A Rare Intimacy, Pt.II

For the lovely adler-esque, who wanted to see a sequel to Pt.I (read here and/or here). 

A rare intimacy followed by an all too common goodbye.


Neither of them had bothered to close the curtains the night before and she wakes with the sun, the skyline of New York rising up in grey and rose before the glass.

His eyes are still closed and she takes the opportunity to study him; dark curls splayed out over her white pillows, long dark lashes resting upon pale cheeks.

He looks tired. Haunted. There are shadows under his eyes, mottled black and purple like bruises, and –

“Stop. Stop that.” He has not opened his eyes and his voice is still thick with sleep as he shifts slightly under her, a furrow in his brow even as his hands wrap around her thigh and hitch it higher over his hip. “Stop doing that…that thing.”

She had not realised that he was awake.

“How?” She asks simply, “How do you-” She does not bother denying it, there is no trace of incredulity or awe in her tone, there is no hint of a flush in her alabaster cheeks this morning, but there is interest. She is always interested in the way that his mind works.

He does not answer immediately. Her question only trails away because once again she has got lost in the small movements that he is making in an effort to wake up. The crease in his forehead becomes more pronounced, his eyelids are scrunched up against the intruding light and they refuse to open, his hand moves to her hip, pulling her closer…

It is not often that she is allowed to see him like this.

“Well, let’s see…” It is his voice that reminds her that she asked the question, low and deliberate. He starts and then he pauses, pursing his lips and brushing the hair from her eyes in a gesture that is almost inquisitive. “Your breathing, for a start… it’s not quite slow enough for you to be sleeping but you’re not moving around, so… You are awake, and looking at something. There is something poised about the shape of you. Something intent. You are not looking up at the ceiling, there’s nothing interesting there, nothing to hold your attention, so that can’t be it. It’s not the view out of the window because you’ve seen that view a thousand times before. I can feel your breath on my neck… It suggests that you’re positioned slightly above me, looking down, so either you’re looking at me or something about the embroidery on the pillow has caught your eye. Yes, it’s slightly uneven, but that’s hardly noticeable. Therefore… you must be looking at… me.”

His voice slows from its rapid deduction to a conclusion that almost sounds surprised, and he is hesitant as he opens his eyes, finding hers only inches away, fixed unblinkingly on his and narrowed as she tries to take it all in.

His eyes narrow back. The feel of her is all around him, in the slip and slide of the silk sheets over his skin, in the prickle of heat between their two bodies, in the heady smell of her perfume that lingers on everything. Drunk on it, he leans in closer.

Their noses are tip to tip, their lips mere millimetres apart. Her eyes flutter closed in anticipation but before any kiss is sealed, he begins to speak again, his voice little more than a breath. “There is more.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes…” His hands ghost up her sides, running his fingertips from her hips all the way up to the column of her throat in a way that elicits a shiver from her. Her eyes are open again, fixed on every movement of his lips as she waits for him to elaborate. “Yes… more than any of that, I know you… I know what you are like…I know what you do. I know you inside out…”

“I know you inside out…” At his words, a thrill runs along her spine and this acknowledgement that something does indeed exist between them is all that it takes, for the both of them. Her lips meet his in a desperate kiss and he responds immediately, drawing her closer, tumbling her down onto the mattress so that she lies below him, his hands framing her face. He is still tired and she can feel it in the way that his lips move over hers – it is less measured, less careful than it usually is.

Seconds, minutes, hours seem to pass.

It feels as if he is trying to commit her to memory, as if this kiss is a prelude to a goodbye, and even as she thinks it she feels him trying to draw away. Automatically her fingers tense, nails digging into his neck, but she cannot stop him pulling his lips from hers.

It has only really been a moment.

“Can’t we at least have this?” she asks, as if her words would ever be enough to seduce him into staying. “Can’t we have more than one night to ourselves?”

He is already shaking his head before she has finished, pushing himself upright again and kicking back the covers. He gets out of bed and turns away from her like he cannot meet her eye. “We’ve had all the time that we are allowed. We’ve had more. I never intended to come at all; I certainly never intended to stay. I have things to do.”

She lets him dress in silence. She cannot convince him and there is little point in trying, she has no whispers to send him on his way with, no promises to elicit in return.

“Goodbye then.” When he finally turns back to her, eyes the last things to rise from the carpet, she thinks that she can hear regret in his tone but she shakes that feeling off and climbs out of bed, crossing the room wrapped in only a sheet, her eye catching his, their fingers automatically twining around one another as if by prior consent.



“Sherlock, can’t you at least tell me where-”

“No. Goodbye,” he says more forcefully, dragging his coat on. He drops her hand to flick up his collar and knot his scarf just so.


“Goodbye, Miss Adler.” He tilts her chin up with two fingers and kisses her waiting lips softly, tenderly. Her heart wrenches at the gesture and he sees that in her face as clearly as if she had spoken aloud, but he does not stay.

He never does.

A flick of his Belstaff and he is gone, the tail of it whipping around the corner and out of sight.

He is always saying goodbye. And she has no choice but to let him.

anonymous asked:

kiss emperor stark. You go get yourself the king of all sugar daddies.

└ selectively accepting

finally an option he has NO problem with. a smirk crawls up and
latches itself into the arc of one of his cheeks, arrogant and full
of vain that could very well rival stark’s own narcissistic brand. 

there’s no reason to warn stark, and if rogers is being completely
honest with himself, he’s HOPING the bastard would be caught off
guard and flounder. 

he steps in close, a mischievous spark brightening his icy hues.
rogers’ hand snags at tony’s jaw, digits prodding into the hollows
of his cheeks. there won’t be bruising, IF tony chooses to keep
still and not struggle. 

rogers dips down, flashing a shark-toothed grin before he brushes
his lips across the others’. the texture of his beard is unfamiliar, c-
ausing his brows to furrow faintly before he steels himself, pressing
in and prying open stark’s mouth to lick inside with an invasive tong-
ue. never let it be said rogers does anything half-assed. 

{ & emperoranthony​. }

gay-trash-child asked:

Bertolt had let his seemingly emotionless expression drop as he stood behind Marco, his left hand on the ravenette's shoulder and his face set in a scowl. He had known Marco had gotten himself hurt again, but he figured the injury had faded by now. Then again, his friend had made it hard to realize he was still in pain, but he had never imagined it to be so severe. He slowly took in the large bruise covering his back, worry hidden in his eyes. "Marco, you idiot... you need to stop getting hurt."


Marco tensed up the moment he felt the others hand on his shoulder, looking back at his friend with a wary glance. Damn. He definitely should have worked harder to cover up that stupid bruise. He’d thought about wearing an extra layer of clothing, but as far as his preparation for the day went, he had just been concerned with the stab wound on his lower abdomen currently soaking a few bandages in blood. He could only thank god that that wound hadn’t been the one noticed by Bertholdt. “Oh that? Psh, that’s nothing!” He tried to laugh it off, no matter how nervous his voice sounded. “I’ll heal up in no time.”

Can You See What I See?

by narryworks

by narryworks

“Sorry, I really hate how long my legs are. Didn’t mean to keep taking up your space and everything. And I’m really sorry I hit your knee.” Harry has a look of concern and that’s when Niall looks back up from his and Harry’s hands, takes a moment to really look around and only now notice how empty the bus is and how caught up he really was in Harry.

“Nah, don’t be. I’m glad you did it.” And that makes Niall smile, his own response making him giddy because he knows he’s just set himself up, got the line ready for after Harry replies.

or the au where niall takes a bus and gets bruises on his legs and harry in his heart

Words: 1859, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1DIeJQk

levi is not indestructible. he forgets all too often that he can burn, he can break, he can bleed and cry and die just like any other man. and that is why he has erwin. when he offered up his heart to the survey corps, he was handing it to erwin as well, trusting with every fiber of his being that his commander would treat it as his own, that it wouldn’t be returned cracked and crumbled. erwin is his gravity, keeps him tethered to the earth even when every other part of him is telling him to fly as high as he can without giving a damn if he falls.

he is home. he patches levi ’s cuts and bruises, squeezes him tight in the darkness when the ghosts of the fallen begin to smother them both, offers quiet smiles that are only for levi when no one else is looking. they both know that the day may come in which erwin must order levi to die for him.  levi would do it with a smile, because he loves this man to damnation, he does, and he can hardly stand it.  i am trusting you, erwin smith, and i am trusting that you won’t make me regret it.  

“i would fly into seven different kinds of hell if you gave me the order, smith,” and they smile at each other when levi says it, but it’s a grim kind of smile, the slight pull of lips a forced reaction to an unfortunate fact that they have no choice but to acknowledge.  

“this war will consume us both,” erwin whispers in the dark of night, when they’re curled around each other, legs tangled beneath the scratchy military-issue sheets.  “i should never have-”

and levi silences him with a kiss, like he always does.  they both have a lot of shouldn’t-haves and if-i-had-onlys, but there is no use dwelling on what could have been.

shut up,” levi whispers, because he’s not a very poetic man.  “shut up, i chose this.  i chose you.” 

“Ed- Ed.” You get startled as the door opens to your office. Placing your hand on your heart, Ed walks over to you. 

“Y/n I need to-” But then his gaze falls onto your wrist. Where your boyfriend has gripped you when you tried to leave him last night. “Are those bruises?”

You look down at what he’s talking about and stutter over your words. Your eyes becoming red with tears as you recall the screaming and shattering of glass. 


“No this isn’t okay!” 

“Ed calm down.”

“He can’t do that to you y/n!”

“It was an accident- He won’t do it again.”

“That’s what you said the last 3 times, y/n…” 

anonymous asked:

I was wondering if you knew of any Enchanted Forest Gremma AUs where Emma grows up a princess? (Or really any EF AUs at all, though I do have a soft spot for the princess ones.)


Ahem. Yes, I know a few.

Okay, let’s begin with the finished ones:

When I Find You, I’ll Find Me by lancebobbis Twenty-four years ago, The Huntsman gave up his heart so that Snow White may have kept hers. Forever frozen in youth, he pays a grave price, and is broken, bruised and scarred from the years of abuse at the hands of The Evil Queen. Princess Emma has grown up in a lap of luxury, wanting for nothing, except for the freedom to make her own choices.

I See The Light by la lisboa -  Once meets Tangled. Regina steals baby Emma so her magic can sustain a terrible curse. Eighteen years later, a huntsman on the run stumbles upon her in the woods and takes her on the adventure of her life.

A Pirate’s Life by fantasywriter13 - Princess Emma meets the son of notorious pirate Captain Hook. AU one-shot based on fanons in my fic Wilding. 

Unfortunately unfinished, but still worth a read:

Paradise by lorelaipattern -  She is the princess, the elusive daughter of Queen Snow White and King James, and he is just a wild wanderer, a lonely Huntsman with only his wolf brother for companionship.

The Princess of Hearts by roseforeverafter -  Even when Happily Ever After comes for some, for others, powerful magic still leaves its blight. Young Princess Emma will discover the remains of the Evil Queen’s legacy, and with a soul longing for justice and a heart blossoming with love, will become the heroine of her own fairy tale. AU, no curse.

If you have a recommendation I completely missed, feel free to help our nonnie!!

Women of the Trojan War: Tecmessa

Ajax is the biggest man Tecmessa has ever seen. He could kill her with his bare hands in any number of ways, and at first she cannot conceal her fear at his touch. But despite his reputation for relying on brute force, there is very little malice in him. He is not gentle - she is not sure he knows how to be - but neither is he unduly rough, or purposefully cruel.

He rarely directs his infamous temper at her; she doesn’t have broken bones, or bruises that never seem to heal, like some of the other slave women do. He has occasionally struck her for displeasing him (open-handed blows that no doubt seemed light to him, yet knocked her off her feet), but such outbursts become even rarer as she learns how to read his moods and unspoken desires, to satisfy his every whim almost before he knows them himself, to bury her grief and pain and weariness as deep as they will go and never let on that she is anything less than pleased to see him when he returns from the battlefield. He rewards her efforts with trinkets and kisses and takes uncomplicated delight in her presence.    

Keep reading

Phoenix Song

The world has not been kind to you, I’m afraid.
Rest now.
Drag yourself somewhere safe to lick your wounds,
To wash away the foundation
Covering the bruises spelling out his name
Along your spine.
These blue and purple flowers blooming under your skin
Are not gifts
No matter what he says.
Start over.

Only a few short years have passed
Since you first became your own funeral pyre
And here you are again,
Hiding the marks someone left on your unwilling body,
Blaming yourself for not being strong enough to escape,
Waking in the night from dreams of rough, calloused hands
Reaching towards you.
It’s okay.
Burn again, all the way down to the embers.
Start over.

You have not been kind to yourself, I’m afraid.
You stupid, stupid girl.
Scratching yourself bloody won’t help anything,
Gathering all the sharp objects and bits of rope
You can get your bloody-knuckled hands on
Won’t help anything.
Stupid girl.
Isn’t it bad enough that the world has been so unforgiving?
Can you not at least try to forgive yourself?
Burn, it’s for your own stupid good.
Start over.

You should have paid more attention in church,
Empty-headed matchstick girl.
Don’t you know you’re not allowed
To fall in love with other girls?
I suppose you’ve learned your lesson now.
Pluck her knives from your back
And do not keep them.
Haven’t you been paying any attention?
Stupid girl.
Don’t keep the knives.
I know it hurts, I know.
Burn with her name on your lips.
Start over.

You’re seven hours away from your home now.
You thought you could run from the monsters
But it turns out they were inside your head all along.
Stupid, shattered girl.
Someone has stolen your reflection.
You look in the mirror and see a stranger.
Kill her.
Burn her alive.
Use the mounds of garbage and dirty dishes as kindling.
You are so tired of flames
But what choice do you have?
Start over.
Start over.
Start over.
This burning is all you know.

anonymous asked:

Anna hugs Kristoff, causing him to wince. He probably does have a lot of bruises still. Anna murmurs that she has friends with connections who can get him a pardon. She's never going to let him go again. Kristoff just lets her hug his aching body and runs his hand up and down her back.

anonymous asked:

Isaac waves happily, a small flower in his hand. He's mildly bruised, but he still seems happy nonetheless. " Hello! " --bindingisms

“Huh- Oh! Hello.” Wendy waves back to Isaac, noting the bruises on him, those looked..bad.
     He has a small flower in his hand, where’d he get it? It was nice looking.
“Nice to meet you, my name is Wendy.”


Alex has a specific picture of me painted in his head.
I like him because when I’m with him I get to pretend to be something I’m not. I am the tough girl with careless hands. With him I am something special. He is my favorite part of the week.
Tuesday afternoons, on my mother’s couch.
I know it has to be love because I don’t have to look
at two different signs when checking for our horoscopes in the newspaper. I know this means something. Something about growing up and growing in and growing together. 
I know it has to be something about fate. Stars colliding. Simple.
When he puts his hands around my neck I don’t even flinch.
I throw my head back and laugh.
Alex says he will never hurt me and he does.
I bruise easily, and his touches feel like torches on my skin.
I go home with burn marks on my lips each time we kiss. 
He says goodnight and all I can think of is
‘yes, yes, it was, no, it IS, because you are here, it is all good.’
Last week, our horoscopes read: YOU WILL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND. I told Alex about it and he chuckled.
Luckily for him, I never really believed in horoscopes.
—  “Alex and I,” Chloe Anna

anonymous asked:

Totally true!! And Panera is GREAT omfg. Probably same goes for me, but I don't get fast food a lot. Hey, I know you met him a while ago, but do you mind telling me a little bit about when you saw/met frank? It just sounded like a really fun time, but you don't have to if you'd rather not. Sorry if I'm being annoying

Looooove Panera. Their green tea is the bomb
And o man okay I was barrier and I got trashed around a lot. I got slammed afainst this weird as fuck bar any my ribs slid down about 3 feet against a spiked bar/chain link fence when he jumped in the crowd. So my entire side was bruised for like a week omg. So after the show I waited two hours I believe to meet him and I started shaking and I shook his hand and his hand was sooo soft so warm and so soft. He has the softest hands I have ever touched. And I said holy shit like about 10 times and then I said I waited ten years to meet him or see him and he said he waited 10 years to have me come to his show and then I said holy shit again and asked if I could shake his hand again and he was like “yeah!” And holy shit.

soaringsparrows replied to your post: unpopular opinion ‘bout Wash unde…

i respect your opinion but i must still disagree with you. that’s cute though, short angry freelancer!! wash has heard so many jokes like “i expected you to be taller”

most of my shorter!wash fantasies stem from the project freelancer days where he has extra cushion in his armor bc those fuckers are not exactly custom-made so in order to not bruise every inch of his skin on missions, Wash packs the suit’s body cavity with soft things (this does not include the standard pillows they hand to you your first day at project freelancer because they can be replaced with cement blocks and no one would comment)

wash has heard a lot of jokes like “i didn’t think you’d have blond hair…” because honestly when you think of the badass in s6 you expect his hair to match his soul and be pitch black, like the underfeathers of a raven

perspicxcious asked:

"Jason, what do you think kids are going to say when they see that thing?" She pokes her finger rather roughly against that particularly red 'bruise' on his neck. "Do you and Piper ever take a break? Jeez."

what would your mother s–oh, wait. don’t have one.

he winces when she pokes it, smacking her hand
away and covering his face so she can’t see the
furious blush. really, he’s starting to suspect that
piper does this on purpose to embarrass him later.
but at annabeth’s question, he shoots a very, very
unamused look.

        `th-the heck is that meant to mean? i-it’s not like…this
         happens every day. or even a lot. j-jeez louise, chase.`

that’d get boring fast, he thinks. or better. he thinks 
that and goes one shade redder. cue jason tugging
his collar up to hide it better.

anonymous asked:

I saw your kinky sexy Gerard headcanon and wonders if you have any for the other guys. Do you?

Oh man, okay I’ll only do a four for each

• he’d be super into kinky stuff, even during lighter sex he’d still like clawing at his back or something, he just really likes pain
• he loves for you to push on his bruises and he always has some, he’d like for cuts to be opened to because he’d totally be into blood
• he’s super into gags and blindfolds
• he likes being tied up, but he mostly likes having his hands bound

• major slut, basically anywhere anytime, his favorite places are cars and bathrooms, he’s just into subtle public stuff
• he likes getting marked up, hickies are the best because he wants everyone to know that he’s getting some and that he belongs to someone
• he loves being held down, not being bound so much as being held with someone’s hands, handcuffs are good to
• his favorite punishments are being spanked and orgasm denial

• he’s basically always dominate and it takes him a while to let go but once he does you’ll have marks for a month
• he’s really into having you claw at his back and some biting isn’t bad either
• spanking is the best, he defiantly has a daddy kink, also he’s not really into orgasm denial
• he really likes showing how big and strong he is so he’ll pick you up a lot and have his arms around you in public and he’ll leave hickies just high enough on your neck so people can see

Bonus?: Bob
• he’s also basically always dominate but it’s easy for him to let go, he tries to be careful but occasionally it’s almost too much
• he’s really into biting and he can’t help but leave bite marks and hickies and little bruises all over you, also you’d have some beard burns to
• he likes tying people down just so he can tease and not have to worry about holding the other person down
• he likes dirty talk and loves to hear you make noises, he just tries to find out what makes you make the most noises

butimalwaysalana asked:

Alana Bloom has been Norman Bates' pseudo parent for some time now. This is why when he shows up not at the Motel, but at her own practice bruised, bloodied, and generally a mess, there is a way that she looks at him like maybe her heart might break in her own chest. She has no time to assess this, she just quickly tugs him inside and rests her hands lightly on his arms. Ducks her head, that limitless gleam of concern apparent, "Norman, sweetling? Talk to me."

Your muse finds mine in a fucked up bleeding mess. Send me their reaction.

There’s a lot he could probably say, but instead, he shakes
his head numbly. He can’t go to his mom with this; he doesn’t
even remember how this happened, truthfully, just that one
minute he’d been in an argument with someone he’s been
having trouble with at school, and the next— well.

He’s more worried for the other boy than for himself right now. 

“I– I got…” His voice is weak and flat; he feels like he might
black out again, but he’s already spent god knows how many
hours doing god knows what, so he pushes her back, back,
back. She can have a turn later, goddamn it.

“I got in… a fight,” he manages to say. And then, “I don’t
know– I don’t know how long I was…” He trails off, frightened,
trying to focus on Alana and her warm hands on his arms. “I’m
scared, mom.”

Alana isn’t Norma. The word comes automatically because he’s
still… very much out of it, not entirely present, and there’s a woman,
comforting and warm, and he automatically associates mother. He’s
not even sure where he is, or how long he was out, or what time it is
now, or what’s happened. He just knows he feels safer now than he
must have before.

excitareamet asked:

"How could you not tell me?"

My muse has been really sick for over a week and has been hiding it, send “How could you not tell me?” for my muses reaction to yours finally finding out

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Hanzou mumbled before rolling onto his back. He looked at his hand and the bruise like discoloration that was spreading up his arm. The illness was of Ente Isla, there wasn’t much that could be done about it on Earth. So he’d lost some weight and couldn’t really sit up. Whatever. He’d either get better or–well–no point in telling Cieo the other option. “You know what might help me feel better?” he laughed, “Pizza.”