed to the very thing you swore to give your life to. 

"the mission."

it's all the reminder she needs to know where your thoughts are leading to, and like the good soldier she is, hange lets you go, heading for their own uniform in the mess it was taken off in. 

you want nothing more than to erase the trace of sadness from her face, wipe her clean of any hurt, and beg for forgiveness no matter what it costs, no matter the cause. 

only, the cause is your life, a dream you promised each other to put before the other. it's how it had to be. soldiers couldn't afford to lose themselves in emotions. not even the ones who deserved that freedom the most. 

you let the door close behind you in an effort to forget the pain you've caused by fulfilling your duties. it doesn't work.

#hange x reader #hange x you #hange x y/n #hange zoe aot #hange attack on titan #hange zoe x reader #hange zöe #hange aot #major angst #lots and lots of angst #attack on titan

[oppositeurmama]

The Bear and the maiden fair (Bjorn X Reader)

A/N - this contains smut with dubious consent! I don’t want anyone to get triggered, so if you are not comfortable with this, pls don’t read! <3

Warnings; violence, dub-con

P.s - I don’t condone any of the following actions, I find it repulsive.

The castle had been stormed hours ago. The villagers had died first, slaughtered in their homes and in their forges, the blacksmiths branded with their own tools, the butchers sliced and diced like prized hogs. And after the village had been burned to the ground, the plunderers came to the castle. They forced down the great oak doors, killed any who stood in their way. 

My father had been the first to die. He’d been on his throne when one of the barbarians had launched a spear, and it hit him straight through the gullet, the sharp iron tip pinning him into the wood backrest. My mother had been the second to die, after she screamed for god to help. 

But the gods were cruel. They didn’t listen to women anymore, even high-born ones like me, even though i was the lucky one. As my family were gutted, i had hid in the only place i could dare think to hide; my bedroom. It wasn’t a clever or sneaky place to hide, to be true, but the door locked and there was only one key, and i was the sole owner.

***

Hours passed. The screams filled my castle, blood splattered the wall and stained the cobbled floors, and those damned screams and pleas of help fell on deaf ears, forgotten by the barbaric cries of the savages who seeked only to slaughter, to take and to take, to never give back. 

I was beneath my bed when the door came crashing down. A great axe stuck through the wood and stripped back the bark, hack hack hack! I held my breath, placed my hands over my mouth as my chest heaved, seeking sanctuary in the dark low confines underneath my wooden bed. 

The door opened, squealing on iron hinges. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The viking stepped through the doorway, treading heavy over chunks of splintered wood and debris. “Princess.” He called, in a growling rasp. “You ran, little princess, and we didn’t know where.” The viking walked across the vast expanse of my room and he dragged his sword against the floor, the iron sparking against the cobbles. “i found you, princess. And now . . .” 

I swallowed a sob and the scraping of his sword stopped. He turned on his heel and before i could barely comprehend, he’d gripped my ankle and pulled me out from under the bed. “You’re mine!”

He pinned me down, and I glanced up at him, too frightened to dare speak, my words catching in my throat, my tongue growing fat from fear. And despite my terror, no tears fell. “Bjorn ironside.” I said, shakily. “You’re Bjorn Ironside.”

A flash of moonlight set his face alight. His smile was cruel and thin. “I am.” He admitted, and my jaw trembled. My chest heaved with the effort it took to breath and not scream for help, or even to sob. “Are you going to kill me?”

Bjorn smiled and gripped my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He studied me as though i was a fine piece of art-work, his favourite book, a goddess of lore. Finally, he spoke. “No, i won’t kill you. You’re too . . . sweet, for a thing like that, princess.”

I tensed my shoulders, but his eyes were too bright, almost eerie. They cut through me like glass, stripped me bare, left me ashamed and uneasy. His voice was a low, guttural rasp. “Will you fight me, little princess?” He questioned, raising my hands above my head. “Will you beg me to stop?” He took a small dagger from the leather throng at his side, and used it to divulge me of clothing. 

I shook my head. “No.” I said, quietly, too meek to even resist. I truly beleived that, even if i tried to protest or even raise my knee to that tender spot between his legs, he’d beat me black and bloody. 

At my answer, the Viking smiled. “Good.” 

The stone floor was cold against my back. Even if i wanted to fight, i couldn’t. He was too heavy, covering me with his bulk. His hands were rough and careless against my skin, as the icy blade of his dagger slit the soft silk of my bodice and when he lowered his face to kiss me, i tasted blood.

Bjorn’s fingers were mean and cruel against my warm skin, and they travelled to my core, only to find me dry. He grunted against my mouth, irked. When we parted, i turned my face to the side, wrinkled my nose up in disgust. 

Bjorn chuckled lowly and spat on his hand, then lowered it between my legs. “Don’t worry, princess.” He assured, slipping a thick finger into my cunt. “You’ll learn to like this soon enough.” 

It was uncomfortable and foreign. I squirmed and his hot, hungry mouth lowered to bite and nip and kiss my neck. I tried to lift my torso, but he was impossible to move. “Don’t.” I said, harshly. 

He raised his face and smiled. I spat in his face. 

His eyes grew cold, like pale blue ice. It frightened me, and my heart beat heavy and hard beneath my chest, thump thump thump, faster than a snared rabbit’s. “Fiesty, huh?” He questioned, and laughed cruelly. 

The swollen head of his cock was at my entrance. He was big, and he was brutal. With one hand pinning my arms above my head, the other gripped my hip, leaving bruises in his wake. and with one sharp thrust, i wept. 

His jaw clenched and, as though he was punishing me, Bjorn pulled his hips back hard if only to slam back inside me again. The metal of his armour scratched my tender skin, and my cunt burned around his cock, raw and red and aflame.

His movements grew more frenzied, the harsh thrusting depriving me of air in my lungs. His hand firmly squeezed my hip, my back hit the ground hard, and then  I collided against his torso the next. It was almost as if we were fighting instead of coupling. When he thrust forward and the tip of his dick hit my cervix painfully, a bolt of hot pain shot through my stomach when he slammed back into me, harder than before. I shut my eyes and yelped. 

He grimaced and pushed me back to the floor, with his hand forcing my arms into the stones. His groin bumped against my sensitive mound, assuring that no trace of my precious maidenhead remained. “Hold onto me.” He grunted, lifting up one of my thighs. 

I glanced over his muscular shoulder, my eyes trained on the ceiling and the twinkling chandelier, though in the gloom everything was unrecognizable. I did as he bid, wrapped my legs around his hips and looped my arms around his neck, unwilling to fight anymore. 

When Bjorn thrust inside me, it didn’t hurt as much. Encouraged, i clutched at him as tightly as i could, the smell of sweat and blood filling my nostrils, the sound of his moans vibrating against the shell of my ear. I arched my back and predicted his cruel thrusting, and slowly, the friction from Bjorn’s cock pounding away at my cunt managed to rouse a queer tickling sensation at the pit of my stomach. My eyelids grew heavy.

Bjorn lowered his other hand to palm my breast, pushing aside the silk fabric of my slashed dress, as he rolled my hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You like that, princess?”

My cunt clenched at his incessant pounding. I dug my nails into the tanned nape of his neck, and whimpered. He pressed his warm lips to mine and kissed me, tasting strongly of iron. His beard scratched my face, and he plunged his tongue deeper into my mouth. He brought his hand between our bodies and i flinched, expecting more pain, only to find pleasure; hot, flashing bolts of pleasure. 

The friction of his manhood as he tirelessly impaled me, and the queer warmth which was pooling in my stomach tainted my thoughts. I moaned into his mouth and he cursed, “Fuck.” 

Beneath him, my whole body shook when he played with my clit. I hit my peak, toes curling, back arching, breasts pushed flat against his muscled chest, quivering and whimpering beneath him, my gasps and pleas smothered by his hot, hungry mouth. And with my climax, came his. 

Bjorn shoved himself to the hilt and uttered a long, low growl. He kept me flush against him for more than a moment, and after a few desperate thrusts, he stiffened and collapsed, crushing me beneath his bulk.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. When he pulled out and leaned back on his heels, lifting up my silk skirts to look admiringly at my tender pussy, he grinned. Between my thighs was a sticky mess of cum and blood. He leaned down and licked the entirety of my cunt from hole to mound, and i pushed him away, too tender to be played with. “Please.” I begged, shaking my head. “No more.” 

Bjorn crawled atop me and wedged his knee between my thighs to keep me from closing them. “Easy now, princess.” He muttered, capturing my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me rough and i tasted blood, my blood, on his tongue. “You’re mine.” He said, finally. “All mine.”

#Bjorn #bjorn ironside #vikings #ragnar #ragnar lothbrok #ivar #ivar the boneless #sigur #sigurd snake in the eye #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarrson #hvitserk lothbrok #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #aslaug #vikings smut #bjorn smut #bjorn lemon #bjorn ironside dub-con

[nocturnal-slut]

Nsfw alphabet of c!Techno?

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After a scene, Techno is a complete different person. During a scene Techno is completely rough (most of the time) but after the scene, Techno is making sure 100% that everything you need is met. This man will run you the perfect bath or if you're too tired for that, know that he is cleaning you up and then holding you while he tells you the story of Thesus for the 100th time. He will get anything for you after a scene, name it and he'll be right there with it

―――――――――――

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part of his are his hands, he just loves how nice they look around your throat, especially when they're covered in blood after a fight. Just seeing how his bloody hands are so mesmerizing around your throat

It's hard for Techno to pick a favourite body part of yours, its a tie between your shoulders and your hair. He likes your shoulders since he's able to bite down enough to draw enough blood that there isn't too much of an injury to you. He also likes your hair since its easy to pull when you're being a brat

―――――――――――

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Being a pig hybrid and all, Techno has a huge breeding kink on certain days. Most of the time he prefers to see you swallow his cum but on other days, he goes for multiple rounds until his cum is dripping out of you

―――――――――――

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's addicted to smelling you, knowing every little detail even. How you taste, how you smell, what makes you tic, he wants to know you better than you know yourself

―――――――――――

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's kind of sex repulsed, however he does have a lot of knowledge under his belt. You're lucky to see how rabid Techno can become in the moment

―――――――――――

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Techno likes to see your face while he's destroying you, doesn't mean doggy isn't out of the question however, easier to spank your ass when you do something without his permission

―――――――――――

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Techno is always pretty serious. During aftercare he can become pretty goofy but during the actual scene, he's completely serious in the act. Degrading, praising, worshiping, everything he does is with complete seriousness. Sex is often very serious for him. It takes a lot of planning and conversation to do quite a bit of the stuff he likes to do. He wants to know everything you want; how you’re feeling at that moment; if anything has changed; if you’re in the correct emotional state. He has to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as he does.

―――――――――――

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Its a reasonable amount, just a couple pink curls

―――――――――――

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Techno likes to be intimate with those he cares about and trusts, he is definitely very loving during the moment. Whether its a slow loving scene or a rougher scene, he will always have a hand on your waist, his lips on your neck marking every part of your skin showing his affection

―――――――――――

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he's off on missions with Phil and you can't come, Techno will definitely jerk off to the thought of you or if you just aren't in the mood, he'll happily just jerk off

―――――――――――

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Such a massive blood kink, this man craves the taste and smell of your blood. (And if you're afab, know very well that he will not hesitate to fuck you when you're on your period).

He also has a huge breeding kink although he refuses to admit it, he blames it on his piglin side, making him want to fill you up and watch you swell with his children although the idea of being a father actually scares him

―――――――――――

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers to do it somewhere in private, most of the time your shared bedroom (altho the training room isn't out of the question). Techno likes bending you over objects, usually a counter or desk and having his way with you. Though having you tied up is also great. He wants you at his mercy, completely dependant on him.

―――――――――――

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you get cocky he won't hesitate to just flip you over and completely ruin you until you're begging for him to stop because its you're so overstimulated and overwhelmed

―――――――――――

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He is completely turned off at the thought of hurting you, cutting you for blood or hair pulling he can handle but anything harsher than that he doesn't trust himself with. As much as he'd wish to, he is terrified about what the voices would try to tell him if he went too far

―――――――――――

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He much prefers giving you oral, he won't say no to a blowjob but he's much more into watching you squirm and squeeze your legs around him in pleasure

―――――――――――

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Its a mix of the two depending on his mood. He loves to have his slow, romantic, sensual scenes especially before he goes on a mission or a war, makes him motivated to do well and come home. But for the most part, he prefers fast and rough scenes. Depending on the type of sex you’re having, he’ll grab/touch different parts of your body (more so than everything else, at least). When it’s slow sex, he’ll grab your hands, intertwining them with his own, kissing them, just being very soft. However, during rougher sex, he likes your shoulders and butt. Biting, kissing, licking, grabbing, kneading.

―――――――――――

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If you are a mission with him, a quickie is a good way for you two to just get off but for the most part, Techno doesn't like them, he likes taking his time with you and he can't have that with quickies

―――――――――――

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Techno is down to trying anything at least once, mention to him and he's down to try

―――――――――――

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Techno will make sure you come a few times before he even thinks about coming himself. His minimum amount of rounds is 4 but he could definitely go for more if you're up for it

―――――――――――

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He's not a fan of toys, he finds no point in them. He will use rope to tie you up or blindefolds but that's pretty much it. He sees it as if he can do it, there's no point for a toy

―――――――――――

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a complete tease, he likes restraining you so he can have his own way with you, gives him such an ego boost

―――――――――――

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not very loud, maybe a grunt or two, he prefers to use his words. Praising and worshiping how well you look under him, degrading if you're not obeying him

―――――――――――

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is embarrassed about a fantasy of his. Techno wears a crown, and as a kid he used to be referred to as a prince. Well now he likes to imagine he has a throne. He’s thought about you worshipping his cock with your mouth while he sits on his throne. He probably would never bring up this fantasy with you but if you ever mention something like that, he will be quick to agree.

―――――――――――

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s more average in length down there but thick as all hell. There will be a burn as he stretches you but trust me, it will feel good~

―――――――――――

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive pretty much matches your own, if you're horny just ask him and he will be on you. He has made his match yours so he'll always be ready when you are

―――――――――――

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Techno already doesn't sleep a lot, when he does, he makes sure you're asleep way long before him, just wants to make sure you know you're safe and loved

#nocturnal sin #nocturnal technoblade #technoblade smut #technoblade x reader smut #mcyt smut

[startanewdream]

Written for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily Prompt #7 (Ice cream + "I don't want anybody else touching you like I do).

Tumblr exclusive at the moment because I don't have a title and the 'happy ending' part of the 'angst with a happy ending' was lost somewhere.

Rated M.

I will love to hear your thoughts about this!

_______________

I.

She is at the end of her round, going towards his cabin—her friends’ cabin, though Lily knows exactly who she is hoping to meet there—when she hears it.

‘—and Potter, what a waste. He won’t ever join him.’

‘We should just wipe him away. Blood traitor, muggle lover—’

‘You mean mudblood lover, Severus?’ Avery’s voice is tinted with malice and there are snickers around. ‘Potter and Evans seem pretty close nowadays. Do you think she gives him everything she denied you?’

‘I would never filth myself,’ comes Snape’s cold reply. ‘If he is tainting his blood, all the worse for him.’

Taint his blood. Is this what Lily’s presence does to James? Is she putting him in a danger he didn’t need to be just by being closer to him?

It’s Snape’s words and she shouldn’t listen to him—the days where she would hear him, would admire him, are long gone—but when she finally reaches the cabin (when James grins at the sight of her, bright and warm, and her heart skips a beat and Lily has to smile back), she sits away from James.

‘Anything wrong?’ he asks, familiar enough to read the tension on her face.

‘No, all normal,’ Lily says, and it’s the first lie.

______

II.

It’s summer and everyone is out of age now and apparating makes things so easy that Lily finds herself less and less at home during that break.

She tells herself it’s because she is avoiding the presence of her sister’s annoying fiance; she blames the fact that Dorcas has a beach house and it’s so much better spending days swimming and tanning; she even goes introspective to blame the pressure of the war looming over them in a way that means she needs to enjoy the last summer break before real life gets them.

But she knows the reason is James.

She finds herself gravitating towards him, unable to resist that attraction even as she knows how dangerous it is for him. Once or twice Lily thinks of telling him about it, of warning how he is stupidly raising his stakes by being near her, but she gives up only for the fact that this (might drive him away and she doesn't want it, not really) would probably just make him want to be even closer to her.

And they are already alarmingly close.

Once Lily would have been repulsed by that idea, but one year later everything has changed—James has changed—and everything about him appeals to her. The way he cares for everyone around him. The way he smiles patiently whenever he is explaining something. The way he grins as if to invite the world to share a great funny joke with him. How he runs his hand through his hair when he’s nervous. How he is so expansive that he seems to occupy any room he is in. How he loves flying, even more than Quidditch, and how relaxed he seems when he is on a broom. How he talks to her, taking it seriously when she needs to and making a joke when things get too serious. How he opens up about his own life and doubts and listens to her.

That would make them friends, really good friends, but then Lily’s heart would not stop racing when he’d touched her hand, or when their knees would bump while sitting closely in the library and then she was forced to note all the physical aspects—the muscles of his arms, the shape of full lips, the line of his jaw, the hazel kaleidoscope of his eyes and how fit he was—and give up any belief her feelings were limited to a friendship.

She fancies him, okay.

Except it’s not okay, because it’s dangerous and by now Lily is positive that James knows it too. Everyone knows it.

They end up together, just the two of them, a lot during that summer. It takes Lily a few days to realize it’s not a coincidence that her interests never align with those of her friends—if she wants to swim, somehow it’s only her and James in the sea; at night, even though it’s still so warm, they are the only ones who venture into the pool for a midnight swim, while the others stay stubbornly indoors.

When Lily suggests going to town to grab an ice cream, somehow James is the only one who is in the mood for it, despite the heat.

It’s not on purpose from his part—at least that’s how Lily sees it—but he isn’t refusing her company either and neither is she refusing his, so James’ boldness flourishes that summer. It’s not cocky as it once would be, it’s just a quiet acceptance that something is finally happening between them as if he never stopped believing it would be possible. Lily feels it when he throws his arm around her shoulders when they are sitting close, almost absently, almost not noticing when Lily lays her head over his shoulder; it’s there when he openly gawks the first time he sees her in a swimming suit, only to be nudged in the ribs by Sirius and then complimenting her ('good thing you wear robes at school, Evans, or there wouldn’t be much schoolwork done'). It’s definitely there when he intertwines their hands, pulling her to the sea with him.

And it’s there when they are sitting closer than they would need for a bench so wide, watching seagulls flying over the sea, each one holding an ice cream.

‘Chocolate chips with chocolate cover and chocolate sprinkles,’ James teases. ‘I think you have an addiction, Lily.’

‘Guilty,’ she replies, not ashamed at all, proving her ice cream and very aware of how James is staring at her. ‘It’s better than asking for vanilla ice cream.’

‘Hey!’ He would look deeply offended if not for the grin on his lips. ‘I’ll let you know vanilla is the best flavour.’

‘Never took you for a vanilla guy, James.’

‘What would take me for? The adventurous gorgeous type?’

Lily laughs, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to lie to him and deny it.

‘Attractive mysterious type, then?’ he insists. ‘Handsome scoundrel?’

‘I notice your beauty is enhanced a lot.’

‘My beauty? So you admit that I’m beautiful, Evans?’

‘Do I need to? You seem to already know it.’

‘I enjoy hearing you saying all the same,’ he says, and though James shrugs easily she can sense the shift in his eyes, the nervous glint there. ‘That means we would make a beautiful couple.’

‘We would,’ she whispers, still not wanting to lie.

She turns back her attention to the ice cream, already melting under the scorching sun. It makes a mess, and James laughs as she tries to lick the ice cream out of her hands, but then his laugh dies and she watches him swallow slowly, reacting. He always reacts to her.

She licks her lips now, and he also watches this movement, the grin on his face replaced by concentration—no, determination, a fierce look and Lily knows what James will do even before he raises his hand to slide his thumb at the corner of her mouth.

‘You missed here,’ he says, and though he must have wiped off the ice cream already, his caress remains.

His eyes are dark now, even under the sunlight, and he registers how Lily hasn’t stepped back, how she raises her head just the slightest to get closer to him. His gaze strays to her lips, Lily blinks, and then James looks back at her.

‘Lily,’ he says, and it’s a question.

‘James,’ she says, and it’s the only answer she can give him.

His lips find hers and in the bright darkness that surrounds Lily when she closes her eyes, she can see everything in colour. The white of his taste of vanilla. The green of his perfume that reminds her of early mourning in the woods. The brown of his skin as he pulls her closer, one hand holding the back of her neck and the other hand finding hers, locking their fingers together. The red of her blood pumping furiously through her veins, so loud and unstoppable.

And she sees him, messy dark hair, hazel bright eyes, her own sun.

But when they break apart, when she watches him keeping his eyes closed a second longer—savouring it, remembering it—, all that comes to her mind it’s the warning.

Taint his blood.

Her smile falters.

‘James,’ she whispers, all warmth of the day gone, hating everything but herself so much more when he opens his eyes and they are filled with hope. ‘This doesn’t mean anything.’

And this is the second lie she tells him.

___________

III.

Summer is over as far as Lily is concerned, but they still have two weeks in which she forces a smile up to her lips that doesn’t fool anyone.

Everyone knows something happened, though no one knows exactly what, and Lily feels too tired to pretend everything is normal. James barely acknowledges her when they are in the same room, and in the few occasions their eyes meet, there is nothing of that familiarity that he once thrived to share with her. He looks confused and hurt.

Lily could deal with the confusion but she is powerless against the hurt. She is the one who damaged him after all.

Their friends are mostly adamant in letting them deal with the situation, one notable exception being Sirius Black, but Lily didn’t expect anything less from him. He watches her rather resentfully in the first days, and Lily starts looking for excuses to avoid attending the events she had carefully arranged with them (with James, sitting by the edge of the lake, holding a scroll against his back as they wrote everything they would do, laughing and planning and hoping).

The summer days are hot, unbearably hot, and the breeze that comes through the window of her room isn’t enough. She could cast a Cooling Charm, but her wand is far away and the fact that she can cast spells outside school has lost its appeal now. She doesn't even celebrate when her school letter comes with a badge attached to it.

Most of the time Lily just stares at the ceiling of her room, finding patterns in the painting that aren’t really there, too strained and too tired to avoid being even more strained—her mind keeps replaying the moment James leaned closer, the brief moment his breath tingled her skin and the softness of his lips over hers, and Lily has no strength to avoid it. She is addicted to it, to the one thing she had a taste of and cannot have again.

Five days into hiding (she is hiding, Lily won’t deny it), her sister knocks on her door to tell her unceremoniously that one of her freak friends has come to visit her.

‘Hurry, I don’t want Vernon finding him when he arrives,’ Petunia tells her, and Lily ignores her completely.

Him, she said. Him, Lily thinks, and her mind conjures James sitting on the couch of her parents’ living room, a grin on his lips as he charms his way with her parents (he charmed her, Lily doesn’t see what challenge her parents would present), accepting a cup of tea and looking around trying to understand all the muggle contraptions in that muggle house—

Muggle lover. All the worse for him.

She rushes downstairs, her heart pounding on her head, her mouth dry with the excuses she will have to present (go away, just go away) but it’s not James after all.

Sirius looks even more out of place than the James she imagined inside her head, standing with his arms crossed in that pastel living room, and with an unhappy grimace on his lips. He turns at the sound of her, his grey eyes burning disapprovingly—and then, as he stares at her, his expression shifts.

‘You are a mess, Evans.’

Self-consciousness washes over her, and Lily runs her hand through her hair—or tries to, because it gets stuck in the knots of her messy braid. She knows she hasn’t changed clothes ever since she woke up, though it’s nearly midday, so she does the only thing she can: she presses her lips, crosses her arms and tries to look unfazed.

‘I wasn’t expecting a visit,’ she says. It’s summer break, she can do nothing all day.

‘I didn’t even mean your appearance. It was more your… aura.’

‘Aura,’ she repeats, a tiny part of her finding this amusing, but Lily can’t muster strength enough to break a smile. ‘Very mystical, Sirius.’

‘That’s me, master of occult arts. But in this case, I just needed to look at you. You—you look miserable.’

‘Thanks. If that’s all you wanted to say—’

‘Oh, no, I came here to give you a piece of my mind about how you broke my best friend’s heart, but you look somehow worse than him. What’s going on?’

Lily shrugs. ‘Nothing.’

‘So you just decided to play with his feelings and ditch him the moment he corresponded?’

His words are a poison that crawls through her skin, entering it slowly but certain; Lily feels it reaching her bloodstream, spreading through every part of her body, until the poison finds her heart. She thought she was oblivious to pain after the last days, but she was wrong.

‘I wasn’t playing with his feelings,’ she whispers, her voice hoarse, so close to breaking.

‘Then what? I thought—everyone thought—you fancied him too. Merlin, Evans, that boy was in love with you.’

The worst part is that Lily knows it. It was not a play to James, it never was. She saw it in the way his face lighted up at the sight of her, how eager he was to become friends once Lily first extended her peace flag. She saw how his eyes always looked first for her in any room he entered, how he’d find any reason to stay closer.

And she saw everything because she was paying attention.

Of course she was. One does not fall in love also if not paying attention.

‘I don’t know what to say, Sirius,’ Lily says truthfully. ‘I am sorry for all the confusion I’ve caused.’

‘Sorry is not enough.’

‘I know.’

Sirius watches her with something that borders on disappointment now. ‘You better find a way of fixing this, Evans.’

‘I—I don’t know how. I’m trying to keep my distance—’

‘And how is that helping you two?’

It’s not, Lily knows, and that’s the point. She can’t explain to James what is the problem and she is afraid that if she sees him again, if her determination falters her for one second—

‘We are going to have a party tomorrow night,’ Sirius says, his voice leaving no room for argument. ‘Dorcas’ house. It’s a goodbye party, we even invited the muggle neighbours. You’ll come, you’ll find James and you’ll talk. Fix this.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You better find a way, Evans, because that thing of keeping your distance? Well, Hogwarts letter came yesterday. Let me guess, you are Head Girl.’

Lily nods, not understanding where Sirius is heading with this.

‘Guess who’s Head Boy this year?’

____________

Lily hears the music as soon as she disapparates near Dorcas’ house. People, young people around her age, are walking towards the house and she joins the flow letting herself get lost in that stream of people, hoping it’s enough to not draw attention to her presence.

It’s useless. As soon as she crosses the doorway, Dorcas cries for her, her voice louder than the music, and then people look at her curiously.

‘Merlin, Lily!’ Dorcas cries, ignoring everyone in the room to whom that sentence makes no sense. ‘I thought I would need to invade the Prefect’s Cabin to see you again.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Lily says, accepting Dorcas’ hug, and using it as an excuse to avoid looking around. ‘I had stuff to do.’

It’s vague, it’s almost a lie, and Dorcas is on the edge of discussing it when Lily says she is going to get a drink, leaving the room.

When she reaches the kitchen, Lily considers that having herself questioned by Dorcas was preferable, because of course she runs into James at the first opportunity.

And of course he already has a company.

He is with his back to her, holding a bottle of beer in his hand while he talks with a pretty dark-haired girl. In another time Lily would find amusing how James obviously has no idea what he’s talking about—muggle rock bands, a subject that Sirius would fare better—, but she can’t break a smile right now, because she sees that James is trying.

That’s what he is doing with that unknown girl. He is making a real effort to keep a conversation, trying to understand what she is saying; he is trying to look interesting, to gather her attention.

Ten days, she thinks selfishly. We kissed ten days ago and I can’t stop thinking about it and you are flirting with another girl.

He must sense her staring; he turns around, and his eyes find her for a brief second before Lily bolts through the door (she is running, and she won’t deny it), grabbing the first bottle she sees on her way out.

Sirius must have lied to her (you broke my best friend’s heart), because James looks normal. Not hurt anymore, just… normal. Not like he used to like her in those first glorious days of the summer—bright and hopeful and awaiting—but as if she is just anyone else. Ordinary.

It’s fair, all things considered. She couldn’t expect him to remain in love with the girl who kissed him then rejected him. But she sees it, clearly as day, what the future holds: James will move on whatever he feels for her (that boy was in love with you) and then he will do with someone else everything he used to do with her—that inviting grins, the glint in his eyes, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, so… intimate. Familiar. Hers.

He will share with others what used to be hers.

She leaves the house, in search of a quiet place at the beach to sit on, and looks at the bottle in her hands. Wine. Not good. She will take forever to get drunk on wine and afterwards the headache won’t even be worth it.

But it’s all she has and James is somewhere in that house flirting with a girl (that’s not her) that didn’t reject him and he has every right to do it. Even if it’s a muggle girl. Even if the reason Lily is not with him is that she is muggleborn.

It’s ironic and it’s sad, but it’s not the same. This is a one-night thing. It’s the end of the summer, he’s probably just looking for the last bit of carefree summer adventure as the single guy he is. They will just dance with each other, close together, enjoying their freedom, finding a secluded room, and he will touch the corner of her lips, asking, and she will say yes because that’s the only answer she can give him.

It won’t mean anything, but this time it will be true and this time James won’t get hurt by it.

Maybe Lily should do the same. Not to get even, but to start her own way forward. She can’t be harbouring her feelings for him—wasn’t that the point of not advancing things? Wasn’t that why she lied to him? (That kiss had meant everything)

She takes a sip of the wine, then another and one more for good measure, and she rises, almost colliding with him. Of course.

‘Hey,’ he says awkwardly, arms extended to steady her. It lasts less than a second, but his hands over her arms burn all the same, stronger than the heat any day of that summer.

‘Hi.’

He is looking at a point over her head, unable to meet her eyes, his hand lifting the hair at the back of his head and Lily remembers running her fingers through the strands of his hair while they were kissing, enjoying the fact that for once she was the one messing it.

‘Look, I’m just gonna say it, okay?’ James says in a rush, not as when he is excitedly talking about something he finds interesting. ‘I’m sorry for—for everything.’

Everything. What does it mean?

‘I am too,’ she answers carefully. He takes a deep breath.

‘I heard we are going to be Heads this year—I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking, really—and I don’t want things to be weird between us.’

Weird. Things were never weird between them before. They weren’t friends, then Lily barely stood him, then they were acquaintances, then they were friends, then they were flirting with each other and then they were so close to something.

But never weird.

Somehow this notion helps to clear the fog in her head.

‘I don’t want it either,’ Lily says, and there is no doubt in her voice. James seems to breathe again with her words.

‘Good.’ There is a moment of silence. ‘Can we forget everything and go back to being just friends?’

Lily steels herself. She takes a look at James’ face—his eyes are on her forehead now, almost meeting her eyes but not yet ready—, one last look to admire him in the darkness of the beach and she is not lying when she says: ‘We can.’

By the end of the night it will be a lie, though, and that’s number three.

___________

They are trying and because no one tries better than James Potter, they are almost achieving it.

They go back to the house, keeping a safe distance between them so no one could misinterpret it, but whatever their friends see in their faces seems to relax everyone. Lily and James are fine, they believe, they are over that weird thing between them, and Lily starts believing it too.

She can do it.

A bottle of gin finds its way towards her group and the music is exciting. It’s a party, she is on a party, and it’s easy to join Dorcas in the middle of a dance, and it’s even easier when Dorcas is replaced by a cute muggle boy who doesn’t look anything like James (that’s why it’s easier—it takes only one second for her to look for any similarity and find none and it’s so easy).

She wonders if that’s why James was talking to that dark-haired girl. If he was avoiding finding Lily in someone else too.

But that’s a bad thought, it’s not a thought of someone who’s trying (and Lily is, she swears), so she accepts his arms, let who-knows-his-name twirl her around the room, but when he leans in to kiss her, she laughs and diverts—she is trying, but it takes small steps, so she says something about getting another drink and goes to the next room.

That’s a mistake.

A big, big mistake.

She finds them sitting close together on a couch that should only fit one, joining some silly drinking game. His arm is around her shoulders, holding a glass that’s nearly finished; they are laughing and as Lily watches it, the girl leans closer to speak something in his ear, her hand playing with the curls of his hair as she speaks. It takes a full second, but he grins, turning to her and winking.

It could be nothing, it could be just some joke, but it’s not harmless, Lily knows it. It’s a flirt, and James has every right to do it; he is free and Lily has just told him they can be friends. Friends don’t get jealous. Friends don’t get their hearts ripped out with the sight of the other smiling happily at someone else.

Lily can’t do it at all.

So she turns away and runs once more (she’s getting quite good at it by now), sprinting upstairs in search of an empty room, somewhere where she can rest until she can breathe again, until she can rearrange her expression into something normal enough for her to come back to the party, find that blond guy who is not James and enjoy her summer break as he is doing right now.

Until she can pretend everything is normal.

‘Lily?’

His voice breaks the silence of that room—though Lily knows she would have heard it anyway—and it sends a wave of panic through her body. She is not ready. She can’t look at him and still keep her promise.

James doesn’t know about her troubles—he is trying after all, and he is so much better at this than Lily will ever be—so he walks towards her, takes a look at her face and kneels in front of her.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No,’ she says, unable to lie. He would see through her anyway.

‘I saw you leaving—what happened?’

‘I need more time. I can’t...’

‘Can’t what?’ She doesn’t answer. James sighs. ‘Are you drunk? Come on, rest a little, I will bring you some water—’

‘I’m not drunk,’ Lily says. Another truth. ‘I just need—I want—’

‘What?’

In answer, she raises her hand and lets her fingers comb his hair. He shivers, his breath catching, his eyes widening and he holds her arm to stop the movement. Nervous. Insecure. She can’t fault him. They’ve been there before, at the edge of something, and she accepted only to turn him away a second later.

‘What are you doing?’

It’s a demand more than a question, and Lily attends it. ‘I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do. It’s mine.’

Her voice is ferocious and unfair and Lily waits for his cold reply, the one she deserves—she has no right to claim any part of him—, but it never comes. Instead, James blinks.

‘Then take it,’ he challenges. Lily does.

Her lips crash over his, and this time is not soft or patient. It’s desperate and when she tastes the whiskey in his mouth, she understands the difference and gladly accepts it. His hands are everywhere—holding her waist, climbing under her skirt, running through her hair to pull her closer—but what somehow stays with her it’s the moment he closes the door and then they are alone and the darkness is their friend.

The darkness makes it easy, embarrassingly easy, for her to break the kiss enough to lift his shirt and for him to slide her dress down and for them to find their way to the bed. He holds her, his lips incessantly, and a part of Lily wonders if he doesn’t want to break apart for fear of what happened the last time he did it.

But the majority of her is too wrapped in the feelings he is bringing to worry about anything. She accepts him, accepts every caress he distributes openly, and returns it eagerly. She tastes the saltiness of his skin, feels every muscle of his chest—the ones she has memorized after so many days at the beach though she had only imagined how they would feel under her fingers—, presses herself closer to him. His hands are exploring her—he saw her at the beach too—and then his mouth replaces his hands and the moan that escapes her lips is true.

She pulls him up, tasting her own sweat on his lips—it was a warm day and it’s a warmer night—and her hands work on the button of his jeans. There is a moment of hesitation—he breaks away, his eyes boring into hers even as the darkness barely allows them to see each other—and then it’s gone. He pulls her last piece of cloth then stands up long enough to take out his last one and then there is only them.

Only Lily and James, except they don’t feel like two anymore. They are one and in the darkness, Lily sees those colours that are so James once more, fireworks whose sounds are moans and short breaths and names whispered so low that the other could pretend they didn’t hear.

But Lily hears it and it’s hers. He is hers for that moment and she is his.

She lied before (and now she knows it). She can’t forget him. She can’t be just friends. James is bright sunny days, cosy cold nights and she longs to share it all with him (she couldn’t, but her mind can’t recall why right now). She locks her hand with his, her nails burying into his skin, and Lily doesn’t want to let go.

He holds her hand, pressing it so hard that she can’t feel circulation there anymore, and then he cries her name, this time impossible to deny it. He called her.

It’s not the last time he will do it tonight. He presses another kiss to her lips—it’s feverish and urgent and somehow even more desperate than the first one—, rests his forehead against her catching his breath and Lily enjoys the moment, enjoys that pleasure and soreness that runs through her body, enjoys how her chest brushes against his as she breathes, slower each time, recovering.

Recover. As if she could.

James breaks apart, rolling to the side and for a moment there is silence, the music distant, the world distant until it’s not anymore, until the world seems too close and the air too heavy, not one breeze to refresh it. Lily thinks of opening the window—it’s already opened, the wind bringing the smell of the sea to the room—when she realizes it’s not the air that feels wrong.

It’s them. No, it’s him.

‘James,’ she calls, panic and fear trembling her voice, coldness spreading through her skin in a way that it should not be possible, not on this summer day.

She can hear him rising from the bed, grabbing his clothes.

‘Lily,’ he answers shortly, opening briefly the door and she can’t see his face. ‘I know, it doesn’t mean anything.’

And that’s James Potter's first lie.

#Summer of Jily #efkgirldetective #Jily #Jily Fanfiction #James and Lily #read it like the first chapter but don't wait for the second one #i wrote this in one go because it couldn't leave my mind

[ghostadventuresstuff]

Zak Bagans (Vampire) x Reader

Y/N

You never did have the best track record when it came to being safe, it was as if danger and near-death followed you everywhere you went but your boyfriend Zak was mysteriously always there to save you. He'd make you drink some homemade medicine which would have you feeling brand new in a day or two. It cut down on hospital bills.

You and Zak were returning back from a date when your car was smashed into by a large truck, running you off the road and with enough force you're ejected from the car. You can hear Zak shouting your name as your vision starts to blur, he sounds fine but that's impossible because the two of you had just been in a car crash.

Sleep overcomes you and closing your eyes seems like a good idea, however before the darkness takes over you feel something wet on your lips. It was probably blood from a head injury but something inside you told you to part your lips slightly and swallow. It was as if you could hear Zak's voice in your head. Then the darkness overcame you.

*2 DAYS LATER*

You slowly start to open your eyes, you remember very little from the accident but you were adamant your injuries should have killed you. You sit up in bed, yours and Zak's bed to be precise and notice there's no sign of injury on your body.

On the bedside table is a glass of Zak's homemade medicine, you drink it without hesitation as you always did. Though this time you taste something metallic, you bring the glass up to your nose and sniff. Blood, that's what you can smell. But why would there be blood in the juice you just drank?

You needed to find Zak and get some answers because you were seriously starting to freak out. Carefully you climb out of bed only then noticing that Zak had put you in one of his shirts which reached your knees. What exactly happened after the crash? Zak should have been injured just like you.

Walking down the staircase you get to the bottom step where a patch of sunlight seeps through the front door window. The second the sun makes contact with your skin your foot starts to hiss and you jump back as you feel the skin on your foot blister. What was wrong with you? sunlight didn't normally burn people like that.

'Zak,' you call out.

You get no reply. Carefully you edge your way around the patch of sunlight on the stairs and edge your way into the living room. The curtains are wide open and sunlight floods the room, you instinctively cover your eyes with your hand which is odd because you're never normally sensitive to light like this. A stray beam hits your hand and you hiss in pain before jumping back into a patch of shadow by the bookcase.

You started to freak out, what was going on with your body? You'd never felt this weak before, back in bed you felt fine because the curtains were closed but now you felt the energy leaving your body. You begin to sob silently and sink to the floor clutching your hands over your knees. Maybe Zak can offer an explanation.

*EVENING*

Zak hadn't returned home all day leaving you trapped in the small shadow in the living room. You were unable to reach your phone, by now you had cried all the tears out of your body and had begun shaking uncontrollably. Then suddenly you hear the front door open and Zak casually drops his keys into the pot, he was whistling.

'y/n are you up?'

You try to stand up but your body is weak and you collapse back to the floor. You manage to knock over a book which causes Zak to run into the living room, his eyes scan the room frantically before they latch onto you. His face drops as he darts beside you in a second.

'What are you doing down here?' he speaks frantically.

You gasp, fighting for breath 'I woke up and you were gone. I came downstairs but the sunlight hurt me, I've been trapped here all day because the sun kept coming through the windows. Why did the sun hurt me?'

Zak glances over at the open curtains and curses under his breath. He examines your hand and foot which still has slight burn marks on them.

'I'll explain everything to you, babe, after you drink this.'

Next thing you know his eyes have turned black and his canines have extended and he's biting into his wrist. Your eyes bulge at the sight of blood trickling from the wound. You believed in the supernatural world, but Zak couldn't possibly be a vampire as he showed no signs. He was obsessed with Dracula but you simply thought it was a quirk.

'I never should have left you, I thought you'd take more time to heal. Come on drink up, it will make you stronger,' he says with urgency in his voice.

He brings his wrist up to your mouth and as much as you find the idea of drinking his blood repulsive, something inside you stirs and suddenly you're craving the crimson liquid.

You pull away after a minute or so and already you feel strength returning to your body. Zak stands up and brushes the dust off his trousers before bending down and scooping you up bridal style. You should have been more scared by the monster holding you in his arms, but he still looked and acted like the man you fell in love with.

'Let's get you back upstairs love,' he speaks softly.

Before you know it you're back in the bedroom and Zak is placing you back in bed, however, he doesn't leave this time. Instead, he climbs onto the bed next to you and rests your head on his chest as he starts to play with your hair.

'If you haven't already guessed it by now y/n I'm a vampire.'

You nod in understanding, 'yeah I kind of conned onto the whole black eyes, extended canines and blood. How old are you? And why did you lie to me? Oh yeah, and what the hell happened last night?'

Zak chuckles, 'I'm 150 give or take a few years, after a while vampires stop counting birthdays. Now the reason I lied to you is that I didn't want to lose you. That night when we met in the club I was at one of my lowest points where I craved blood and would kill anything with a pulse. I saw you sitting at the bar and as much as I wanted to drink your blood, I couldn't bring myself to physically harm you. When that creep was hitting on you I was jealous and protective, I did kill him by the way. But once I got to know you I knew I'd found the reason to switch my humanity back on.'

He sounded genuine, and it made you feel warm inside that he was jealous of another guy hitting on you.

'I'd just lost my job that day and was looking for a little adventure. Then you came along and I got to have my adventure, give or take a few times you talked me out of things for fear of my own safety,' you joke.

Zak sighs, 'It takes a lot to kill a vampire y/n, whereas humans are easy to break.'

It was your turn to chuckle, it felt like you were having a normal conversation with your boyfriend who just happened to be a 150-year-old vampire, 'we were in a pretty bad crash last night. What happened? Because my mind is drawing blanks after I passed out.'

'We were hit by an oil tanker, the driver was over the limit and unfortunately didn't die but chose to do a runner. You were thrown from the car and I fed you my blood to heal you, however, if a human dies with vampire blood in his system then they start the transition into becoming a vampire.'

That explained the weakness to sunlight and the weak body, Zak had turned you into a vampire because he didn't want to watch you die. However, you were curious about the transition and what happened to the driver.

'What happens during the transition?' You ask, genuinely interested and a little scared.

'You have to drink blood from a human. That glass I left you earlier which you drank contained the blood of the driver. He had no regard for your life and chose to run instead of calling an ambulance so I took his life to save yours.'

Okay so that explained what happened to the driver, his blood was in your system and that was turning you into a vampire. But you had so many more questions. Zak seemed relatively calm and willing to answer, after all, he had made you immortal without your consent.

'How can you walk in sunlight whereas it burned me?' you question.

Zak shifts himself from under you and pulls something out of his jacket pocket. It's a small black box, 'vampires can only walk in sunlight if they have a ring made by a witch, luckily I know a friendly witch who made mine. Here give me your hand y/n.'

You lazily lift your hand up while Zak pops open the little black box, inside is the prettiest ring you've ever seen. You can tell it was handcrafted and looks like it's been through the ages.

'Zak the ring is gorgeous,' you gasp.

Zak smirks and slips the ring out of the box, 'this was crafted by my father 170 years ago, he gave it to my mother and then my mum handed it to me and told me to only put it on the finger of the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. I had the witch spell it so you'll be able to walk in sunlight, will you do the honours of marrying me y/n?'

Your mouth drops open, those were the last words you expected to come out of his mouth. Was this why he was out all day? You should have been flattered that he'd waited 150 years to find the right person, and you couldn't believe that person was you.

Ever since you were a little girl you'd always planned how you were going to get married. Maybe to a vampire wasn't the initial plan but things change, you were both vampires and that meant he'd be stuck with you for a very long time.

'Yes, Zak I will marry you.'

You've never seen a bigger smile on Zak's face than right now, he slides the ring onto your finger before pulling you in for a kiss. You smirk against his lips and pull away slightly.

'You do know you're now stuck with me, Zak.'

He chuckles, 'I think I can handle you y/n.'

#Ghost Adventures #ghost adventures fanfiction #ghost adventures imagine #ghost adventures preferences #ghost adventures fandom #zak bagans #zak bagans imagine #zak bagans imagines #zak bagans fanfiction #zak bagans preferences #zak bagans vampire #vampire #halloween #vampire zak bagans #fanfiction #fanfiction blog #zak bagans fandom #imagine blog #imagine #imagines

[dark-and-kawaii]

𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 : oh babe you broke my heart with the cheating hcs. not in a bad way, i love the angst. but damn, that's 3 out of my top 5 and i'm starting questioning my taste in men. i'm not sure if it's the right place to ask, but if you're still doing requests - how likely do you think akaashi and sakusa are to cheat? just tryna see the rest of my top 5.

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : Sakusa x Reader - Akaashi x Reader 

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : None? Death, but no one relevant - Yandere? - I’m still bad at this

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮 : To be fair, Suna never wanted to hurt you. There will be a second part releasing next week, so maybe one or two of them will redeem themselves xoxo

As for these two, Akaashi and Sakusa *drools* I’m again looking at this realistically. I believe full heartily in how i wrote these two for this so please enjoy xoxo 

Prt 1. Atsumu - Oikawa - Suna

Akaashi Keiji would never cheat on you nor would he ever consider it.

If the relationship gets tough or if he needs to travel for his work he will always find a way to make everything work. He’s going to make sure you feel secure and that you can trust him. 

100% the one to call or text you when he gets somewhere, he wants you to know he’s safe. Communication is key to a happy relationship and a successful one, Akaashi knows how to do just that.

Now, just because he wouldn’t cheat on you doesn't mean he’s perfect. 

There’s a dark side to Akaashi, a side of him that he’s been able to keep a secret from everyone... Even you.

Bloody noses are just like roses, and dragging your repulsive boss to the shed out back is a love letter Akaashi wished he could show you. 

Akaashi Keiji would kill for you... and he has. Your boss isn’t the first and he’s sure he won’t be the last. 

Don’t worry, that nauseating smell in the basement is from a bad pipe that needs fixing, old water, maybe a dead mouse, but definitely not a body Akaashi is waiting to move out back...

“Have a good day at work, love.” He kisses your forehead, smiles at you while his back is against the basement door. He’s waiting for you to leave, to have a good day at work now that your boss who kept feeling you up is now forever gone. 

Akaashi doesn’t mind getting those pretty hands of his dirty, the second he see’s you pull away in that nice bmw he got you he gets to work. 

Setting his cup of coffee down he reaches for the basement door. He’s done this before, rolling up his white dress shirt sleeves, Akaashi grabs his favorite tool. 

Editing his writings is tedious and hard, but Killing strangers is easy... especially if its for you.  

“You should pray now” is what comes out of those silk lips of his before he ends the life of the filthy vermin that dared breathe the same air as you. 

But your boss did more than just that, maybe that’s why Akaashi has a sullen expression on his face as he carves into the flesh of the fat man on his table. He wasn’t able to stop this one on time before he laid his hands on you, Akaashi will surely beat himself up for this... 

It’s that same night, after cutting your boss up and discarding him, Akaashi carries you bridal style to your shared bedroom to claim you all over as if it was yours and his first time. 

Your moans only drove him to pull back and slam forward again, hips knocking into yours hard as his delightful cock filled you over and over again. You were so tight and warm around him, Akaashi ached to feel more of you.

He wanted to fill every inch of you, to claim every bit of your body for himself, to hear you scream out for him.

You were so far gone that this spell he placed under you made it so that you didn’t even notice the small traces of blood on his hand, that his usually clean nails now trapped blood underneath them...

Flipping you over so you laid on your frontside, Akaashi grasps your hair slamming your head into the bed so can plunge back into you relentlessly, your desired moans being silenced by the bed sheets as he spills himself into you. 

Both your legs were tangled in the messy sheets as he holds you close to his chest- playing with your hair, Akaashi hums to you till you fall asleep, “Darling let me come and bring you home, to our castle made of skulls and bones. I’ll sing you a song to remind you where you belong, in my arms i’ll make sure you sleep soundly tonight.”

Simple minded men irritate Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Why cheat? If you’re that unhappy end the damn relationship instead of stringing the other person along. Not to mention it’s a good way to get some kind of disease. 

Like Akaashi, Sakusa isn’t the type to go around cheating. The guy isn’t even close to being a man whore, so there is legit nothing to fear when being with him. 

You’re lucky you got him in bed with you, and to be quite frank you snicker at the thought of him ever cheating on you. 

One time when at a club with the rest of his team some drunk slut came up to him and attempted to wrap herself around him- but Sakusa is just too quick and dodged it which made her fall flat on her face spilling her drink absolutely everywhere. 

After that incident, Sakusa clung to you the rest of the night. One because he wanted every other female to know he was happily with you, and two because he didn’t want anyone else trying to touch him. 

When he’s away for a game Sakusa will always video chat you before he heads to bed, its a ritual he doesn’t want to break.

Not only does it allow him to see you -the one person he deemed fit to share his life with-, but he knows you’re waiting with anticipation in some risqué outfit. 

You moaned as you plunged your middle two fingers deep inside your aching cunt, having Sakusa away was always such a punishment. Nothing ever could match his cock, but hell at least you were able to give him one hell of a show and show him how much you missed and needed him. 

Your hips were rocking back and forth, pushing forward to meet your hand, your palm rubbing against your sensitive clit... 

Sakusa couldn't decide what he wanted more, to watch your squirt and make a mess all over your camera or to board a quick flight back home so he can feel your slick pussy swallow his thick cock. 

His hand was gripping his cock tightly now as he held his phone with his other. Pumping along with your rhythm, Sakusa watched as your eyes roll back in your head while moaning his name. Fuck he wanted you right now, this wasn’t fair. You’re the only person he’s ever wanted to touch and fill with his seed and he’s stuck in Sweden...  

Sakusa would honestly rather lose an important game than sleep with some chick he didn’t know, the thought makes his skin crawl. You’re the only one for him. 

Sakusa honestly cherishes you to the point where he trusts you with his money, his home, his car, his everything. He’s never said it but he loves that he gets to share all these things with you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way... 

But maybe that’s because he’s honestly possessive... You driving his car means you’re seeing/dating him, you living in his home means he’s the one fucking you senseless... The one who gets to put a baby inside that waiting womb of yours. You using his credit card means you rely on him... He cherishes this thought every time he cums on his chest when he’s away from you... 

Now if you were to cheat on him, oh boy... That’s a different story completely...  

~ 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝔀𝓲 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

#akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi x you #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi imagine #akaashi smut #hq akaashi #akaashi haikyuu #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa fluff #msby sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #hq sakusa #sakusa smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa #akaashi fluff #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu to the top #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader #keiji x reader #haikyu #Haikyuu Akaashi #msby black jackal #msby #hq smut

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

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Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sorry for the wait it's homecoming week and i'm a yearbook adviser lolololol

[amajikilvr]

hi! can you write a bnha sickfic for me? the scenario i want is; tamaki is sick with a stomach bug and gets sick during class time. his anxiety is at it's peak from gettin sick, but mirio is there to help him through it. thank you, if that wasn't too much to ask!

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under the weather - tamaki amajiki

word count 1.1k

contains graphic depictions of illness and vomiting, anxiety, crying, panic attack, comfort

characters included tamaki amajiki and mirio togata

────────────────────────

Amajiki had unwisely dismissed the queasy feeling stewing heavily in his stomach.

It’d been there when he’d rolled out of bed, but he didn’t let himself think too deeply about it and its implications. His anxiety had given him an ultimately harmless upset stomach an infinite amount of times in the past and because of that, he figured this was nothing new or anything to worry about.

He knew he was wrong about that claim from the moment that the idea of eating his usual hefty breakfast made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Amajiki was someone who loved to eat and that paired well with the conditions of his quirk so he ate his food this morning as usual because it was his responsibility to do so.

His work-study, something he couldn’t even fathom doing with his gut constantly churning like this, was relying on his constantly varied diet and for him to show up after school…

Maybe it was nothing and his anxiety had just simply turned it into something. He had to believe that, had to believe it wasn’t sickness to blame.

He couldn’t be sick today. He couldn’t be sick, period.

Waiting for this first class to end is bad enough before his stomach suddenly gives a startling groan that’s both extremely audible and just as nauseating. Amajiki’s eyes go wide with embarrassment as he winces and waits for it to pass. Someone nearby had to have heard that over the teacher’s lecture.

The sounds don’t seem to be stopping any time soon either. The angry burbling noises continue mercilessly on as if the organ itself is yelling at him. He holds a shaky hand to his clammy forehead and tries his best to ignore the sudden pressure that’s building in his chest.

It starts with a loudish belch that Amajiki wasn’t prepared for, his ears fold over themselves and burn with intense shame when he receives several varying glances from the students around him. Some appear merely amused by his surprising outburst and some toss dirty looks his way.

There’s another. This burp is much queasier, wetter, and is stifled pathetically against the hand he slapped over his mouth after the first one. Something truly horrible burns his throat, insistent, and his stomach gives another drawn-out sickly gurgle.

An excess of saliva fills his mouth, rapidly pooling on the tongue that suddenly feels heavy, and he can taste the remnants of his breakfast with every single sour burp that leaks out of him. Reality hits him with a rush of despair.

He’s going to throw up.

The nausea is aggressively overwhelming, but Amajiki can manage to register that one thing he’d been denying, that one thing he’d been trying his best to push out of his mind this entire time. He still can’t get himself to move or do anything for that matter. He’s petrified, frozen in place at his desk.

He whines, low and fearful, before the first gag makes him jolt forward. His stomach clenches, bracing itself. The second one accomplishes nothing more than a final soggy belch and it’s the next violent retch that does it.

A torrent of thick vomit hits the hand that’s still over his mouth, a good portion of it spurting between his fingers and out from under his palm. It gushes down to his desk, half-digested chunks of his last meal splattering the front of his shirt.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh shit!”

“Ack!”

“Gross!”

The various surrounding cries of disgust are nothing more than faraway background noise as Amajiki sputters and coughs up more lumpy sick onto the tabletop. He lets out a wobbly sob when some of it squirts from his nose, burning like the abundance of tears stinging his eyes.

His head pounds like a drum and his stomach continues to ache even after expelling its ill contents. It’s an eternity of sitting there while trying to catch his breath and keep his cries subdued.

Nothing else seems to exist. It’s just him and his mess…

“Hey,” It’s Mirio. He clutches Amajiki’s trembling shoulder with a strong hand and doesn’t look nearly as repulsed as he should be. “It’s okay. Can you get up for me?”

“M’m really sick…” Amajiki mumbles, feeling dizzier by the second and head growing foggier in half of that time.

“I know, buddy.” He feels his shoulder being squeezed. His vision focuses somewhat, for better or worse. “Let’s get you out of here. Do you think you could walk if I helped you?”

Maybe it’s the pungent smell of his own vomit choking him or the stares from his classmates that pierce his skin like needles, but either way, Amajiki finds himself being led, practically dragged, by Mirio to the door.

They’ve nearly made it there when his stomach gives another urging twist and he whimpers as he swallows thickly. Amajiki tugs pressingly on Mirio’s shirt and he gets the message quickly, thankfully, pulling him over to the trash can at the front of the room.

Salty tears dribble down his flushed cheeks as he weakly spits up more liquidity puke on top of piles of pencil shavings and discarded papers. His shoulders shake forcefully from the effort of silently crying before Mirio places a palm on his back and moves his bangs away, effectively stilling some of the hysterical tremors running through him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. Just let it all out, you’ll feel better, I promise. Keep breathing for me, Tamaki.”

Mirio’s soft comforting words guide him through the necessary actions that his body forces upon him. His stomach heaves for the last time, it’s beginning to really hurt from all of the throwing up, and soon he’s finished up and greeted by the fresh air of the hallway.

It’s a much appreciated change from the humid stench that had started to hang heavy in the classroom. He really does feel terrible about that and even worse for whoever’s tasked with cleaning the source. There’s one more emergency pitstop to the restroom on the way and they’ve made it to the nurse’s after what feels like a slow-moving century..

Now that he’s resting on a cot with a small bottle of Gatorade (and a clean shirt), his tummy still feeling upset and turbulent but somewhat calmed compared to before, Amajiki can’t help but let everything sink in and think about what really happened back there.

“Everyone saw me…” He mumbles miserably, rebirthed horror creeping in menacingly to join his lingering nausea. “Oh my god, it got everywhere… I don’t know why I didn’t move...”

“And? They’ll all forget about it by next week! Tomorrow even.” Mirio replies almost immediately from his nearby chair. So far, Recovery Girl hasn’t even questioned his presence.

“Messes can be cleaned!”

Amajiki voices his disagreement in the form of a single grunt and takes a very tentative sip of his drink. That acidic sick taste still remains in his mouth no matter how much he tries to rinse it out. His stomach grumbles a few times, almost passively.

“Aren’t you worried about catching this from me?” He says finally, disbelieving that he was actually lucky enough to have someone like Mirio with him through all of this.

“Maybe you just ate something bad.” Mirio retorts with an air of confidence that Amajiki can only dream of having. “Besides, best friends who share the flu together, stay together!”

“... You’re impossible.”

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#sickfic #🌡 #bnha sickfic #tamaki amajiki sickfic #bnha whump #whump

[katsukikitten]

Thirsty

A/N Please enjoy what I’ve been self indulging all week.  It was a cliche but fun concept to write! @bakugotrashpanda​ this is the fiction I was dming you about bb. Yall readers leave your thoughts pls bb enjoy~

Warnings: Aged Up/18+ AU, Vampire AU, blood, intense sex, mentions of marking.

He hasn't fed in days, no make that fucking weeks.

Months even although he has tried.

Hoping some stupid fool would venture out during this pandemic and now mandatory quarantine.

Not that the threat of the disease mattered to him, his body would correct whatever ailment in a matter of seconds.

And he needed to eat.

But as usual he has some shit luck. Not a single soul left on the once packed streets.

And there you sit all the temptation in the world, your sweet scent was already hard enough to endure during the few hours you were normally home. Causing the ash blonde to avoid any of the "community" spaces of the dingy shared apartment.

Only agreeing to have you move in since you has claimed you would hardly be home as you were too busy with work.

So busy in fact you could never come by to see the place in person. Further encouraging the angry recluse's decision.

But had you ever come in person he would have denied you, turned you away no matter the price you were willing to pay.

And especially so if you begged.

Because you fucking reeked.

So repulsively pungent that after just meeting you his throat closed up, eyes narrowing to slits as he felt a deep ache within him.

Going out that very night draining three people drops from dry.

Fuck, who was he fucking fooling?

He never liked liars and he was never good at lying either.

You were far from repulsive really.

You were fucking delectable, irresistible.

Sweet scent lingering in the apartment for hours, clinging to the fabric of the couch, the peeling wallpaper like the smoke of a cheap cigarette, clinging to his skin.

If he was that fucked up over your scent how heavenly would you be on his tongue?

He could imagine from what little he felt he could taste in the air during your full moon. Causing his vision to narrow on that steady strong pulse lying just beneath glowing skin.

He has to force himself to leave even if he's just fed, one whiff had him thirsty all over again. He'd turned full glutton from just the smell of you, draining a dozen at a time and yet no amount could please him.

His fangs poke his lower lip now, aching with the urge to sink into tender flesh from just the thought. His salvia already secreting that deadly addictive oxytocin that would bring euphoria to both parties.

He swallows hard but it does nothing to satiate his thirst.

His ever drying throat.

Scarlet eyes cut to the door as he hears the soft pad of your feet stop before the fragile wood that separates the beast from beauty. You rise your capable fist tapping the door gently.

"B..Bakugou..."Your voice is soft as you call through the thick oak. He smells salt in the air causing his stomach to twist.

Were you crying? His throat tightens, muscles screaming for him to move. That this moment, this vulnerability was a golden opportunity to wet those aching fangs. Blunt nails dig into heated palms as he hopes to wait you out but here you go again becoming wholly undeniable.

"Sorry to bother you." You say so softly he almost didn't catch it over the shuffling of your feet.

His heart breaks in two as he lunges for the door, biting back more than just his words.

"What, Y/LN?"

His eyes seem to glow blood red in the low light of the hall, causing you to step back.

There was an intensity to his gaze you could never quite place.

It was as if he hated you and wanted to consume you whole all at once.

Desire burns through your veins especially so when a soft caramel scent is wafted from his room.

You swallow thickly, red eyes dart down and fixate on your throat, a blush creeps over your skin from the obvious blooming bruises.

Why did you have to have your throat EXPOSED?!

Where were your normal oversized hoodies that hid away your sins that you now display openly?

Fading black bruises and pink teeth indents that drove him fucking wild.

Someone dared to mark you and a fucking weak mortal at that.

Bakugou didn't think you had a boyfriend or girlfriend for that matter but you had been smelling like the same male the past few times you ventured out only to return in the late hours of the night.

And long before this house arrest bullshit happened too.

He stares down, body rigid as he is almost fearful to move. One twitch of his finger could set him off, pouncing onto you to leave the markings of a true male.

Instead he grinds his teeth, canines scrapping the inside of his lip. All the while you begin to feel dumb for seeking comfort from a roommate who barely looked your way.

And when he did it set your skin ablaze. A cold sweat runs down your spine as you take a step back.

There wasn't a lot you were scared of in the world, what with being a hero and all.

But there was just something about your roommate that unsettled you.

Whatever it was it sat on the tip of your tongue and when the word was to tumble from your mouth you'd look into that heated gaze and the thought would combust into hot flames.

That licked over every inch of your body.

"I uh...." You stammer, dumbstruck for the first time in your life. Swallowing your pride almost choking on it as you half shout.

"I want to play a game or watch a fucking movie with someone. You can pick but..." He watches one arm cross beneath your breasts, pushing them up a tad, while the other hand covered your throat, making its way up to block your plush lips as you look away. He's noticed this about you in the past year of living with you.

Normally you hold your head high, voice boisterous ringing with confidence but you seemed to curl in on yourself when you spoke to him.

"But I just need someone right now." It comes out soft, borderline desperate as he watches your fingers punch harshly into the skin of your ribs.

He stares you down, fully taking in the bags beneath your eyes. The way your normally glowing skin is slightly lackluster and the red rims of your bottom eye lids.

He hasn't smelt you cook anything in the past few days and there weren't any snack for you to munch on in the house.

You can't stand how his red eyes slice through you like a scalpel. Blade so sharp you notice you're exposed much too late.

With an explosion of your limbs your hands are on your hips, teeth bared before you turn on your heel, yelling.

Fighting back angry, hurt tears.

"You know what, this was fucking stupid. Forget I ever..." A strong hand wraps around your bare bicep, warm to the touch.

"Quit being fucking dramatic and give a man a damn second to answer." He snarls, pulling back his hand as if he touched a burning stove, "I'll make something to eat."

"I'm not being dramatic!" You screech, wholly proving his point. His eyes narrow on the nape of your neck before watching your jaw clench and the quickening tick of that juicy artery.

Still you stomp to the living room, picking up voicing to the hologram to pull up the movie archive. Clearly picking for him.

There was no point in him making enough for two as eating never silenced the ever present growl in his belly or the ache in his teeth. For ever robbed the joy of eating, of cooking.

Everything tasted either tasted like soggy cardboard, salted sawdust, or like ashes of the ghost that food once was.

That's what Bakugou had hated the most about this curse that was placed on him almost a century ago was how much it stole from him.

His sense of taste.

His family.

His friends.

Some days even his desire to live.

He rounds the peninsula of the kitchen with what he's deemed your favorite, placing it into surprised hands.

He must have been right as blush creeps on your cheeks. You take a few bites still scrolling while your thoughts slowly take over.

When was the last time you'd seen him eat? He always cooks but then leaves the containers in the fridge for you with a sticky note scrawled with his roughly neat scrawl.

"Y/N, Eat this before it goes bad dumbass."

You tap the fork to your lips pondering over the mystery that is Bakugo Katsuki.

"Why don't you ever eat what you cook?" Your curiosity slips out in the form of a question.  He side eyes you before nodding at your food silently demanding you finish eating.

"It’s never what I'm hungry for."

His voice sends goose flesh over your skin, hairs on your neck standing straight up before you swallow.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Acting like this and in front of a guy you barely knew.

Well, that's partially a lie, you knew a little about him from observing him from time to time.

He'd stay up way too late and would come to the love seat only after he thought you were in deep sleep.

When he is really agitated his skin pops like little fireworks dancing along his forearms which usually only happened when someone named Deku called.

He'd do what he's doing now, despite the harsh look in his ever angry scarlet eyes he cooks for you.

Changes your laundry over when you forget with a scoff but most oddly he indulges you.

Like he is now, sitting squished on the love seat with you, legs spread just enough to avoid touching you.

You give him a glance and finish eating, finally selecting a movie as you're done.

His eyes widen for a moment as you select a movie that would have been considered old even in his time.  It stirs odd feelings in his stomach.

"Really, there's 3D movies and shit. And you wanna watch a movie that's not even in color?" He snorts, you would pick this one wouldn't you?

"We must always remember the classics." Is all you say, settling in. Fluffing the blanket over you both and even having the audacity to lean closer to him.  You notice his rigid muscles beneath you but you're so desperate for touch that leaning against this stiff board was far better than spending another night alone with your ever twisting mind.

Slowly he melts into your touch, gulping mouthfuls of your scent but enjoying you none the less.

Realizing that he too had been touch starved.

When was the last time he held someone in his arms?

Hell when was the last time he was this close to someone without feeding?

Ten, twenty years?

It didn't matter, he outlived them anyway so why bother getting attached.

Soon a comfortable quiet settles over the old apartment as it is painted in the soft tones of blacks and grays.

Voices mingling in the air as Bakugo silently agrees with some of the lines.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

He feels that way about you, of all the cheap apartments you could have looked at online you chose his. 

You with the smell like no other.

Sweet enough to somehow get him to watch this shitty movie again, he puts his head in his palm watching the old film play out.

How many times had he been forced to watch this in the common room of the dorms all those fucking years ago?

And then again in shared apartments when nothing else was on or when Bakugo would lose rock paper scissors.

"Remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

"That’s my least vulnerable spot.” Bakugou grumbles in unison with the long gone actor.

Your ears perk, having never pegged him to like such a heart wrenching movie.  You giggle, earning a glare and a bark.

"What?"

"Its just I never would have dreamed you'd ever sit down and watch this movie willingly."

"You're right. I wouldnt. Shitty hair..." He clears his throat, "Kirishima, for whatever fucking reason, used to love this movie. Said it was manly and honorable or some shit like that."

"Used to?" Silence stretches between the two of you for a moment until he sees you fully engaged on him.

His heart twists as he looks down on you and he begins to wonder if your quirk is to pull out unsolicited emotions. His fangs don't ache nearly as much as his chest as he pushes through the feeling.

A feeling he hardly allows himself to have. Thinking of his best friend who so hurt by this curse he refused to feed on humans.

But animals couldn't suffice, their bodies needing something in human blood in order to maintain their peak form.

It took him twenty years before he stopped eating all together.

And when he neared the end, neared the point of starvation where instincts would take over he amplified his quirk until he turned to stone.

Oddly enough he's a shrine relic now.

"He passed recently." Five decades was recent to Bakugou.

Your heart stills in your chest as you see real emotion bloom on his face. Cheeks slightly flushed, eyes almost watery as the bitter nostalgia washes over you in waves.

Without thought you lunge for him, wrapping sturdy arms around his neck to pull him into the comfort of your body as your fingers rake through his hair. Pushing his face against your warm skin.

His nose is pressing into your throat as your sickeningly sweet smell floods his mouth but that isn't even the worst part. 

No the worst part is that he can feel your pulse against his lips.

It was like putting a starving dog in front of a steak and telling him not to eat.

Fuck.

His teeth grew on their own and he cannot stop himself as his strong arms wrap around you, pushing you ever closer before he sinks his aching canines into your tender flesh with a groan.

Oxytocin floods your system produced by both his body and your own.

He opens his mouth further, ready to suck in a mouthful of what he's been dying to taste. His pupils dilate and his pants grow tighter at the sound of your soft moan.

He is suffocating, drowning in the dizzying sweet smell that melds beautifully with that metallic tang he cannot get enough of.  He wants to savor this sinful high before he has a taste.

Meanwhile you body sears and freezes all at once as a tingling sensation spreads through your body starting at the nape of your neck.

As if a ghost traces its finger along your spine causing you to turn into putty.

"Fuuuuck, Katsuki." You groan. The sound of his name leaving your lips feels as if he's been plunged in a pool of cold water.

He jumps away from you, nails biting into his palms hard enough that half blood moons will surely litter his hands.

Panting as he tries to keep his tongue away from his canines that drip deliciously maddening red.

Fearful if he gets even just a drop on his tongue he'll kill you.

He'll drain you dry and leave you to rot in the already decaying apartment.

It takes your head a moment to fall down from the stratosphere before the small holes in your throat close seamlessly with a sharp bite.

You press your hand to the wound, only small specks of blood not yet dried paint your palm.

Shocked eyes rove over the muscular body as things start to slowly piece themselves together.

The explosive temper, ash blonde hair, piercing red eyes, an intensity unmatched and that popping quirk he used when extremely agitated.

Instantly the picture in the old text book pops into mind as you imagine the man before you with a black cowl.

The whole section about his story, about how he and  two other heroes had been attacked, bitten, by some immortal being. They shortly fell off the face of the Earth after that.

Mind going into overdrive as your memory floods with the text of files you've been assigned and the voice of the woman you just recently interviewed.

She was the same age as you. Later twenties, petite, long fire red hair with glossy eyes who was mysteriously left in front of the hospital. Suffering from severe blood loss but not a wound in sight.

Not even a fucking scratch.

And worst yet she wasn't the first one. There was one daily and dozens when it neared the ended of the month. Worst yet there was never any video of the perp, just a glitch in the frame before the victim is lying helplessly by the entrance.

Still her slurred words haunt you as you think of her response to your question.

"He was hot. Strong muscles, smelled sweet, like candy and nostalgia. He looked so familiar, like an old movie star or something...."

Or maybe she was thinking of an old hero.

"Ground Zero." The hero name sounds foreign to the panting blonde.

Shit when was the last time he heard that name?

The sound of his old alias brings up surging memories that fist fight with the smell of the blood on his fangs.

Of an overly arrogant boy who was so scared to fail he hardened his heart.

A heart that begin to break while he watched his idol fade away before his very eyes.

Slowly it was mended again from old misunderstood rivalries turned friendships and acquaintances turned family.

Only for them to age and crumple into dust as he stands witness with Father time.

All save one with emerald gems for eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?" It comes out harsh as you rack your brain for the name of that villain, the one that is said to still hide out in the outskirts of a run down city in the states.

You knew Bakugou wasn't that asshole who mutilated bodies after he fed. That much was apparent by his sheer will power to leave you be for the three months the two of you have been confined to these four walls.

But if it's been months like you think surely he cannot live that long with out eating right?

The slightest dark circles hang beneath those scarlet red eyes, cheeks a little paler than normal and his fangs.

Canines elongated, swelling up his gums a bit indicating his hunger, his thirst.

When he does not speak it confirms your theory and it lines up perfectly with the timeline of that woman.

His last meal much too long ago.

"Come, eat." You tap your throat with almost shaky fingers. Heart halfway breaking over the torture it must have been.

He snarls, unmoving ready to bolt for the door but worried he will give in to the ache in his teeth and throat.

Of gulping down every last drop your godly body had to fucking offer.

When he makes no move you grow impatient, allowing your quirk to shape shift your nails into claws.

"You fed me, I feed you. Now I'm telling you to eat." Your voice is commanding as you scratch deep grooves into your forearm followed by beads of dazzling red.

His eyes dilate unnaturally before he swallows thickly.

Getting just a small taste of your blood from his fangs before he is pressing you into the couch, forcing your arms behind your head as he licks a swipe up the wounds. A shudder runs through you both before you feel the skin pull taunt and close fully. 

Only for pain to settle in your wrists as one strong hand holds them there before his free hand tilts your head away. Exposing that damn neck you had to press him to. He bites into that blessed artery before pulling harshly at the skin, deeming your flow not fast enough.

You taste far better than you smell and he has to be careful with you for fear he won’t be able to stop. Especially so with each encouraging mewl that leaves those lips and reverberates in his mouth.

His grip turns tighter as you look over him, eyes savoring his sculpted body beneath his tight tee and that bulge that rests in his tight black joggers.

You knee it teasingly causing him to snap away from your neck.

"Careful." A guttural growl, causing you to clench around nothing, "Don't start what you can’t finish."

"Oh I always finish what I start." You free your hands quickly, tugging at his joggers more than needing the treat that lies beneath. He catches your wrist, eyes darkening.

"This isn't how I normally feed."

"Then it's time to try something new." Silence stretches between the two of you, he tries so hard to resist. To tell himself he's had enough at least for now but he finds himself gravitating towards you.

Being pulled back into the heat of your kiss as if the two of you were tragically magnetic.

You positive and him negative.

He rips your camisole from your body exposing your breasts to him. Your skin is marred with more dying bites than he'd like. He smirks to himself as he thinks of you, this strong, brash being and it is hard for him to imagine you to be so submissive 

To bend to the will of someone else.

He thinks he'd rather it just be for him.

You notice his smirk as he licks some blood from his lips, your stomach twists in anticipation. Not realizing how much you like those lips curved upward, even if it means he may devour you whole.

"What?" The smallest of blushes creeps along your skin as he leaves you exposed.

"Tch. You own yourself until you're in the bedroom and that's when you want to be marked." He presses kisses along your breasts and collar bone, biting over the fading hickies, "By the looks of these you went out not too long ago.  Naughty girl."

He bites causing you to moan as he laps at the blood before removing his mouth. This time allowing all of the little bite wounds to stay open for a few minutes. Little bruises dance beneath the puncture holes. His eyes rake over your body, drinking in every detail as a slight shudder runs through you.

His thumb swipes over a small pink bite mark on your hip. He isn't sure why he feels so jealous over the thought of you lying beneath another man.

Of you gazing up at them in anticipation as their hands sully your skin.

Of their mouth littering your perfect skin with their half assed love bites.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were a grown ass woman who wasn’t his.

Yet he was tempted to call you his own.

"These are pathetic." He murmurs as you watch him lean forward to replace the bite with his own.

His breath is warm on the hip bone before he slides those damn teeth in, giving you another hit of that intoxicating drug.

"Then show me how it should be done. Mark me as yours." He looks up at you, mouth still attached to your gorgeous skin. You fight the urge for your eyes to flutter as you stare him down. He removes himself, blood dripping from his lip.

You swallow fear and choke on desire as he rises above you, hovering over you as he corners you into the couch.

"You wouldn't be able to handle a true marking." His voice is dark, threatening as he leans in to nibble at your lip. Tips of his fangs indenting your plush bottom lip but never piercing the skin. You pull back a bit to better hold his gaze.

"I can handle it." Your voice cuts hard but your eyes scream fuck me harder as you gaze up at him under long lashes.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" His hand slip between your thighs, that you happily spread, to find you soaking, his nimble fingers swirl over a needy clit as you fight from turning into putty in his hands.

You need to be in control for just a moment longer, for just long enough to convince him you won't break so he could go all out.

"I know I can." Your eyes flash serious before returning to that bedroom look causing him to sheath himself in a harsh thrust.

Your head rears back into the couch, biting back the moan hard enough you taste blood.

Only for Katsuki to lean in, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. You watch his face contort before he shudders over top of you. You feel him twitch within you causing you to whimper, trying hard to get some sort of friction.

You never knew Bakugou Katsuki would like to play with his food.

"You're such a naughty slut aren't you, Princess?" He gives another harsh thrust, "Body begging to be fucked out."

How the fuck did he know you loved dirty talk?

"Can, can you read minds?" You pant and he laughs darkly. It's an oddly pleasant sound as it echoes back to you.

"No..." He leans in kissing you until you feel desperate for breath before he presses his forehead to yours, "When I feed I feel their strongest emotions temporarily. If I mark you, make you mine for all the world to fucking see I'll feel your most intense emotions and vice versa. Always or until the bond is broken."

He squeezes your ribs until they groan beneath his touch as he reads your expression.

Where you turned off, were you no longer wanting to be marked? You lean up to bite at his lower lip. Pulling as you ease back down.

"Then make me yours, Katsuki."

"Maybe." He kisses your throat, testing the waters with each thrust until he's set a brutal pace.

Causing a coil to quickly tighten in your stomach.

He plunges into you, wholly, figuratively, lapping at your throat before nipping in your ear as you moan loudly.

"You're taking my cock so well Princess." He praises causing you to clench around his length.  His own eyes threaten to roll in the back of his head and he wonders when the last time he has ever felt so in tune with some.

If he ever really has.

The couch hits into the half wall with sharp percussion as Bakugou pulls all but a scream from your lips, nails turning to claws ripping his shirt to threads before they scrape down his back.

He takes bites of you here and there as he thrusts into your throbbing cunt, hitting your clit with his pelvic bone as he bottoms out in you with each harsh snap of his hips.

"Fuuuuck. Katsuki." Is all you can say over and over as he brings you to your first high of the night.

A sweat prickles over your sensitive skin as the coil in your stomach snaps convulsing beneath him as your legs lift from his back.

Eyes fluttering, head thrown back and throat exposed to him as your pussy attempts to milk him dry, coaxing him ever closer to his own climax.

Shuddering as he feels yours in his own blood.

Red eyes drinking in the sight of you, messy sex hair, cheeks and lips red from the rush of blood, body spasming due to his thrusts.

He takes a hand and swirls across your puffy bud, tongue licking at your perked nipple send you into an over stimulated series of body rocking orgasms paired with the high you feel that drips from his fangs with each bite.

You pant heavily, body going limp after your sixth Earth shattering release, vision blurring and all you can see is red.

You can barely hold into his biceps, one hand trying so hard to pull at the ash blonde that sits at the nape of his neck.

He enjoys the sight of you fucked out, border line having your tongue stuck out as if you were making an aehego face.

And all of it just for him.

"What's wrong kitten? Can't finish what you started?" He asks cruelly teasing you ever close to yet another high. You smirk up at him weakly, trying so hard to respond without sounded totally exhausted.

"I can." You use the last of your energy to buck back into him a few more times before he presses his hands to your hips, leaning to growl in your ear.

"Save your energy Princess. I plan to make a round two. Can you last just a bit longer?" His voice softens near the end, fully sending you what you were fighting tooth and nail to avoid.

That ever dangerous subspace as you've fully opened your heart to someone whose true identity you just learned.

Hell, you guess that was better than doing it for someone whose name you didn’t even know as you've done before.

"Yes, Katsuki-sama." You gasp out causing an unexpected chill to run along his spine. He looks down at you in your radiant glory and decides right then.

He decides that he cannot stand the thought of anyone else causing you to look like this. For anyone else to cause your walls to crumple as you expose yourselves wholly.

Or the idea of anyone being able to taste you.

And with his mark not only will other vampires avoid you but anyone who is sexually attracted to you will feel his gaze even if he is not there.

His thrusts turn sloppy as he chooses to give you what they call a mate's mark.

This one will be even more intense than what he originally debating on doing.

He sinks his teeth into you, a groan echoes back to you competing with the sound of your drenched core being pounded into as blood fills his mouth.

He struggles to deposit the right amount of venom because if he puts too much you will be close to losing your free will.

Just as he pushes in the right amount you shatter beneath him, cunt becoming so tight he cannot stand it and he fills you to the brim with seed thrusts harsh to make sure you receive every last drop.

Your body vibrates and stills all at once as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Voice going so high it becomes raw before you quiet beneath him.

He removes his teeth from your throat, lapping at the spilling blood hopeful that he has neither drank too much nor given you far too much venom.

He holds his breath with each passing heart beat fear seeps into his bones. Stilling him to his core, your eyes should be opening any second.

He repeats the mantra over and over fearing your pulse is getting weaker, eyes hardly fluttering.

He swallows, the bittersweet after taste of you settles on the back of his tongue, whispering what he always seems to forget.

That not everyone he's marked has woken up.

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