#this was before I blistered my thumb and middle finger with how hard I grip the tablet pen

[demonslayedher]

#look I did traditional art today too #this was before I blistered my thumb and middle finger with how hard I grip the tablet pen #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou #煉獄杏寿郎 #OKAY NOW BACK TO A BUSY WORK WEEK #YOMOYA YOMOYADA #my art #my nice art

[kenobihater]

You’re (Probably) Drawing Archers Wrong

Hello, my name is Len and I’ve shot archery as a hobby for as long as I can remember. I have a problem: fanart depicting archery is oftentimes Very Wrong! I feel like most of this stems from not using good reference pictures, and from a general lack of knowledge. So, I wanted to create a post for anyone interested in accurately drawing an archer! Disclaimer: this is not a comprehensive post or a tutorial on how to shoot, and is intended for artists. That said, if you’re interested in archery, you may still find value in this post, though I recommend doing your own research. I’m certain there will be errors here considering I do this as a hobby not a profession, and I welcome corrections. Finally, archery can be dangerous, and even if you don’t read any more of this post, PLEASE read the safety section.

Safety

This part is going to be a PSA, because the thought of someone reading my post, getting into archery themselves, and doing these things? It terrifies me. So, rules number one, two, and three are: never aim at another person (duh), never use a damaged bow or arrows, and never, NEVER dry fire a bow. Dry firing means drawing back and releasing the string without an arrow. This can make your bow EXPLODE. It can hurt you, and even if your bow doesn’t explode, it’s fucked it up so bad that you should never shoot that bow again. Don’t do it, and don’t draw art of people doing it. Okay, PSA done, now onto the rest of the post.

There’s a TL;DR at the bottom!

First thing’s fist: the equipment! Archery requires four things: a bow, a quiver, arrows, and protective equipment (which is usually what I see most posts lacking). The first thing you should do before you draw your archer is decide what type of bow to give them. I’m not covering crossbows because I’ve only shot one once and I also Hate Them. There are three main types of bows: longbows, recurves, and compounds.

Bows

There are two different types of bows that are commonly called a longbow: English longbows, and flatbows (yes I’m considering flatbows a type of longbow to simplify things). English longbows are very large and have a very high draw weight (which means it’s hard to pull the sting back). These were used mainly by the English in the Middle Ages. Flatbows are typically smaller and have a lower draw weight as well as a slightly different profile. These were mainly used by Native American tribes such as the Hupa, the Karuk, and the Wampanoag, as well as prehistoric Europeans and the Finnish, among others. It is often seen in historical fiction and fantasy, and the English longbow is usually depicted as Robin Hood’s preferred bow type. I believe Katniss uses a flatbow in the beginning of Hunger Games, but don’t quote me on that.

Recurves have limbs that curve outwards and are smaller than longbows. Many, many cultures have used these, including but not limited to certain West-coast Native American tribes, the Mongols, the Scythians, the Greeks, the Turks, the Koreans, and the Chinese. Recurves can be made of either wood or of a combination of wood, horn, and glue, making them either composite or non-composite. These are the bows you typically see mounted archers using, and are often used in competitions today. It’s commonly seen in fantasy, and is the bow type used by Legolas, Tauriel, Katniss Everdeen in Mockingjay, Merida, Green Arrow has a lever action, and Hawkeye uses a silly collapsible one.

Compound bows are the most commonly used bow among hunters, are almost always made of fiberglass and either carbon fiber or aluminum, are Technical Looking, and pack the biggest punch for the least amount of effort. It’s a modern invention used worldwide. I don’t know where else to put this, but almost everyone who I know that shoots a compound uses something called a trigger release (pictured below) to draw back the string because it means your release is cleaner.

So, those are the main types of bow! Google which bow would be appropriat for the era and region your character is from, or if they’re from space or an alternate dimension, pick whichever you think fits the character the best.

Quivers

There are two types of quiver: back quivers, like Legolas wears, and hip quivers, like those used in the Olympics. Which quiver you should use varies from culture to culture and time period to time period. If it’s fantasy, set in modern day, or set in the future, you can chose whichever you prefer.

Arrows

Arrows can have shafts of wood or fiberglass, can have real feathers or synthetic for fletching, and can have countless different types of heads. The main two that are in use today are called field points and broadheads, and most commercial arrow shafts allow you to freely switch them out.

The arrow on the top is a field point, used only for target practice, and the arrow on the bottom is a broadhead, used only for hunting or war. You never hunt with a field point, and never practice with a broadhead. Basically every fictional character out there is shooting to kill, so they’ll all use either a broadhead, or a culturally appropriate variation of deadly arrowhead (bodkin, scythian, flint, etc). Do your research! A Native American wouldn’t use a bodkin, and a Scythian wouldn’t use a flint arrowhead!

Protective Equipment

The one really necessary piece of protective equipment is hand protection. If your character uses a three fingered draw or a pinch draw (we’ll speak on draws later), they need either an archery tab, or an archery glove. If your character is using a thumb draw, they need a thumb ring. These three pieces of equipment keep archers from getting blisters and damaged skin.

This is a tab.

This is the type of glove that I use. All an archery glove needs to do is protect your three draw fingers, but it can be more traditionally glove-like than this one. I’ve even seen ones that are a combination leather bracer and archery glove that give big Fantasy Vibes.

This is a ring. Some historical ones can get REAL ornate and pretty.

Another piece of protective equipment that is commonly used is an arm guard or a bracer. Not everyone uses one, because if your form is good the string should not be hitting your arm, so you can get away with not giving your character one. They can vary in style from something like the more minimal one below up to a full leather bracer.

Form

Form can vary greatly and I’m not about to diss other archery disciplines especially ones I’m ignorant on, so just know that not every culture has the same form. I’m just going to cover a few cultures’ variations, and what I’ve been taught by 21st century Midwest archers. There are several aspects to form, as form is just another term for “everything pertaining to how you shoot”. I’m going to break it down into stance, posture, draw, elbow discipline, holding the bow, and anchor. These are not the only aspects of form (there’s aiming, release, and breath control), but these are the only relevant aspects to drawing archers. I will not be covering mounted archery because I’m sadly ignorant on the topic. I recommend doing your own research and looking into Mongolian mounted archery.

Stance

The thing all stances have in common is that you should put your feet a shoulder-length apart, balance your weight equally between both feet, keep your knees slightly bent, and stand facing approximately 90 degrees away from your target. There are three stances that are common that I’m aware of: squared, open, and closed.

Squared stance means keeping both feet squared up to an imaginary line. Open means that you’re facing slightly towards the target. Closed means you’re facing slightly away. I vary between square and open, and to be honest I’ve never noticed a difference. So long as you draw your character standing with a stable stance, facing away from the target, you should be good.

Posture

Your posture should be with your back straight, your hips squared, and should never have you leaning. Below is one of my favorite archery pictures, not only because I love Marilyn, but because it is a great illustration of what not to do posture wise.

See how she’s leaning back? Yeah, don’t draw your character like that, it looks foolish.

Draw

There are four different types of draw that I’m aware of, I’m educated on three, and I have experience with one (though I’m itching to learn to thumb draw). The types of draw are three fingered draw, otherwise known as Mediterranean draw, pinch draw, thumb draw aka Mongolian draw, and Japanese draw, or torikake. I know fuck all about Japanese draws, so I’m not going to speak out of my ass on topics I don’t understand (if anyone reading practices traditional Japanese archery I would love if you chimed in!). I highly recommend doing your own research on which civilization your character comes from and which draw they use, especially if it’s Japanese because I’m not covering that here.

First up is three-fingered. This is the draw I use, and it’s the most common draw in my limited experience in the Midwestern archery community. It is common in Europe and the Middle East. It requires you to use three fingers, partially wrapped around the string. You do not pinch the arrow. Most people place their index finger above the arrow and their middle and ring finger below, though I’ve seen all different variations. If your character is right handed and uses this draw, draw the arrow on the left side of the bow. Lefties do the inverse, and make sure and draw a left handed bow while you’re at it.

Next is the pinch draw. I’ve never shot with this, nor seen it used. It was common in the Americas and for a time in Ancient Greece. You’re supposed to physically pinch the arrow between your thumb and index finger. Your character would need a full archery glove if you draw them with this grip. The release is supposed to be smooth because there’s only one point of contact, rather than three. I believe you would place the arrow on the right side of the bow when using this technique, but I cannot speak with certainty as I’ve never seen it done (again, lefties would do the opposite).

Last but not least is the thumb or Mongolian draw, though it is/was also widespread in Korea, China, Russia, Persia, Turkey, and the Roman and Byzantine Empires. In this draw you wrap your thumb completely around the string and tuck it behind your other fingers. You do not grab the arrow. This draw utilizes your strongest digit, and so it may be less strenuous than other draws. This draw is commonly used with mounted archery. If your character is right handed and using this draw, put the arrow on the right side of the bow (lefties, do the inverse).

Elbows

Another aspect of your draw that is important is elbow discipline. The elbow of your character’s string hand should not point up into the air. It should point straight back, like the picture below.

Now, the other elbow is important, too. Don’t draw them with a locked elbow, instead keep it slightly bent and rotated inwards, like the picture below.

Holding the Bow

Your character shouldn’t have a death grip on the bow. Instead, show it resting in the curve between the thumb and index finger. Here’s a wikihow article that describes the different ways to hold different types of bows that is more succinct than I could ever be. Ignore the crossbow (derogatory).

Anchor 

Everyone needs an anchor. What’s an anchor, you ask? An anchor is a fixed spot that you draw your string back to whenever you’re going to shoot. It’s necessary in order to ensure consistency, which is accuracy’s best friend. Your anchor spot can vary. I anchor at the corner of my lip. Some people anchor underneath their chin. Some anchor to their ear. I’ve even seen some people in Asian disciplines anchor behind the ear or almost above the head, which is incredibly impressive. Bottom line, unless your character’s archery discipline has them draw behind the ear or above the head, you need to have them touching their head somewhere. The only wrong anchor is a short anchor. If you can’t draw the string back far enough to touch your face, that means you’re either trying to draw back a bow with too high a poundage, or the draw length is too short for you. The picture above of the person with the compound trigger release has a good anchor point on their face. The picture of the person with the arm guard has a good anchor point under their chin.

This person, on the other hand? Their anchor is out in space, that is to say they don’t have one (also their elbow discipline, posture, and stance are atrocious). I see this in fanart ALL THE TIME. It’s a pet peeve of mine. Don’t do this, have them anchor to their head or behind it somewhere.

Carrying The Bow

The best way is to just carry it in your hand by the bow (not the string). You can give your character a bow sling, or a back mount like Legolas has as well. You can slip the string over your shoulder and wear it across your back in a pinch, though this may damage the string. The only really wrong way to carry a bow is by the string, though you can damage your bow carrying it on your back if you’re stupid, and I’ve never tried to do so with a compound. Too pokey.

TL;DR

If you’re drawing a fantasy character, go buck wild. Still make sure to give them the right type of arrowhead, hand protection of some sort, a strong stance (no kneeling or sitting), good posture, a sensible draw, elbow discipline, an anchor point (don’t be like the person above!), and a good way to carry their bow, but you can have fun with the rest. If you’re drawing a character from history, research the archery discipline they would most likely use, and draw them with the appropriate bow type, quiver, arrows, protective equipment, stance, posture, draw, elbow discipline, anchor, and bow carry.

#archery #legolas #legolas greenleaf #lotr #tauriel #katniss everdeen #merida #green arrow #hawkeye #clint barton #robin hood #archer #bows #art reference #len speaks #holy FUCK it's complete! #i spent like five hours researching for this post jfc i'm beat #me: *sees one terrible piece of legolas fanart* #me: *cracks knuckles* tiME TO INFODUMP #anyways in conclusion fuck cr*ssbows uwu

[heli0s-writes]

pagan poetry*

A/N: Hey-o! After nearly 3 months of being a complete disaster, I ... did a thing. Very much my usual brand of filth. Thanks for sticking around as I continue to navigate this impending sense of oblivion!! 1.6k words of bangin’ Bucky Barnes. Yeeeeeeahhh.

Title is from this song, by Bjork. 🖤

Warnings: Smutty smut and heathen shit, what else is new with Helios?

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Steve asked if you were religious once.

It was an off the cuff kind of question, prompted by something you can’t remember now—silly banter over drinks and a background party, perhaps. Both grown weary of entertaining a crowd of strangers, etiquette spent nearing the night’s end. You’d shrugged lazily and prefaced that it’s hard to shake an entire childhood of indoctrination but now, by resolute choice, you aren’t.

You lied. You’ve never been more devout.

It was easier than getting into all the semantics, anyway. Where would you start explaining that you now spend more time than ever at worship? Not in the middle of Tony’s so-called “small” get-together of “only” seventy-five people. Certainly not a place to admit to Steve that your knees supplicate more earnestly than the most pious of priests, your throat constantly pouring the sweetest profession of faith—the name of the most divine.

Even if the two of you were somewhere more private, and he was at least half as drunk as you were, it’s a bit blasphemous, Steve, that you fuck Bucky six ways to Sunday and call it religion.

It’s a hard desire to curb when he looks like that. Bucky’s built like a god— his arm the kind of weapon you’d happily split your tongue polishing. Strong, powerful legs. Broad shoulders like lovingly carved marble, worked between the hands of a Renaissance master, tapered sharply down to his wasp’s waist.

His hips. Lord, you could dedicate eternity naming every last inch of his hips.

Such a pretty boy. How he makes you hungry to sin.

“Bucky,” you whisper, enthralled again when he steps out from a quick shower. Smoldering and glorious, and you’re Joan of Arc constantly being descended upon by a burning archangel. Some random night, like any other night, and you’re overtaken again. Hazy with orange glow, the billowing mist makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then, you feel… hm.

Wet.

He cautions the way you chew on your lip, eyes twinkling brightly because what else is new. You? Turned on? Bucky could be brushing his teeth and you’d start climbing him like your personal jungle gym.

“Sweetheart,” he begins warily, adjusting the towel on his hips—those beautiful, beautiful hips. “One more dinner with us swinging in late and they’re gonna stop inviting us.”

You nod along dumbly, deaf now and set on a singular mission. Crawling on your knees, you reach Bucky halfway as he tries to put an end to your pilgrimage. Tries because your palms are fast over the damp fabric, fingers threading through warm fibers before landing flat against his abs, feeling up to his chest, murmuring stupidly, always so shocked at his everything. You graze up his wrists, his forearms, making paths of taut muscle.

“How bout after dinner?” His thumbs gently brush the swell of your breasts before he holds you back, straightening your spine when you arch into him. “Promise I’ll give it to you good later.”

“Give it to me now?”

He laughs. “You really gotta work on your negotiation skills…”

“Huh… Lemme try again: give it to me… right now?”

Bucky groans in equal measures of exasperation and exhilaration when you fall back on your knees. A few more half-hearted baby, quit it, ‘m serious, and then he gives up completely.

“Steve’s gonna get himself in a mood.”

“Steve’s always in a mood.”

Wilted protests quickly disappear into the hollow of your cheeks, licked away by your clever tongue. He grips the back of your neck firmly, tilting your head the way he likes best, eyes flicking down to meet yours before they close. He keeps you there a little longer, his toes curling into the carpet with each bob of your head.

“Yeah, you’re—always in a mood, too—uhhm—“

And you hum in agreeance, but the sound only vibrates into his skin, making him groan louder.

Bucky’s voice is slurred, as if half drunk. “Can’t hear— mm— you, sweetheart…”

So you make something up to give him what he wants, that buzzing of your throat on his cock, and his thighs tighten in response, the hand on the back of your neck reflexively scrabbling to your shoulder with a hard grip.

It’s a bit counterproductive of you to be so sloppy, considering that Bucky’s freshly showered and cleaned up— the scent of his brisk body wash strong and harsh in your nose— but fucking him like it’s your job allows some insight to what he likes, and it’s easily this:

Dirty, filthy, drooling wet blowjobs. The messier the better and the faster it gets him there. Your radiant Right Hand of God, but goddamn is he a little devil himself.

Bucky’s growling by the time he hauls you toward the bed, depositing your thrilled skin on the mattress firmly. Red lips meet yours with force, plush and full, nipping at the corners of your wet mouth like he’s kissing back every trace of him. He presses on across your jaw, up and down your neck. His voice is husky sweet and breathy in your ear.

“You bad, bad girl.” And you start curling yourself into him, nodding for more. One of his hands is working himself, the sound of your spit slippery in his fist. “You got me all messy again.”

Your skin feels blistering and freezing at the same time, chills racing to your fingertips tightly hooked around his biceps. The outfit you put on for a nice, quaint dinner at Steve and Sharon’s too heavy now, too constricting, but he doesn’t let you take it off.

“Every morning and night not enough dick for you, is it?” Bucky brushes your hands away, taking hold of your chin and peeling your head back until you’re looking at him. His pupils are blown wide, the only thing left of his irises are two thin rings of barely there blue as he scans your face. Your brain is short-circuiting, hanging onto every syllable, every purse of his cherry lips.

He switches on and off like a light. Beautiful, soft, thoughtful one minute, all force and darkness the next. You faithfully take it all, every facet of him. Your angel boy. Your wicked soldier.

Joan of Arc was only hallucinating, but she wasn’t half as lucky as you to have conjured something half as astonishing as Bucky. Gorgeous strong jaw, bristles along his chin and cheek scrubbing noisily against your lips as he kisses you. His mouth— open and wet, sloppy against yours— hardly landing right and you’re toeing delirium by the time his fingers slide up your shirt.

Bucky pushes you down into the sheets, rucking up your skirt until it bunches around your waist. “We’re in a rush, remember?” He tucks two fingers into the elastic of your panties and yanks them to one side. Just enough. In a rush. Your thighs meet with a determined shimmy of his hips— those incredible hips— and then you’re full, so full of him.

The blood in your ears crashes against reality and bends it all sideways. Not religious like that, but since the first time you’d touched him, you’ve been cocksure if heaven were real, it’d be this. It’d be him.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Bucky promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your addled brain, the tell-tale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of where he’s connected— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time to it like a trained toy.

“Bucky,” you mewl, “Buck.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

He takes the back of your neck again, lowering his body over yours, faster now. Deliberately reckless and the entire bed is rocking, springs squealing under his pace.

“Oh my god,” you smash your brow into the junction of his shoulder, hanging on by a thread as he drives into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

His grip is tourniquet tight, thumb moving to the middle of your throat, pressing ever so slightly until your breath feels trapped under the swirl of his fingerprint. The curtain of his hair hangs over your face, blocking out the room going blindingly white. Your eyes shut tightly, opening only for a second to catch him panting over you, burning hot, his features flickering from utter control to trembling pleasure to something akin to frenzy.

Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards. His hands are everywhere. Eyes devouring every inch of your skin. There’s a million of him taking a million of you to a million more pieces. You shatter then, clawing his back and arms, singing like a fucking choir the infinity of his name.

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. He makes your days holy. The altar of his body. The sacrament of his sweat. He breaks you apart into something luminous.

Religion. Not religion. Your heathen soul—whatever tiny fracture you may have—all his, forever. Now, tomorrow, at the end of the world.

So, when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished dinner, as predicted, over an hour late and in terrible disarray, Steve crosses himself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Sam clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.” 

All you can do is duck your head and grin.

#buck barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #marvel #mcu #reader insert #fanfiction #smut

[abbysfrenchbraid]

hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by  tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

-

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby anderson fic #fanfiction #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #angst/fluff #manny tlou #wlf #washington liberation front #abby anderson / reader #abby/reader

[lesetoilesfous]

I can’t decide if I want “sensory overload” or “on a leash” for Fenris and Fenders, so um, whichever sparks your interest please!

Oh my gosh I had too much fun with this. And "on a leash" gives me a bingo, thank you so so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: On A Leash

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Slavery, Brainwashing, Mindwipe, Implied Sexual Abuse, Attempted Prositution, Graphic Depiction of Injury

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Isabela, Varric Tethras, Merrill

Additional Tags: Angst with a Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort (mostly), Evil/Red Hawke, post-canon, what if Hawke sold Fenris back to Danarius and then the gang went and saved him

Anders knew it was going to be bad. He was - had been - blinded by his own ignorance and pain in the past, too busy trying to scream loud enough to get people to stop ignoring the people murdering children to listen to anyone else. He’d been young and single minded and irrational, and then older and bitter and furious with a terrible, poisonous kind of pain that made it hard to see the world around him. But he wasn’t naive. He’d spent ten years nursing criminals and refugees. Before that, he’d spent nearly a decade in the Grey Wardens, with former slaves and blood mages and Dalish hunters and Antivan crows. Anders had not been naive since he’d first drunk from the Joining Chalice.

Still.

It’s almost impossible to see in the placid, polite, half-naked man the proud warrior he’d once known. Fenris’ hair has been shaved close to his head, a fuzz of powdered snow that’s bright as the moon against his brown skin. There’s a thick, silver collar hanging around his neck, and in it the reflections of his lyrium tattoos twist and shine like mercury. His chest is mostly bare, and thin white linen is wrapped in a loose skirt around his waist. His body is sculpted and unmarred and beautiful, and Anders does not for a moment believe that it means he has not suffered pain. His wide, green eyes no longer hold any of the intelligence, or humour, or fury that Anders had once fallen in love with. Instead he stares, docile, into the middle distance. A greatsword is slung on a strap of leather over his back, but like this Fenris looks no more capable of wielding it than a kitten. Again, Anders knows better than to trust in appearances.

Attached to the collar is a long, silver chain that ends in a black loop of leather. There are runes stitched into the leather in silver thread, though Anders cannot see what they are from where he’s sitting. Opposite him, relaxed, fingers hooked in the loop of Fenris’ leash, Danarius studies him with open curiosity.

Anders tries very hard not to vomit.

“So, you’re a Spirit Healer?”

Anders ducks his head, feeling his fingers beginning to shake and fighting hard to resist the urge to fidget. There’s a clocktower visible through the white marble arches of this balcony. He only has to last until the hour. Five minutes. He can do this. He tries very hard not to look at Fenris, or the way Danarius’ thumb is stroking possessively over the handle of his leash.

“I - I am, yes. I showed a talent for it when I was young.” Anders twists his hand in the air, summoning a wisp without catching his breath, and Danarius gives him the same indulgent, condescending schoolteacher kind of smile that Uldred used to offer before he beat you. Anders snaps his fingers, and the wisp returns to the Fade. At the back of his mind, Justice shifts uneasily, trying hard to resist his own urge to set the whole blighted mansion on fire. Anders tries to ignore the heat racing up the back of his neck and into his cheeks, and clears his throat. “I, uh, heard you were looking for apprentices?”

He can’t help the nervous tic that has him looking up, again, at Fenris as the lithe strength of his muscles. Again, he looks into those green eyes, searching for the spark of defiance that had drawn him so close so many years ago, like a moth to a flame worth dying for. “I’ve read your work an anatomical augmentation. It’s...fascinating.” Horrifying, he means. Anders had read the essays, in preparation for this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having the nightmares. Not least the ones which superimpose Fenris’ face and body over the all too familiar anatomical sketches of Elven Subject 003.

Danarius twitches his hand with a tinkle of the chain like the ringing of a bell, and to Anders’ horror Fenris folds onto his hands and knees in one fluid motion to kneel beside Danarius’ feet. No emotion passes across Fenris’ face. Danarius runs his fingers over the fuzz of Fenris’ shaved head, and Fenris shuts his eyes in open, simple pleasure and Anders nearly throws up. Danarius runs his fingers down the back of Fenris’ neck, squeezing the back of it posssessively before looking up at Anders’ with a terribly possessive gleam in his clear grey eyes. “You’re a fan of my little wolf, then.”

Anders swallows the bile in his throat and stares at the clocktower. Three minutes. He can do this. Sweat tickles down his spine beneath the loose Tevene linen robe he’d bought for this occasion. He resists the urge to fuss with his hair, braided out of the way of his neck and ears in a fashionable Minrathous style. He forces himself to incline his chin. “Y-yes. Among other p-things. Among other things.”

Danarius chuckles, sitting back with a creak of his wicker chair, the crushed purple silk cushions huffing behind him as he moves. “Why so nervous?” Anders forces himself to huff a self deprecating laugh. “You knew him, didn’t you. In Kirkwall.” Anders’ jagged, insincere smile stiffens on his lips and Danarius laughs, moving forward to press both hands onto Fenris’ bare shoulders. Fenris shudders and looks up at him, eyes wide as a child’s. Danarius caresses the back of his head, and leans down to murmur intimately close to his ear, still loud enough for Anders to hear. “Do you recognise him, little wolf? Do you know who this is?”

For the first time since Anders had arrived at Danarius’ damn mansion, Fenris’ expression shows a flicker of emotion. Confusion flickers across his brow in a brief wrinkle followed by sudden, mute fear that freezes his expression with stiff tension when Danarius slips his fingers beneath Fenris’ collar and shakes him, gently. (Like a dog, Anders thinks, and imagines what setting this man on fire would smell like.) Danarius laughs, polite and performative. “How rude, Fenris! This man has come all the way from Kirkwall just to see you! Go on, thank him.”

Fenris hesitates for a millisecond, and Danarius sets a sandaled foot on his shoulder and kicks him forward hard enough that he chokes, briefly, as the leash goes taut and pulls on the collar around his neck. Anders sits forward without thinking, the muscle memory of ten years spent protecting this man’s life before Garrett Hawke ruined them both taking over any conscious thought of deception. Danarius doesn’t remark on him giving himself away - Anders is well aware that that game is long since given up.

Instead, the magister sits back, adjusting his grip on the handle of Fenris’ leash as Fenris sits up with tears of pain bright in his eyes, his fingers moving to dip beneath the skirt of Anders’ robes as he lowers his head towards Anders’ lap.

Anders has about three seconds to look up at Danarius and see the perverse glee in the old man’s eyes before Fenris' mouth bumps his cock through the fabric of his robes and his smalls, and suddenly Anders is two years younger on his back in The Hanged Man with his hands buried deep in silver hair thinking hopelessly that he’s fallen in love again.

Then he’s touching Fenris - ignoring the lightning bolt of rage that twists Danarius’ face as he does so, and gently pushing him away. Fenris looks up at him with an expression of quickly stifled terror, and Anders’ heart shatters. “No, no, it’s alright, it’s not you.” His fingers squeeze, reflexively, against the warm, smooth skin of Fenris’ biceps. “It’s going to be ok. I promise, love.” Again, a flicker of confusion wrinkles Fenris’ brow.

The clocktower strikes twelve. As the bells ring throughout the city, Anders becomes abruptly aware of the street below them: the sound of hawkers and tourists, the shouting of slaves and soft music of minstrels. Danarius is staring at him with a sneer twisting his thin lips blue. Anders gives him a wide, open smile. “Well, since we’ve given up on pretenses.” Then he punches Danarius in the face, harder than he's punched anyone since he escaped Kinloch Hold, relishing the way the man’s nose buckles beneath his fist.

He has a heartbeat to think, Nice job bleeding a Blood Mage, idiot, before Danarius’ blue-veined hand is curling into a rigid claw, and Anders’ body is lifting off the ground, his limbs contorting behind him in an agonising rictus that rips his left arm out of its socket and twists his ankle until it cracks.

Then there’s a thunderous BOOM that rumbles through the building, shaking plaster dust from the painted canopy over their heads, and the balcony on which they’re standing begins to list like a ship at sea. Danarius loses concentration on the spell, and Anders falls to the ground. He doesn’t take the time to breathe through the white hot splinter of pain in his ankle. He grabs the leash and pulls fire into his hands until his fingers are blistering and melts the metal until it breaks. Then he turns to Fenris.

Fenris, who has drawn his greatsword. Anders stares at him, and thinks about sitting with him beside a fireplace, sleepy and soft with wine, and stroking his hair as Fenris admitted that of all the things he feared, one of the ones that terrified him most was killing his friends. The building lists with a grinding rumble like a broken bone beneath a qunari sten, and amphorae and flower pots go flying across the tiled floor, hitting the building across the street in fireworks of soil and clay dust.

Anders’ bad ankle slips on the tiles and he grunts and turns it into a smile, and meets Fenris’ eyes. “No matter what, I want you to know that I forgive you.”

Then he runs forward and tackles Fenris, throwing them both off the side of the balcony. Behind them, Danarius screams, and Anders calls up a shield around them both that materialises a hair’s breadth away from the clinging red vines of Danarius' magic.

It’s only when they’re airborne that Anders registers the blade skewered through his chest.

He breathes, and salt and copper splatter against his lips and tongue. For a moment, in the golden, multicoloured kaleidoscope of sky and street, suspended in the air in a terrible embrace, everything is quiet. Fenris frowns at him, and blinks, and his green eyes flood suddenly with recognition and grief as he looks down at the sword hilt between them, intimate as a lover’s embrace. “Anders.”

Anders grins at him, and thinks he isn’t crying because of the pain, his tears rising behind him as they fall like backwards rain. He cradles Fenris’ head in his hand, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, and chokes as his organs shudder against the blade attempting to split him in two, and he feels Justice’s presence building in his mind like lightning in a thundercloud. “Be right back.”

*

What happens next returns to Anders in snatches of lucidity. Justice takes over, and draws the fade around them like a cloak as they fall through the wall of the building across the street like a comet. Fenris is unharmed and panicking, covered in Anders’ blood, his white linen skirt pink and red with it, the damn collar still locked around his neck. Justice had drawn the sword out of their chest and filled the wound with a magic simulacra of the blood vessels, muscles, organs and nervous system that needed to be there, in the way he had once reconstructed Kristoff’s corpse. (Both of them had quailed, at that comparison, but neither had time to linger on it.)

The building they’d fallen into was, of course, riddled with magisters, but before Justice could exorcise his frustration with a little smiting, all three men and women were dead with a bolt to the back of the head. Isabela appeared from the shadows in a puff of smoke like a mage herself, and Varric waved at them to follow him onto a waiting carriage. Merrill barely waited for them to get on board before she snapped the reins, and they bolted into the panicking crowds, most of whom were running to get away from the collapsing mansion.

In the carriage, consciousness had begun to make its slippery way out of Justice’s hands like a wriggling fish. Both of them had registered Fenris’ wide-eyed panic: the way he’d stared at their old friends with no hint of recognition, and held Anders’ arm so tightly it would bruise. But at that point, the blood loss had overcome them both, and they had passed out to Fenris shouting Tevene interspersed with Anders’ name, and Isabela trying to understand why.

*

Two years after Garrett Hawke sells him back into slavery, Anders, Isabela, Varric and Merrill free Fenris from Danarius’ service. They don’t go back to Kirkwall - all of them are too conscious of the so-called Champion’s stomping grounds to trust those streets. But Isabela has a contact in the Antivan Crows (or formerly of them - it’s complicated), so instead they go to Antiva City. Two days later, Anders wakes up.

Fenris is staring at him, wearing real clothes that seem to sit uncomfortably on his shoulders. His collar is gone, and there’s a small frown on his brow - a lifting of his eyebrows towards the bridge of his nose that he always used to wear when he was puzzling over particularly cramped handwriting (or, later into his studies, when he was attempting to accurately interpret and summarise abstract Qunari poetry). Anders breathes, and his chest sets itself on fire, and he groans and lets his head fall back against the richly perfumed pillow behind his head. It does relatively little to drown out the thick stench of hot leather that is as thick in the air as molasses.

Fenris startles when he moves, and stands, moving to the door. Anders frowns at him, turning his head to one side with all the energy he can muster. “Where’r’you’goin’?”

Fenris hesitates, turning back to him before lowering his gaze to stare at his still bare feet. There are new scars there, Anders registers, sadly, in neat white bands around his ankles. “I thought I’d fetch the mistress.”

Anders snorts, “Have you told her you’re calling her that?” He tries again to force himself to sit up, and Fenris starts forward, hands freezing in the air between them. His fingernails are neatly, perfectly filed and it ruins Anders’ tentatively building appetite.

“You really shouldn’t be moving.”

Anders grins, trying to ignore the sweat running down his temples as pain racks through every muscle in his body. “Why? Worried I’m going to split in two?” Fenris grimaces, and Anders grunts, giving up and collapsing to the bed with a thunderbolt of pain. “OW. Sorry. Bad joke.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and when Anders is able to stop seeing stars, he turns to find Fenris on his knees beside the bed, head lowered, hands palm up in front of him. “What in the name of Andraste’s perfect silky knickers are you doing?” Anders asks as if he doesn’t know. He thinks it’s going to be easier not to take this seriously, at first. At least whilst he recovers from the mortal injury.

Fenris flinches, and Anders regrets his bad attempt at humour, feeling Justice rumbling in the back of his head like a bowel movement. “Sorry, sorry. Look, Fenris, I’m not going to...punish you, or fuck you, or whatever it is you think I’m going to do to you. I actually have a very busy day planned of, uh, staring at that crack on the ceiling and pretending it doesn’t hurt when I breathe. Or speak. Fuck. I talk too much. I need to - ow - work on that.”

For a long moment, Fenris says nothing. Outside, there’s the sound of someone playing violin in the street, and the rich, warm sound of Antivan spoken loudly and with laughter. Now that he’s acclimatising to the leather, Anders thinks he can smell cured meat frying, and he’s beginning to reconsider his aborted appetite. He’s trying so hard to see if he can actually hear the sizzling of street food that he almost doesn’t hear Fenris’ voice when he speaks, barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” Anders responds, more muscle memory than conscious - hey he doesn’t remember anything about you maybe we should start slowly - thought. Fenris stares at him, eyes wide, though his mouth twists in apprehension before he smooths it back into impassivity.

“Domine - My master loves me.”

Anders sighs, falling back in the bed to stare up at the crack in the ceiling and try to ignore the hot-cold flushes of pain rocking up through his body. “You don’t remember anything about me, so I’m not going to take that personally.”

Fenris is very still. “You do not...like him?”

Anders chuckles, and regrets it when his tattered organs throw a violent protest. “What gave that away.”

“You broke his nose.” Fenris says, solemnly, and Anders does laugh then, so hard he thinks it splits something open, and he finds himself clutching at his side in the sudden fear that his organs are going to fall out. When he can breathe again, he coughs on his dry mouth and shifts his gaze to Fenris, who’s watching him with wide eyes and the curl of a smile at the corner of his lips which Anders doesn’t think he knows he’s doing.

Anders’ gaze falls to a pewter jug of water on the bedside table and a wooden cup beside it. It may as well be in the Nocen sea, for all the nauseating pain running through him.

“Would you please pour me a glass of water?”

Fenris immediately hurries to obey with a soft, stifled sigh of something terribly like relief. He offers Anders the cup, and when Anders’ shaking, sweating fingers slip on the wood his hand comes up to cup the back of Anders’ head whilst the other pours the cup against his lips. The feeling of Fenris’ fingers in his hair, after so many years, holding him like this, is almost too much for Anders to bear. He keeps his eyes shut for a long time after swallowing, and breathes as tears tickle between the seams of his eyelids and run quietly down his cheeks.

Fenris’ thumb gently catches a tear and brushes it away from his skin, and Anders forces himself to open his eyes and stare up at the elf in the sunshine yellow and orange painted room in which he’s been laid to recuperate. Fenris meets his eyes, so briefly Anders thinks perhaps he imagined it, and draws his hand away. “My master said that I knew you. But that I had forgotten.” Fenris hesitates, mouth stiffening into a firm line that is so painfully familiar Anders thinks he’d choose the greatsword again. Then he looks up, “Did I - did we - it seems as if I meant a great deal to you.”

Anders smiles at him, though his lips tremble, and tries to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking. Outside, on the street, an older woman walks past, singing quietly to herself and humming when she forgets the words. “I think we meant a great deal to each other.”

Fenris purses his lips, and looks away, out of the window. Over the street, the silver-green leaves of an olive tree brush the windows of nearby buildings. Elsewhere in the building, Anders can hear the familiar purr of Isabela, and Merrill’s chirping, and the soft old gravel growl of Varric. Occasionally, the floorboards creak when they move across the lower floors. At last, Fenris’ shoulders drop, and he shakes his head. “I don’t remember you.” The words are rich with regret and apology.

Anders blinks against the new tears tickling his cheeks, and shakes his head. “I know.” Then he reaches out, his fingers cold and numb with pins and needles. Stiffly, fumbling, he grabs Fenris’ fingertips in his own like a much older man, and squeezes them. “I just wanted you to be free.”

#bad things happen bingo #dragon age 2 #fenders #fenris #anders #my fic #anon

[herald-divine-hell]

7 for Amayian and Leliana! 👀

Thank you for the ask, dear! I am writing this on my phone, so I’m sorry for any grammatical errors!

7. Dressed/naked (half dressed)

Leliana chewed at her bottom lip as she shifted a little in Amayian’s lap, taking heavy, sharp breaths as the large man throbbed inside her. Amayian’s size always surprised her—seemingly more Qunari than human, though Leliana had never bedded one in truth. She had once seen Bull without his breeches before, and admittedly, Amayian was bigger. It would make sense, given his alarming height, seven-foot-seven, perhaps an inch or two more. Everything about him was...big...and solid...and safe. The idea of the last was particular important to Leliana, and was partially the reason why they were like this in the beginning.

Amayian wore his outfit of that day, a long sweep robe with draping cloths cut at the middle to reveal the sleeves clinging to his heavy muscles, as if he was ready to burst out of it at any given moment. Leliana, in truth, and with a blush as well, would not deny the appeal of that thought. His dark black hair feel in waves, curling at the tips right beneath his ears. Silver eyes burnished with the faint glow of candlelight, with veins of gold in silver ice, burned down at her. A large hand rested at her waist, pushing the heavy cloak against a curve.

Where Amayian was fully dressed, saved for his lost of small clothes, Leliana was naked, save for the thick sable cloak which belonged to the Inquisitor. Despite her height of five-foot-seven, anything Leliana wore from the Inquisitor was long and wide, too big for her slight form, a particular thing she quite enjoyed, and was a primary motive for her stealing many of the clothes in the early mornings of the day. Sometimes she played with the idea of wearing them throughout the day; it would work well as a dress, she would think, and often tease Amayian about. That always brought a faint blush to the usually collected Inquisitor.

But now here Leliana was, blushing in turn, trying her utmost not to bounce along the length of Amayian’s cock, keeping the moans into whimpers as she clung to cloth against his shirt. “Please,” Leliana whispered, in shaky tones. A low moan passed her lips again as Amayian shifted over her a little to grasp at the silver length of the wax pouring, pushing him somehow even more deeper within her, drawing her thighs to clench around his wide waist and her fingers to ball the cloth in her grasp. He shifted back, pulling a little away, and Leliana automatically slammed back down, with another little cry.

“Please what?” asked Amayian in that smooth, deep voice which send ripples of pleasure along her spine, deep between her legs where the fire was already burning hot. Leliana saw his eyes glance down, where the cloak was parted enough to reveal her pale, nude body before him. The hand on her hip drifted around and into the cloak, following the length of her hip, large fingers trailing threads of magic, cool one moment and warm the next, over her skin, overwhelming her with pleasure. Her ability to speak slipped almost out of her grasp, although she caught just in time. A large thumb grazed over the small nub of a breast, a faint spark of lightening causing her to squeak and moan and her walls to flutter around him. “Josephine did say I have many reports to get through. Unless...” He leaned closer, his hot breath tickling her ear, that voice fogging her mind even more. “My lady would enjoy giving me a full report on Skyhold’s activities herself?”

Damn this man! Damn him and his voice! And damn her for teasing him for so long. He was able to catch on things she did not expect him to do so so easily. It took a few moments to reply, and she vaguely get his hand drift down the length of her her stomach, cut nails drawing faint lines as he returned to her hip, his thumb caressing her inner thigh. “No...” But she felt herself move on her occurred, up, drawing a long mewl from her and a murmur of a low groan from the Inquisitor. When she thought she was half where there, she felt back down, and her back arched and she cried out, stars erupting behind her eyes. “Fuck.”

The fall had been at the right moment when Amayian drifting down and pressed gently against her clit, and the pleasure which came from that self-made thrust bursted a thousand fold, constellations brimming with light filling the darkness behind her eyes as she came along his length. For how long, she did not know. She felt the grip tightened at her hip, and her head being tilted by a tight hold in her short hair, Amayian’s teeth against her neck, leaving marks that would surely be there for days to come.

Rolling her hips, she trembled in his gasp, felt her inner thighs coat with her own essence. But the time to give her reprieve did not last long. Suddenly she was laid flat on his desk, her legs hiked up to rest on his shoulders....though it was mainly his feet. When Leliana stared up at him, and the effort was hard, she saw desire burning the silver like a winter storm threatening to shatter a wooden cabin. His length was pulled out of her, the bulbous tip only remaining. But his hands were gentle as he caressed her bottom lip, cupping her jaw, and than slamming his lips against her and with it the returned of his cock. And pleasure erupted against at the sudden fullness, and Leliana cried out a little in that desire-blistering kiss, small hands tightened into his hair.

The cloak served as a protector against the wooden desk beneath her, and she was moved up along with it as Amayian moved in and out of her, slowing at some moments, growing faster at others, harder here and softer there. Leliana could only think of Amayian, of the heat pummeling off him like the dawning sun, of his low growls and grunts and small grasps which erupted pleasure as much as the intensity and the caressing of her nipples did. Time warped and mended, melting away as Amayian filled her world, became her world; the pleasure her water, his safety her air.

Her world, her breath, her heart. Amayian, Amayian, Amayian...

#I hope this was good! #I’m bad at smut #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #da #dragon age trevelyan #dragon age ocs #amayian trevelyan #my ocs #leliana #Leliana x inquisitor #inquisitor x Leliana #amayiana #sinful #smut #rosenkow

[fanficshiddles]

This wasn’t part of the plan, Chapter 20

Tom took a moment to find his voice, so surprised by what she said.

‘You…’ He cleared his throat. ‘You want me to spank you?’ He stalked over to her and couldn’t take his eyes off her backside that she was displaying so temptingly for him.

Everything inside of him was itching to just get her over his lap and spank her hard. But he took deep breaths, keeping himself in check. She was drunk.

‘Yes! Please… I’ve been thinking about it for so long. And… I’d like to try it.’ She bit her lower lip and looked up at him with such adoring eyes, making it so hard for him to resist. And his resolve wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

Tom let out a deep growl as he reached out and stroked her bum, making her whimper.

‘Believe me, I want nothing more than to spank you.’ He growled, patting her bum gently that made her tremble. ‘But not like this, you’re too drunk…’

It pained him to say that, because he knew that once she was sober, she would likely not want him to do it. And if she outright told him no then he would not do it. A huge part of him was tempted to give in to her drunken wish, but he was worried she wouldn’t like it and would hate him afterwards. It would ruin their relationship… He was really torn.

‘Please.’ She whined, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

Tom sighed and went to sit on the sofa. ‘Come and sit down.’ He said firmly, patting next to him.

She grumbled in frustration, but hopped round to sit next to him. Tom gripped her chin and held her steady, looking into her eyes. They were a little bit hazy, from the alcohol and no doubt with her being aroused.

‘I am not going to do that when you’re drunk.’

‘I’m not drunk!’ She said quickly, high pitched.

Tom chuckled. ‘You are, darling… But believe me, drunk or not I want to spank you. But for your first time, I need you fully co-operative and consenting.’ He said as he brushed his thumb along her lower lip.

‘I do consent. I trust you, Tom. I do… I know it may not seem like it, but I really really do. It’s just new to me. But I wanna be spanked!’

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I do not doubt that, but the answer is still no right now. I need consent without intoxication. Because trust me, little one… Once I get you across my lap and I start blistering that backside of yours, you will be opening up something deep within me. Something that is not to be taken lightly.’

‘Ooooh, will it awaken the beast within?’ She teased.

‘Oh yes. And you don’t want to do that when you’re drunk.’ He growled and pounced on her, knocking her down he loomed over her and playfully nibbled on her neck while growling.

Tom didn’t relent in regards to spanking her. Even as he got dressed, he had to try and think about some disgusting scenes to get his arousal to go down. But he promised her that later, or tomorrow, once the alcohol was no longer over taking her mind that he would do it.

He managed to get her mind elsewhere and they ordered takeaway for dinner. But Melody wasn’t giving up so easily, she didn’t bother getting dressed. Decided to stay in her bikini, hoping to tempt Tom more.

Tom knew it was going to be morning before he spanked her, because she kept sipping on alcohol all evening. Instead of trying to sober up. But he didn’t mind, they were there to let loose and have fun, too.

But when the food arrived, Melody went to answer it in just her bikini.

‘Don’t think so!’ Tom swiftly grabbed her with an arm around her middle, hoisting her away from the door. ‘Go and look out the cutlery. I’ll get the food.’

He made sure she was out of view before opening the door to the delivery guy. He quickly paid him and got the door closed, just in-case she decided to come back through. Whilst he didn’t mind one single bit that she wasn’t getting dressed, he certainly didn’t want other people seeing her half naked.

During the evening, Melody kept trying to get under his skin, and bless her heart did she try. Draping herself across his lap with her ass up was the hardest tempt that Tom had to deny. He did give her bum a good squeeze, but that was it.

‘You are asking for trouble, girl.’ He growled.

The only way Tom was able to calm her raging hormones was when he threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom where he then pinned her down on the bed and fucked her senseless until they both passed out, tangled in one another’s limbs.

-

In the morning, Melody wasn’t feeling too hungover, luckily. Tom wasn’t either. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating breakfast.

Tom noticed that she had been unusually quiet, even for sober Melody’s standards.

But there was tension between them, Melody could feel it. The way he kept looking at her so intently, like he was going to leap across the table and devour her at any moment.

He was waiting patiently. Waiting for her to make the first move, no matter how long it was going to take.

Melody had been hoping that Tom would bring up the subject first. But when he didn’t, she had a feeling she knew the game he was playing.

But then she just bit the bullet and went for it.

‘I still want to be spanked.’ She said quickly, cheeks burning.

Tom felt a fire burning inside of him, but he tried to keep it dampened down as he looked at her. He then slowly got up and walked around the table, not saying anything yet. But it made her feel nervous. He moved behind her and massaged her shoulders a little.

‘Are you sure, pet? Is this really what you want?’ He asked, his tone low.

‘Y… yeah… I think so...’ She nodded, the butterflies in her stomach were going crazy.

‘Come with me, love.’ He gently took hold of her hand and stood her up, then walked her through to the living room.

Again, he moved behind her and rubbed her arms. He then reached around to her front and slowly untied the tie that was keeping her dressing gown on.

‘Why do you want to be spanked, Melody?’ He asked, using his teacher tone that made her knees turn to jelly.

‘I… I don’t know. I don’t even know if I will like it or not… I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for the last few days.’ She gasped as he pushed the dressing gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. She was wearing nothing underneath it, and suddenly felt rather vulnerable in comparison to Tom who was fully dressed.

‘Is it since I threatened to do it when we were in my office the other day?’ He asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

She nodded, swallowing hard. His lips teased up her neck, to just below her earlobe.

‘Do you want Daddy to lay you across his lap and spank that cute little bottom of yours?’ He whispered gruffly into her ear.

She could feel his hard bulge pressing into her backside, hurrying her along with her answer. Even if they both already knew what the answer was going to be.

‘Please.’ She whimpered.

‘Pick a safe word.’

‘A safe word?’ Melody questioned, slightly off guard at that.

‘Yes, a safe word. For you to call out if you want me to stop.’ Tom said firmly as he guided her over towards the sofa.

‘Can’t I just say stop?’

‘No, Melody. You need to think of a word to say, one that you will remember.’ He started rolling his sleeves up his forearms, making her mind go a little haywire.

‘Being spanked is not going to be quite as plain sailing as you may think. Sure, you may orgasm… If I allow it. You will moan.’ He stepped over to her, cupping her chin to make her look up at him as he continued. ‘But you will squirm, you will curse and shout at me, you will hurt, you will beg me to stop. But unless you say your safe word, I will not stop.’

Melody’s mouth had gone dry, she was looking up at him with wide eyes. Part of her thought she should’ve said no, forget about it. Let’s go to the hot tub… But she squeezed her thighs together, she was so aroused just thinking about it.

‘So you need to give me a safe word, baby girl. Or I won’t lay a finger on you.’

Melody swallowed hard and thought for a second. ‘Bubbles.’ She said quietly.

‘Bubbles?’

‘Yeah… bubbles.’ Melody confirmed.

Tom nodded and smiled. He sat down on the sofa and patted his thigh as he spread his legs wide. Melody took his hand and got down over his thighs. But he positioned her how he wanted, further over so her head was dangling down at the side of him. His legs were spread wide enough so her feet were dangling off the floor too at the other side of him, she was completely reliant upon him.

Not sure what to do with her hands, she ended up holding onto his leg. There was nothing else she could do with them anyway with the position she was in.

Tom was in his element already and he’d not even started yet. From the get go he had wanted nothing more than for her to be submissive with him, and to spank her. Now, finally he had her where he wanted.

He started by stroking her bum, massaging it slowly. Then he spread her cheeks apart and took a look at her glistening wet cunt. Chuckling, he started stroking her while he kept her spread open on display for him. ‘You are so wet, little one. So excited for your first spanking.’ He purred, rubbing her clit.

She whimpered and wriggled slightly under his intimate touching. She certainly hadn’t been expecting this kind of treatment with a spanking. But she wasn’t going to complain.

After working her up nicely, he stopped, much to her frustration as she grumbled. Tom squeezed her ass cheeks again, taking his sweet time. Then taking a deep, controlling breath, he raised his hand up and finally brought it down swiftly on her ass.

The first smack shocked her, she hadn’t quite been expecting it. It made her gasp and she jumped, but it wasn’t too sore. A bit stingy, if anything. But ok. Though the sheer size of his hands now hit home for her, and she had a feeling this wasn’t going to go quite as simple as she’d thought.

Tom repeated the action, using the same tempo. Her skin turned into a nice red shade with each smack. The little noises of gasps and whimpers he got from her was making him so hard.

‘You have been a naughty girl, teasing Daddy last night. You deserve this spanking.’ He growled.

After heating her up nicely, he slid his fingers between her thighs and stroked her again for a bit. He wasn’t surprised to find her wetter than she had been previously. He used that to his advantage and circled her clit. Then he finished by thrusting two fingers into her roughly, just the once, before stopping.

She was about to complain at the lack of touching, but was quickly stopped when he started spanking her again. Harder this time. Each one was taking her breath away, it was starting to get sore. His swing was becoming stronger.

Then he put in more force, smacking her ass really hard. That made her scream and she tried to reach back to protect her bottom, out of natural reaction. But Tom grabbed her wrist with his free hand and trapped it against her back.

‘No, little one. You will not stop me. You deserve this, you need it. And you’re taking it well, your first spanking, like such a good girl.’ He purred delightfully, his voice like velvet.

His smacks were hard from then on, making her cry out each time. He stopped once more, to tease her cunt, fucking her briefly with his fingers so she could hear the sloppy squelching sounds coming from her own body. Fuck. she thought. She had never been so wet before.

Tom was wicked, he brought her right to the edge of orgasm and then started smacking her again.

But she felt like she couldn’t take it. Her ass felt like it was on fire.

‘STOP! PLEASE!’ She shouted and started kicking her legs about, though it did nothing.

Tom ignored her, she didn’t say the safe word so he kept going ruthlessly. She then started cursing at him.

But there was a part of her that knew how to stop it. If she truly wanted him to… But her body was reacting in a way that scared her, it was enjoying the pain. It mixed in with pleasure, each smack vibrated along her flesh to her most sensitive parts. Keeping her right there, so close to coming even though he wasn’t touching her cunt directly.

She really didn’t know anymore if she wanted him to stop or not.

Tom finally pushed her over the edge with a well-placed smack slightly lower, the large span of his hand allowed him to cover a large area and it felt so close to her clit that she came. Stronger than she ever had before.

Her body shook violently and Tom halted the spanking while he held her on his lap, making sure she didn’t fall. His own breathing was rough and heavy, his mouth was salivating he was incredibly aroused.

It was one thing spanking her, but the fact she had such a strong orgasm from it was what made his heart soar. And other body parts…

When her body stopped trembling, he started stroking her cunt again. But she was too sensitive and tried to wriggle away, so Tom gave her a hard and quick smack that caused her to yelp. He tightened his grip around her wrist as he continued spanking again.

‘Fuuuuuuuck!’ She screamed, her mind almost completely gone from the mixture of such pleasure and pain. But she was so sensitive, far too sensitive to deal with it.

Her mind went into overload, she couldn’t cope with anymore. But there was a slight worry in her mind that if she said her safe word, would Tom be disappointed? Would he be annoyed? And a very small part of her thought… Will he actually stop if the safe word was said?

She had to try, anyway. Before her mind went too far down the rabbit hole. It was too much for her now.

‘BUBBLES!’

#Tom Hiddleston #fan fiction #this wasn't part of the plan

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Three (Bad Ideas) - Part 2/3

Jensen Ackles x Jared Padalecki (pre-J2 x reader)

Word Count: ~3470

Warnings: It’s not super explicit, it doesn’t get much farther than some groping and grinding on-camera, but there’s some decidedly adult content here. 

A/N: The second part of the prequel to Everything. The first part is right over here. All my gratitude to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the reading and encouragement, as always, and also for the J2 spamming esp. possessive!Jensen. 

“What, like, hot alien threesome?” Jensen laughs. 

“All those different species, with like. Droids. And fuckin’... Wookiees and shit.” Jared tries to make a Wookiee noise but he’s giggling too hard to get it out. In his defense, it’s two in the morning and he’s very drunk. 

“Hutt porn?”

“Hentai with actual tentacles! I mean, come on, you could scroll through category menus for hours.” 

Jensen snorts and shakes his head. “I always thought the green chick was hot.” 

“The twi’lek! Fuck yeah.” 

“You are such a dork,” Jensen laughs. He goes to elbow Jared, but Jared dodges, stumbles, and almost walks into a streetlamp. 

“Dude,” he splutters. “Dude, fuck, can you imagine… holy shit! If somebody liked to be choked, and -” 

“Hate to break it to you, but that barely counts as kinky in this universe,” Jensen says, with a wicked grin. 

Jared’s brain stores that away with a neon sign saying we are going to think about this later! but manages not to short out completely. 

“No, no, you know how Darth Vader -“ Jared stops in the middle of the sidewalk, mimicking the Force-choking gesture, trying to imitate a stern Vader-y expression and failing miserably. He clutches his stomach, wheezing with laughter. 

“Such a dork,” Jensen repeats, trying to hold back his laughter. “Get your ass moving, I’m fuckin’ freezing.” 

Jared falls back into step. “Your fault you’re already dressed for Austin.” 

“Vancouver in April might as well be Hoth,” Jensen says, and Jared cracks up all over again. 

“Who’s the dork now? I’m rubbing off on you!” he crows, and immediately adds, “That’s what she said.” 

Jensen huffs, mock-exasperated, but he sneaks a sideways look at Jared, grinning. 

One second they’re walking side by side, and the next, Jensen’s grabbing him, hand tight on Jared’s wrist as he crowds right into Jared’s space. Jared steps back instinctively, almost stumbles, but Jensen just follows, walking him backward with this wild-eyed intensity on his face. 

Jared’s back hits a cold brick wall. Jensen’s mouth is hot and desperate when it collides with his. 

The kiss is clumsy and messy and perfect, and it’s like Jared’s brain gets stuck in a loop: what, what, what, because they’re kissing, and he’s paralyzed by the shock for a long frozen moment while his stomach lurches and his heart pounds and his head spins. Then Jensen’s teeth catch on his lip, stinging in a way that sends electricity skittering along his synapses, jolting him back into the moment like a fucking AED. 

Jensen’s kissing him like he wants to devour him, sucking and biting like he could eat Jared alive, and Jared’s stomach flips with every ruthless drag of his teeth, every deep lush lick, every new brush of those pillowy lips. Jared pulls him in close and kisses him back with everything he’s got. 

Jensen slides both hands into Jared’s hair, strong fingers twining through the strands and tugging sharply just as his leg shoves up between Jared’s, and Jared lets out this ragged, needy moan, the most ridiculously slutty noise that’s ever escaped his lips. He should be embarrassed by how fucking desperate he sounds, but Jensen’s hips jerk forward, grinding up against him as he hisses out an answering curse. If Jared wasn’t being shoved up against the wall he’d probably fall the fuck down with the way his knees turn to jelly. 

Jensen pulls away. Before Jared’s brain can catch up with his body, he’s swaying forward in an attempt to follow his mouth. 

“Yeah?” Jensen growls. His voice is even deeper than usual, a barely-there rumble, and Jared shivers. 

Jared doesn’t know what the fucking question is, but he manages, “Yes.” 

There’s one more searing kiss, teeth and blistering heat, and then Jensen’s grabbing his wrist and tugging him away from the wall and down the quiet sidewalk. Jared feels like his muscles aren’t quite working right, floppy and uncoordinated as he staggers after Jensen. 

He can still feel the residual heat of Jensen’s body all down his front, and the Vancouver night feels even colder in the wake of all that fiery pressure. His lips are bruised and puffy. His skin is jumping with… god, he doesn’t even know what to call it: disbelief, lust, wonder, need, shock, too fucking much all at once, more than Jared can take. 

He sneaks a quick look at Jensen, and Jensen’s staring right back at him, eyes smoldering as he looks up through his lashes. He flicks his tongue out over his red, swollen lower lip and shoots Jared a little half-smile, and Jared has to stop again to reel Jensen in and kiss that smile until Jensen’s gasping against his mouth. 

“Bed,” Jensen says roughly. “I need to get you in a bed right fucking now.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Bed.” 

“You sure about this?” Jensen asks. He’s staring at Jared’s mouth again. 

Jared’s not sure what to say to that. Instead of admitting that no, he’s not sure about anything, and in fact he’s scared out of his damn mind, and this is probably a bad idea, he just ducks his head to kiss Jensen again.   

*

Jared’s spent so many hours reliving the feel of Jensen’s mouth against his, Jensen’s skin under his hands, Jensen’s low moan and shuddery sigh… there’s a million and one fragments of visceral gut-punch memory embedded in his nerve endings from the night Jared got drugged. 

He’s gotten better at pushing them away. At first it was every time, every time he got too close, every time he smelled Jensen; a feverish flash of sensation would hit him hard and fast. Now the memories mostly come out at night, when he’s alone. They’re still almost too intense to bear. 

It’s surreal, the way those memories pale in comparison to the real thing. 

Jensen’s on top of him, hips twisting, and they’re both hard in their jeans; they haven’t managed to stop touching long enough to get their clothes off, and the drag of too-rough denim-on-denim friction is driving Jared insane. The little growl in the back of Jensen’s throat is the same. The incredible mix of grace and aggression in the way he moves is the same. The way he makes Jared feel is the same: this all-consuming need through his body, fierce and dizzying, like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. 

He blamed it on the drugs, the electricity and mind-melting heat of the first time. He convinced himself that it was partly in his head, that it was the chemicals: the perfection of it, the way they slotted together like they were made for each other, the way every goddamn touch felt like a revelation. 

He was wrong on all counts. He feels drugged all over again. 

Jensen sits back on his heels abruptly, tugging his shirt over his head. Jared can barely take his eyes off the freckles and the muscles and the fucking hipbones long enough to deal with his own shirt, but it’s worth it when he pulls Jensen down again and feels all that smooth bare skin on his. 

Jared rakes his nails down Jensen’s shoulder blades and then flattens his hands on Jensen’s back to squeeze him closer, arching up, rolling his hips. Jensen pulls back just long enough to inhale, quick and sharp. 

“Sure about this?” Jared asks breathlessly. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Jensen says no, but he feels like he should ask. 

Jensen doesn’t answer. He ducks right back down, sinking his teeth into the spot under Jared’s ear that makes him whine and twitch. 

Jensen’s hand curls around the other side of his neck, thumb fitting right under the line of his jaw and forcing his head back, exposing his throat and leaving him at the mercy of Jensen’s mouth. Jensen’s tongue swirls over the skin he just bit, soothing the sting with a soft tickling lick, before nibbling the same spot again, gentler this time. Jared already feels strung-tight and shaky. 

He can feel how hard Jensen is, stiff heat straining against the front of his jeans, but Jensen’s taking his time. His fingers press harder, holding Jared down, holding him in place, and the pressure of his hand is doing devastating, crazy-making things to Jared’s insides. He nips and sucks and works sensitive patches of skin between his teeth until Jared’s twisting and gasping under him. 

Jared bucks up, frustrated, and grits out, “Please.” 

The way Jensen groans, low and helpless, might be the hottest thing Jared’s ever heard. He grinds down again, so fucking good Jared’s eyes roll back in his head, and then he finally pulls away, fingers sliding up from Jared’s neck to grip his hair instead. 

Jared blinks up at him. Even after all these years, he can’t believe it, sometimes; Jensen’s too beautiful to be real. He’s even more beautiful now, hair sticking up, lips swollen, looking down at Jared with his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed, something like surprise in his eyes. Jared’s too stunned to even wonder what his own face must look like. 

“Tell me what you want,” Jensen whispers. His voice is a barely-there rasp, steely and dark, and it makes Jared want to get on his knees, spread his legs, beg for anything and everything Jensen might choose to do to him. 

“You,” he manages. It’s always been the truth. 

*

Jared makes it less than forty-eight hours before he snaps. He’s in the car before he can think about it, driving the familiar roads to Jensen’s house on autopilot. 

He almost turns right around when he pulls into the driveway. The reality of what he’s doing sets in, and it’s so huge and overwhelming that there’s this rushing in his ears and this wheezing in his lungs and everything else fades away for a moment. He parks and leans forward, crossing his arms on the steering wheel and resting his forehead on them. He tries to breathe. 

Gonna see if I can catch an earlier flight. Just need to think.

Sorry.  

He woke up alone two days ago, and he’s read the note so many times since that it’s like those three sentences are just on a constant loop in the back of his head. He’s not sure he can face Jensen right now; hearing the words in person might just kill him. It was bad enough the first time. 

Don’t worry about it. What are brothers for? 

But at least that time there was an excuse. Jared could write off all his neediness, all his desperation, on drug-induced temporary insanity. 

Jensen must’ve just figured there was nothing wrong with a casual fuck. They were drunk, they were horny, they’d done it before, might as well. But then he’d seen the way Jared looked at him, and he must have finally realized. He panicked; that’s the only explanation Jared can think of. 

Jared knows himself. He knows that everything he feels shows in his expression, clear as fucking day, and if he didn’t have so much practice hiding that particular emotion, Jensen probably would’ve noticed a long time ago. Jared let his guard down that night, drunk, in the heat of the moment. Jensen must’ve seen it plastered all over his face. 

Thing is, though, Jared couldn’t live without his best friend. Doesn’t matter that he’s in love with Jensen. Doesn’t matter how he feels. The simple fact is, even if it’s never anything more than friendship, Jared needs Jensen in his life. If he screwed that up because of his stupid inconvenient feelings, if he really did scare Jensen away this time… well, he can’t think about that. That train of thought leads to cold sweats and sheer panic. 

Jared sits up. He grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled, then releases it, stretching out his fingers as he sighs. He looks guiltily at his hands. He stopped biting his fingernails a long time ago, but right now his nails are gnawed to the quick and his cuticles are edged with scabs. 

It’s eating him up inside. He feels raw and achy and shredded, and he needs to just bite the bullet and hear the words so that he can apologize. He has a whole speech planned out. Then maybe they can just go have a beer or something and it’ll all go back to normal. It has to go back to normal. 

Fuck. 

He grabs his phone and texts before he can think too hard about it: Can we talk? 

Jared sits up and looks at himself in the rearview mirror quickly. His eyes, sunken in bruised purple-blue rings, are puffy and red-rimmed. His hair is a greasy fucking mess, tangled where it peeks out from under his beanie. He looks like absolute shit. Doesn’t matter; Jensen’s seen him at his worst, and his looks aren’t really the point right now. 

His phone buzzes and Jared’s stomach lurches. 

Yes. I’ll come over. 

Jared almost chokes on his borderline-hysterical giggle. He gets out of the car, texting as he walks to the front door. 

Um okay but I’m maybe in your driveway?

He steels himself with a deep breath. The door swings open before he can knock. 

Unlike Jared, Jensen doesn’t usually wear his emotions on his face. It took time and trust before Jared could read the little nuances of his expressions, and he knew, even then, that it was just as much Jensen letting him in as Jared figuring him out. 

Now, though, Jensen might as well be a fucking billboard. He looks terrified and desperate and hopeful, and there’s something tender and familiar shining in his eyes. He looks just like Jared feels. 

Jared had a whole fucking speech planned, and he can’t remember a single word of it. He blinks, paralyzed, before taking one hesitant step forward. 

They both move at once, abrupt and clumsy, crashing into each other so hard it knocks the air from Jared’s lungs, and if he thought Jensen kissed him hungrily before, he’s starving now, teeth clashing and tongue plunging in deep, with this deep, gorgeous whine in the back of his throat when Jared just parts his lips and lets him take what he needs. 

Neither of them bother asking this time. They’re sure. 

*

It’s a bad idea and Jared knows it, even as he hauls Jensen in by the belt loops, but this is the longest he’s gone without kissing Jensen since they got together. He’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his goddamn mind before they make it to the last panel of the day. They’re near the green room in a relatively secluded little nook of the hallway, so at least there’s no danger of fans spotting them, but someone from the cast or Creation staff could walk by. It’s a stupid risk. 

They still haven’t told anybody. They want to try to keep it from the press, at first, for the sake of privacy, and there’s going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions when the fans find out, but they don’t have any illusions about being able to hide it from anybody involved in the show. Still, they wanted to at least tell the important people on their own terms, Singer and Speight and the ones whose opinions actually matter, before it gets out. They’d be assholes to let their friends hear it third-hand through the production gossip grapevine. 

But he’s not thinking about any of that. He’s not thinking at all, really. It’s the first time in over a week that Jared’s had to hold back, to be careful about how and when and where he touches Jensen, and it’s driving him a little bit crazy. 

Jensen’s feeling the same way, if the way he returns the kiss is any indication. He makes a rough, eager sound in the back of his throat and tucks his fingers into Jared’s back pockets, squeezing his ass and rocking up against him, before sliding his hands under the hem of Jared’s shirt to splay over his lower back and pull him closer. Jared runs his hands up Jensen’s arms, gripping his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers. 

They break apart just an inch, enough to breathe, both of them panting, noses still brushing. Jared knows they should stop before they get caught, but he can’t bring himself to put any real space between their bodies. 

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to have you to myself again,” Jensen growls, and he pushes up on his tiptoes, lips right against Jared’s ear as he whispers, “Gonna bend you over the desk and make you watch in the mirror. Should see how pretty you look when I get my fingers in you.” 

Jared lets out a frustrated grunt, cock twitching as Jensen nips his earlobe. 

“You’re killing me,” he mutters. 

Jensen kisses him again, gentler this time, but it makes Jared shiver with the strain of holding back. 

Blame Jensen and his mouth for the way Jared’s so lost he doesn’t hear the door handle right across the hallway. He’s not sure what Jensen’s excuse is. 

He practically bites through Jensen’s lip with surprise when he hears the quick little gasp. Jensen stumbles back hurriedly, wiping his mouth, eyes huge in a way that would look comical if Jared didn’t feel icy all over with panic. 

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathes, when he sees who it is. He’s so relieved that it takes him a second to process the expression on her face; she’s bright red, looking down at her feet, flushing and avoiding eye contact instead of giving them shit about it like he would’ve expected. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks. “I’ll just… yeah. Give you some privacy.” 

She’s already bolting when Jared finds his voice again. 

“Wait,” he manages, and she grimaces as she turns to face them again. 

“We haven’t told anyone,” Jensen says. 

“Secret’s safe with me,” she says, with a too-bright smile, before she’s whirling around and rushing down the hall. 

Jared stares after her, puzzled, and more than a little disappointed. 

“What was that about?” he wonders out loud. “If it was anyone else I’d assume homophobic freakout, but…” 

“You really can’t figure out why she might not want to see you kissing someone?” Jensen asks sharply. His lips are swollen, red and shiny and distracting as hell. 

Jared’s heart is still pounding with the leftover adrenaline. He shakes his head, feeling slow and stupid. 

Jensen sighs. “Never mind.” 

“I should talk to her,” Jared says unhappily. “I… I missed her. I didn’t think -” 

Something that looks like hurt flashes through Jensen’s eyes. “We gotta get to the next panel. I’m sure you’ll see her tonight.” 

“Right. You’re right. Okay.” Jared runs his fingers through his hair and tucks it behind his ears. He feels fidgety and strange. 

Jensen grabs him, lightning-fast, and captures his mouth in one last kiss.

“Mine,” he whispers. 

“Yours,” Jared agrees softly. 

*

After the panel, Jared finds her right behind the stage, sitting cross-legged in the corner and rolling a water bottle between her palms, deep in thought. When he drops to the floor and sits next to her, nudging her with one elbow, she smiles at him warmly. There’s no trace of the awkwardness from earlier. The knot of anxiety in Jared’s chest loosens slightly. 

“When?” is all she says. 

“Hooked up again the night we wrapped, pulled our heads out of our asses two days later,” Jared says, grinning down at his lap. “You okay?” 

“Just surprised me, that’s all,” she says, studiously avoiding eye contact again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird about it. Just felt bad interrupting.” 

“Missed you,” Jared says, honestly, and tilts over to rest his cheek on top of her head. She twists around and gives him a sideways hug, squeezing hard, and Jared feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. 

“Missed you too,” she whispers. “Happy for you.” 

*

She’s so soft under his hands. She melts into him and the kiss stretches like taffy, slow and sweet. He runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling how warm she is, and slides his palms down to cup her ass. 

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, and then Jensen’s staring back at him, eyes flashing, furious. 

Jared wakes up, wrapped around Jensen under the thick hotel comforter, rock-hard and panting. Guilt twists in his stomach. He feels feverish with it, hot and cold all over. 

Jared lets out a shaky sigh, hips rocking forward ever so slightly; he can’t help himself. Jensen stirs and hums contentedly, squirming back against him. 

Jensen’s all he’s wanted for so fucking long. There’s something wrong with him, thinking about someone else when he has this. 

“Good dream?” Jensen whispers, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

“Yeah.”  

“What was it about?”

“You,” Jared lies. 

.

.

Next part HERE. 

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message here! 

#j2 #j2 fic #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jensen ackles x jared padalecki #spn #spn rpf

[bhargrovesb]

hey guys, ever since I watched the battle of starcourt i’ve been thinking how it would have played out if steve had gotten billy out of the camaro. i wrote this in january but only just remembered i had this blog and this story sitting in my drafts. i really liked it upon rereading so i thought i’d share (:

It happened in a span of seconds.

Steve gripped the steering wheel of the Toddfather, hard. So hard that he was sure he’d leave behind 10 crescent shaped indents in the leather. The sweat from his damp palms made the steering wheel slick. He couldn’t tell if it was fear, or the sweltering July night that had him sweating.

He dared a glance over at Robin. She held on to the door handle and gave him a small nod, like she could tell what he was thinking, and agreed that there was no other choice. A combination of nausea and nerves shot through him, and he resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his shorts. Instead, he flexed his fingers and pressed down harder on the gas. The car rumbled underneath him as it gave everything it had. 

His heart beat wildly in his chest as the other driver began closing the gap between themselves and Nancy’s car, with Nancy stood stupidly in the middle. The headlights of the car illuminated Nancy perfectly. He saw her face pull into a determined look as she raised her pistol. He also saw how close he was to losing her, again. This time would be permanent if he wasn’t quick enough.

A second before impact, he closed his eyes, something he learned from years of doing stupid shit with Tommy. An image of two ten-year-olds perched in the tallest tree in the park flashed through his head. A face full of freckles stared back at him in his mind’s eye.  

“It hurts less when you fall if you don’t see the ground coming”, the redhead said before leaping.

And then it happened. The Toddfather rammed into the Camaro with a sickening crunch.

The sound of metal scraping against metal sent shivers down his spine. His head whipped back and to the side as the car spun out. The smell of burning rubber was pungent. The smell evoked another memory, and he had just barely remembered to turn into the spin. The car came to a halt, and he dared to open his eyes. Steve blinked away the swirling lights and for a second everything was quiet. Quiet, except for the single ringing tone in his ear. He squeezed his eyes closed once again, wincing at the dual pain of his brain rattling around in his head and the pulsing of his swollen eye.

“You okay?” Steve asked in a daze.

He barely had enough time to process Robin’s reply of “ask me tomorrow” when the roar of the Mindflayer diverted his attention. The giant creature made its way toward them. Its massive body eclipsing the starlit sky.

Steve hurried Robin out of the Toddfather and into the trunk of Nancy’s car. The hatch hung open behind her as he looked back at the monster advancing on them. Steve’s eyes flitted to the caved in steel blue Camaro and lingered for a moment. Hesitation.

 It was now on fire. 

The fire came up from the hood and spread across the windshield, licking at the glass. And through the peaks and valleys of the flame, he could see the shape of the unconscious boy, slumped against the door.

He looked back and forth from Robin to the kids, to the monster, and then toward the blazing metal trap.

It only took him a second to decide.

He couldn’t leave him inside of that burning car. Billy Hargrove’s death would have been on his conscience. And no matter what he led Nancy to believe, he was already struggling under the weight of Barb’s death.

“Tell Jonathon not to turn around for me. Keep going.”

Robin looked back at him with furrowed brows, confusion etched on her face as he shut the hatch behind her and shouted, “Go, go, go”. And they were off before Robin could open her mouth to protest. Steve watched for a second as they pulled off before he remembered why he had stayed behind. Turning back to the flaming Camaro, he sprinted towards it.

The air around him got thicker and hotter the closer he got to the source. Steve stopped at the driver’s door, taking in everything around him. The flame that had started at the hood had spread. Above and below. He gave a wary glance up at the sky, worried about the monster’s next move. It moved fast, its massive spindles of legs contorting unnaturally. It scurried past the mall. He didn’t even think it noticed him. Or at least he hoped it hadn’t. It didn’t seem worried about leaving its host behind. It had its eyes set on another; Eleven.

Without thinking, he grabbed at the door handle. The handle was so hot it took him a moment to register the pain he felt crawl up his arm. Like hot needles slowly sank into his skin. Steve had spent the last couple of hours getting beat up by Russian spies and climbing up hilltops. Everything hurt.

He pulled his aching hand back.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chastised himself, applying pressure to his burnt palm. He pressed the thumb of his other hand into his palm.

The fire grew, wrapping around the passenger side window and across the length of the base.

Realizing he was running out of time, Steve pulled the ascot from under the lapel of his uniform. He looped it around his now pink hand and tried again, the heat of the metal still singeing his fingertips. He gritted his teeth and yanked the door open.

Steve caught Billy’s dead weight as he fell limply from his seat.

“Shit,” he cursed, heaving Billy up by his underarms to get a better grip. He felt relieved that Billy never wore his seatbelt. That made it easier to maneuver him out of the burning car. But Billy was heavy, nothing but muscle, and the sting of the blisters forming on his burnt palm siphoned all sense of ease.

Steve positioned Billy across his back, the other boy’s upper body draped over his right shoulder with Steve’s arm around his waist. It was the closest he could get to a fireman’s carry. Steve stopped every few feet to readjust his hold, to catch his breath, to wince when Billy’s prone body bounced against the bruises on his torso. He remembered to plant his feet with every step. 

“Does that work when the thing threatening to knock you over is exhaustion?” He chuckled at that thought. 

He powered through it, edging closer to Starcourt’s doors when he felt a wave of heat against half of his back. He felt it before he could see it in the reflection of the glass doors. The Camaro had exploded. Steve opened the heavy door with his uninjured hand while the other clutched Billy, who’d began slipping from his grasp. He slid into the crack he’d made, putting them back into the (relative) safety of the building, only making it a few more steps before Billy’s weight was too much for him. Steve laid Billy down as gently as he could. The younger boy’s head bounced against the floor with a quiet thud. Steve was glad it had landed on the thick rubber doormat instead of the hard linoleum floor. Still, he ran a hand through the back of Billy’s blonde tresses, just to check for blood.

“What use would it have been to save him from a burning car if you’ve accidentally bashed in his skull?” he thought to himself.

Blunt force trauma- his brain supplied, unhelpfully.

Relieved to not find the sticky substance on his hands, he let out a breath. He continued to comb through Billy’s tangled hair.

Billy would never let his hair get this matted. Steve gave the hair one last brush through and stood to pace.

He thought on his next move. Where would he go? How would he get in contact with the team? He was about to head out of the door with a half formed plan when the prone body next to him whimpered and thrashed. Steve stopped himself dead in his tracks. His first instinct was to crouch down, to comfort the ailing boy, to shake him awake.

His second, smarter, instinct was to continue straight out that door, pray to the God he only sometimes believes in that the Toddfather starts and go.

But Steve had never made the smartest decisions, so he bent down anyway.  

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #bhargrovesfic #Not to sound like a 12 year old posting her first story on ff.net but pls no flames lmao #constructive criticism welcome negativity not #thinking about posting this on ao3 #i don't know if anyone has written anything similar (send me the link or tag me cus i’d love to read it) but here’s my take. #wow it's also been so long that i dont remember what the mindflayer looked like so #Also i DO NOT know what to do when a car spins out #again to reiterate this is the first thing i've ever posted so be kind to me mfers

[sabineelectricheart]

Soft and Capable Hands

Summary: Chrom interrupts his wife at work.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1300

Notes: Just some fluffy, to start the fandom on a high note. I hope you like it.

He found her in the library, as he often does, nose deep in a thick red volume of Archnean history. Knowing it would be impossible to remain undetected if he ventured any further, Chrom remained in the shadows of the hall, observing the woman carry on with her work, as befallen with admiration as ever. 

Robin lowered the book with a tilt of her head, attention switching to the parchment balancing precariously to her left, as the pile only grew and grew with her note-taking. Lost in thought, she did not seem to notice the long, platinum blond braid that fell over her shoulder at the sudden movement. 

Even from this distance, it was easy for Chrom to see that much of the braid had come undone, as loose strands were now falling over her face, forming a silky curtain that hides her eyes. This is a common problem when his wife was hard at work, absorbed into whatever she was studying about.

His fingers itched to touch her hair, to ease the thick tresses from their hasty styling. To comb through the wavy tangles and lift the hair from her neck to reveal that sensitive place at the side of her throat…

“Chrom!” A voice suddenly is heard from the, before deathly silent, library.

He smiled at the quiet exclamation, forsaking his hiding place to fully enter the room. Robin blinked several times as he approached, her eyes readjusting after what appeared to be a lengthy study session. 

“How long have you been there?” She placed the quill pen on the ink well, as not to stain the precious wooden table, and headed on his direction nonchalantly, unaware of much more impossible she was making it for him to resist touching her. 

With a gentle finger, he tucked the fallen strands of hair behind her other ear. “Only for a few minutes. You know by now how very challenging it is for me to look away from you, my queen.” 

Though her smile was playful, it lingered on her lips long after his words had ended. “And were you so content watching it from the door, instead of coming in for a closer look?”

Chrom led the woman back to her work station and sat on a chair he pulled from a neighbouring desk.

With an uncertain gesture toward the book in her lap, he answered her query. “You seemed very intent on your reading. It would not have been right to interrupt you.” 

Her cheeks flushed slightly and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. As she considered him from underneath her thick lashes, the man felt a familiar jolt of desire at the thought of all the times they had interrupted one another in the past. Royalty or not, they were still newlyweds, and passion for one another had a way of distracting them from duty. 

Chrom cleared his throat and returned to the present subject. “Have you found anything compelling in our history?”

Robin’s eyes widened as she shifted forward on the seat, mouth opening with uncertainty until she caught her bearings.

“I think I am realizing how much there is that I do not know.” She said, as her expression turned dour. “Regardless of my talent in the battlefield, my strategic thinking, I lack culture and manners. I do not remember how I was educated, but I cannot help but believe my guardians have been remiss about most of what exists beyond war. Most of it comes to me as a complete surprise.”

“Nonsense. You are plenty capable in many fields. Even Miriel thinks so.” Chrom asserted, a firm belief on his wife, and a rather justified one. “May I see what have you been writing?”

“Have at it.” Robin handed him the papers.

He took the wad of parchment she passed to him. Her careful notes arranged under headers with dates that he recognized immediately. The numbers spanned the length of those two thousand years, since the times of Marth, with notes taken for every monarch, every war, every invasion registered.

“You have been busy.” He points out, concern mixed with awe.

The blonde woman chuckles. “I have not handwritten this much in a long time. There is a blister coming up on my middle finger.” 

Setting the papers on the table beside them, he opened both hands to take her injured one. He touched the bubble of skin as lightly as he could, watching her face for signs of pain. It would do well to procure her a poultice or a balm to ease the swelling, or at least some ice. He noted himself to remember to ask a maid to bring her tonight.

“It will turn into a callus soon.” She assured, sheepishly. “Getting a blister in the first place is proof of how long it has been since I wrote like this. “

Chrom lifted the finger to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to the pale patch of irritated flesh.

“You do not need to do that, Your Majesty.” Robin insisted.

“I want to.” The monarch promised, kissing each other finger in turn. “You have beautiful hands, and I very enjoy kissing them.”

The blue-haired man held the back of her hand to his lips, touch feather-light against the fine, alabaster skin before he applied pressure to the kiss.

“They are soft.” Allowing his grip to loosen, he took her fingers between his thumb and forefinger. “They fit perfectly in mine.” 

“I think you are making a lot of fuss over nothing.” She dismisses his poetic demeanour over her hand, though she did not pull away. 

“Robin, I have shaken countless men’s hands over the years, I have kissed countless woman’s hands too. There is no other person who has hands this capable and, at the same time, this soft and warm.” He extended them to their full length, holding them out for inspection. “They are exceptional, as they should. You are exceptional.” 

She gifted him with a smile and followed his gaze. “They were always so dry back when we were travelling with the Shepherds. Bad food, too much manual labour, well water and the tension with the possibility of death always looming on our shoulders.”

“I remember.” He whispered, her wistful tone transporting him back to a time when they had been little more than strangers, to the first morning that they had met. 

He had known there was something special about her when she had lent her help in protecting his people, and an invaluable help that was. In the moment, he had been struck by her ability to anticipate his need before he knew it himself. In the many months that had followed, it was a skill that she had proven countless times.

It had grown impossible to imagine what kind of king, what kind of man, he would have been without her.

From the corner of his eye, she saw her shift, his fingers losing their grasp as she rose to her feet. 

“Anyway, I think I am ready for a break from reading. It would do me well, and I have covered enough for today.” Standing now, she crossed behind his chair, laying her hands to rest along the span of his shoulders. “Do you have any ideas for what these hands should do in the meantime?” 

Even as she asked the question, her thumbs dug into his muscles, carving steady circles into the tense flesh. He let out a deep sigh, mind clouded with the possibilities that accompanied his sense of pleasure.

“Only if you allow me to repay the favour.” He responded, a smirk gracing his features.

She kissed his cheek in answer, pausing by his ear to whisper, “Maybe we should close the door first?”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires…”

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Awakening Masterlist

#fire emblem #chrom

[lesdemonium]

The Closest We’ll Ever Be

Rating: E Ship: Geralt/Jaskier Words: 2692 (Nice) Summary: Though Jaskier knew he was persuasive, he did not truly believe the witcher would allow him to continue trailing him after their meeting with Filavandrel. He definitely wasn't expecting their mutual restless energy after a long day to culminate in a tryst in the forest. Jaskier tried, he really did, but the day had left him with too much restless energy. He shifted on the log they were sitting on every few seconds, bumping into Geralt as he did so, he bounced his leg so quickly it was almost manic, he tried to find some way of burning this energy without speaking, but it was so often his solace he didn’t know what else to turn to. Geralt, however, seemed tense. His shoulders were rigid and now that Jaskier thought about it, he didn’t think he had seen or felt the witcher move in maybe an hour. That was, until Geralt’s hand thrust out and gripped Jaskier’s leg, pinning it down. Jaskier turned to look at Geralt and their eyes met, and finally, Jaskier could see the same restless energy reflected in Geralt’s eyes. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590909

Jaskier was, quite honestly, shocked that Geralt was accepting his continued company on the trek back from Filavandrel’s mountains. His half-hearted “This is where we part, bard,” hadn’t done much to deter Jaskier from continuing on with the witcher, but he had assumed there would be a bit more fight to him. They made their way along the trail, avoiding Posada and any unwanted questions. Geralt was as quiet as Jaskier was starting to assume he always was, and Jaskier focused on the song he would write rather than the way his entire world and knowledge of humans had been turned upside down.

He didn’t want to think about what he had learned about the elves’ poor treatment, so he focused on what he did best: writing songs. And this one, he knew, was going to be amazing. And Filavandrel’s lute was a sight and sound to behold.

So he was shocked that Geralt was allowing Jaskier to stay, but he wasn’t about to call off whatever magic had occurred by speaking it into existence, so instead he followed him as the witcher rode and braced himself for a night of camping. It wasn’t ideal, Jaskier much preferred his little luxuries, but it hadn’t been the first time he had roughed it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Though, his roughing it days might be fewer and far between if the song continued to flow as well as it had been thus far. He had a hit on his hands, and he knew it.

After a long day of traveling and writing, Jaskier was pretty sure his blisters had blisters, and his footwear, while very fashionable, might not have been the best choice for taking up adventuring. Finally, as the sun was getting low on the horizon, they had made it to a forested-enough area that Geralt seemed to deem it worthy and they pulled to a stop.

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally said, though he did not look up from the campfire he was staring at.

Jaskier stopped strumming on his lute and humming as he looked up at the witcher. Without his own noise, the forest felt almost empty, despite the crackle of the fire and the crickets chirping in the distance. It was a sound, or lack thereof, that made Jaskier distinctly uncomfortable, but Geralt looked as if he might be at the end of his rope with Jaskier’s composing, so he took a moment of pity on the man and put down the lute.

“Alright, alright, I will save my genius for another day,” Jaskier conceded, nodding at Geralt, who only rolled his eyes in response.

And Jaskier tried, he really did, but the day had left him with too much restless energy. He shifted on the log they were sitting on every few seconds, bumping into Geralt as he did so, he bounced his leg so quickly it was almost manic, he tried to find some way of burning this energy without speaking, but it was so often his solace he didn’t know what else to turn to.

Geralt, however, seemed tense. His shoulders were rigid and now that Jaskier thought about it, he didn’t think he had seen or felt the witcher move in maybe an hour. That was, until Geralt’s hand thrust out and gripped Jaskier’s leg, pinning it. Jaskier turned to look at Geralt and their eyes met, and finally, Jaskier could see the same restless energy reflected in Geralt’s eyes.

It was fast. So fast, Jaskier wasn’t even sure who had initiated it, but suddenly his mouth was slotting against Geralt’s in a bruising, keyed up kiss.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with his hands, everywhere felt too hard and too sharp, and he was certain cutting himself would distract them both from what he suddenly felt was a very, very important turn of events. Finally, he found a safe enough place on Geralt’s sides, just in time for Geralt to nudge him off the log and onto the ground. Geralt braced himself on either side of Jaskier and hovered over Jaskier, their hips flush against each other. Jaskier’s cock was rising to action, slowly, and he could tell from the growing stiffness in Geralt’s trousers that the other man was not far behind.

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, probably the quietest he’s ever been, but something about this moment felt like it deserved reverence. Or, maybe he was just trying to be poetic; he had been known to do this. There was nothing particularly romantic about the way Geralt was tugging open Jaskier’s doublet or pulling his undershirt out of his trousers, and the way he was now sucking a mark into Jaskier’s collarbone was nothing short of sinful, but Jaskier couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that this man made him want to write songs about all of his exploits, preferably if they involved Jaskier.

Jaskier’s fingers threaded in Geralt’s hair as he allowed Geralt to work, though it was with considerable hesitation that he pulled them out to lift his hips up to assist Geralt in removing his trousers. His eyes were piercing, somehow almost brighter than usual in his lust, and Jaskier hated to call any behavior of Geralt’s animalistic, but he looked as if he wanted to devour Jaskier.

A shiver ran through Jaskier’s body at the thought, and Geralt--bless him--must have perceived this as a chill from his lack of clothes, because once he removed Jaskier’s pants, he reached for his bedroll. It was an awkward thing, trying to get the bedroll under himself as Jaskier watched Geralt remove his own trousers, but he managed to do it, if a bit sloppily. Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows, and he wasn’t at all embarrassed to realize that the sight of Geralt’s cock had brought him to full hardness. If he wasn’t sure Geralt would kill him, he could write a song or two about his cock alone, and he hadn’t even felt it yet.

The trousers removed and kicked away--with very little grace, Jaskier was pleased to note, at least there were some small things that took away from Geralt’s perfection--Geralt rejoined Jaskier on the ground. One hand held him over Jaskier while the other cupped the back of Jaskier’s head to pull him into another rough kiss. Jaskier moaned against Geralt’s mouth, and though he couldn’t see it, he could feel Geralt’s lips tighten into what Jaskier was sure was a smug smile.

Jaskier reached out a hand and cupped Geralt’s cock, jerking it languidly as Geralt hissed and dug his nails into the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier revelled at the feeling of Geralt growing hard in his hand, more than willing to interpret this as a compliment. Biology and natural male reactions be damned--he was turning on Geralt of Rivia.

Jaskier wanted so badly to ask how Geralt wanted to proceed, but he, for all his ways with words, could not think of a way that didn’t sound stupid in his own head. And if he thought that how he was asking was stupid, there was no doubt the witcher would misinterpret his words or lose interest and pull away. It wasn’t a risk Jaskier was willing to take. Luckily, his confidence had been built by the way Geralt was letting out little moans every so often as Jaskier touched him and the way Geralt was now tonguing and nipping the mark on Jaskier’s collarbone, so instead Jaskier breathed out, “I have oil in my bag.”

For a moment, Geralt didn’t react, and Jaskier was almost sure he hadn’t heard Jaskier. Weren’t witchers supposed to have enhanced senses? Surely hearing wouldn’t have been neglected. A moment later, though, Geralt pulled away with what seemed to be great effort and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.

His eyes were bright, probably even brighter now in their lust than they had been before. It would be easy to get lost in them, but as great as a messy handjob in the middle of a forest was, he wanted more from what might be his only chance with the witcher. So he took his hand off Geralt’s cock--promising himself to never forget the dissatisfied sound Geralt made--and stretched his body as far as it possibly could. It wasn’t easy, grabbing his bag without leaving the warmth of Geralt’s body, but he managed to do it just barely and retrieved the bottle of oil. He held it up for Geralt, who took it obediently and settled back on his legs.

Jaskier spread his legs around Geralt’s body as Geralt opened the vial and spread the oil generously on his fingers. Jaskier bit his lip as he watched Geralt, though he soon had to raise his eyes to look at the stars above them when one hand slowly pressed into his body and the other wrapped firmly around Jaskier’s cock.

“Fuck, Geralt. I have to say, this is not where I saw my night going. Very, very happy with this turn of events but-- fuck --” Jaskier cut himself off with a gasp as Geralt thumbed over the head of his cock. Jaskier picked his head back up to look at Geralt, only to see him looking very, very self-satisfied. “Oh you prick you did that on purpose.”

“Are you complaining?” Geralt challenged.

He did have a point there. How in the world could Jaskier complain about the way Geralt was slowly fucking him open with his finger and running his fingers so delightfully over Jaskier’s length? Jaskier wanted to touch him, pull him in for another kiss, but Geralt’s face was so far.

“”Hard to complain when the white wolf is getting ready to fuck you,” Jaskier finally answered, humming a little at the way Geralt’s face turned sour.

“I’m not the white wolf,” came Geralt’s grumbled reply.

“Not yet ,” Jaskier corrected.

He would have said more about how he’d sing Geralt’s tale across the land, making them both famous, but then Geralt added another finger and Jaskier quite found it was hard to form words. Or, at least, put them in a string that made any sense. He definitely didn’t stop talking, singing a chorus of soft “fuck”s and “Gods” and “Geralt”s as Geralt took him apart from the inside out. Jaskier had been nervous when they started--he had never done this with a man, only fumbling hands inside pants when he was young--but now he had quite forgotten how to be nervous. All he could focus on was the fingers inside him (he’d lost count, though) and the way Geralt stretched him. The hand on his cock never sped up its pace, and if it wasn’t making Jaskier so desperate, he’d be impressed at how steady Geralt had been.

“Geralt, please ,” he finally begged, and that seemed to be the magic word. Geralt smirked again and removed both his hands, placing them on Jaskier’s hips instead to nudge him to turn over, which Jaskier did gladly .

Once Jaskier was on his hands and knees, Geralt resituated his hands, one holding fast to Jaskier’s hip and one, Jaskier assumed, on his cock. Geralt pressed inside slowly and Jaskier gasped and fell to his forearms. Geralt didn’t stop; he only continued pushing forward, his pace glacial, and the stretch of it felt unlike anything else Jaskier had ever experienced. Once fully inside Jaskier, Geralt waited and leaned forward to nose along Jaskier’s back. If Jaskier had felt maybe a bit more in control of his own vocal cords, he would have questioned this, but as it stood, he mostly just loved the way Geralt was close to him.

Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s neck and hummed, and though Jaskier didn’t know Geralt well, he knew a question when he heard one. Jaskier nodded vigorously, needing more, and for this to get as breathless and face-paced as it had been before. Geralt took the invitation and started to move. His pace was slow at first, with the odd-jerky movement as if he was trying to hold himself back, but steadily he grew faster and fucked Jaskier deeper.

Before long, Geralt was at a relentless pace, and Jaskier dissolved into gasps and moans and “Fuck, Geralt, just like that. ” Geralt’s breathing was fast, and Jaskier was pretty sure he had never heard grunts sound so sexy. His fingers were digging into Jaskier’s hips now, and Jaskier could sympathize--his own fingers were digging into the bedroll as best he could as he lifted himself back up onto his hands.

He wasn’t there for long before Geralt leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Jaskier, and pulling him up. Jaskier’s back was flush to Geralt’s chest and he groaned at the new angle this created. A hand flew to Geralt’s hair, tangling in the locks and tightening, pulling, and the way Geralt bit into Jaskier’s shoulder told Jaskier this was a welcome feeling.

He was hard, so painfully hard, and if he didn’t do something soon, he would probably lose it, which wasn’t a good look. So Jaskier took himself in his hand and tugged at his cock furiously. Jaskier’s head fell back onto Geralt’s shoulder and it only took a few good pulls before he was spilling into his hand, moaning Geralt’s name.

Geralt grunted a “Fuck,” into Jaskier’s skin as he thrust into him once, twice, three more times before his hips jerked and he emptied into Jaskier’s now-spent body. Jaskier wished he could see the witcher’s face.

They stayed there a moment, coming down from their highs and catching their breath. When Geralt removes his arm, which had still been splayed across Jaskier’s chest, Jaskier fell forward in a huff. Geralt gave an amused huff--it wasn’t quite a laugh, but Jaskier was pretty sure it was close to one-- and pulled out of and away from Jaskier.

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, rolling over onto his back on the bedroll. He wiped his hand off on the log, grimacing a little as he did so. He’d kill for a bath right about now, but they were far away from any inns, and it was far too cold to take a dip in any rivers.

“You said that already,” Geralt answered, tossing Jaskier’s trousers at him (and hitting him in the face , no respect to be had) as he stood up to put on his own. “Get dressed or you’ll freeze.”

“It’s no less true now,” Jaskier said, shrugging as he fumbled his way back into his own. Geralt didn’t respond, but Jaskier had no problem assuming he had rolled his eyes.

Instead of responding, Geralt joined Jaskier on the bedroll. Or, rather, he nudged Jaskier further to the side of the roll, almost off it. “Get your own.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly at Geralt. “I don’t really, er, have one,” he said. Geralt, who had laid down, pushed himself back up on his forearms and glared at Jaskier. Touchy. So, Jaskier rambled. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to sleep out in the forest. I’d had an arrangement with the innkeeper for a free room in Posada, but we couldn’t exactly go back there after you only sort of fulfilled what you had been paid for--don’t even bother arguing Geralt, you know just as well as I do how the other people there would have reacted to the truth--so now here we are and I am woefully unprepared for camping and the next town is miles out and did I mention you gave all of your coin to Filavandrel ?”

Geralt sighed and laid back down, shifting over to the edge of the bedroll near him, which Jaskier gladly took as an invitation to join him, though Geralt didn’t have much of a choice. Jaskier was not about to just sleep on the dirt. Jaskier laid back down and it was definitely a tight fit--witchers did have very broad shoulders, it seemed--but they managed well enough.

For once, Jaskier was completely willing to silence himself in favor of sleeping, all of his restless energy now spent.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #gerlion #geskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #the witcher fic #i don't even know all the ship names #i'm just kinda guessing #lOVE ME #my writing

[miraimisu]

36 lona from that prompt list pls 🙈

[part 1] | [part 2] | [part 3] | [part 4] 

The room is a little cold when she comes to, so much so she instinctively cuddles further into the duvets. A little noise escapes her when she finds warmth on the other side of the bed.

An arm curls around her. A groan blows against her neck. The curtains are down, filtering only gaps of pale sunlight. She smiles lazily when Gladion snuggles closer to her, but the moment his feet touch her, she squirms, rolling over.

Gladion groans as she scoots to the other side of the bed, and has the audacity to follow. “Your feet are so cold,” Moon mumbles, half-asleep. “Get off me, ice cube.”

“N’way,” he says, hoarsely so. “You’re hogging the blankets. Gimme some.”

Moon cocoons herself further into the bed, and Gladion sneaks in, making her squeal. He hugs her tight, pressing her against his chest as they bask in the suffocatingly pleasant warmth of the blankets. It’s silent for a while, so much so she thinks Gladion might have fallen asleep again.

Right as she feels herself doze off, his hands begin roaming over her front– but not playfully, as he’d do. It’s a thoughtful research. “Is that my shirt?”

Moon stiffens. She traces odd patterns on the mattress under her distractedly. “Um, it was on the floor, and– and I got up to get some water, and I didn’t wanna walk around the room in my underwear, so...”

Gladion nods lazily, nuzzling her neck in a way that makes her shiver. He’s always especially clingy in the mornings, and she loves it. It’s one of the rare occasions they get to enjoy each other outside of kissing and, well, other bed-related activities.

“What time’s it?” he mumbles against her neck, hugging her tight.

Moon half-lifts her head off her pillow, looks at the hour on his clock, and plops right back down. “Eight o’clock. Go back to–”

He sits up with a start, reaching over her to grab the digital clock. “It’s eight o’clock already? I’m already two hours behind my usual schedule. The things you do to me…”

Moon groans, cuddling herself deeper into her blanket cocoon. One of the drawbacks of dating-but-not-really-dating a business president is how nitpicky he is about schedules, even if they’re on vacation so he can get his head out of his stupid schedules.

She sticks an arm out of her cocoon and drags Gladion back in with her, curling his arms around her so he’s hugging her once more. “It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”

“We’re supposed to meet Hau and Lillie for breakfast in twenty minutes. No time to sleep for either of us if we don’t want to get caught.” But his arms remain around her. He palms the surface of his shirt that she’s clad in. “And I’ll need this.”

Moon shakes her head. “You can grab another of your shirts. I’m cold.”

Gladion clicks his tongue. “Well, it belongs to me, so I’m going to need it back if I want to get dressed.”

She squeals as his hands sneak under the shirt, tickling her stomach. He tries to tug it off of her, but she wiggles out of his hold, laughing as she squirms out of the blanket fortress and kicks the pillows off the bed. The blankets fly off them as he pounces on top of her, trying to tug the shirt off.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’s more interested in what’s under the shirt than the garment itself, but–

“Gladion, they won’t mind if we’re a few minutes late!”

He frowns. “Knowing you, you’ll just sleep through breakfast like you did yesterday, and unlike you, I like to have breakfast early. We all do, in fact.”

“Hey, I was hungover! Keeping up with a drunk Kahuna is harder than it looks!”

“Tch. And to think the Champion would be so irresponsible…”

Moon folds her arms, successfully trapping the shirt against her. She grins, but Gladion groans, rubbing any remaining sleep off his face..

“C’mon, give it back. It’s one of the few Silvally hasn’t chewed on, it’s new, and I want to wear it today!”

“You said you didn’t mind me borrowing your clothes!”

His cheeks blister, and she giggles with a playful smile. “And I don’t! But you’ve taken two hoodies of mine already. Do you want to take my whole closet?”

Moon winks. “It’d look good on me, don’t you think?”

His jaw tightens with a blush. He manages to pin her arms above her head, and Moon squirms, trying to get out of his grip. Seeing as the situation is ridiculous, she starts laughing again, and to her delight, he laughs too, half-heartedly trying to pull the shirt over her stomach but, instead, ending up caressing the skin he finds there carefully.

It’s a slow touch, so much so she shudders, breaking through her laughter to moan softly.

He leans down, caressing the shell of her ear with his lips. “I think you’d look better without any clothes.”

It’s Moon’s turn to blush, but before she can reply to that, someone knocks on his door.

“Yo, Gladion! Can I come in? Your door’s unlocked!”

Moon and Gladion trade looks that break into panic within a second. He climbs off her and to the other side of the bed, and with a grimace, he points under the duvets. “Hide!”

She scrambles under the sheets with a whimper of fear, and to her shock and horror, Gladion hides his bare half under the blankets, telling Hau to come in with alarming nonchalance. 

Moon hears Hau come in. “Woah, this place’s a mess! Where you playin’ with Silvally again? The staff told you to be careful, dude.”

“What do you want?” Gladion asks through a growl. “I was sleeping, you know.”

“8 o’clock or so. Lillie left to check on Moon but she’s got no clue where she went, so I thought I’d check and see if, y’know– if you had finally confessed your undyin’ love already.”

Moon’s heart seizes in her chest, and she’s sure her whole body paralyzes. Warmth blooms in her chest. 

Gladion has actual feelings for her? He’s in love with her? He has all along?

She begins squirming as pieces begin to click in her head, presumably making Gladion panic as he slaps a hand on her mouth under the duvets and makes her lie still.

She can hear Gladion blushing in his voice. “Why would I confess at 8 o’clock? Who does that kind of thing?”

“So I guess you two haven’t hooked up yet, huh? Man, that sucks.” Hau walks around the bed, and Gladion tells Hau to wait, but… “Huh? Are those shorts yours?”

Moon freezes, stops breathing. He’s right where she threw her clothes last night. This is what she gets for being untidy and in a rush to get in bed– but Gladion makes patience hard these days.

She feels him tense under the bed. “W-What?”

“Aren’t these Moon’s shorts? I could recognize these with my eyes closed, they’re as ancient as can be!” Hau gasps, and Moon grows smaller with shame with every passing second. “And that’s her shirt! Dude, so you did hook up! Where are you hidin’ her?”

Gladion bunches the duvets, and his whole being trembles with embarrassment. “I’m not hiding her anywhere! She, um, she gave me her clothes because Decidueye bit into them yesterday morning.”

“Ah, so you’re sewing them? And you left them on the floor? That’s rude, Gladion.”

Moon giggles into the blankets. “Just get out already, I need to get dressed!”

“Okay, okay! If you see Moon, tell her Lillie’s looking for her! And get dressed, dude. Don’t get all the ladies’ panties in a twist.”

Gladion curses under his breath as Hau leaves the room. When the door clicks shut, Moon slowly emerges, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a nervous laugh. 

An uncomfortable silence ensues. “That... was close.”

He looks away from her. The tips of his ears are rosy. “Y-Yeah, I suppose it was.”

Moon leans against the headboard of his bed, playing with her thumbs. Her mind goes back to what Hau just moments, wondering if it’s true, if it had been just a joke, if Gladion really feels the same way she does.

Only one way to find out.

“Um… was it true?”

“What, exactly?” He sounds about as panicked as she is.

“When– When Hau said you have feelings for me.” She hugs the blanket to her chest, and Gladion scoots a little further away from her. “Was it true?”

A long pause ensues. Moon nearly damns herself for asking something so stupid– of course it had been a joke, and Gladion looks so pissed off she feels her gut tighten. He never enjoyed it when the media speculated about his love life, and surely Hau joking about it can’t have felt good either, especially since they stated there’d be no feelings in their relationship.

But he moves close again. Lets out a small curse. Lifts her chin up, a worryingly widespread blush staining his cheeks. 

“S-So what if I do?” he asks. Her heart stops beating. Her fingers dig into the blankets, unwilling to move. “What if I– What if I do have feelings for you? I know we said there would be no ties, but– but since we had, um, that talk after that party, I knew I wanted to be something more. More than this. All of this.”

Moon’s eyes widen. Words escape her in a tragic manner. Gladion’s lower lip trembles, but before he can move away, Moon reaches for his hand, holding it between her two.

“Do you–” Her throat seizes in emotion. “Do you mean it? This isn’t a joke or anything, right?”

Gladion narrows his eyes. “Of course it isn’t. What sort of sick joke would that–”

Moon loops her arms around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss he gasps against. After a second of palpable hesitation, his arms curl around her middle with a sigh, and she falls against the bed with an enamoured giggle he kisses away.

He breaks away for a moment. His grin, boyish and brighter than the sun, steals her breath away. “You can keep the shirt now.”

She laughs against him before he kisses her again.

#ask #lonashipping #gladimoon #pokemon #does this bitch need a excuse to write fluff???? yes and that's a prompt LMAOOO #it's very obvious that I'm not taking any of this seriously GVFHJEDK but it's fun to not take things seriously #so take this as a segway to the next prompt (also the last) vgjbhfñdl #and some free lona fluff with Hau shenanigans!!!! #post-posting note: read more thingies aren't working and the ask post interface isn't working either #so I'm sorry for the clog!!!

[alluremin]

thermostat

pairing: park jimin | reader

genre: boyfriend!au | fluff, smut

warnings: smut; oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration, no protection (stay safe kids), dirty-ish talk, light dom x sub themes

premise: You were foolish enough to leave the AC on the coldest temperature possible before going to bed, but your boyfriend has the perfect way to help you warm up. Alternatively; Jimin’s horny and he’s using the cold temperature of the room as a reason to get in your pants. 

word count: 2.2k

The cold air from the vent adjacent to the bed is seemingly colder than the Arctic. Even the thick duvet does nothing to stop the cold from biting at your body and you’re pretty sure you might freeze to death.

Maybe that was being dramatic, but you can feel the chill infiltrating every fiber of your being. The simple solution would be to get up, walk the mere ten feet from your bed to the thermostat, and turn the temperature up in the apartment. That, however, would require you to first, get out of bed, and second, face the cold, unforgiving air of your bedroom. 

Earlier in the day, turning down the temperature in your home was a need, not a want. With the outside air being plagued with a random heatwave you had NOT predicted before leaving the house for your run, you foolishly decided to leave the windows open. So, upon returning from the sweltering heat, you were met with, well, more sweltering heat. 

Needless to say, you had closed the windows and dropped the temperature so low, you’re sure your electric bill will have hell to pay this month. 

No, getting out of bed was not an option. A glance at the clock on your nightstand tells you that you’ve spent roughly the last hour deliberating on whether or not to get up and end your suffering. It’s also given you the opportunity to reevaluate your “no pants in the house” rule. 

While you’re in the midst of growing angry at yourself for wearing fewer clothes than physically necessary, you hear the front door creak open slowly. You squirm in your spot because that means your boyfriend is finally home.

Yes, of course, you’re excited because you miss him while he’s at practice, but his arrival also means you don’t have to get out of bed to adjust the thermostat. A real win-win situation.

Jimin’s soft footsteps make their way down the hall, but he stops en route to the bedroom. The click of the thermostat meets your ears and you throw a mini-celebration in your head. You didn’t even have to ask, it was almost as if the blistering cold air in the apartment was enough of an indication to him to turn up the temperature; go figure.

The bedroom door opens slowly and the duffle bag from Jimin’s shoulder drops and hits the floor, prompting you to look at him over your shoulder. His wide eyes meet yours, looking like a deer in the headlights. He probably thought he had woken you up, but the soft smile on your face was enough for him to loosen up and return your silent greeting.

“Baby, why are you still awake? I thought you had to work in the morning.” Jimin makes quick work of taking off his shorts, but his head is stuck in his shirt.

You chuckle and sit up to assist the struggling boy. Once he’s free of the confines of his clothes, he drops a quick kiss to your forehead and crawls into the bed next to you.

The two of you adjust, you turning your body back toward the wall while pulling his arm across your waist. “I do,” you say while pushing your back against the wall of his chest, “but my schedule got moved around so I don’t have to go in until later.” 

Jimin sighs into the crook of your neck before dropping a kiss there, humming in response to your statement. 

“How was practice today?” Your question prompts your boyfriend to lift his head and look at you while you turn slightly to face him.

“Eh,” he whispers. “I couldn’t get the timing down on the new choreo no matter what I did.”

You frown at him. “It’s probably because you were up on your phone last night.”

“I was not, you just happened to catch me when I was awake.”

“Mhm sure.” You reach your arm over and poke at his shoulder. The shit-eating grin on his face is all it takes for you to know that he was telling a white lie to ease your worrying. “Acting cute won’t get you out of this one, Park. I’m going to start taking your phone away at night and if you don’t stay off the damn thing. It’s no wonder you’re always exhausted.”

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead. “I’m sorry, love. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I know. I love y-,” he gasps and tries to wiggle away, but your legs have a firm grip around his own. “Oh my god, Y/N! Why the hell are your feet so fucking cold?!”

His scolding does nothing to stop your feet from dancing across his lower legs. You turn over to face him completely while you continue to giggle. “Well, why are your legs so warm?”

“Stop it, brat, you’re gonna’ turn me into an icicle!” 

“The more you try to wiggle away from me, Park, the closer I’m going to get. Just let me warm up please?” You look up at him with puppy-dog eyes and a pout on your lips; your secret weapon.

What you weren’t expecting was the smirk that currently resides on his lips. He doesn’t even have to speak for you to know the thoughts that are swirling through his head.

“I can help you warm up.” 

“I knew as soon as those words left my mouth that-”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence before his lips are on yours. His hands snake around your middle as he pulls his body underneath his own. You can’t help but smile against his mouth as his fingers play with the hem of his t-shirt you took the liberty of borrowing.

His tongue is already begging for entrance at the seam of your lips, and only briefly did you consider denying him for the sake of sleep. The thought was long gone once you felt a familiar hardness against the inside of your thigh.

“I couldn’t get the choreography down at practice because I’ve been thinking about what I did to you last night.” He brushes the hair off your neck to reveal the marks he’s left you to deal with this morning. It’s not like you minded. Long gone were the days where you felt like you had to cover the love bites your boyfriend was bound to leave on your neck and chest. Now you wore them like a badge of honor. 

His lips and tongue gently trace the bruises that littered your nape and collarbones, taking his time to make you squirm underneath him. 

“Jimin,” you groan in indignation. Instead of picking up his pace, he goes slower, working his way slowly up your neck and back to your lips.

With everything that went on in both of your lives, you and Jimin only had certain periods of time where you could actually be together. Things were hard sometimes, and you would be lying if you said you and he hadn’t had conversations discussing whether or not you two should stay together. Those conversations were in the distant past now, your relationship on the verge of 5 years. You eventually found your balance. It was hard for you to recall times like those, ones that felt like your world would stop spinning on its axis. 

When he kisses you the way he is now, it makes all of your worries melt away. His plush lips that move so fluidly against your own held so much weight and words he didn’t have to speak. I love you, we have all the time in the world.

You sighed against his mouth as you lift your hips to grind against his own. He groans in response and pulls back to look at your face. His pupils are blown, appearing nearly black with lust. His lips are swollen from the assault of your own against them. His hair, messy and pushed back, makes you nearly groan. Everything about Jimin is beautiful. The soft bags under his eyes briefly made you consider convincing him to go to sleep but as his hands lifted your t-shirt over you bare breasts, all protests get lost on your tongue.

He says nothing but stares at you as if you’re made of porcelain before quickly dropping his head to catch your nipple in his mouth. His other hand pays attention to your neglected breast, and you mewl as you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Jimin, please.” You don’t exactly know what you’re asking for, just more. 

He gets the hint and kisses away from your chest and down your stomach, right toward where you need him most. He wastes no time in pulling your panties down your legs and attaching his lips to your clit.

“God baby, you’re so wet already. All for me,” he smirks up at you as he continues to attack your sensitive bud. You can only moan in response, the pleasure he’s bringing you steals the words out of your mouth. 

“Do you want my fingers sweetheart, hm? Use your words,” he demands. 

“Yes, please, Jimin. I need your fingers, please,” You manage to squeak out.

“Such a good girl.” 

Jimin lips crawl their way back up your body as he plunges his first finger inside your heat. His mouth swallows your moans. He adds another finger and reaches his thumb up to make figure eights on your clit. When his mouth detaches itself from yours, you can help the wanton noises the leave your body. 

It doesn’t take long for the coil in the pit of your stomach to wind up. Jimin can tell you’re close by the high pitch of your cries and the way you squeeze around his fingers, so he quickens the pace fingers. 

The coil snaps inside you and you’re sure you’re experiencing one of the most powerful orgasms of your life. Your eyes involuntarily close as you ride out your high, causing you to see stars among the pitch black of your eyelids. 

Jimin’s pulls out his fingers and you groan at the loss. He wastes no time in pulling down the boxers that sat low on his hips and he settles back between your legs. 

You reach down between your body and move to sit up, but Jimin pushes your shoulders back onto the bed as he sucks more hickies onto your chest. “Jimin, I wanna suck you off,” you pout when he lifts his head to look at you.

“Another time baby, I need to be inside you right now or I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

You don’t argue as he aligns himself with your entrance and buries himself to the hilt inside you. Both of you release long moans as he does. He reaches down to lace your fingers together and places your joined hands next to your head as he begins to pump in and out of you.

A high-pitched, “I love you,” leaves your mouth when he speeds up his pace. He kisses you through his moans and lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your body. Somehow pulling you impossibly closer. You encase his hips with your legs and slither your arms around his back. 

His lips move against yours as he fucks you like it's your last night on this earth. It’s almost as if he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. You hand snakes into his hair and you lightly tug at the roots, forcing your boyfriend to groan against your lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the fire growing within you once again. Jimin must notice this too, picking up his pace when he feels you tighten around his member. 

“Baby girl, I’m close,” Jimin moans against your neck.

“I am too, Jimin, please don’t stop!”

It’s not long before you feel his dick twitch as he releases in hot spurts inside you. He reaches down to rub your clit furiously as he continues to pump in and out to push you to your second orgasm of the night. It’s only a matter of seconds before you feel euphoria crash over every inch of your being and you’re crying out his name like a broken record. 

When you come back to your senses, you weakly push his hand away. “I’m sensitive, love.”

His body collapses on top of you, his head next to your ear as he drops a quick kiss below it. A sense of calm washes over the room and you can feel sleep starting to take over your body.

Jimin’s weight leaves you briefly and you whine to try and pull him back. He only chuckles at your post-bliss cuteness, before entering the bathroom and returning a short moment later. He makes quick work with the moist washcloth to clean you both, then crawls back into bed to pull you into his chest.

A muffled, “I love you,” leaves your mouth before you plant a kiss onto his collarbone and begin to drift off. 

“I love you more, sweetheart.” He kisses the crown of your head and lets sleep take over his body as it had your own. He’s convinced at that moment that no matter how skeptical or cynical he is about the world around him, you would always be one thing he was sure of. He thought of forgoing the whole fancy proposal idea he had and instead just popping the question first thing in the morning. When you’re freshly awake and have a bird's nest for hair. When he found you most ethereal.

But there was no rush. You truly did have forever, and of that he was certain.

a/n: thank you cait ( @guksheart ) for helping me out on this ily ♡♡♡♡♡

also @tteokchim look i finally posted it!!

#bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #jimin smut #bts smut #bts jimin #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin #jimin #jimin x reader #bts x reader #boyfriend!jimin #boyfriend!bts

[mythiica]

Mini Scenarios - The Warlords Reacting to Minor Injuries

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: All warlords

Genre: Fluff, Micro fics! Mini scenes!

Warnings: None

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2284 words total

Other comments: bashed my thumb in the door the other day so.. this happened 

Nobunaga...

...offers you his secret stash of konpeito. You are honored that he is sharing some with you, so for every one you eat, you feed him one. Playful as he is, Nobunaga nips your finger, making you squeal and pull back. As you do, you accidentally bite down hard on your tongue.

          You can taste the blood in your mouth, so you bring your hand to your mouth. “Ow!”

         “What happened?”

         “I bit my tongue.” Your jaw falls open and you rub the spot with a finger. “It hurts…”

         Nobunaga leans forward and grips your jaw. He brushes his fingers past your lips, and you open your mouth for him. You think that he’s going to pull on your tongue, but instead he pushes a piece of konpeito to the small tear in the muscle. The cold candy soothes the ache and makes you feel better.

         “Better?”

         You nod, and he lets you close your mouth and eat the konpeito. “How did you know that will help?”

         Nobunaga takes a handful and plops it into his mouth. “When Hideyoshi nearly catches me eating it, I have to take as much as possible because I know he’ll take it away. I’ve bit my tongue a few times when doing this.”

         You laugh and lean against Nobunaga. “So you’re experienced with tongues?”

         His voice goes low and rough, “Oh, I’m very experienced with tongues…”

Hideyoshi…

...panics when he hears you scream. He bursts into your room and demands to know what happened.

         You hold your hand to your head. “I stood up too fast and bonked my head…”

         He closes the distance between the two of you and drapes his arms over your shoulders. Hideyoshi rakes his fingers through your hair and massages your skull. “Are you alright? Please be more careful.”

         You try to swat him away, but Hideyoshi keeps his hands clasped over your ears. “I’m okay. It just hurt a lot for a few seconds there, and it surprised me.”

         Hideyoshi kisses your forehead gently. “You expect me to let you anywhere near the battlefield if you can’t even see a bar?” He scoffs. “I don’t want to see you get hurt more than this.”

         Huffing, you look at Hideyoshi. “This isn't the same. This was an accident. I promise, I’m fine!”

         He flicks your forehead, and you wince immediately. “You’re fine?”

         “I was until you did that!”

         The warlord cups your cheeks and looks at you intently. “Even if you protest, I will do whatever it takes to protect you. Starting with moving that bar so you don’t hit yourself again.”

         You pout more, but you know that he is only doing this out of love and concern. “I guess I’ll just have to sleep in your room then-”

         “Yes, you’ll just have to– wait, what?!” He blushes slightly and removes his hands from you. “W-We have a lot of other rooms, you don’t have to stay with me.”

         “Well, that way, you can keep a closer eye on me!”

         Hideyoshi narrows his eyes and smiles at you. “Smart girl. I suppose so.”

Masamune...

...asks you to slice some onion for the dumplings you are cooking together. However, the handle of the blade is slightly wet, so it slips from you grip and you end up slicing your finger slightly. The smallest drop of blood hangs from the edge of the cut, but you drop the knife and step backwards.

         “M-Masamune-”

         “Yes, lass?” He turns around and sees that single drop of blood. He immediately drops the lettuce he had been washing and goes to your side. “What happened?!”

         “It just slipped, I’m sorry.”

         Masamune reaches for a towel and holds it to your finger. “It’s not deep, thank goodness.” He strokes your hair and kisses your temple. “Your heart is racing. Are you scared of blood?”

         “It’s not that – the cut jus tflet a lot deeper than it is.”

         “Perhaps next time, allow me to make the food, no?”

         You coo. “Sorry for-”

         He hooks his finger under your chin and makes you look up. “Don’t apologize, lass. Look at the bright side – you’ll get to stare at me as much as you want!”

         This makes you laugh. “Well…” you smile at him. “I do like looking at your ass-”

         “That’s my girl!”

Ieyasu…

...tends to the small blister in your palm carefully. You had been learning how to wield a sword, and the hilt of the sword had rubbed your skin too much, causing a small blister to form and pop. It is painful because the blister sits in the middle of the crease of your hand, but as Ieyasu puts an ointment on it, you cannot feel the stinging anymore.

         “...Thank you, Ieyasu,” you mumble.

         He grunts in response. “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure to wrap your hands from now on. Or let me train with you next time. So I can help you.” His voice is soft and gentle, full of meaning – you  are touched by how genuine he is.

         “You would train with me?”

         Ieyasu bandages your hand. “Make sure to change this tomorrow morning. It should heal in a few days.” He starts to clean up the materials he had used. “And yes. Why wouldn’t I? Better than you working with the kitsune or the book lover.”

         You laugh at the nicknames and flex your hand to adjust the bandage. “Sounds good. I look forward to seeing you in action. Are you as gentle with a sword as you are with medical supplies?”

         He growls at you. “Oh, I’ll show you gentle.”

Mitsuhide…

...reluctantly allows you to carry the sack of arrows. He had just finished his practice for the day, and the two of you are now walking back to the castle. You are in deep conversation with him when your foot hooks in a loose root. This causes you to fall forward until Mitsuhide catches you.

         However, one of the arrow tips brushes across your skin, drawing blood. You stop walking and set the back down to inspect the wound.

         Mitsuhide’s eyes flash with concern. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you carry it– let me help you.” He pulls a piece of fabric from the depths of his clothes and wraps it around your wrist.

         “I’m okay–”

         “Quiet, little mouse. Pain is relative. It might not hurt you all that much, but it hurts me to see you injured.”

         You flush red and look away. “I start bleeding and you turn into a flirt?”

         Mitsuhide grins and picks up the bag of arrows. “Do you think you can handle the bow? Or will you find a way to injure yourself with it as well?”

         “I’m not that incompetent!”

Mitsunari...

...offers you one of his new books. As you admire the intricate cover details, you flip the page too quickly and end up cutting your finger. You wince and shake your finger. “Ah! Why do paper cuts have to hurt so much-”

         Mitsunari sets his box down and raises an eyebrow at you. “What happened?”

         “The book attacked me,” you whine before you go to leave to wash your hands.

         He looks at you with sad eyes and ushers you to leave the room.

         When you return, every book has been shoved into a space – meaning there is no place for you to hurt yourself again.

         “Did you.. me-proof… the room?”

         Mitsunari looks up, over his glasses. “In case you get a paper cut again.”

         You raise an eyebrow. “I was gone for a few minutes, Mitsunari, did you really do all of this for me?” You pad over to him and take his glasses off for him.

         He looks at you bashfully and nods.

         “But it was just a paper cut–”

         Mitsunari takes your hands in his and kisses your palms. “I’d do anything for you.”

Kenshin…

...strums his fingers on the inside of your thigh when he notices a dark bruise. He lifts your leg, making you squeal in surprise. “Kenshin, what are you doing–?”

         He glances up at you. “Did I do this?” His fingers are on the hickey, and you blush.

         “Well… yes. You got a bit enthusiastic last night.”

         Despite the lighthearted tone you use, Kenshin still seems distressed by this. “But it’s red, not purple. I bit you too hard–”

         You lean forward and wrap your arms around Kenshin’s neck. “I’m a big girl. It will heal, so don’t worry about it.” When you smile, Kenshin inhales sharply before tucking his nose into your neck.

         “I’ll… try to contain myself more next time.” His fingers trace circles on your thighs as he rests his head against you. You can feel his heart beating steadily, and the rhythm calms you.

Shingen...

...kisses the finger where you accidentally ripped your nail. It had hooked in the fabric of your kimono, and you pulled your arm back too fast, causing the nail to tear. It had gone pretty deep, and it hurt.

         However, Shingen takes your mind off of the pain by trailing soft kisses down your jaw and neck. “It will grow back. Keep it covered for now, though,” he reminds you with his mellow voice. Shingen always knows how to comfort you, so you exhale slowly and lean against him.

         “You are right.”

         Shingen smiles at you, and the warmth from his kindness makes your heart melt. “I just wish I would have paid more attention..”

         He clasps his hands over your own and presses his forehead to yours. “Nonsense. It is difficult for angels to multitask when they are busy being beacons of light.”

         His sweet talk makes your legs turn into putty. “Shingen!”

         “Yes, my love?”

         Laughter erupts from your lips, and you cannot help but smile now. “I am not an angel, though.”

         “My goddess~”

         You give up, knowing that trying to argue would not work.

Sasuke…

...looks at you, inviting you to come sit with him. His sly smirk and half-lidded eyes are enough to convince to go running across the room, but your toe catches in the arm of the futon. As you fall, you look at Sasuke with big eyes – your mouth found into an o, and you can’t help but thinks there I go.

         Sasuke is not fast enough to catch you, so you land flat on the ground with a hollow oof, but he scrambles from his spot and rushes to your side. “Are you practicing your ninja rolls?”

         You sit up and seeth with pain. “Don’t make fun of me! I stubbed my toe-”

         He pushes his glasses up and glances at your toe. It is already starting to bruise slightly. “Can you curl it?”

         After doing as asked, you wince at the sharp pain. “Great… I’m handicapped now.”

         Sasuke picks you up bridal style and starts to carry you towards the door. “Good thing I can carry you, then. No?”

         Not wanting to refuse his offer, you sling your arms around his neck and giggle. “You know, I think my entire leg is going numb… you’ll have to carry me around everywhere then~”

         “As long as it keeps you from doing a Naruto run, anything-”

         “I was not-”

         “Sure, sure.”

Yukimura…

...doesn’t exactly know what to do to comfort you. Tears bubble in your eyes, but you are the only person in the room. Yukimura has no idea what has happened, but he rushes to your side and lifts your face. Words fall from his mouth, but most are incoherent.

         “I pulled to hard on a knot in my hair and it hurts,” you whine, rubbing your scalp.

         Yukimura falls to the ground next to you. “That’s it?!”

         “What do you mean that’s it! It hurts!”

         He laughs and picks up your hairbrush. “This hurt you?”

         You nod, and once you do, he throws it across the room and out into the garden. It tumbles in the grass before coming to a stop. “There, it won’t hurt you now,” he says triumphantly. He tucks an arm around you and brings you to rest on his shoulder. “Are you alright though?”

         Your tears have turned into laughs, and you nuzzle against him. “Yes. You saved me from the evil hairbrush. Thank you.”

         “Next time though… can you not scream so loud? I thought someone broke in or Shingen was trying some bad flirting with you–”

Kennyo…

...watches the door close on your finger, but he isn’t fast enough to stop it. You reel back in pain and clutch your hand – just a few moments after, and the nail is already bruising slightly. Your bottom lip trembles, but you try to keep the tears back. It’s just a small injury, but it hurts immensely.

         Kennyo grips your wrist and drags you to the other side of the room and pushes your hand into a bowl of cold water. His eyes are clouded with concern, and when he looks up at you, you catch your breath. His immediate reaction was to help you – the cold water envelops your finger and soothes the pain. In the long run, it will also help reduce the bruising.

         “Th-Thank you. I wasn’t watching the door,” you explain between ragged breaths. “But you didn’t have to.”

         He looks at you and then at the doorway. Kennyo had dropped his staff in the moment. It had rolled into the grass and opened slightly, the metal of the hidden blade shining in the sunlight.

         You expect him to get up and retrieve it, but he sits with you instead. “Please be more careful.”

         Nodding your head, you turn your head down sheepishly and try to steady your thundering heart.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen masamune #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen kenshin #ikesen shingen #ikesen yukimura #ikesen sasuke #ikesen kennyo #cybird #otome

[remywrites5]

Road trip au with scorbus? I think that would be soo much fun. Maybe combined with a strangers au😊 Thank you in advance.

           Albus adjusted his rucksack, pulling the straps up further on his shoulder to make it more comfortable. He’d been walking for a good two hours and the strap was beginning to dig into his shoulder painfully. So far no one had stopped to give him a ride.

           He could hear a car coming so he lazily stuck out his thumb but kept walking, figuring whoever it was wouldn’t stop. He didn’t even bother looking at the car, expecting it to keep on its merry way. To his shock the car slowed and pulled off to the side of the road.

           Albus bent down and looked at the person in the driver’s seat. The Good Samaritan was blond with grey eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. He looked to be about Albus’ age, which was a bit of a relief. Albus didn’t fancy getting a lecture by someone older about the hitchhiking.

           “Hi,” the driver said smiling softly. “Did you need a lift somewhere?”

           “Yeah,” Albus replied, pulling his rucksack off and opening the back door of the Lexus. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice the kind of car before now. It seemed his savior was kind of wealthy. Maybe he could talk the guy into buying him food. He dropped his bag onto the backseat and then went around to the passenger side, sliding into it and smiling. “Thanks for picking me up. My feet are killing me.”

           The driver frowned. “How long have you been walking?” he asked, glancing behind him to make sure there was no other cars and then got back onto the highway.

           “About two hours,” Albus said, slipping his trainers off and putting his right foot on his knees to massage his aching arches. “I’m Albus, by the way.”

           “Scorpius,” the driver answered, glancing over at Albus. He cleared his throat and lowered the windows slightly.

           Albus cringed. “Sorry. I’d try and have better manners but my feet really bloody hurt.”

           “It’s okay,” Scorpius told him. “So where am I dropping you?”

           Albus shrugged. “Just take me as far as you’re going.”

           Scorpius raised his eyebrow dubiously. “You don’t know where you’re going?”

           Albus laughed. “Nope.” He put his foot back down and swapped it for the other one, digging his thumb into his heel. He was going to have blisters he just knew it. It was a relief to get some respite.

            “You know you really shouldn’t be hitchhiking,” Scorpius said, glancing over at Albus between checking his rear and side mirrors. “It could be dangerous.”

           Albus rolled his eyes. It appeared he was going to get a lecture anyway. “I can take care of myself.”

           “The first thing you did upon entering my car was to take your shoes off,” Scorpius said, his voice stern. “How exactly would you run away from me if I decided to attack you?”

           “Who says I would run away?” Albus challenged, reaching for the lever and reclining his seat back. He put his socked feet up on the dash and grinned at Scorpius. “Maybe I’d stand and fight.”

           “Yes, you look very prepared to handle such a threat,” Scorpius drawled, his lips pressed into a thin line.

           “Why do you care?” Albus asked in exasperation. He’d left home because he couldn’t take his fathers incessant scolding. He hardly needed it here on the open road where he was supposed to be free for the first time in his stupid life.

           “Because you’re careless,” Scorpius shot back, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. “And it’s dangerous having such a cavalier attitude.”

           Albus groaned, scrubbing his hand down his face and staring up at the top of the car in disbelief. “I’m going to take a nap. I have ten pounds in my wallet. If you want it then take it, consider it petrol money or whatever. If you want to do anything else – whatever it is you were implying – then fine.”

           “I – “ Scorpius looked over at Albus, his jaw dropped in shock. However that sentence was meant to end apparently died on his lips.

           Albus turned away from him, curling up on the seat, his cheeks pressed against cold leather. The open window was making his dark hair rustle slightly but he didn’t mind. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

                                                           ***

           Albus awoke to a hand on his shoulder, jostling him awake. The car had apparently stopped moving and it was dark outside. The leather underneath him was wet from his own drool and Albus winced, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

           “We’re stopping for the night.”

           Albus blinked a few times to clear the blurriness of sleep from his eyes and focused outside the window. They were stopped at a motel and the car smelled like French fries. Confused, Albus looked over at Scorpius, who was holding a bag of fast food in his hand. Albus felt his stomach growl in need as he quickly undid his seatbelt, shoving his feet back into his shoes, not bothering to redo the laces.

           He grabbed his rucksack from the backseat and followed Scoprius inside. Scorpius got them a room, taking the key cards and slipping them into the pocket of his jeans. All the doors to each separate room were on the outside of the building so they walked to the one they’d been assigned by the front desk.

           They got to the room and it wasn’t exactly the Ritz but it wasn’t dingy. There was one queen sized bed, a telly, a little table for two and a nightstand. Scorpius dropped his stuff on the right side of the bed. “I’m going to go pull the car around,” he informed Albus, slipping back out the door.

           Albus went directly for the shower and turned the taps on as far as they would go. He thought back to the odd conversation they’d had in the car about Albus’ carelessness. Scorpius probably found Albus’ lack of self-preservation a bit strange. People always thought Albus’ particular brand of apathy was off-putting. Maybe he just hadn’t found something to care about yet. He tried for a long time, getting into sports and hobbies, but his interest quickly waned. Nothing had ever stuck. 

           He scrubbed himself with the motel’s complimentary bar of soap and washed the dirt away from his skin, watching it swirl around the drain and then disappear. It felt good to get two hours of highway grim off his skin. He put his socks back on, not trusting the motel carpet to be all that clean and slung a towel around his waist.

           When he came out of the bathroom, Scorpius was sitting at the little table eating a burger and some fries. Albus’ stomach made another impressive noise and he eyed the food longingly. Scorpius pulled another burger and a carton of fries from the bag and laid them out for Albus. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” Scorpius explained, smiling apologetically at Albus. “And you were out like a light.”

           Albus walked over, remaining standing, and shoved some of the fries into his mouth. He didn’t miss the way Scorpius was looking at him, trying and failing not to check him out, his eyes landing a bit too often at the patch of hair at Albus’ lower abdomen just barely visibly from the towel. His cheeks were tinged a lovely shade of pink.

           Albus licked a bit of salt off his thumb and watched Scorpius’ eyes widen just a fraction behind his glasses. Scorpius really was unbearably cute with his high cheekbones and his nerdy glasses. “Thank you for the food,” Albus said, sliding into the other seat at the table. “You’re turning into quite the sugar daddy.”

           Scorpius scoffed. “Hardly. I’d think you could do better.”

           Albus grinned and popped another fry into his mouth. “So you haven’t told me where we’re going.”

           Scorpius ran his fingers through his hair. “Well I’m going to back to Cambridge,” he informed Albus, wiping his mouth primly with a napkin.

           Albus scratched his head idly. “But it’s the middle of the term,” he said in confusion. “Why’d you leave?”

           Scorpius dropped his eyes down to the floor. “If you must know my mum’s been taken ill,” he said softly.

           “Fuck,” Albus said, feeling like a prick for asking. “I’m sorry.”

           “It’s not your fault,” Scorpius said, sighing heavily. He stood up and threw his garbage in the rubbish bin. “I’m going to take a shower.”

           “Okay.”

           Albus watched Scorpius’ retreating back as he disappeared into the bathroom. He barely tasted his burger as he ate it and the fries had gone cold. He wolfed it all down regardless.

           Taking the opportunity of having the room to himself, Albus got changed into a clean pair of pants and his well-worn grey sleep shirt. He got into bed on the left side and turned on the telly, flipping through channels to try and find something good. He decided on some panel show and snuggled down into the blankets.

           Scorpius emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, his blond hair slicked back and his body on display. He was skinny with not a lot of muscle on his bones compared to Albus. He could see Scor’s ribs as he breathed, his skin flushed red from the heat of the shower.

           “Why are you staring at me like that?” Scorpius asked, shuffling embarrassedly under Albus’ gaze.

           “You’re really fit,” Albus said, biting his bottom lip.

           Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said, laughing softly. He went over to his suitcase and pulled out his pyjamas, which looked to be red silk. He got dressed quickly, positioning the towel so Albus couldn’t see too much.

           When he was done, Scorpius slipped into the bed beside Albus and wiggled under the sheets. He glanced over at Albus and smiled. “What are you going to do once we get to Cambridge?”

           Albus shrugged and scooted closer to Scorpius. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Albus informed him honestly. “Maybe I’ll just bunk in with you.”

           “Who says I’d let you?”

           “Eh, you’re a pushover.”

           “No I’m not,” Scorpius said, making a face that caused Albus to laugh. He moved even closer and threw his arm around Scorpius, holding him around his middle.

           “But you’re my sugar daddy,” Albus teased, resting his head on Scor’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

           “Please stop calling me that.”

           Albus snorted. “You’ve already done a better job of taking care of me than I do taking care of myself,” he said, nuzzling his face against Scor’s neck. “For my safety and well-being I’d better stick with you.”

           Scorpius huffed and shifted underneath Albus. “You can’t just live with me at Cambridge. I’d think the school would frown on that kind of thing.”

           Albus grinned against Scorpius skin. “You know I was actually supposed to go to Uni there,” he confessed, pulling back so he could look up at Scorpius. “It’s why I left home. My dad wanted me to go to University and he was furious at me because I didn’t want to go. We’ve been arguing about it for months now.”

           Scorpius’ brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you want to go to Uni?”

           “I didn’t know what I wanted to do,” Albus said, grabbing the telly remote and switching it off. Neither of them was watching it anyway. “It seemed stupid to go to Uni when I didn’t have a clue.”

           Scorpius laughed. “Albus, no one has a clue. I don’t know what I want to do in the future. I’m just taking general education courses right now.”

           Albus studied Scorpius for a long moment. “Well maybe in the – um – you know, immediate future I could kiss you?”

           Scorpius blinked a few times and then he gave Albus this sad little smile. “Albus, I – “

           “It’s okay,” Albus said quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s fine.” Albus pulled away and rolled over onto his side, facing away from Scorpius, his face red with embarrassment. He closed his eyes and wished he’d just been left on the side of the road.

           He felt the bed shift as Scorpius moved, spooning Albus and wrapping his arms around him. “Are you always this dramatic?” Scorpius teased, tangling their legs up together. “Then again I guess you did run away from home instead of just going to University.”

           “Scorpius, if you don’t stop talking I’m going to hit you.”

           “Ask me again sometime,” Scorpius whispered against Albus’ ear.

           Albus didn’t respond, staring blankly at a stain on the wall by the window. He ignored the way Scorpius holding him made his heart beat faster, or the comfortable warmth of having someone pressed against him. He ignored the way his heart stung from the rejection and the foolish optimism he felt that Scorpius was encouraging him to try again.

           He fell asleep, the comfort and warmth of Scorpius pulling him under. He woke up first and carefully extracted himself from Scor’s long limbs. As quietly as he could, he got dressed and then snuck out with his rucksack on his back. He only made it about twenty minutes down the highway when a familiar Lexus pulled over in front of him, blocking his path.

           Scorpius jumped out with the car still running, his face fuming as he stomped over to Albus. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

           Albus dropped his rucksack on the ground and squared off against Scorpius. “That’s really none of your fucking business.”

           “So that’s it then?” Scorpius spat out, tugging his fingers through his hair roughly. “No goodbye, you just sneak away like a coward?”

           “Shut up!” Albus said, his hands curling into fists. “I’m not yours to take care of! I offered it to you and you didn’t want it! So fuck off Scorpius and leave me be!”

           Scorpius worked his jaw for a moment and then took a step closer to Albus. “Not everyone is as reckless as you, Albus. Some of us don’t just do things the moment we think of them. Some of us want assurances, damn it, and you running off in the morning isn’t exactly encouraging.”

           Albus chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. “And you’re calling me a coward?”

           “Fine then, I’m the one who’s a coward,” Scorpius hissed, glowering at him. “Because I am scared, Albus. I’m scared of the way you treat yourself and the way you behave.”

           “You’re scared to be with me,” Albus said accusingly, taking another step towards Scorpius so they were practically nose to nose.

           “Yes,” Scorpius said, his eyes boring into Albus’. Albus abhorred that same apologetic look that he’d seen the night before on Scor’s face. The sooner he got away from him and his bloody pity the better. “I’m sorry. You’re just so unpredictable and I mean I picked you up on the side of the highway for fuck’s sake. You’ve run away from home.”

           “It’s fine,” Albus said, waving him off. “We hardly know each other. Don’t sweat it, Scor. I’ll be fine.”

           “Let me drive you somewhere,” Scorpius pleaded, grabbing Albus by the arm. “Anywhere. We can go get breakfast and then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

           Albus swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No thanks.”

           “Albus – “

           “You’ve helped me enough.”

           “Albus.”

           “Will you just fucking go already? I don’t need your help, Scorpius.”

           Scorpius looked like he was going to argue some more and then his shoulders slumped in defeat. He dropped his hand from Albus’ arm and took a step back. “Please be careful,” Scorpius begged softly.

           “I’ll try.”

           Scorpius walked back to his car and turned around when he got to the door. “I meant what I said,” he called back. “If we somehow run into each other – ask me again.”

           Scorpius got into his car and shut the door. He idled on the side of the road a bit longer as if giving Albus one more chance to change his mind. Albus gave him a small wave and Scorpius finally took the hint. He pulled out into the traffic and drove away, leaving Albus on the side of the road to fend for himself, just the way Albus preferred it. Alone.

                                                                       ***

           Scorpius was making his way across campus, struggling with the amount of books he had in his hands. He really should have finished his paper at the library instead of carrying all the books needed back to his room. But the library was crowded as everyone rushed to finish their papers for the end of term and Scor couldn’t concentrate.

           He could feel one of the books slipping and he tried in vain to reshuffle so he could catch it. Instead a hand shot out and snatched it from the air before it dropped. Scorpius glanced up, his thank you dying on his tongue, as Albus stood before him holding his book.

           “Hi,” Albus said, smiling softly. He looked every bit as beautiful as Scorpius remembered. “Do you want me to help you with some of those?”

           “What are you doing here?” Scorpius asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

           “I’m here with my parents,” Albus explained, pointing to two figures in the distance, a man who looked remarkably like Albus and a woman with fiery red hair. “We’re getting a tour of the campus.”

           Scorpius tightened his grip on his books. It had been months since he’d last seen Albus and he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Why?”

           “I’ll be going here next term,” Albus said, reaching out and taking a few of the books out of Scorpius’ hands so he had a more manageable pile. “After we fought I hitchhiked back home. I talked it over with my dad and I decided maybe University wouldn’t be so bad.”

           “Do you know what you want to study then?” Scorpius asked, hugging his now few books to his chest.

           Albus laughed and shook his head. “Not a bloody clue. But there is something here I want.”

           Scorpius chewed his bottom lip, his heart beginning to race inside his chest. “Oh?”

           Albus nodded and took a step towards Scorpius. “Can I kiss you?”

           Scorpius dropped his books and grabbed for Albus, tugging him forward and causing Albus to drop his books as well. They clattered to the ground around them but neither of them noticed as their lips met – rushed and needy – gripping each other with reckless abandon. Albus was there and he was staying. It was all the assurances Scorpius needed to close his eyes and dive headfirst into something wonderfully careless.

#scorbus #i write things #anon prompt #au prompt #long post #this turned out kind of angsty #harry potter next gen #scorpius x albus