#/picks up pt 2 and skitters away to work on it

[love-toxin]

ELLIE OH MY GOD HARLEY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE HAS RETURNED. I AM FOREVER GRATEFUL, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CONTINUE THE STORY I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED

HEHE. i have you in my clutches >:) <3

[becauseimaladythatswhy]

Ramon’s Princess Pt. 6

I really exposed my daddy issues in this one… my b 💀 I just want Ramon to take care of meeeee

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Y/N POV

Tiago had taken refuge on top of your vanity next to the heart shaped dish that held all of your jewelry in it. Your quiet sobs had repelled him from the corner of your bed where you curled up on yourself. 

In a matter of one terrifying face on Ramon’s face had your entire world come crumbling down. The way he looked at you was something you were never going to forget and it terrified you. 

Now as you laid in your bed, you wondered what you’re going to do now. Do you stay? Do you leave? Would Ramon let you leave? Or would he hurt you, like he’s hurting Joaquín right now? 

You let out another sob as your heart shattered for the millionth time since Ramon had left. You hated Joaquín for causing all of this, but you prayed Ramon wouldn’t be able to find him. If he was right about your boyfriend, you prayed he had made a swift escape. 

It however, didn’t make the truth hurt any less. 

Ramon was exactly who Joaquín had warned you he was. He was a monster. No wonder people acted the way they did around him. Especially at Roxanne’s, and the way they acted around you. You were untouchable. 

You could’t help but wonder how many people he’s hurt. Or killed. The thought made you sick and you sat up out of bed feeling the wave of nausea hit you. Skittering into the bathroom you hauled yourself over the toilet and threw up what little food you had left. 

You sobbed trying to control yourself, but you were disturbed. You wondered if this feeling way ever going to go away. 

Washing your mouth out and brushing your teeth, you flushed the toilet and dragged your feet back into bed where you pulled the covers up and turned on the tv letting the noise drown out your thoughts. You couldn’t bare to think like that anymore. 

Ramon’s POV

It was’t hard to find Chapo. Hector practically gave him up as a weak ass apology knowing Ramon could end their trafficking forever if he didn’t. There was no doubt in Ramon’s mind that Miguel wouldn’t care about this. He needed him and his brother too much too. 

The ice cream shop had been empty besides Chapo, his girl, and a couple school kids so the kidnapping wasn’t difficult. Ramon threw a bag over his head and shoved him in the trunk of his car while his girl screamed for help. Alfredo and Alex left her there, unharmed, he might add, while they drove off with Chapo thrashing in the back. 

The location Ramon picked was an uncomfortable walking distance away from civilization in the middle of a cactus field. 

The boys grabbed Chapo despite his cursing and kicking and threw him into the hot sand. Ramon leaned against the side of the car while the juniors got to work beating the shit out of him. 

“Take off the hood.” Ramon demanded. 

Barron yanked off the bloody pillow case revealing Chapo’s almost unrecognizable face. He wheezed trying to regain his breath while he choked on his own blood. Positive at least three of his ribs were fractured, Chapo did his best to glare up at Ramon as he approached him. 

Raising his gold encrusted gun, Ramon aimed straight for Chapo’s head. 

“Fuck you Ramon.” He gritted out and raised his chin. 

Ramon scoffed and pulled the trigger. 

Chapo flinched at the sound bit quickly opened his eyes realizing he wasn’t dead. 

Ramon’s gun remained trained on him but he realized the bullet had hit the sand a few mere inches from his head. 

“You’re only alive because of her.” Ramon narrowed his eyes down at him, “Touch her again the next bullet goes between your eyes. I don’t care if you’re friends.” 

As Ramon turned to get back in the car, Alfredo spat on him along with Alex who flipped Chapo off. No one hurts Y/N. No one. 

“Dumbass.” Kitty shook his head while everyone loaded back up into the car leaving Chapo to flail in his restraints on his long ass walk back to the nearest town. 

~ One hour later~

“She’s never going to forgive me.” Ramon groaned throwing his head back dramatically in the front seat. 

“This is Y/N though,” Kitty reasoned, “She’s different.” 

“I shouldn’t have lied to her. I just knew she would have been scared off.” Ramon rubbed his face, “What if she hates me.” 

“I don’t think she’s capable of that.” Kitty patted his shoulder. 

“Fucking Chapo!” He cursed. 

“We’ll just keep if away from her like we always have.” Alfredo added. 

“You could just get her another cat.” Kitty laughed. 

“You should have seen her face earlier.” Ramon shook his head, “She was terrified. I don’t think there’s enough cats on this fucking planet to fix that.” 

He groaned and slammed his head into the head rest a few times anxious to get back to Y/N. He needed to talk to her. He needed to comfort her. 

Y/N POV

You heard the car roll up and the commotion in the entrance before you peeled your eyes open. The pathetic fitful nap you took only served to frustrate you. Grabbing the blankets a little tighter, your felt Tigao purring against your belly under the blankets. You sighed as the anxiety began to trickle back in as you tried to decipher who’s foot step’s were whose. 

It wasn’t long before you heard Ramon’s obvious steps heading straight for your door. You gripped the covers a bit tighter as your door creaked open letting in the light from the hallway. Your drawn blinds left the room in a dark pinky haze. 

“Y/N?” Ramon entered. The guards told him you hadn’t left since this morning and hadn’t had anything to eat. He knew you well enough to know you were starving. The plate of hot food in his hand caused you to sit up in a pool of pink silk. Ramon’s bribery was working. He felt relieved watching your glossy eyes zero in on the bowl of hot steaming chicken pozole. 

You watched him tentatively cross the room and approach the non-occupied side of the bed. The question you were burning to ask was beginning to be too much. 

“He’s alive.” Ramon answered the look in your eyes. He hands you the bowl and keeps his distance even though it’s killing him. He’s fighting literally every urge in his body to touch you, and you could tell by the way he was clenching his fists and planting them in his lap. 

Your eyes lit up and you sat up a little straighter, “Joaquín?” 

Ramon nodded. 

You set the bowl of pozole on the nightstand and crawled over to Ramon, curling up into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. You kissed the side of his head and whispered, “thank you.” As the anxiety dissipated from your heart. 

He abandoned all restraint and wrapped his arms around you pulling you impossibly close. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You sobbed. 

He sighed and fell backwards into your mattress with relief, scarring Tiago. 

You sat next to him looking down at him looking like an angel with your hair flowing around your face like a halo. Ramon couldn’t help but reach up and tuck a piece behind your ear. 

“I didn’t want to scare you.” He nearly whispered. He was talking like he didn’t want to scare you off now, “You’re so perfect Y/N, I would die without you. The junior’s too.” He added remembering how they all enjoyed kicking the shit out of Chapo for laying a hand on you. 

“I love you Ramon.” You leaned into his gentle hand, “You’re my family.”

“I love you too Y/N.” He pulled your down to kiss you.

Melting into his warm body, you deepened the kiss. His strong hands trailed over the expanse of your back and into your hair massaging your scalp. You broke away making him pout. 

“But if you ever leave me alone with those babysitters again, I’m never going to forgive you.” 

He smiled, “Okay baby.” He fingered your necklace, “You can take your pick of babysitters next time. Alfredo, Kitty, Barron?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully and abandoned him to crawl over to the cooling soup. 

“I like Fredo because he makes me food.” You settled down to eat your dinner. 

“He knows you’ll listen to him if he feeds you.” Ramon joked. You playfully shoved your manicured foot into his arm. 

“Is that your secret?” You took a bite making you have to hold back a moan from from good it tasted. 

“i have a few.” He smiled and kissed your ankle. You giggled and tried to gracefully eat as fast as you possibly could. 

The landline began to ring and Ramon rolled out of your bed to answer it. Taking the last few bites of food, you set the bowl down while Ramon visibly tensed answering the phone. You quirked your head as he eyed you. 

“What do you want?” He growled. 

“It’s for you.” He took the whole phone and brought it over to you letting you hold the base and curly cord while passing the receiver to your free hand. 

“Hello?” You asked shyly wondering who it could possibly be. 

“Y/N?” Joaquín’s gravely voice shocked you. No wonder Ramon was tense. He knelt down at the foot of the bed and searched for you ankles in all the blankets. 

“Hi Joaquín.” You squeaked when Ramon yanked you down flat on your back. Flashbacks to this morning made your cheeks flush red and your stomach to do a flip. Ramon’s hands were getting possessive. He nearly ripped your little shorts clean in half getting them off your body. You gave him an alarmed look but he didn’t care. 

“I had to make sure you were okay.” He sounded terrible. 

You bit your lip when you felt Ramon’s hot breath ghosting between your legs knowing exactly where this was going, “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“I just needed to make sure.” Chapo grunted, “I don’t trust him but you already know that.” 

You covered your mouth muting the mewl that threatened to burst from your throat as Ramon’s hot tongue licked over your pussy. 

“I would loose my mind if I knew he had hurt you.” Chapo sighed, “Abuela would never forgive me. I’m sorry I got you into this whole mess.” 

Ramon sucked your clit, daring you let Chapo know exactly what he was doing to you. You tried to push his head back but Ramon was so much stronger. He refused to budge and instead, sucked harder again making you bite your wrist and let out a muffled moan. 

Chapo went silent then spoke again, “Are you okay?” 

“Mhmm!” You replied swatting at Ramon again feeling the hot burn of pleasure and embarrassment. 

“Anyways, I just wanted to double check.” Chapo shifted his weight trying to keep it off his ribs, “Hopefully I’ll be seeing more of you now that you know what’s going on. Ramon might actually show you off now.” 

“I’ll have to write your family and let them know we reconnected.” You struggled to get out feeling the familiar coils winding up in your tummy. 

Ramon noticed the way you undulated your hips as Chapo continued to drawl on on the other end letting him know you were close. Determined to make it a struggle for you, he pushed your belly down pinning you in place knowing you’d be wining and squirming if you weren’t on the phone with the risk of exposing yourself. 

“I’m glad you’re doing well Y/N.” Chapo fiddled with the phone, “Tell that asshole I said hi.” 

“I will.” You breathed. 

“Okay, well I guess this is bye for now.” 

“Bye Joaquín.” You said sweetly. 

“Bye Y/N.” 

The line went dead and you chucked the phone off the bed feeling your climax rapidly approaching. Grabbing Ramon’s hair roughly you let out a cry as he brought you to pleasure. You felt like you were in heaven. He worked you through the aftershocks before retreating up onto all fours to wrangle you out of your cami. 

Rolling yourself over and pushing your ass up in the air, you pushed back onto Ramon forcing his hands to immediately shoot to your hips to rock you back onto him a bit liking the way you present for him. 

“You’re an ass.” You whined liking the way his pants rubbed up against your soaked pussy. 

He grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to your spine, “You’re mine Y/N.” You heard the sound of his belt coming undone along with his pants before he surged forwards again resting his heavy cock between the valley of your ass. You whimpered and wiggled your hips trying to entice him to fuck you. 

That made him chuckle, you were always so eager for him. Always such a good girl. Before you knew it, he was rubbing his tip through your wetness before pushing deep into making you scream. The mattress did little to muffle your moans but neither of you cared. 

“Always so good for me.” He slid a hand under you to your sternum and lifted you up to rest against his chest while he stroked you nice and slow. His other hand went to your clit and began rubbing you in slow circles making you whine pathetically in his hands. 

“You’re mine Princess.” His jealous side was coming, out he hated you talking to Chapo. 

“I’m yours daddy.” You barely had time to register what you blurted out before Ramon’s growl vibrated your body and you were being pushed back down into the mattress with his hand in your scalp holding you down. He fucked you roughly living for the pretty moans flooding from your mouth and the way your pussy was dripping for him. 

“Ya you like that princess? You like when daddy takes care of you?” Ramon growled into your ear never being so turned on in his whole life. Your whines went straight to his cock along with the way you clenched down on him at his filthy words. 

“Yes daddy!” You cried out cumming harder than you ever had in your entire life. You desperately grabbed at the sheets as Ramon thrusted relentlessly into you. His hands gripped your hips so tightly you were sure there’d be bruises in the morning. You screamed as his thrusts began to get sloppy before he was spilling his cum inside of you. 

“Fuck princess.” He flopped forwards resting his damp forehead against your shoulder blades. Refusing to let you go, he stayed like that for a minute squeezing your hips and gently thrusting his dick inside of you feeling himself coating your trembling walls. 

You mewled softly liking the feeling of him inside you as you rocked your hips back to meet him. Before you knew it, he was growing hard again inside of you, thrusting again desperate to make you cum. This time he flipped you over onto your back before entering into you again hearing the noises coming from your ruined pussy. 

Junior’s POV

Y/N cries flooded the dinning room since her bedroom was directly above them. Both chairs at the end of the table where Ramon and Y/N sat were empty as the others ate their dinner. Or tried to at least. The sound of Ramon pounding into Y/N were making for awkward ambient noise as they ate the soup. 

“Well I think she forgave him.” Kitty snickered before taking another bite. 

The others just laughed while Alfredo searched for a new cassette to put into the speakers to drown out the noise from upstairs. 

[mmvalentine]

Lockdown Lovers, pt 5 | Feysand

Modern pandemic AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4. Smut abounds.

Rhys padded to his room with Feyre's body in his arms and her tongue in his mouth. Luckily, the apartment was so small, there wasn't much to navigate between the couch and his bed, and very soon, he was pressing Feyre down against his rumpled sheets.

Feyre kissed him, but then scooted back against the headboard. Her lips were kiss-reddened and swollen, but her blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I've never been in here," she said, her voice husky. His cock throbbed at the sound of it. "You haven't?" Feyre shook her head. "Always kind of wanted to though." She tilted her head curiously at him.

Rhys scratched at the back of his head, wondering whether to indulge her, or to just grab her ankles and pull her back down to him. Eventually, he gestured an invitation. With an inward sigh.

Feyre grinned, and slid out of bed. Rhys sat down on the end, and watched her walk around the room. Gods, she was still naked from the waist up.

Feyre walked slowly, taking in the black chest of drawers and stack of books sitting on it, work desk with computer off and papers strewn over the top, and the shelves on the far wall that appeared to hold the rest of his miscellaneous belongings.

The latter she stepped up to, and peered over with her fingers on the bottom shelf. "Is it okay if I look?" she asked. Rhys shrugged his consent. Honestly. What was he not going to let her do while she was shirtless in his bedroom? He watched her ass as she tip-toed up to examine the objects, and when she bounced on the balls of her feet, he found himself crossing the room to get his hands back on her skin.

"What's this?" Feyre giggled, as Rhys's fingers dragged over her stomach. She held up a small stuffed bear. Rhys moved his lips over her shoulder. "That was a present from my mother, before she died," he said. "Oh." Feyre regarded the item with new reverence. She placed it carefully back where she found it. "How old were you?" "Eight," Rhys said, pulling her hips back against him. "I'm sorry," Feyre said. She picked up an old but expensive looking watch. "And this?" Rhys smirked into her neck. "That I pinched off Cassian while he was drunk. Back before the lockdown, of course. He's still looking for it, turned the house upside down. Nes is ready to kill him." Feyre laughed. She set the watch back too, and then picked up a couple of cologne bottles, sniffing each one. "Ooh, I like this one," she said. Rhys inhaled at the base of her throat. "I think you smell better than anything in the world."

He replaced his nose with his lips, and then his hand slid in between her legs. Over the layers of fabric, he could feel the heat of her. Feyre forgot the bottles, finally, and leaned back into him. Rhys rubbed his hand over her again, and she turned her head to kiss him.

With his teeth on her lip, Rhys dipped his fingers down the front of her absurd little shorts, brushed down the seam of her. Feyre moaned, and all he knew was that he wanted her to make those sounds for him forever. He stroked gently up and down, until his fingers were slick and it was her own wetness that was guiding him into the core of her.

Feyre's legs buckled, and Rhys bent to catch her under the knees and sweep her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed, and this time, she was going to stay there.

Indeed he was getting no argument from Feyre, who had wrapped her legs around him and was lifting her hips to grind against him. The feel of her soft, bare breasts against Rhys' chest, and her eager writhing beneath him had Rhys on fire. He moved his lips from her mouth, to her jaw, to her nipples. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, down her stomach, and over her hip bones. Then slid a hand under her knee, lifted her leg, and bit gently into the soft part at the top of her inner thigh. Feyre bit her lip and bucked her hips off the bed, and Rhys had her shorts pulled off in one fluid motion.

He laid her back down and kissed where he had just bitten, then repeated the action on the other side. Goosebumps rippled down her legs, and he could feel the laboured rise and fall of her chest as her breathing stumbled. Then he placed his mouth over the damp fabric of her underwear, and sucked her clit through it.

Feyre cried out, and he was rewarded with the feeling of her getting even more wet on his tongue. He licked her roughly a couple of times, and then pulled her underwear off. Then his too.

Rhys knelt by the foot of the bed, and pulled Feyre toward him so her feet dangled off the edge. He smoothed his hands from her knees to her hips, and then settled his hands over her stomach before dragging his tongue up her centre and around her clit.

Feyre clutched at his hair, and moaned his name. The sound of it had him grabbing himself, stroking slowly even as he flicked his tongue rapidly over her.

"Fuck Rhys, holy- gods- fuck," she ground out. Rhys let go of his cock, and slid a finger into her instead. Her moans became higher, more breathy, as he added a finger and kept his tongue going at a frantic pace.

"Rhys, stop, I'm going to..." But the words faltered, and Feyre rocked against him in silent ecstasy. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was stopping now. Not a minute later Feyre broke against his tongue, and then she was pulling him up toward her so she could get her mouth on his.

Rhys pulled away to find a condom in his bedside drawer, and Feyre took the opportunity to wrap her hand around him. She didn't start slow, but went straight into the same rhythm he had been using on her moments earlier. For a second, Rhys just gripped the wood of the table top, all thoughts deserting his mind. Then he dragged his focus back to the drawer, and sat back on his heels to put the condom on.

Feyre watched him with hungry eyes, and as soon as he was over her again, she licked up the column of his throat. Rhys shuddered, and the twitch of his cock tapped against her. He kissed her deeply, then pulled back long enough to say,

"Is this okay? Is this what you want?"

Feyre responded by using her legs to pull his hips to hers.

"Holy gods yes," she said. And that was more than enough agreement for Rhys.

Rhys pushed into her slowly, and the sensation that skittered between them had them both groaning. He paused, and let Feyre adjust. Then he pushed in a little more. A little more. A little more.

Feyre was perfect. She was warm and tight and absolutely delicious. Some distant part of him marvelled that this was actually, finally happening, and that after a month of torture, he was at last inside of her.

Rhys began a lazy rocking, just savouring the exquisite feel of her. Her nipples grazed his chest and when he put his mouth on hers, the sensation intensified. He got faster, Feyre's legs tight around him and pulling him in more. The thought of her wanting him drove him wild.

"Rhys," she murmured. "Rhys." His name, breathless on his lips, almost pushed him over the edge. But first...

Rhys pulled out of her, and flipped her over onto her stomach. He pulled Feyre's hips up to him, and pushed into her from behind. She propped herself up on her hands, but when he reached around to toy with her clit while he fucked into her, her arms gave and she slid onto her forearms. Deepening the angle even further.

From this vantage point, Feyre looked incredible. He sped up, and Feyre got louder. The sight of her on all fours like this was surely something Rhys would have burned into his brain forever.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he told her. "Just.. fucking..."

He was so close. But he was going to make her come again first.

Rhys moved his arm to pull Feyre up against him. Her head rested against his shoulder, and from this position he had much better reach round the front of her. To make use of his idle fingers.

Feyre came, the force of it throwing her back down onto her hands and knees. Rhys had wanted to keep fucking her until the waves had subsided, but he broke apart before she had stilled, putting his forehead on her sweat-slicked back and holding onto her hips as his own climax wrung him out.

Exhausted, they collapsed together. Rhys dropped the condom into a nearby bin, and then rolled into her back to spoon her.

"Well," she said thickly. "That is one benefit of being stuck with me for so long." Rhys listened to her heart beat slowing down in her ribcage.

"Honestly?" he said against her skin. "I hope you never leave."

A slow smile spread over Feyre's lovely features, and then sleep stole silently over them like snow. ****

We made it kids! Thank you so much to those of you who stuck it out with me for all five parts, I cannot tell you how amazing it has been to come home and read the notes. And I am sad to leave this little world.

So should we go again?! Please send me comments, asks, prompts... messages are morgan-treats.

TAGLIST: @artemisausten @ghostlyrose2

UPDATE- Thanks to a certain anonymous asker, there is now a bonus scene for your reading pleasure x

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

Like a Moth to a Flame Pt. 3

Back at it again and this chapter was fun! Next one we’ll be getting into some more juicy bits but I needed a setup for the scene. So enjoy my friendly little deviants!

Mild TW: mentions of blood, violence, attempted assault, and (very) minor character death

As always, I thank/blame @miscellaneous-bnha for the inspo

Part 1 Part 2

•••••

You feel numb walking down the darkened sidewalk towards home, shock and frustration making it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. It had been several weeks since you last saw Mirio, and there hadn’t been any reports of strange, paranormal activity in any other part of town. At least, not according to the papers. Even after the landlord had coughed up the money to replace the ruined fire escape, you’d yet to catch another glimpse of the golden mothman. Night after night you’d put out bowls of sugar water, stayed up late, even pulled a few strings of old Christmas lights out of storage to decorate your portion of the new railing. But come morning, you always found the bait untouched and it left you feeling drained and disappointed. You knew your nightly routine was starting to feel unhealthy, obsessive really, and that your performance at work had been gradually slipping as a result. But it wasn’t until today, when your boss called you in after your shift ended and handed you that soul-crushing pink slip, that you realized just how far it had fallen. And on top of all that, you’d missed the last bus home, forcing you to take a literal walk of shame back to your apartment.

“What am I gonna do?” You breathe into the crisp night air, unconsciously reaching into the pocket of your coat to fish out your phone. Without even looking at the screen, you unlock the device and open your camera roll, tapping on a folder marked “Moth” before finally looking down. There was only one picture on file, but you’d seen it so many times it was practically burned into your retinas. The image was grainy and blurred (not to mention overexposed beyond the point of recognition due to the flash), but you couldn’t give a damn about any of that. The only clear part of the image, the only part you cared about, was the pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you. For some unknown reason, the camera hadn’t distorted them, perfectly capturing their glassy, sapphire hue and wide-eyed expression of curiosity.

And you had spent countless hours poring over it.

In the beginning, you’d convinced yourself it was nothing more than a piece of evidence, proof of your sanity and a confirmation of his existence. But as the days passed, you’d come to take comfort in it, more often than not allowing your mind to wander freely back to the memory of his voice in your ear and the warm weight of his head on your shoulder. You hadn’t even posted it to any of the online forums, jealously hoarding it the same way a dragon protects its treasure.

“Mirio.” You exhale softly, thumb absentmindedly brushing over the cracked surface of your phone screen. “I wish I could fly away from my problems like you. Must be nice having wings…”

“Hey there, baby!”

A gruff, slurring voice abruptly snaps you back to reality, head whipping up to see a trio of men leaning against a rundown building across the street. Their faces are indistinguishable, partially obscured by shadows thrown from a lone street lamp shining over their heads. But you can clearly make out the brown paper bags they have clutched in their fists, the material crumpled and molded into the tell-tale shape of liquor bottles as they continue to heckle you.

“Why dontcha come over here and hang out with us?” The biggest brute calls out, beckons you closer with a crook of his finger. “We’ll show ya a good time.”

“Yeah, a real good time.” The man to his left cackles. His lewd remark earns him a few snickers from his seedy friends while a wave of revulsion courses down your spine. Catcalling wasn’t exactly foreign to you; in this part of town, it was practically expected. But their drunken words and leering eyes make you acutely aware of just how empty the streets are right now, devoid of other people or passing cars to offer protection (or witnesses) should they decide to take things too far. Still, you straighten your spine and snap your eyes forward, long-since trained to know it’s best to ignore their booze-fueled jeers and keep walking.

“Awww, don’t be like that, baby!” You hear one of them call from your right, “We just wanna have some fun!”

You keep your gaze trained on the looming silhouette of your apartment complex, soles of your shoes clicking against the cold pavement as you grip the phone in your hand even more tightly. You’re close enough to see some of the lights are still on your neighbors windows, probably cleaning up from dinner or settling in for a smoke and a drink. With the promise of safety so close at hand, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder….

And feel your blood run cold as you see the men casually strolling across the empty street to fall in line behind you. They’re whispering amongst themselves as they take a few more swigs from their bottles, their shuffling gait and longer legs quickly closing the gap between you. You pick up your own pace in turn, walking much more briskly now and earning a reproachful growl from the men behind you.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” One of them snarls, “Didn’t your mama ever teach you it’s rude to ignore people?”

You don’t respond to his jab, too afraid to speak regardless, and set off at a jog, determined to put as much distance between yourself and these morons as possible. But that action proves itself to be a grave mistake, as you hear the footsteps behind you pick up in speed. Before you can fully register what’s happening, one of the men appears over your right shoulder, laughing maniacally as he gives you a rough shove and sends you careening off course and into an adjacent alleyway. The unexpected move knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground and knocking your head into the concrete with enough force to set your teeth rattling. Even worse, you lose your grip on your phone, hearing it skitter off into the darkness as the men crowd into the alley after you.

“I think she could use a lesson in manners! Ain’t that right, boys?” Their leader asks mockingly, seconds before he grabs you by the hair and roughly hauls you back onto your feet.

“Please!” You yelp, both from fear and the pain shooting throughout your scalp, “I-I have money. You can take whatever you want!”

“Whatever we want, huh?” He says with a sneer, his face close enough you can smell the sour aroma of cheap bourbon and old cigarettes on his breath.

“Then gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his free arm wrapping itself around your waist to keep you in place as he tries to force his tongue past your sealed lips and down your throat. Your screams for help are muffled by the kiss, and it’s all you can do to push against his chest and thrash wildly in his hold. His companions stand faithfully behind him, egging him on with bouts of derisive laughter intermingled with hoots to “hurry up and get on with it” so they can have their turn. After a few moments he pulls away for air, arm leaving your waist and clapping the hand that was tangled in your hair over your mouth. Meanwhile, his buddies move to either side of you to grab you by the shoulders and force down on your knees.

“Since you didn’t feel like talkin’…” He growls dangerously, free hand toying with the buckle of his belt. “Let’s see if that pretty little mouth is good for somethin’ else.”

Your eyes widen as his belt comes undone with a soft clink, tears pricking at the corners as he leers down at you. Instinct takes over as he attempts to undo his fly, and before he can move his hand you jerk your head back to partially free your mouth. Then you bite down. Hard.

“Fuck!”

He hastily wrenches his hand from your mouth before you can do any more damage while you take in a desperate lungful of fresh air. A quick glance at his hand shows you’d successfully broken the skin, leaving a perfect, crescent-shaped indent that was quickly beading up with fresh blood.

“Help! Somebody help! Rape! RA-!”

You’re abruptly silenced by a quick blow to your right cheek, delivered by one of the men still holding you down. Throbbing pain radiates out from the point of impact, making your vision white out and earning a cruel laugh from your captors.

“You little bitch!” The injured man spits at you, “Think you’re so tough, huh?”

A small click forces your eyes to open, only to be met with a glint of metal in the light of the full moon: a switchblade.

“Let’s see how tough you are when I slice up that pretty face of yours. Starting with that fuckin’ mouth.”

With a twirl of the blade, he advances towards you, relishing in your helpless state as greedy eyes roam the plane of your terrified face. You’re too scared to scream anymore, eyes squeezing shut as you brace yourself for the first cut. But instead of searing pain, there’s an odd rustling noise, followed by a colossal thump that seems to shake the very earth beneath you. The men holding your shoulders abruptly release you, backing away amidst a slew of bewildered curses. Slowly, you crack one eye open to find a new, dark figure standing in front of you, blotting out the moon itself and effectively shielding you from your would-be rapist.

“M-Mirio?” You gasp, voice wavering from disbelief and shock. The golden cryptid looks over his shoulder at you, only giving a chittering cry at the sound of your voice.

“What the fuck!?” The man behind him screeches, “The fuck is that thing?!”

Mirio’s head snaps around to face the terrified thug, wings slowly raising in a show of strength and dominance as he lets out a low, menacing growl.

“Y/N…” He snarls, taking a short step forward and shifting into a crouch. “Mine.”

“S-stay back!” The man stammers, jabbing the switchblade into the empty air in front of him like a puny saber. “I’m warning you!”

Mirio gives a low hiss in response, wings fully extended as he lowers himself to place one hand on the ground. You’re frozen on the spot, hardly daring to breathe as you sense the slightest movement could set him off. For a moment, everything is still. And then, spurred on by loyalty, liquid courage or a combination of the two, the other thugs charge Mirio from behind. Moving faster than you could comprehend, Mirio whips around with a high-pitched shriek, landing a powerful swipe to the center of one man’s chest and sending him crashing to the pavement beside you. The other one was luckier, successfully jumping onto the monster’s back and causing Mirio to rear up on his back legs once more. The attacker then attempts to wrap his arms around Mirio’s neck, perhaps hoping to cut off his air supply or at least distract him long enough for the third man to join the fray.

But Mirio was obviously stronger and smarter than he was expecting.

Clawed hands scratch at the attacker’s face and shoulders before the winged behemoth suddenly flops onto his back, bringing his full weight down on the foolhardy attacker with a sickening crunch. Rolling back onto all fours, the man is left gasping for air on the ground, possibly with a punctured lung or (at the very least) a few broken ribs. Undeterred by his pitiful cries for mercy, Mirio looses an unearthly roar before grabbing the man by the front of his sweat-soaked shirt, rising to his full height, and tossing him towards the empty street like he weighed no more than a ragdoll.

“MINE!” He bellows, “MIIIIIIINE!”

“Fuck you!” The remaining man screams in return, rushing towards the towering beast with his switchblade held aloft. “Die, you fuckin’ freak!”

Mirio shifts back into a fighting stance, his back to you as he lets out another spine-chilling howl and rushes forward to greet the oncoming attack. At the same time, the moon moves behind a cloud, throwing the alleyway into inky darkness as you shriek and cover your head with your hands. With your eyes screwed shut, all you can hear is the man’s incensed grunts and yells, overshadowed by Mirio’s own enraged roars and the scratch of his nails on the dirty concrete. After a few seconds of struggle, Mirio gives a piercing cry, followed by the wet sound of tearing flesh and a strangled, gurgling noise. The fight ends as suddenly as it started, the only sounds now coming from your own terrified whimpers and the clatter of the switchblade falling to the ground.

Peeking out from between your fingers, you find the sky has started to lighten once more, the moon reappearing from behind the clouds and washing the bizarre scene in an unsettling, ethereal hue. The scrawniest attacker is still sprawled out next to you, unconscious but mercifully alive given the force of his impact. Mirio stands facing towards you, breathing heavily as the wings on his back shiver and shake. And at his feet, eyes wide and lifeless, is the leader’s body, his face covered in deep claw marks and a puddle of blood seeping out from underneath him like an oil slick.

“You… you killed him.” You breathe, “Mirio, h-he’s dead.”

Mirio doesn’t make any move to acknowledge your words, simply sinking to his knees with a rumbling groan. He seems almost sad, remorseful even, with the way he hangs his head and curls his bloodied hands into fists atop his knees. In this new light, you also notice something on the mothman’s left forearm: a clean, shallow gash. That must have been the cause for his shrieking earlier.

Slowly you stand once more, swallowing the lump in your throat to take a few tentative steps toward the creature.

“Are you… hurt?” You ask softly, noting the way he jolts and then shrinks away from you. You’re only a few feet away now, close enough to make out the faint stripes and eye-spot pattern on his wings. You nervously crouch down, balancing on the balls of your feet but keeping a safe distance should he turn aggressive. A chilly breeze blows through the alley, pushing against your back and making the creature raise his head up slightly, sniffing the air. His gaze locks on your face, glassy eyes wide as he slowly puts his palms on the ground and gets back on all fours. He moves one clawed hand closer to you and you start for a second, taking a quick step back before catching sight of the streaks of blood dripping from his forearm once more.

“Hurt?” You say again, pointing a shaky finger at the wound. His eyes follow to where you’re pointing and he lets out a chittering mewl, lifting up his injured arm. His long, slithering tongue snakes out from his mouth and he begins to lap at the blood, wincing at the taste. You’re unsure if this is real or an act. On the one hand, it’s hard to believe a creature so obviously powerful as him would be so concerned over little more than a scratch. Then again, you feel certain Mirio is too much of a gentle soul at heart to fake the whole “kicked-puppy” routine.

“No. Don’t do that.” You chide gently, tone forcing the monster to stop licking at himself and look up at you. Moving slowly so as to not startle him, you reach into the pocket of your coat and fish around until your fingers close around a crumpled, but thankfully unused, piece of tissue. When you pull it out of your pocket, Mirio’s eyes narrow into slits and he bares his teeth to let out a small, warning hiss.

“Easy, boy.” You say soothingly, “It can’t hurt you. See?”

You extend your free hand and pat the tissue against your own palm, demonstrating it’s benign nature. Mirio’s face gradually relaxes as he watches your display, eventually crawling over the corpse on the ground to get closer to you. You’re now practically nose-to-nose with the mothman, dropping your empty hand by your side and using the tissue to gesture at the cut on his arm.

“Let me help.”

Mirio gives a short blink before shifting into a squatting position similar to your own, carefully extending his injured arm towards you. Doing your best to not cause him any pain, you carefully start to dab at the areas around the cut, mopping up the spilled blood as the monster watches you work.

“Y/N.” He says softly, his voice causing you to look up from your task. Mirio raises his other hand to touch the right-hand side of your face, sending a bolt of prickly pain shooting through your skull and making you wince. You’d been so caught up in the chaos and adrenaline-fueled high that you’d forgotten about your own injuries. No doubt you’ve got a sizable bruise forming from where that thug had punched you earlier. Mirio’s stiffens up at the your response, brow furrowing in concern as he quickly pulls his hand away.

“H-hurt?”

“A little…” You mumble in response, “But I’ll be alright.”

He stills for a moment and you offer him a small, pained smile, hoping to reassure him. And the next thing you know he’s moving, clutching you to his chest in a protective embrace and nuzzling his face into your neck. You squeak a little at the unexpected move, body going rigid in fear of being attacked. But soon his sweet scent and warmth fully envelop your senses, causing you to relax in his hold.

“Hurt.” He whimpers in your ear, “Y/N hurt. My fault.”

You can feel your heart clench at his words. He sounds so guilty. Helpless even. Like a child crying to their mother for comfort. Before you can think better of it, you wrap your arms around him in return, worming your hands underneath his wings to rest on his well-defined shoulder blades.

“Oh, Mirio no! It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

His body begins to shake, his breathing turning into ragged gasps as he squeezes you even more tightly. One hand leaves your back to cradle your head, the sheer size of his fingers tangling in your hair making you feel like doll-like. The two of you stay locked together like this for a few minutes, holding onto each other in the moonlight as Mirio continues to tremble beneath your touch.

“Mirio. I-” You softly breathe, causing him to raise his golden head and look you in the eye. You have so many questions for him, so many things you like to say. But all that comes out is a quiet, “Thank you.”

He cocks his handsome head to one side before a smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth, pearly teeth reappearing as he gives a short nod of understanding.

“Mirio… keep Y/N safe.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” You say with a weak chuckle, reaching up one hand to brush an errant strand of blonde hair away from his face. “I’m safe now.”

Mirio coos as he presses his cheek into your palm, the same way he’d done outside your apartment complex all those weeks ago. His eyes close contentedly and you can’t help but smile at his blissful expression.

“Y/N. Mine.” He purrs.

You freeze at the bold statement, pulling your hand away and earning a disappointed mewl from Mirio.

“You said that before. Mirio, what do you mean–?”

“You there! Freeze!”

A familiar voice cuts off your question nanoseconds before a powerful flashlight is aimed directly at Mirio’s back. Even though you can’t see around his massive frame, you can tell it’s the same officer who caught you the last time Mirio visited you.

Only now, the cornered cryptid hadn’t had the chance to fly away.

“Hands where I can see them!” The officer demands, flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. Mirio makes no such move. Instead, he rises to his feet, hooking one arm under your thighs and taking you up with him.

“Wait! Mirio, don’t!” You shriek, desperately grabbing at his chest and mane as he turns to face the officer. It’s a terrifying sight for the poor man: three bodies strewn across a bloody alley, a blue-eyed beast, and a helpless civilian seemingly taken captive.

“D-drop the hostage!” He stammers out. “Do it, or I’ll shoot!”

You can tell from the way the light wavers that he’s shaking and you suspect the only reason he hasn’t fired his weapon yet is because he doesn’t want to risk hitting you. Your eyes flit wildly between his and Mirio’s face, finding his fangs are bared as he lets out a warning hiss.

“Y/N.” Mirio snarls, wings slowly unfurling behind him as he bends his knees and tightens his grip on you. “Mine!”

With that final declaration, Mirio gives his wings a powerful flap and kicks off from the ground. You scream as you take flight, tiny fingers digging into the solid muscle of Mirio’s chest and neck for safety. Between the sound of rushing wind and your own heartbeat jackhammering in your ears, you can barely make out the officer’s voice telling him to stop, followed by a rogue gunshot. And then there’s nothing. Nothing save for the wind in your hair and Mirio’s howl of victory as he carries you ever higher into the starry night sky.

“Stop!” You shriek, cold air stinging your battered face and forcing your eyes closed. “Put me down! Mirio, let go!”

Mirio doesn’t respond to your demands, either unable or unwilling to hear you as he sets off over the rooftops. After a few minutes of careful flying, he abruptly changes course, veering off westward and heading for the woods that ring the city limits.

“Keep Y/N safe.” Mirio says resolvedly, his voice rumbling through his chest and directly in your ear.

“Y/N… mine.”

•••••

Tags: @middevil465 @delightfully-anonymous

[inactive-shroomiehomie]

K!nktober Bingo pt.2

Square: Dirty Talk

Warnings: Unprotected sex, slight dom/sub talk but nothing big, and i’m not sure what else to put here but it’s pretty filthy.

Pairing: Dominick “Sonny” Carisi Jr. x Reader

Word Count: 1629

Late nights working the precinct seemed to always drag on. Carisi was the last one left in the bullpen to finish up his reports. He had been the lead on the case, so it only made sense for him to get more than the rest did. He glanced over at Olivia in her office; She was deep into a conversation on her phone with who knows who, but it seemed to be business.

He hummed to himself and went back to his work, the clicks of his keyboard eventually blending together and sounding like static. Soon enough though his phone started to buzz on his desk. Carisi glanced down at it to see your name pop up. He picked it up quickly, thinking at this time of night it must be some kind of emergency.

No. Oh hell no. It was far from a real emergency. When Carisi unlocked his phone to view your messages, his face turned cherry red. You were in nothing but your undies and an old sweater of his, your hand shoved down the front of your bottoms. Your bottom lip sucked in between your teeth.

Y: It's nothing like you, Sonny. Hurry home ❤

Carisi quickly finished typing up his report before logging off of his computer. He gathered up his belongings and replied to you eagerly.

C: Missing me that much, doll? You better not come before I get home.

He said a quick goodbye to Olivia, who just waved, and jogged down to the elevator. While he was alone, you just kept sending more and more pictures. Carisi bit down on the inside of his cheek. God, you were gonna get it when he got home.

Carisi’s text made a shiver run up your spine. That school boy demeanor was just something everyone else got to see. But when he’s with you he’s such an amazing and tender, yet filthy lover. 

You didn’t think Carisi would respond to the text the way he did though. So you devised yourself a little plan. Before he could make it home, you threw on an old pair of sweatpants and changed out of his sweater to a hoodie of your own. You skittered into the living room, grabbing a bag of chips from the kitchen as you passed. Flinging yourself back on the couch, you turned the television on to whatever happened to be on.

After a while of watching some sitcom series you could hear the jingling of keys outside of your front door, followed by a couple of annoyed ‘fuck’s. You shuffled further into the couch, getting cozier in your seat.

Carisi swung open the door and stepped in, dropping his items to the floor and kicking the door shut behind him. He stared silently at you as you watched television. You didn’t even look at him. You just continued to snack on your chips and watch your show.

With your eyes focused on the tv, you could hear the soft click of Carisi’s shoes make their way behind you. He leaned down and pressed his hands into your shoulders, lightly massaging them.

You turned around to look up at him, a fake look of shock plastered on your face.

“Oh! Hey, babe. How was work?”

Carisi quirked an eyebrow up at you, as if saying “Seriously?” He huffed out of his nose, fingers digging into the perfect spots on your shoulders.

“Oh, ya know. Same old, same old.” 

While he massaged your shoulders, you let out a soft moan that made Carisi’s jaw tighten. 

“But ya know,” He stopped massaging your shoulders and brushed your hair to one side of your neck. He leaned down close to your ear, “I did get a little text today.”

You didn’t turn to face him, biting your lip gently, “Is that so?”

Carisi hummed in response, “It made things...” He kissed the shell of your ear, “...pretty hard. I didn’t even get to finish my paper work, doll.” He continued kissing your skin, trailing them down the dip of your neck.

You closed your eyes as you reveled in the feeling of his lips against your skin.

“W-What were the texts?” You questioned, trying to hold back a moan.

He immediately removed his lips from you. You let out a small whimper, missing the feeling of him against you. Carisi brushed your hair back to normal on your shoulders and slowly made his way around to your side of the couch. He stopped right in front of you and put his first two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His pupils were blown wide and his jaw was tightened so hard you’d thought he was going to break a tooth. You squeezed your knees together.

“You know exactly what those texts were.” 

You bit your lip and feigned innocence. “Why don’t you indulge me?”

Carisi chuckled softly and knelt down to your level more, “Well...” He guided you back on the couch, now hovering over you with a grip on your chin so you couldn’t look away. Nothing rough, just enough pressure to keep you in place.

“The first one...” He paused to shove one of his knees between your legs, “You had on my old sweater. Y’know... the blue one with all of the snags in it? You had your hand shoved down the front of my favorite panties of yours.” 

Not once did either of you take your eyes off of one another. Even when he pressed his knee right up against your cunt. You choked out a moan, not even trying to hide it anymore. Carisi started wiggling his knee against you, not once breaking eye contact.

“You know how difficult it is trying to drive home when my dick is pressed against my zipper? Huh?” 

You shook your head, your eyes daring to close from the pleasure shooting through your body. 

“The thought of you crouching over in your seat to suck me off on the way home crossed my mind so many times on the way over. You just love to rile me up, don’t you?”

“It makes things more fun, Sonny.” You laughed slightly through your moans, “Now instead of your knee, why don’t you show me what you really wanna do with me?”

“Oh you’d like that.” He huffed, a cocky smirk making it’s way onto his face. “I’m not gonna give it to you if you don’t ask politely.”

You whined desperately against him, “Please, Sonny.. Give me more.” You begged, grinding your hips into his knee in an attempt to get more friction.

Carisi shook his head, “Oh I know you can do a lot better, doll.”

You sighed shakily, “Sonny, baby, please... Please fuck me... I need your cock so bad baby.”

“There it is.” He whispered, pulling away from you and sitting up slightly to undo his belt.

You didn’t even wait for him to pull the belt from it’s loops, you pushed Carisi onto the couch so he laid back all of the way. You made quick work of getting rid of your sweatpants and climbed on top of him. 

“Shit, you really can’t wait can you?” 

He dug his hand into his pants and pulled out his cock, pumping himself a few times before squeezing himself at the base. You didn’t have enough patience to go into the bedroom for any lube or a condom, but thank fuck you were on the pill. Not to mention with how wet you are, you could’ve soaked a hole through the cushions.

You waddled your way back onto his lap as he held himself still for you. When you lowered yourself down onto him, the initial stretch made you whine. You couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure, but you wanted more and more of it. Sinking all the way down onto him you stopped yourself, giving you and Carisi time to adjust. 

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me already.” Carisi moaned, running his hands up the front of your sweat shirt to graze your stomach. “You make me wanna cum in you already.”

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna cum too, baby.”

You both chuckled a but before you started moving. It was a slow pace to start. Each bounce of your hips making your eyes want to roll back in your head. His cock was angled just right to smack up against that bundle of nerves inside of you. Carisi pressed his thumbs into your hips to steady you, but also so he can bring his hips up to meet yours.

“God, I bet you’ve been waiting for this all day. Having my cock buried in you, with you bouncing on my lap.” Carisi growled out his own moan, “Fuck, doll, I’m almost there.”

You nodded your head, mouth hanging open to let your moans escape freely. “Me too, me too.” 

After a few more thrusts, Carisi grabbed the draw strings in your sweatshirt and pulled you down to meet him. He crashed his lips against your own. The new angle made you yelp from surprise and new found pleasure, giving Carisi the perfect opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth. When he did that, his hips started to stutter. You dug your hands in Carisi’s hair as he came inside of you, that in turn triggering your own orgasm. Your thighs shook as you both rode yourselves out, your whole body felt like it was vibrating.

Once you calmed down, you fell against him. He lazily wrapped an arm around you and kissed the top of your forehead.

“Now that’s one way to get me home in a hurry.”

You giggled against his chest, kissing his peck as you nuzzled against him.

. . . Tags: @thatesqcrush​

[frostsinth]

Burdened by the Stars - Pt. 4

Part 1 | 2 | 3 - MasterList

Picking up a bit of motivation for this story again. Yay! And sorry, the boys can’t seem to get it into their heads that this one is not their story. I’ll try to keep their visitation to a minimum.

But regardless, here’s more of the sass and himbo duo! If you like my work, consider supporting me by buying me a coffee from the link in my MasterList above. I have lots of other inane ramblings there too if you are interested. DM me for commissions, shoot me asks with thoughts/comments!

All the best, and Enjoy!

After a brief assessment away from the dizzying presence of the half-orc, I realized there was very little chance of the Royal quarters actually having what I needed. Nikostratus was the tallest and broadest in the family, and even he did not come very close to matching Erramun in height. Besides, I couldn’t imagine my neat and tidy older brother wouldn’t notice his clothing going missing. But the laundering rooms were near the bottom level of the castle, closer to the city than the towers. There was no telling if once I arrived I would be able to find some appropriate clothing with any ease, considering that laundry from every part of the castle was often washed in mixed tubs. There was also no way for me to know whose clothes would be on rotation for wash today, nor in what state, batch, or bin they might be in if I did find them. Which made a visit to the laundering rooms, while more anonymous and definitely more diverse, absolutely impractical for my devices. However, the guards quarters were not quite so far; only a few levels down and adjacent to the training cliffs. There, I knew, I would be most likely to find the belongings of perhaps the one resident in the entire goblin castle that might have a few items close enough to Erramun’s size.

It was an easy enough trip, though I tried to make it as hastily as possible. No guarantees of what that fool would get up to if I left him to his own devices for too long. I also wasn’t entirely sure he had been completely honest when he had said he could manage the bath. Considering his wooziness since I had met him in the forest, I worried he might just pass out in the water and drown. Not that my being there would be much help, I reasoned. I certainly wasn’t strong enough to haul a half-drowned half orc from the water should he require it. I was also more than a little perturbed with the recollection of the taut green skin running over his shoulders and muscular back. My mind supplied ample fodder for what might be waiting a little further down than my eye had succeeded in wandering during our prior parting. And the thoughts brought a hot flush to my cheeks. I quickly forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

Thankfully, the barracks were also mostly quiet. The majority of the guard would be on their daily patrols, or perhaps in the dining commons catching a meal beforehand. Any left here would be from night shift, so would most likely be resting in their bunks. I had been here often enough, and knew the layout by heart (as I knew most of the castle). I headed towards the largest of the chambers, near the back, where the General kept his private quarters. Retired General, he would say, should you care to ask him. Though considering he still managed to keep busy enough maintaining the guards and patrols, perhaps that was not the optimal word. His title was more ceremonial now than necessity, as he had the guard running like a perfectly well oiled machine, and more often than not you could find him with a drink in hand, laughing alongside the nobles in the sitting rooms of the castle. Still, I was glad General Damjan had maintained some personal quarters in the castle rather than permanently retiring outside its walls. It meant I might actually have a chance of finding a set of clothes that would fit my behemoth charge. I was also fortunate that although Damjan kept his private quarters locked, I knew exactly where the old soldier kept his key. 

Damjan was, in a sense, like a grandfather to me. He had been a major part of Grier’s life after his father’s passing, and when Nikostratus had moved to the castle he had taken my brother under his wing as well. So it fell to reason that he had me spoiled rotten by the time I was 11; teaching me all the best goblinese curses, and a few fighting moves that were certainly not proper for a Princess to know. The old half-goblin was also a sound source for advice, and had an ample stock of wisdom to share with anyone willing to listen. Therefore, I had been to visit him in his office and chambers more than a few dozen times over the years. Which meant I knew his rooms nearly as well as mine and Niko’s. Allowing me to steal in and out with as simple a shirt and pair of trousers as I could find and relock his door all within a matter of minutes. I was assuaged of the little stab of guilt I felt by the fact that if Damjan had been around to ask, he certainly would have been more than indulgent of my request. I simply just didn’t have the time right now to look for the old General to tell him I had another half-orc stashed upstairs in my private chambers. I made a silent promise to the universe that I would make him a plate of his favorite pastries to make up for it.

It had barely been half an hour since I had left Erramun when I skittered down an upper hallway back towards the towers. Still, despite having managed to avoid the entirety of the current inhabitants of the castle and with prize in hand, I was anxious to be back. I was so distracted by the thought of what the half orc would be doing alone in my bed chambers that I moved automatically and inattentively. Causing me to almost run head first into a goblin as we both rounded the same corner from opposite directions.

“Ah, little bird!” He exclaimed delightedly as we recovered ourselves.

I nearly squeaked in surprise, quickly hiding the bundle of clothes behind my back as Grier fixed me with his classic toothy smile. The goblin King seemed un-bothered by our near collision, though I had to work quickly to throw a cover over my guilty expression. I saw his scarlet eyes flick over me curiously at my movement, and one slender brow cocked up. I knew I would have to work fast to evade suspicion and make my escape. My brother-in-law was perpetually curious, and keenly observant. Prolonging our interaction would only heighten the chances that I would have to build a lie I wasn’t prepared to forge.

“Sorry, Grier, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I told him quickly, starting to slide around his side. Careful to face him as I did with my back and hands squarely out of his line of sight. “But I’m sure you’re very busy, so I won’t keep you!”

He spun slowly on heel to match my movement. “No trouble at all, little bird,” He replied, and I saw the suspicion already growing quickly on his face as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “Nikostratus has been looking for you, you know.”

“Oh, he’s always looking for me,” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, shrugging my shoulders, “Mostly because the majority of that time he spends lost in the halls. Or searching a place he already checked having turned himself around and gone back on his own feet.”

Grier laughed at that, placing his hands on his hips. “Yes, the man is completely hopeless I fear.” He followed me a step down the hall as I started to retreat backwards. “But none-the-less… you seem to be making a particular point of avoiding him this time around.”

“I am just busy,” I started to assure him, “I-”

“Morgana, you know you have been avoiding us both since you first got here nearly a week ago.” He interrupted, his voice becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I am not sure what we did… or what you’re hiding… but please keep in mind you have the same air of secrecy about you as when you rescued that bear cub from the forest when you were 15.” He shifted his hands to cross his arms over his chest. His thin lips twitching in amusement. “It was halfway through the kitchen pantry before you finally came clean… I do hope you’ve learned your lesson since then?”

I gave a nervous, forced laugh. “I haven’t smuggled in any wild animals, I promise.” Which was technically true.

He gave an unconvinced ‘hmmm’ at that. “But you do know you can talk to us, yes?” He asked quickly, even as I opened my mouth to continue, “About anything that may be bothering you.” His head tilted slightly to one side. “... Nikostratus is worried about you.”

I felt a little tongue of anger flare up in me at that. “I’m not a child anymore.” I scoffed, my brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t need nor want my brother hovering over me like some agitated mother hen!”

Grier considered that as well, and I started to take a few steps backwards down the hall. Eager to make my escape. Shaking my head in frustration and thinking that was the end of it. My brother-in-law was not usually the confrontational sort with me. He was good at gathering information, at poking holes in my defenses; but I tended to think he preferred to be my confidant rather than my guardian. We had developed a rather close relationship since he had married my brother, mostly revolving around how best to manage my tight lipped, straight backed sibling. It had been a rocky start for the two of them, and I had exclusive inside knowledge of how best to break through Niko’s stony exterior. In later years, he had more often than not come to my defense when my brothers had sought to disperse punishments, or withhold liberties. He understood my wild spirit better than either of them, and that it caused my siblings and I to butt heads frequently. Not to say he wasn’t carefully responsible around me. He had taken me as his ward as much as Niko had back our mother had passed when I was born. But he usually left any actual scolding to my brothers.

Which was why I nearly stumbled in surprise when he persisted in the face of my irritation. Rather than letting it pass as he usually would.

“Well, that may be the case, little bird,” He said, even as I continued to inch away from him, “But regardless, you know your brother will always worry about you. And-” He continued before I could interject “- Even if you are upset with him, that is no reason to avoid your commitments. Most prominent being the promise you made to your nieces and nephews.”

That made me falter, and my retreat stilled. “... I didn’t mean-”

“You promised you would go with them to the gardens.” He pressed, not allowing me breath for excuses. The goblin raised one bejeweled hand, silencing any protests I might have had. “I understand if you would like your space from myself and Nikostratus, and I will speak to him about allowing you some. However, I would ask that you do not allow your current disdain to rub off on the children, as they have done nothing to raise your ire, and do not deserve your neglect.”

I winced now, guiltily. “I forgot I…” I hesitated, and half expected Grier to fill the lull, as he often did. But the goblin merely raised his brow at me again, and I shuffled in my shame. “... Of course. I’m sorry. I will be sure to collect them from their lessons today…” I couldn’t help a guilty glance over my shoulder, as if I would be able to see the clothes scrunched up behind my back. “... I just need to drop something off in my rooms first, then I promise I’ll go straight to see them.”

“I appreciate that.” He replied, nodding slightly. “I know you likely didn’t intend for them to get swept up in… whatever this is.” He crossed his arms again. “Still, I hope you and your brother reconcile soon.” His toothy grin returned. “I miss our little bird.”

I laughed softly, dropping my gaze to the floor. “I don’t think we’re fighting, per say...” I hesitated briefly, “...but I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“And I’ll keep in mind that being stubborn and hot tempered runs in the family.” He mused, his voice still light-hearted. “And will try to muster what patience I can to wait this out.”

I almost laughed again, but settled for a respectful dip of my head. I longed to inch away, back down the hall in the direction of my rooms. But waited as long as I could stand under the goblin King’s scrutiny to avoid any more suspicion. Grier did consider me one last time, then sighed and gave his own little nod. Turning to head off himself. No sooner had he started than I spun and darted down the hall. Pulling my bundle of clothes around to shield them from his view as I did. I wondered only briefly what he would make of that, but didn’t bother to linger on it long.

I took the steps to the tower two at a time, my heart pounding in my ears by the time I reached the top. Thankfully, no one else was around at that moment, and I made it back to my rooms unmolested.

I leaned back against my closed door with a brief sigh of relief. I hoped Grier wouldn’t go looking for Niko yet. I knew he would be inclined to tell my brother about our interaction; the two shared just about everything with one another. Still I hoped he might wait until much later in the day. To give me a chance to properly wrap things up here before one of the pair came looking for me again. I didn’t linger long against the wood, my eyes already darting about the small sitting room. But it seemed my strange company was nowhere to be seen. I had been away for far too long for him to be bathing still, I reasoned. Unless perhaps he was a particularly lazy orc, or was enjoying the hot, fresh water a bit too much. Not that I could picture such a thing, though I reminded myself I didn’t know him all that well after all. I gathered up the salve and bandages from before in my bundle, listening for any sounds I might hear. I noticed the door to the bathing rooms appeared to be as I had left it, and hesitantly made my way over. I quickly chided myself, straightening up and squaring my shoulders. These were my rooms. I shouldn’t have to sneak about shyly.

I did however allow him the courtesy of rapping my knuckles lightly against the sliding door.

“Hey, you still alive in there?” I called lightly.

When there was no response, my heart leapt, and I attempted to force down the sudden anxiety trapping itself in my throat. I cracked my knuckles against the door again, then slowly slid it open. More than a little leery of seeming something I didn’t want to see. Or admitting to myself that maybe it was something I did. The memory of our last parting surfaced unbidden to my thoughts, and I stubbornly pushed it away.

The bathing room beyond was empty. The waters rippled and gently gurgled with the natural flow of the water, but otherwise it was still. I might have been able to convince myself that the entire day had been a figment of my overactive imagination had it not been for the pile of soiled towels by the edge of the pool. I groaned internally, bustling in and peeking into the corners as if the behemoth man could have somehow managed to hide behind the potted plants. At least there didn’t appear to be a trail of blood anywhere. I prayed to whomever was listening that the dolt hadn’t deigned to leave the chambers.

“Where are you, you idiot?” I grumbled, tucking my bundle under one arm and heading to the door at the opposite end.

“In here.” Came the reply, and I nearly shook with relief.

He must have keener hearing than I thought. Or he had been listening for my return. The door to my bedroom was slightly cracked, and I shouldered it the rest of the way open, then spun to close it behind me. Using the motion as an excuse to steady myself as the sound of his deep voice seemed to have rattled me strangely.

“I do hope you aren’t-” I started as I turned, then promptly squealed loudly in surprise, dumping the clothes, bandages, and salve unceremoniously to the floor as both hands shot up to cover my eyes.

“Eh?” I heard the shuffle of his feet across the bare stone floor as he must have continued his own turn to face me. “Is something the matter?”

“WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES??” I nearly shrieked.

Though I kept my palms firmly clasped over my eyes, the previous momentary glimpse of the half-orc’s assured nudity was currently seared deep into my mind’s eye. The fine toned abdomen. The taut green buttocks, with a dimple above the top of each cheek in the small of his back. He must have washed his hair, for the long mohawk of growth had spilled over his skin like polished ebony in soft looking tendrils. Leading my eyes over his broad green shoulders. And when he had started to turn… the soft ‘v’ shape at the top of his hips leading down to…

The sight (and now, memory of the sight) left my mouth decidedly dry and my lips refusing to work properly. I felt an unfamiliar twitch in my fingers as the urge to pull them apart and sneak another peek rushed through me. There was no way! No way any man should be that… I swallowed hard, shaking my head with my hands pressed so tightly to my face it almost hurt.

“You said they were filthy, and inappropriate.” He reminded me matter-of-factly, and I could almost hear the shrug of those big shoulders. Big, broad, muscular shoulders-

“That doesn’t mean you should walk around NAKED!” I snapped, finally starting to come to my senses. I shifted my hands so that one covered both eyes, and crouched down in an attempt to blindly find what I had discarded in my panic.

“What was I to wear?” He replied. “Your drying cloths are tiny. I needed three just to-”

“I don’t care!” I managed to find the clothes by groping about with my free hand, and stood. Tossing them towards the sound of his voice and hearing a disgruntled huff as they hit him. “Just put those on, quickly, before my breakfast makes a reappearance.”

Erramun gave an angry grumble, but I heard the shake and shuffle of cloth as he did. “I didn’t know human stomachs were so sensitive.” His voice became muffled briefly as I assumed he pulled the shift over his head. “I always thought my mother was being dramatic when she scolded me for forgetting to dress.”

“If your mother imparted any other wisdom to you regarding humans, I suggest now is the time you take it to heart.” I replied sourly. Careful to keep my palms firmly fastened over my eyes. Though the heat of my cheeks nearly burned me.

I was so focused on not looking, I didn’t hear the soft scrape of his bare feet again as he moved forward. I jumped about a foot in the air as his hands suddenly came around my wrists. Gently pulling them free from my face. Leaving me suddenly face to face with a soft silk and cotton shirt, its untied collar just hinting at the toned chest I had been privy to moments before. I tried to ignore that memory, and fought through a sudden haze at the realization that his fingers were almost as gentle and soft as they were strong. And how close he currently stood to me. My heart skipped and I felt my breath catch in my throat as my head craned back to look up at him. He gave me a lopsided grin that had my knees feeling a little weak, and I felt him gently turn my hands in his. Until the backs of my hands rested in his palms and he could run his thumbs over the pads of my fingers.

“I am sorry, Gana,” He told me gently, “I did not mean to startle you so.”

 For a second, I couldn’t find the air in my lungs to speak. I struggled for a moment, and saw those bright emerald green eyes of his flick about my face. Thoughtfully, perhaps… almost appreciatively. And the way he was studying my features suggested he had been meaning to do just that for some time now. Up close, with seemingly time to spare to linger on each inch. I felt the flames beneath each cheek rekindle, but was strangely frozen for another few staggered beats of my heart. Finally, I yanked my hands from his, quickly shaking my head again to dispel the moment. Stubbornly denying it had ever existed.

“Is the apology her wisdom or yours?” I quipped, pleased to find my sarcasm still had a sharp bite to it despite the swirling quality of my thoughts.

My heart nearly faltered again at his answering smile. “A little bit of both, I suppose.”

I scoffed, trying to clear my head as I waved my hand at him dismissively. “Then perhaps there is some hope for you after all…” I took a step back, eager to put some space between us and hopefully regain a little more of my senses. “What are you even doing back here?” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t suppose your mother ever told you it is incredibly rude to snoop around a lady’s chambers?”

“Hmm. She may have raised that point once or twice.” He grinned again, turning to follow my progression as I stalked around him angrily. I crouched down briefly to gather up the remainders of my bundle from the floor. “But you took longer than expected… And I was curious.” His head cocked to the side as he slowly followed me to the center of the room by the bed. “Are these the Princess’ rooms?”

I nearly dropped the jar and bandages again, spinning on him with the vial of healing salve in hand. “What makes you say that??”

He nodded to the corner. “The jewels and such.” I followed his gaze to my vanity table, where I had left some never used jewelry as thoughtlessly as one might discard soiled clothes on a chair. “I do not think even human servants tend to have such things.”

“I never said I was a servant.” I reminded him sourly, then jerked my chin. “Sit.”

“You haven’t said much of anything.” He shot back, but did as he was told and settled onto the chest at the foot of the bed.

“Eventually you may just conclude that that is entirely by design.” I said, opening the jar as he rolled his shirt up on one side. I pretended not to notice the tautness of his flesh or the shape of his abdomen as I slowly spread some of the salve on his wound. It seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, which was good. “You may even come to remember that I am looking to get you out of here as quickly as I can. And the sooner that is the better.”

“Do I really disgust you so?” He asked, sounding bitter.

My eyes darted up to his face in surprise. And I got stuck in the quality of those emerald greens for a moment longer than I would ever admit. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth, forcing my eyes away from his finally and reaching for the pile of bandages I had brought.

“... You don’t disgust me.” I admitted quietly.

He snorted, wincing slightly as I began to carefully apply first a clean square bandage, then the longer ones wrapped about him to hold it in place. It brought me uncomfortably close to him. I couldn’t help but take in a breath next to his skin, and found the smell of him made my nostrils quiver. I was just surprised to find he didn’t stink anymore, I assured myself silently. That was all. I had come to expect him to smell like dirt and blood, not this strangely pleasant smell he currently had. It meant nothing that I noticed it.

“You don’t seem to like me all that much.” He replied. “I am not sure what else it would be.”

I straightened, having secured the end of the bandage in place, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, obviously I must hate you then. That must be why, and it has nothing at all to do with the reason why you are even here in the first place.” I scoffed.

“Eh?”

My eyes rolled, and I was grateful for it as I didn’t have to watch him roll his shirt back down over his stomach again. The way his shoulders shifted and moved beneath the fabric wasn’t at all fair.

“You came here insistent that you would be marrying the Princess. Am I supposed to welcome you with open arms?” I placed my hands back on my hips and scowled at him. “Perhaps you assume that since you plan to marry her, that means you should be treated as a Prince?”

That warranted me a loud guffaw, and my eyes widened slightly in surprise. His crooked grin had my heart skipping, and I scoffed again in an attempt to dislodge it from my throat. The big orc stood, swaying for half a moment and forcing me back a step as he reached out to steady himself on the post beam of the bed. I eyed him warily, not too fond of the idea of being crushed by his bulk should he lose his balance and completely topple over. He managed to keep his feet however, and half staggered over to a full length mirror.

The clothes fit him surprisingly well, though it seemed that General Damjan was a bit narrower and lankier than he was. The sleeves of his cream colored shirt bunched up at his wrists, but you couldn’t tell since the collar of the shirt was filled with soft ruffles and the style was of a looser fit. It draped lazily over his shoulders, clinging to his upper arms and chest as he moved, with a straight cut that had him looking even taller than before. His trousers, a dark brown, disappeared beneath the long hanging tails of the shirt, but hugged his thighs snuggly. The outside seam of each leg had a dash of lighter thread, accenting the length of his limbs, as well as their shape. I had to take a moment to adjust my gaze from those firm, muscular thighs of his before his emerald eyes noticed me ogling him from behind.

“I look… foolish…” He grumbled.

I crossed my arms. “Good, you finally reflect your natural state then.” He snorted, turning this way and that and playing with the fabrics. I rolled my eyes again. “The shirt is supposed to be tucked into the pants. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

He glanced at me in the mirror, then back at his shirt. “... How?? These pants are too tight. There is no space!”

That had me laughing, despite myself. Certainly the goblins had an interesting sense of fashion, preferring aesthetics over functionality and comfort. Though I supposed the same could be said for some of the human court styles. Neither had put much thought into moving around. And based upon his previous attire, pants were not something the young orc was used to. My laugh petered out when I saw his lopsided grin waiting for me in the mirror. His whole face seemed a little brighter for it. I shook my head, unable to hide a lingering smile, and moved over to the bed.

“Alright, enough of that. I have someplace to be. And you should get some rest.” I told him as I adjusted the thick blankets and pillows. Peeling back a corner for him.

“You’re leaving again?”

My eyes darted up to him, surprised to hear the tang of remorse in his words. I slapped the blankets a few times for good measure. Letting out an impatient sigh.

“Yes, it may come as a shock to you, but I actually do have regular responsibilities outside of cleaning up errant wandering idiots.” I teased, straightening and taking a step back to allow him access to the bed. “Plus I have to see to your mare still.”

“... So I can stay?”

I groaned, pushing my wild hair back out of my face. Trying to ignore the odd pitter patter of my heart at the question. I gave him a once over, as if chewing on the thought. Certainly it was not because I was making excuses to prolong his company. That of course I found the half-orc taxing. There shouldn’t be any question that I wanted him out of my life as soon as possible.

“I can’t very well send you off until I know you aren’t going to pass out in a ditch somewhere.” I told him. Making an effort to sound as though I was at least mildly chaffed with the idea. “So yes, you oaf. You can stay.” I bit my lip, shuffling. “... For now.”

Erramun slowly walked over, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His eyes looked over the room again. I shuffled my skirts and turned to gather up a few things to manage the clutter a bit better. Suddenly very aware of the fact that I had a strange man in my personal chambers. At best it was highly improper. At worst, it was downright dangerous. Afterall, I had only known Erramun a few days, and yet let myself be locked up in my bedroom alone with him. If Niko found out, he might just have a stroke on the spot. Though he might remain upright long enough to run my visitor through with his sword first.

“Won’t the Princess be cross that you are using her chambers to wash an orc?” He mused, tilting his head to one side.

“Half-orc, you mean?” I teased, glad my back was to him so he didn’t see my mouth twitch in amusement. “And I don’t think she’ll mind much.”

“She lets you use these rooms for yourself,” He reasoned, and I saw his nose twitch out the corner of my eye, “The bed smells like you.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. Tossing an armful of my things into a chest and closing it. I glanced at him briefly as I grabbed a small empty basket and put the remainder of the dressings and the jar of salve in it.

“Stop smelling me. It’s rude.”

He grinned. “I will try to breathe through my mouth then. Or would that be rude too?”

“I’m not sure you’re capable of being anything else.” I returned airly, looking around and considering my handiwork for a moment. “Except perhaps a fool.”

Erramun chuckled, a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. I glance at him out the corner of my eye. “I hope the Princess will not think so.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You are close with her then?”

I groaned. Well, it had been nearly a few minutes since the last mention of the Princess that time. “Honestly, do you ever think of anything else?” I grumbled. “Must be dull, revolving your life around marrying a girl you’ve never met.”

“You say it like I have a choice.” He grumbled right back.

I turned to him once more, the morose tone of his voice giving me pause. It seemed in stark contrast to the teasing lightness from before. The half-orc had his head bowed, his over defined brow scrunched. The long tendrils of his damp hair trailed around his face. I considered this for only a brief moment, returning my hands to my hips.

“Don’t you?” He didn’t look up at me at my words. I felt a tick of irritation at that. “You are an orc, half or otherwise. You are not beholden to the whims of a court, or the expectations of your people. You do not have the same responsibility to put the welfare of others above your own freedom and happiness.” I glanced off to the side, my eyes drifting longingly to the window. “You can wander under the open skies, should you so choose. You can see far off lands, go on adventures, take risks-”

“If I want to be selfish, and ignore the suffering of my people.” He interrupted, his voice heated. “Perhaps everyone here is magically accepting, but at the border, being over six foot and having green skin is enough to get you harassed. If not worse.”

“And marrying a Princess will solve that?” I shot back, equally hot.

“It will ease tensions.” He argued. “It will prove that we are not savages. That we can make alliances-”

I threw up my hands exasperatedly. “Even if I had a year, I still wouldn’t have enough time to point out all the flaws in your reasoning. And right now, I have to go collect my nieces and nephews.” I moved over to swipe a clean cloak from one of the hooks by the armoire. “You stew in your own idiocy, or, preferably, sleep. So that perhaps I can have you out of my hair before it starts to turn grey.” I spun on him, leveling one stern finger at his face. “And don’t even think about leaving this room.”

Erramun raised one brow at me, his thick lips pursing together around his tusks. Then his head tilted to the side, and that lopsided grin returned. It made my determination falter briefly, almost so much that I nearly took a step back in light of it.

“You are quite fierce, Gana.” He mused. “If the Princess is anything like you, I will be lucky.”

That had a sound heat rising to my cheeks, but I shook my head. Scoffing loudly. “You are a fool and a half.” I grumbled, turning my back on him so he couldn’t see the strange crash of emotions that fought their way across my face. “Single minded and absolutely incorrigible.”

He snorted, sounding amused. “Something else then. If I sleep in your bed, where will you sleep?” 

His words had me freezing in the doorway to the foyer. I tried to ignore the rapid speed of my pulse, swallowing heavily and shaking my head. Based upon the tone of his voice, I knew that stupid lopsided smile was still on his face. I replaced the heat of embarrassment at his implication with that of anger.

“Preferably just about anywhere else.” I snapped, then stormed out to the hall. Being sure to lock the door behind me.

UPDATE: Part Five HERE

[dottiechan]

Tempest (Pt. 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 4048

Warnings: mourning, mentions of death and torture, smoking

Summary: The private detective must work through the sudden and unexpected disappearance of Ava - quite literally, as she embarks on solving her greatest mystery yet. But she is not the only one who's been busy...

A/N: This chapter is a rather long one as there's much to unpack at this point of the story, and there is much to explain. Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for being so patient and supportive of me!

The Private Detective’s Office, London, 1898

5 months after Ava’s disappearance

The key turns in the lock with ease. The door creaks as it gives way to the dark office. The lights flicker in the corridor outside, and the entrance gapes like a mouth ready to swallow her whole.

She steps inside, unaware of her fingers skittering across the glass pane that has the name of her detective agency painted on it. Some have great bloodlines to look back on, and nobles and kings to proudly call their ancestors. Her legacy is this stuffy little office, her sigil is a hand painted business logo. But her ancestor - her father - was a warrior too, noble of heart, even if not of blood.

She hangs her coat and hat, and proceeds to smooth down her hair before locking the door and switching on the lights. The old pieces of furniture that would have been regarded fashionable 20 years ago are dimly illuminated, and the sight of them makes her heart ache. They belonged to her late father, and in a way he lives on through them. The dent in the cushion of his chair where he always used to sit, the scuff marks on his desk he carelessly carved into the polished surface with books and folders, the medical and law tomes he hoarded lining the bookshelves that hug the dark green walls... As a child, she was afraid of coming here in the evenings - something they often did after her mother passed away and her father tried his best to raise her alone. The heavy nailhead leather armchairs looked like hunched monsters in the dark, the looming mahogany desk with its long curving legs resembled a giant spider, and the serious wallpaper enveloped this macabre scene like some sinister forest. “The real monsters are in here, my darling,” her father would ruffle her hair affectionately, pointing at the files he came to pick up.

It is late, but the office no longer feels scary. Her rational mind knows she should have gone home to her empty bed and her unread books and the cold supper awaiting her. And yet she’s here because hardly anything matters anymore. Because no place ever really feels like home ever since her father left. Well, her small house felt like home for a while when she was still here. But she left as well, and with her she took the last tattered shreds of joy the detective had somehow managed to cling to. She is submerged in saturnine reticence now, and ironically it helps her stay focused, even though it makes her more and more like the person she tried to thaw out. More and more like Ava.

One should only embrace the iciness of a statue if they’re willing to risk turning into marble themselves.

The Commissioner would be lucky to have a detective such as myself, she thinks bitterly as she glances down at the neatly kept files piled on her desk. Most are petty cases, even she has to admit - cheating husbands, unanswered invitations and letters, and the likes. But she takes all the work she can, and she prides herself on her ability to solve them with the proficiency of a man. Ava used to praise her for that. Now she whispers praises to herself even if the words turn sour in her mouth, because she will not let anyone ruin her. She will not. (Even though Ava has, because the world feels different without her in it.)

Her sudden disappearance left her on the precipice of panic at first. Ava, along with her partner Nate, simply vanished into thin air as if they never even existed at all, as if they were a pleasant reverie she used to lull herself to sleep at night. No trace, no item that belonged to them was left behind. If not for the spare key to her house being gone - the one she gave to Ava - she wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between reality and her mad suspicions. But oh, she was here. She was. Missing her is a malady burrowed in her heart, but it is also the testament of her existence.

She opens the file on top, and hums in bitter satisfaction. Right. The aching of her heart isn’t the only testament anymore. It took her months, but she’s finally one step closer to the solution, planting her foot firmly and holding her crumbling sanity together with a determination she didn’t know she had. Ava was probably never meant to be in the background of a photograph taken during the opening night of the National Gallery of British Art.

But she was. And it really only takes one mistake.

The private detective picks up the photograph gingerly, giving herself one second to lose herself in the whirlwind of emotions Ava’s angular silhouette awakens in her.

One step closer.

She leans back in her chair, her gaze gliding over the photograph and landing on her personal little project. The blackboard is filled with dates, locations and places with a map pinned to the middle of it - by now, it is practically a blueprint of Ava’s and Nate’s every activity over the past two years. The deeper she digs, the more unknowns she unearths about the people she once thought she knew.

But there’s still time to get to know them - first impressions are overrated anyway.

Train station, Wayhaven, 1899

7 months after Ava’s disappearance

January quickly set to work and changed the countryside. It swooped down from the heavens and gently buried the forests and the hills under a heavy blanket of snow, concealing the detective’s childhood home from her as she exits the train, the handle of her heavy bag already digging into her gloved fingers. The shapes are still visible though underneath all the snow and ice - she sees the old station with the crumbling roof, the road leading into town, the bell tower of the small church peeking out just above the treeline. She recognises them all, though she sorely wishes she didn’t.

Because with the recognition comes the inevitable sting of her memories. Faces emerge in her conscious she hasn’t seen in years. The kindness of her mother’s eyes and the curve of his father’s lips, both lost forever now, never to be seen again, cutting deeper than a knife ever could.

An old woman is prating about her insufferable nephew, a business man is constantly checking his pocket watch with a disdainful look from across the station, three young women gossip, a man is rubbing his hands together in an effort to stimulate his circulation in the cold weather. The detective tunes out the comfortable commotion of the small town station, imagining she is still in London and not here. Anywhere but here. People brush past her, the train whistles and whirs to motion, and before she knows it, she is alone, paralysed in one spot, snowflakes catching softly on her fetching ensemble of a royal blue travelling dress and matching hat.

She takes a shaky breath, almost already on the verge of tears.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

No.

“Of course,” she turns with a slight smile. “Just admiring the view. I used to live here.”

“Ah, then the gossip about you was true,” the man nods, his eyes glinting intelligently under his bushy brows. There’s an apologetic smile sitting on his lips, and a twinge of regret spoiling the beauty of his otherwise handsome square jaw and bold features. “I apologise, I couldn’t help but overhear some women on the train talking about your father. About you.”

“I didn’t know our name carried such weight,” the detective admits cautiously, one hand reaching up to fix her hat self-consciously. The man seems to notice the way her fingers linger over the hat pin, and he almost cracks a grin. It would be a highly inappropriate moment to joke, and besides, he’d rather befriend this interesting person than anger her to a point where he’d end up being skewered by the hat pin in question. After all, her friendship and assistance is why he’s here.

“Your father served in India with Sir Edward Bardford, the current Police Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police,” he adds gently. “You were betrothed to Montagu Edward Bradford.”

“How do you know about that?” the woman asks, her eyes widened by shock as she takes a step closer to him.

“Who didn’t Montagu tell?”

The strained grin the stranger allows himself seems to put her momentarily at ease. Montagu did tell everyone, God rest his soul. In a way, she could never really begrudge him for the betrothal - it was their fathers’ scheming, even if Montagu really didn’t seem to mind. She always wanted a way out, but she never wished for his death. He was in India when it had happened, and she was in London. In a way, even 9 years after, it feels surreal. She never saw the body. For years afterwards, she sincerely thought he would turn up one day unexpectedly as if nothing had happened.

He never did.

“How awfully rude of me to not even introduce myself!” he exclaims suddenly, sheepishly sticking out his hand. “Dr Van Helsing. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“I believe Mont had spoken about you,” she nods as she shakes his hand, deliberately squeezing his fingers with more force than a mere handshake would warrant. Yet another trick she learned from Ava.

“I hope so. We were... we were quite close. I know it’s been a while since he...” Van Helsing pauses as he withdraws his hand and waves it in the air before drawing it up to his ginger curls. “Please accept deepest my condolences.”

“Thank you, Dr Van Helsing.”

Her tone signals the end of the conversation, and she nods her head stiffly before turning. She knew coming back here would unearth the loss of her parents, but she is not ready to speak of Montagu yet. She bared her soul once regarding the matter, and only to one person, but she will not repeat the experience again. As liberating as it had been to tell Ava everything, she wishes to leave this heartache and guilt where it belongs - in the past.

“Please wait. We got off on the wrong foot! I didn’t come here to ask you personal questions - in fact, it is a disappearance that I was hoping to discuss with you.”

“You are a physician, not an inspector, correct?” she asks over her shoulder, not bothering to slow down her steps as she strides towards an unclaimed hansom.

“Yes, but-”

“Are you here to hire me?”

“No-”

“Then we have nothing to talk about, Dr Van Helsing. Good day.”

The driver, smelling a wealthy client who’s just arrived from London, clambers down from his seat quickly to open the door for her to get in. Just before she could disappear inside, the physician speaks again.

“I’m trying to find Miss Ava Du Mortain and Mr Nathaniel Sewell. I was hoping we could help each other out, but more importantly, I was hoping to warn you.”

“Warn me?” the detective pauses, looking back at Van Helsing with genuine shock on her prepossessing features.

“They’re not who you think they are - what you think they are.”

There’s a stretch of silence between them as her eyes assess the tall, lanky man as he stands just before the hansom, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his breath fogging in the chill air as he looks back at her expectantly. The nerve on this man alone is making the private detective want to leave him high and dry in the snow, but her insides twist and her pulse quickens at the mention of Ava’s name. She’s all but given up hope - for months now, she could find nothing regarding the woman and her partner, or the Agency they claimed to work for. She knows virtually nothing about this man, but her need to find Ava outweighs her better judgement.

“Are you hungry, Dr Van Helsing?” she asks, scooting further down the seat to make room for the man.

“Is eating and working on disappearance cases simultaneously a habit of yours, Miss?” the physician asks as he climbs in next to her.

“And here I was trying to be nice. I suppose I will not offer to pay for your lunch then.”

“I take it all back! I am positively famished.”

Meanwhile, across the train station

Lucille Licht twirls her cane, lips pressed into a disdainful frown. Cities at least have crowds upon crowds of people to distract her, but small towns such as Wayhaven hold no entertainment value whatsoever. She isn’t here on pleasant business anyway, she thinks to herself as she sighs, pulling her fur coat tighter around the expensive suit she’s wearing. No, she is here on ghastly business indeed, even by demon standards. But the prophecy was clear - though irritatingly vague too, no doubt to account for the rather large margin of error witches have these days in their prophecies. They’re more lawyers than soothsayers by now, their profession diluted by those who hunger for nothing but profit and security, and who are willing to sacrifice quality for those two aforementioned gains. Lucille finds sordid business such as this distasteful, even in her line of work. Falling from grace is one thing, but living in the Agency’s ever growing shadow is no excuse not to have honour among thieves. Or rogues. Or both, when it comes to the social circles she frequents.

A small voice in the back of her head whispers sadly, poisoning the faux assuredness she’s lulled herself into on the train. She’s just like I was, in a strange way. Before it all happened. And now I’m about to do the same horrible things to her that were done to me.

But the private detective is the one she’s been waiting for. She has to be. It all fits - the dead father, the career, the place where she was born. Lucille can’t smell anything strange about her blood yet, but she is sure she can bring about the power that was promised to reside in her veins. She has her ways, and her old magic, and her knife. And most importantly, her determination.

It was centuries ago, when she was stripped and bound and the curse was carved into her flesh. Strange, how vividly one can remember a single terrible moment, even centuries later. Even though the ancient magic rendered her undead, she can still feel the searing pain all over her body, red lines raging like fire in the form of symbols and Echolian text. It made her immortal, but it also bound her to her creator. He is the reason why she’s on the hunt. Why she is desperate to gain power beyond what she could achieve alone. Even as a human, as a meagre farmer’s child, she was roaming the fields of her father as she pleased. She was free. It was so long ago that she can’t even remember the name her parents gave her, but her freedom she remembers.

And nobody enslaves Lucille Licht and gets away with it.

Her slow burn vendetta must be coming to an end soon. There’s only so much of the supernatural underworld she can bring under her control - what she has will have to suffice. She already runs a widespread rogue organisation, with its key leadership positions held by her loyal Daughters, as she eloquently calls the women she’s bound to her service over the centuries the same way she was bound once. A necessary evil. Pawns in the game she plays with the Ancient One. There is nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure her victory in the coming battle. I will not be outwitted again by that Echolian bastard, she thinks, whacking away at a nearby bush with her cane. Specks of snow and ice glitter where her hits land. And yet she always finds herself hesitating before turning another human.

The abhorred feeling of helplessness always comes creeping back. As well as the pain, and the panic of thinking your life is about to end. She has to push it all down. Grit her teeth and get it over with. Months of preparation leading up to the final act that barely lasts ten minutes. And then you wait, and 3 days later their pain and mortality will be but a distant memory.

But she’s slipping. She no longer only hesitates before, now the intrusive self-doubt catches up to her after the rituals too. The Ancient One is still the centre of her nightmares, but the dream has changed. She is no longer the helpless little lamb brought to the slaughter. She is one with the Ancient One, his hand is hers too as it raises the knife, their voices merging together as they chant the same curse together.

She knew this victory would cost her everything. But she never imagined the real price to pay would be stepping up to fill the void the Ancient One’s death will create.

Lucille never wanted to be like him. She only ever wanted to kill him. But it seems those two things are one and the same.

She awakens from her thoughts when the man joins the private detective in the hansom. An annoying little man, that Dr Van Helsing is, though harmless in the grand scheme of things. It doesn’t matter that he’s taken care of a Transylvanian rogue vampire with his entourage, it would take far more to stop her plans now. Lucille focuses on the woman instead, letting her will force itself into her mind. All too easy, she raises her eyebrows in an unimpressed fashion as she flicks through her thoughts as if she were reading the latest issue of The Times. She thought she would be more difficult to read. To control. But alas, she is just like everyone else, aside from the love that seems to seep out of her every thought for none other than Agent Du Mortain.

She grins, remembering her failed attempt at getting to the private detective earlier. She’s learned several invaluable lessons in those two years. One, you can’t trust dark elf mercenaries, no matter how much you pay them. Two, it’s better to divert the attention of the Agency first before you try to kidnap someone who has important connections in the London Metropolitan Police. Three, love makes people do really, really stupid things.

Thankfully, Lucille Licht is a smart woman, and an even better strategist - not to mention a quite powerful demon with telepathic abilities and her boot firmly planted on the supernatural underground’s neck - and this time, she has learned from all three of her mistakes. This time, there will be no Agent Du Mortain rushing to the rescue. (But that doesn’t mean she can’t use her name as bait, yes?)

Cemetery, Wayhaven, 1900

1 year and 8 months after Ava’s disappearance

He doesn’t appreciate being jerked around the way he has been lately, but he isn’t a man to grumble too much either. He was closest to the backwater little town, he gets to check out the possible supernatural case. Everyone draws the short straw sometimes, and he’s learned to cope with it. He has certainly lived long enough to do so.

The wind shifts, and suddenly Agent Fuller’s nostrils are invaded by the stench of magic. Things finally start looking up for him, and that thought alone is enough to make him pick up his pace, excitement coursing through his body. He lights a cigarette to conceal the smirk threatening to overtake his lips when he sees the pallid looks of the constables as they pass him by. One stops him to ask what his business is out here, but the Agency has already notified the meagre Wayhaven police force, and he is soon on his way again to the centre of the commotion. Cemetery of the commotion would be a more accurate description though - the little town was as dead in the mid-February frost as a place could get, and aside from the bored stationmaster who gave him directions, these men are the first living beings he’s encountered since his arrival.

“Name’s Agent Fuller. What can you tell me about the crime scene, constable?” Fuller asks as he exhales a lungful of smoke, turning to the least disturbed looking man surveying the scene.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, sir. Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

A handshake and a suppressed grin later Fuller follows the young man down a row of tombs. They take a sharp turn to the left, and immediately it is clear why he was called here. The sight is confirmation enough, but the smell of potent and ancient magic is the real giveaway.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a walker,” Fuller snorts as he crouches down, picking up a piece of the crumbled marble.

“The poor woman was buried only 3 days ago,” the constable mutters, rubbing his hands together before bringing them to his lips and blowing hot air onto them, desperately attempting to revitalise his frozen fingers. “Who could do such a monstrous thing?”

“Indeed, who could...” the agent mutters, too focused to really pay attention to the human on his right. The tomb was torn open, the coffin deserted, the body missing. It coincides with many reports made over the centuries - it’s unfortunately not rare for the dead to be taken and repurposed again for magic, but this particular pattern is characteristic of demonic rogues having too much time on their necromantic little hands. He will need to consult a few colleagues to confirm it, but the 3 days and the apparent magic hanging in the air is all the evidence he needs right now.

He stands, the lapels of his dark coat flapping in the chilly wind ominously. There’s a page typed up about the busy life of his missing body in his pocket, crumpled around the edges from being handled carelessly, but he takes it out to skim over it again. That’s when he spots the little detail about the private detective’s history with the Agency that he seemed to have missed the first time around.

‘1896-1898: under Agency protection

Threat: classified

Agents on the case: A. Du Mortain, N. Sewell’

The Agency gossips like there’s no tomorrow, and ever since Lady Ashbury’s return to the main facility, the gossip about the ‘Ice Queen’ and her pet detective have been the most fashionable thing to blabber on about. And since Fuller has been to the scene, it will be him who will have to provide all the answers when Du Mortain comes with her demanding questions, no doubt breaking down doors in the process as it is in her nature. Fuller is by no means a man who shies away from conflict or hard work, but he’s never been particularly good with emotions. Explaining to a lovesick elder vampire that her alleged lover is now very dead, and also quite probably the plaything of a very bored and elusive demon who likes to play with necromancy is not a task he would gladly carry out.

“Well, shit.”

Fuller shoves the page back into his pocket and sighs. He should retire and buy a house in the wilderness. Get a cat. Maybe try some cocaine - he once saw Heinrich Quincke use it for spinal anaesthesia before one of his surgeries, and have been meaning to try it out ever since. But he does none of those things - he never does.

He walks back the way he came, trying to prepare himself for the most awkward conversation of the century.

Needless to say, he couldn’t prepare himself for what was to come. But for once, he couldn’t feel mad about a messy situations. He just felt a little more hollow afterwards. And then he got another case as this one was closed and the woman was declared dead once more. And he moved on.

But, like with all his cases ending in death, he never forgot.

[pixxiesdust]

Crimson Snow (pt. 3) • Bakugou Katsuki

Summary • We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But all stories, especially ones passed through spoken word, can change with time. This is the true story of a girl who wandered into the forest, wearing a cloak white as snow, and left on the back of a beast with a crimson cape trailing behind her.

Pairing • Shifter!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count • 6.8k

Tags and Warnings • Fairy tale AU, captivity, violence, blood, swearing, mentions of nudity, fluff, angst, eventual happy ending.

Note • This is the third part of a fic I originally wrote for @bnhabookclub​’s Provisional License Exam Event! Thanks to the lovely @unbreakableeiji​, @fanfic-me-up​, and @etegomanere​ for betaing! 

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

–

“There,” Bakugou grunts as the shackle around his ankle pops open. It reveals a red ring of skin, rubbed raw and burned by the cuff, making you grimace in sympathy. A matching ring circles his other ankle, and you think there’s a set on his wrists too, but those are obscured by the bandages you wrapped around him in his wolf form.

“Your turn.” He flips the knife in the air and catches it by the flat of the blade, holding the handle out to you. “Get this shitty collar off me.”

You eye the knife wearily before taking it into your hand. “You want something sharp next to your neck?”

“You gonna try to kill me?”

Eyes widening, you shake your head rapidly.

“Then, I’ll be fine.”

“If you insist,” you say, then wait expectantly. 

He looks at you, frowning. “What’re you waiting around for?”

“I can’t move any further!” Shaking your left ankle, the chain rattles with the movement. “Come here.”

“Hey!” he snaps as he closes the distance between you, flinching at the pain from his ribs. “I’m a wolf shifter, not a dog!”

“Oh really?” you ask airily, sitting up on your knees to get a better look at the collar around his neck. “I couldn’t tell. You still came anyway.”

You hide a smile as an irritated growl ripples through Bakugou’s throat. 

One of your hands reaches out to cup his neck, keeping it steady as you carefully try to fit the tip of the knife into the opening in the collar. “How badly are you injured?” you ask quietly, knowing that he might not admit to anything willingly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off with a quick shake of your head. “And don’t try to hide it—I heard a snap when Overhaul kicked you, and you winced when you moved.” 

But the most obvious sign is the large bruise that spans his ribs, a majority of it deep purple, with putrid yellow and green on the edges. He’s shirtless, but he managed to make some sort of covering for his lower half out of your cloak.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, not wanting to admit his weakness. But when you stop working at the lock and sit back to stare at him expectantly, he snaps at you, red eyes flashing. “I’m fucking fine! I’m not some weak-ass who collapses after a couple of hits.”

“I’m not saying that you are,” you reply calmly. “But I need you to be in the best shape possible if we’re going to escape.”

He exhales slowly and nods. When he speaks this time, it’s with a lot less aggression. “I’ll be fine. Shifters heal quickly.” Bakugou unwraps the cloth bandages around his wrists, letting the fabric drop to the ground. 

“Wow,” you breathe, stroking the fingers of your free hand across his wrist. The skin is smooth, with no sign of the blood and irritation you had seen on his wolf form. You drop your gaze to his feet and find that his ankles are looking better than they were before.

Bakugou draws his hand back to his side, and you realize that you’ve been resting your fingertips against his wrist. Pulling your own hand back, you duck your head down for a moment in embarrassment before you start picking at the collar’s lock again.

“What does Overhaul put on the inside of these shackles?” you ask. Your brows furrow as the tip of the knife barely fits through the small opening for the key. Bakugou had gotten the shackles off in just a few minutes, and you’re even more astounded by his speed. But even though it isn’t working well, you persist, wiggling the knife this way and that. 

“Huh? Put something on them?”

“Your skin looked really irritated and was even bloody when you first took the shackles off. Even mine doesn’t hurt as much. Did Overhaul put some kind of poison on them?”

Bakugou is silent for a moment, then a tremor runs through his body that makes you jerk the knife away in fear of hurting him. He scoffs out a laugh, amused by your question. You look away from his neck and stare into his eyes, pouting. “You want me to hurt you or something? What’s so funny?”

His lips curl up at the corners before he starts speaking. “It’s not what he put on them, sweetheart, it’s what he made them out of.”

The term of endearment makes your face feel hot, but you don’t bring attention to it. Instead, you eye the pile of chains and shackles by Bakugou’s side. “Iron? Steel?” He shakes his head, and you guess again. “Silver?”

“Silver,” he confirms. “It’s a metal that can burn wolf shifters when it’s in contact with them. That wannabe Plague Doctor likes using them so much ‘cause they make me weak,” he hisses out the last word, contempt filling his voice.

“If this is you weak,” you say, “then I’d be terrified to face you at your strongest.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou turns his face away from yours and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now stop getting distracted! Get this thing off me, and let’s get the hell out.”

You put the tip of the knife to the keyhole of the collar and sigh. “The knife isn’t working well on this one.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Bakugou snaps.

“If I can’t fit the knife in the stupid keyhole, how the hell am I supposed to unlock it to get it off you?” your voice is raised by the end of it, and you duck your head down when you realize that you’ve basically yelled at him. “Sorry,” you say. “Though I don’t think I can work with the knife on this one.”

Bakugou is quiet, thinking hard. “I–” he starts, then stops and swallows. “Don’t apologize. You’re new to this–” he ignores your eye roll and your scoff of “clearly,” and continues, “–and I need to remember that.”

“Some apology,” you say, though your voice is softer now and is more amused. “So what do I do? We need something a lot thinner than the knife and– oh!”

“Oi!” he exclaims as you push the handle of the knife into his hands and scramble to your feet. Ignoring his shout, you limp to the wall and move as quickly as you can to the pile of glass you had deposited earlier.

“Where is it?” you mutter as you gingerly look under the larger pieces of glass. A glint of metal catches your eye, and you pick up the thin needle with care, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger. 

Now that you have what you’re looking for, you quickly return to Bakugou. His eyes widen at the sight of the needle in your hands, but he nods when he realizes what you plan on using it for. 

You kneel down in front of him. Before you start using the needle to pick at the lock, you wipe it down across the front of your dress, smearing a bit of dark red and light purple on the white cloth. You don’t want any more of the wolfsbane serum to get near him. Bakugou had said that it only was damaging if it actually entered his body, but you don’t want to take the chance.

“Alright, let’s get back to it.” One hand supports the other side of his neck while the other carefully brings the needle up to the keyhole. Slipping the point in smoothly, you wiggle and twist it, listening intently for any sounds. 

Click.

You push the needle to one side of the hole, brows furrowed as you get the collar to unlock. “There!” you breathe, pulling the needle out and tossing it back towards the corner you had gotten it from. 

Bakugou nearly rips the collar off with the force that he uses, sending it skittering across the dungeon floor until it hits a wall. A band of angry red rings his throat, skin peeling, and you wince in sympathy. 

“What?” he snaps as he moves around to your left foot, knife in hand.

You blink at him. “Nothing! Just can’t wait to get out of here.” 

He only responds with a grunt as he concentrates on the shackle around your ankle. He works on it for a couple seconds at most before his back stiffens, and he stops moving.

“Shit!” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask worriedly. Bakugou doesn’t reply. He only presses the handle of the knife into your hands and pushes himself to his feet in one fluid movement, running to where your chain is connected to the wall. 

He looks at where the last chain link is connected to a metal ring that is embedded into the stone wall at a height that is level with his head. You get to your feet and move closer to him, watching as Bakugou wraps your chain around his left arm once, before doing the same to his right. Both hands grip the chain tightly, and he presses one foot to the wall. With a grunt, he starts pulling on the chain with all his strength, muscles in his arms and back straining and flexing.

Nothing happens for a moment.

Then with an ear-piercing screech, the metal loop pops out of the stone, sending little fragments of rock flying. Bakugou stumbles back a step but easily regains his balance. Without taking a second glance at the hole in the wall, he bends down and starts gathering the chain in his arms until he nears you.

“Take this. We gotta go.” He dumps the chains into your waiting arms, and takes the knife out of your hand. His urgency can only mean one thing. 

Overhaul is coming.

Bakugou starts running for the doorway of the dungeon. You follow, grimacing as the chains rattle in your arms. You hug them tighter against your body in an attempt to keep them from moving around so much. 

Beyond the doorway, a hall stretches on either side, with other openings that likely lead to other dungeon rooms. A staircase lies right in front of you, leading upstairs.

But that’s where the footsteps are coming from.

Bakugou looks back at you, red eyes flashing as he jerks his head to the left before heading down that hallway. You stay right behind him. He ducks into the nearest doorway and presses against the wall, in a spot where he can peek into the hall without being seen. You do the same, chest heaving already, although it’s more from nerves than it is from physical exertion.

The footsteps grow louder and louder, until Bakugou catches sight of a figure crossing the hallway and into the dungeon where the two of you had just escaped from. The footsteps stop, and you can only imagine Overhaul taking in the empty room with his yellow eyes. 

Then the footsteps are louder, angrier, as Overhaul walks around in the dungeon. Neither you nor Bakugou can tell what he’s doing, but it can’t be good.

A shadow falls through the doorway, and Bakugou presses his head back against the wall, you mimicking him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bakugou watches as Overhaul stalks out of the room, clutching two large knives in his gloved hands. They glint in the low light, and Bakugou recognizes them from the wall of torture devices in the room you two were kept in.

Overhaul looks up and down the hallway. Bakugou catches sight of slitted yellow eyes, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that this could easily be the end for both of you if Overhaul decides to check the room you are in first. 

After another moment, Overhaul turns on his heel and walks into one of the other rooms further down the hall. A few seconds later, he exits, walking into the room beyond that. Bakugou exhales softly with relief.

As soon as Bakugou notices that Overhaul is systematically checking the rooms, he knows it’s only a matter of time before both of you are found if you remain here. So he watches and counts, keeping track of the seconds it takes for Overhaul to enter, look around, and exit each room. And once Bakugou knows the timing, feels it running through his mind and in his blood, he turns to you. 

He presses a finger against his lips, waits until you nod, and then scoops you into his arms, careful to angle the knife away from your body. You keep the chains tight against you to muffle any sounds. You don’t know what Bakugou is planning, but you can only trust him.

Bakugou looks again, watching as Overhaul exits another room. As soon as Overhaul disappears around the wall of the next room, Bakugou throws himself into action, sprinting out of the room and up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time with large leaps. He does not slow, not even with the weight of you and the chain in his arms.

He’s moving faster than what is normal, you realize, and when you look up at his face, his crimson eyes are glowing bright, and his lips are stretched back in a silent snarl, emphasizing his lengthened canines.

It’s the power of a wolf shifter.

He looks wild, ferocious, and untamed, but a shiver of something that isn’t fear runs through your body. Gratitude, perhaps, that he’s on your side. Excitement.

Bakugou reaches the top of the stairs and looks around, head swiveling back and forth as he takes in the room full of all types of weapons. He’s trying to figure out where to go next as you notice the windows that are set close to the ceiling. 

You whisper, “Up. We’re still partly below ground.”

He doesn’t have the time to confirm what you said, but he puts his trust in you and runs through the weapon storeroom and into the next room–

–and knocks over a set of pots on the ground. 

They’re sent flying, scattering across the kitchen floor with loud clangs and clatters. There’s a shout from the dungeon, and you look up at Bakugou with wide eyes.

“Fuck!” he hisses, and starts running again, leaping over the fallen pots to make it out of the kitchen. You bounce in his hold with every step, but he keeps you clutched tight against his chest. 

After exiting the kitchen, there’s a flight of stairs leading up, and Bakugou doesn’t hesitate to take them. The stairs end, and you find yourselves in a living room, with a couple of seats arranged around the fireplace. You shudder when you notice the animal heads mounted on the walls, and a low rumble starts in Bakugou’s chest. The animal heads are all stuffed and preserved, not a hair out of place, but their eyes are wide open and lifeless, staring into the air.

But you have no time to stop and take in the room, not when Bakugou can hear Overhaul knocking into one of the fallen pots in the kitchen downstairs. And he can hear footsteps from the floor above as well, coming from Chronostasis. 

He runs across the living room, which then leads into an elaborately furnished dining room. But finally, finally, he runs into a hallway with a staircase going up to a balcony, with a door in the wall opposite the stairs. When your breath hitches and your heartbeat speeds up in excitement, Bakugou knows that this must be the way out. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” he says and bends down, letting your legs slide out of his arm before letting go of your waist once you’re steady. He grips his knife in one hand and scoops half your chains up with his other and runs down the hall for the door. 

Once you get there, breathless from keeping up with Bakugou, you reach out with a hand to slide open the bolt like you had the first time when you tried to escape, but Bakugou dumps the chains back into your arms and pushes the knife into one of your hands. You fumble to take it, some of your chain escaping and slithering to the floor.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart.” With a smirk that makes your face go hot despite the circumstances, he turns to face the door and grasps the handle, pulling with all his might.

Then there’s a pop, and Bakugou stops straining, looking from his hand to you with wide eyes. Laughter bubbles out of you as you eye the empty space the door handle occupied moments before. 

“You just taught me exactly what not to do,” you tease.

He growls at you, eyebrows furrowed, red eyes flashing in an effort to intimidate you into silence, but it only makes you laugh again. 

Thump.

The sound is hauntingly familiar. It’s booted feet striking the floor after a tall drop. It will lead to panic and pain and a loss of consciousness. Blood freezing in your veins, you turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s not Overhaul. 

But it’s someone who wears a plague doctor mask just like Overhaul does, with white hair that reaches his chin. And his eyes are a cold grey, reminding you of steel and stone and a blade that was dragged across your collarbone–

Bakugou roars, the sound echoing off the walls and drawing your attention back to him. His muscles strain and flex as he faces the door, and you can’t tell what he’s doing until you hear the cracking of wood.

Your mouth falls open in shock.

The door comes out of the frame, wrenched entirely off its hinges. He readjusts his grip on the door, slipping his hand out of the hole where the handle had been to grasp the side of the door instead. 

He leans back, muscles in his arms and shoulders shifting, then launches the door into the air, straight toward Chronostasis. Bakugou doesn’t wait to see if it connects before he grabs your hand and tugs you outside into the night—the first time in two weeks that he’s been able to breathe in the earthy scent of forest and dirt.

You start to run, nearly flying with every step as Bakugou tugs you through the air. Each leap takes you further and further away from the place of captivity and torture.

But as your left foot hits the ground, it’s jerked out from under you. Your hand is ripped out of Bakugou’s hold, and you hit the ground hard, the air in your lungs being forced out at the impact.

You push yourself up with your hands and try to scramble to your feet, but you’re dragged along on the ground by your left ankle.

“Bakugou!” you scream, clawing for purchase in the dirt, but there’s nothing for you to grab onto, and the particles only slip out between your fingers. You manage to flip yourself onto your back, eyes locking onto Overhaul, who has the end of your chain in one gloved hand and is reeling you in like a fish. 

Then something passes above you, a shadow against the night sky, and Bakugou lands in front of you. He lets go of the knife in his hand and snatches up your chain. Muscles straining, he pulls hard on the chain to prevent Overhaul from moving you any further. 

“I got you,” he says through gritted teeth. And he digs his feet into the ground, keeping his weight low, leans back, and yanks the chain.

Overhaul is forced to let go. The iron flies out of his grip. 

Bakugou quickly reels the chain in, gathering the links into his arms. He turns to you and helps you up, and he passes you the chains. “Hold them tight,” he instructs, before bending down to pick up the knife–

–and an arrow pierces through his back, the tip of it coming out at his right shoulder. 

Crimson droplets scatter through the air. Some land on your dress and seep into the white fabric.

“Bakugou!” you shout, eyes wide with horror.

He grunts and looks down at the wound, eyeing the red that seeps down from his shoulder. “Fuck,” he hisses, then looks toward the mansion at Overhaul and Chronostasis, the latter having avoided the door and managed to pick up the long-range crossbow that he had shot Bakugou with.

The hunters start advancing. Overhaul flips the two long knives in his hands, blades gleaming as the full moon’s light shines on them. Chronostasis reloads his crossbow and aims it at Bakugou.

Bakugou bends down and picks up the knife. He turns and steps close to you, putting his whole body between yours and the hunters. His eyes gleam in the dark, two rubies that burn with the desire to fight—with the desire to protect.

He presses the knife into your hand. You accept it, gripping onto it tightly. 

“What are you waiting for?” Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. “We have to go!”

He rests a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it a comfort. “No. You have to go.”

You blink once before fully processing what Bakugou said, then open your mouth to protest. 

“Don’t,” he commands. “I am a shifter. My people will come to me.” He draws his hand back from your shoulder and moves it to pull the cloak off from around his waist. He’s completely bare now. But the situation is dire, and Bakugou keeps speaking, so you keep your eyes on his own as he shakes the cloak out and wraps it around your shoulders.

“But nobody knows that you’re here, so no one will come for you.” The words are harsh, and his voice turns deeper as he starts to change before your eyes, but you do not fear him. 

“So run! Go home!” He roars the last word, showing canines that have lengthened to impossibly sharp points. His hand pulls away from the clasp of your cloak, and his nails are now claws, long and deadly. And finally, he straightens up and steps away from you. He’s taller than before, muscles flexing with the movement. 

He’s ready to fight.

Looking at Bakugou now, in his half-shifted state, you know that he has always been designed to fight, to maim, to kill. 

But you are not afraid.

Your eyes are damp and you loathe to leave him, but you know that you’d only be a distraction. A weakness. And now, he cannot afford to be weak. Not if he plans on fighting two hunters, and leaving the victor.

So you do not show your sadness. You hide the cracks in your aching heart. You only smile at him, gazing into his crimson eyes.

“Don’t lose.”

Bakugou barks out a laugh, harsh and low. “As if I could.”

Then an arrow slices past Bakugou’s thigh, and another splash of blood stains your dress.

And you run.

–

You race into the forest, clutching the knife in one hand as you hold the chains tightly against you. It’s dark, and your eyes can only make out the vague shapes of branches and bushes that claw at your dress and cape. 

But the full moon is a blessing, and it scatters soft light on the forest floor whenever its beams can make it through the layers of leaves.

The sound of fighting—snarls, claws on metal, angry shouts—quickly disappear behind you as you push on. You pause for a moment, and look back in the direction that you came.

Bakugou had told you to return home. He’s strong, but you had left him to fight against two hunters that had captured him before. And he helped you when both of you were in the dungeon, just as much as you helped him. Could you really leave him like this?

But what can you do? The skill you have with the knife in your hand can never measure up to that of Overhaul. 

You look forward again at the dark branches that loom before your eyes. And you start running once more. But this time, you weep bitterly, letting tears slide off your cheeks and drip onto your dress, onto the chains, and onto the forest floor.

–

“Die!”

Blood races through Bakugou’s veins as he ducks under Overhaul’s silver knife. More blood flows out of the wounds on his body. Those injuries are barely closing, despite the quick healing that shifters have, because they were caused by weapons of silver.

But he fights on, slashing behind him with his claws to cut into Chronostasis’ side. He must keep fighting, even as Overhaul opens another cut on Bakugou’s arm, more crimson droplets soaking into the dirt.

He must fight. To win, so he can leave this place behind, though Bakugou knows in his heart that he cannot defeat both hunters when he is injured like this. Or to lose, but last long enough that he has given you time to get away and return to your village without the hunters chasing after you.

A burning pain erupts on his back; a new wound cuts through skin and flesh.

A sharp bite of silver on his thigh.

A sting on his neck, then his body seizes up and erupts with pain. Flames lick at every muscle, making them tremble and jerk, and Bakugou’s legs give out beneath him. He collapses to his knees, darkness closing in on his vision.

He hears Overhaul’s voice but can’t make out the words. Bakugou only thinks about you—hoping that you made it home—before a wave of pain sweeps over him and pulls him under, and he finally gives in to the darkness.

–

You’re lost.

You can’t recognize anything in the dark, and even if it were daytime, you aren’t familiar enough with the forest to know where you are and where you need to go.

But you don’t need to head home. 

No, you need to head further into the forest. Even though the trees grow thicker and the undergrowth scratches your legs and pokes at your feet through your thin slippers, you push on. You’re no longer running but keep going at as quick of a walk as you can manage. The wound on your right foot is stinging, and it likely has opened up once more. Your arms ache at holding the length of chain for so long, but you know if you drop it, the chain would only get caught on something and trip you.

Something rustles in the bushes nearby. It’s not the wind.

You whirl around in the direction the sound comes from, eyes straining to see in the dark. Nothing is there.

Something darts out from the bushes. You scream, but quickly cut off as the creature stands in a patch of moonlight, and you make out its features. It’s a chipmunk.

You blink at it. It cocks its head and blinks at you. You can see that the chipmunk’s fur is an odd color by the light of the full moon. It has more of a yellow tint than the usual brown, and it only has one dark stripe that runs up its back. It chatters its teeth and moves closer to you with bouncy steps. When it sits fearlessly at your feet, you study it more closely and feel something light and warm well in your chest. 

“Hey,” you say softly, keeping your body still, so you don’t scare it away before you finish talking. “You probably think I’m crazy, wandering through the forest at night and talking to an animal. But I know who you are. Or, more accurately, what you are.”

The chipmunk’s eyes are large and dark, and you think you see understanding pass across its face. “Bakugou told me that your kind is aware of everything that goes on in your animal form, so–”

The chipmunk suddenly scampers away, running up the nearest tree. You race to follow, shouting, “Hey! Wait! Please! I need– I need your help.” Your foot catches on a tree root, and it sends you sprawling on the ground, the chain and knife falling from your grasp. Tears fill your eyes from the pain and the loss of hope, and through your watery vision, you watch the chipmunk disappear into the branches of the tree. 

The chipmunk is gone, and the forest is still. You sniffle as you lay on the ground. Your whole body aches, and your limbs feel like they’ve been carrying weights, and you honestly want to give up and stay on the forest floor.

But you need to make sure Bakugou is okay. He never gave up on you. He never stopped helping you even when he could have gotten free without you slowing him down. So you need to make sure you can get to his friends and help them free Bakugou from the hunters.

You get back onto your feet and pick up the chains. This time, instead of carrying them in your arms, you wrap them around your shoulders, so you bear the weight of them on your back. You pick up the knife in your dominant hand, exhale loudly, and continue walking through the forest.

It’s not completely silent in the woods. Wind blows through the leaves, causing the spots of moonlight to dance around on the ground. An owl hoots from somewhere in the trees. Your feet kick up fallen leaves and break dry sticks with muted snaps as you trudge along.

Sleep pulls heavily at your eyelids, but you will not let yourself rest.

A dark shadow looms in front of you, shaped like an old tree that has been struck by lightning, the fire having burnt its bark smooth, though there’s something odd about it. You look at it for a moment before walking around it.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. Before you can turn to look or raise up your knife, something heavy slams into you, knocking you onto the forest floor yet again.

Your head throbs, and your vision is blurry. But when it clears, you look up at whatever is pressing down on your stomach, and you go utterly still. 

It’s a bear.

Though you are still, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. The bear holds you down with a massive paw, pressing hard enough that you cannot get up, but not so hard that it breaks your ribs. You stare up at it, but your vision is going fuzzy from your fear, and its black fur helps it blend in with the shadows of the night. 

But then, something moves onto the bear’s head and sits right between its ears. Your eyes manage to focus on it, taking a second to recognize the strangely yellow fur.

“Chipmunk,” you manage to wheeze.

The animal chatters its teeth at you from its position on top of the bear. The chipmunk is on the bear, and the bear hasn’t actually hurt you. You finally realize what this means, and your heart slows a bit.

“Oh!” you squeak out. “You both are shifters, then!”

A rumble comes from the bear, and you think it’s amusement. 

You look at the chipmunk. “That means you heard me. You know Bakugou?”

The chipmunk nods. Both it and the bear stare at you intently, listening carefully to every word that comes out of your mouth.

“I need your help. Bakugou and I were held captive by some hunters. We were escaping, and the hunters were chasing after us. They were about to get me, and Bakugou helped me but decided to stay behind, and I know he’s strong, but the hunters were doing terrible things to him, and I don’t know if he’ll make it out even though he promised–” You gasp, tears pricking your eyes, but you hold them back as the words keep spilling out of your mouth.

“Please help me! I’ll guide you back to the mansion and everything, but I can’t fight the hunters off myself. I won’t leave him behind, even though he told me to run. He saved me back there. I can’t– I can’t just go home and pretend that everything is fine!”

The bear lifts its paw off your stomach, and you get back onto your feet. You bend down to pick up your fallen knife, then look at the shifters.

“Well? Are we going to go back for him?”

The bear holds up a paw.

You tilt your head and look from it to the bear. “You want me to… stop?” Fury runs through you. “What the hell? I thought Bakugou is your friend!” 

But then the bear rapidly shakes his head and holds out his paw once more. You huff out a breath and try again. “If not stop, you want me to… slow down? Oh! You want me to wait!”

The bear and the chipmunk nod. As soon as you nod back and tell them that you won’t be going anywhere, they need to hurry back soon, the bear turns away from you and disappears into the forest, with the chipmunk riding on top of its head.

You sigh, sit down against a tree, and settle down to wait.

–

You must have dozed off while waiting, because you’re jolted awake when someone gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you stare into a pair of unusual eyes; yellow irises that are surrounded by black.

“Hi! I’m Ashido Mina, but you can just call me Mina!” She stands up and steps back, clasping her hands in front of her as she rocks on her feet. “We’d love to get to know you, but Kirishima told us that we need to get going.”

You move the chains from your lap into your arms, pick up the knife, and get to your feet. “Kirishima?” you ask, then look beyond Mina at the three others that stand behind her. Your eyes widen as you take in a head of spiky hair that’s clearly a bright red even under the moonlight. “Shitty Hair!” you exclaim, then clap your hands over your mouth. That wasn’t exactly the most polite thing to say to a stranger—especially not a shifter.

Far from offended, the redhead grins at you, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Looks like Bakubro told you about me! I’m Kirishima. I was the bear you met just a little while ago. Sorry if I scared ya, I didn’t mean to!” 

“Oh! You’re the bear? But your fur was black!” You point at the dark-haired male standing next to Kirishima. “I would have thought he was the bear.”

The shifter you’re pointing at grins and shakes his head. “Nah, not me. I’m a gecko! Kirishima here likes to dye his hair, but the dye doesn’t transfer over to his bear form. Oh, and call me Sero.”

“So if Kirisima’s a bear, Sero is a gecko, then you must be the chipmunk!” You look at the shifter on the other side of Sero. His hair is a darker blonde than Bakugou’s, and a black zigzag runs through it on one side.

“Wow, how’d you guess? I bet it was from our instant con-nut-ion.” He smirks at you and finger guns, throwing you a wink.

You blink at him. Then blink again. “I can’t even talk to you after such a bad pun.” You turn away from him and look at Mina, who snickers at your response. It’s only then that you really notice the color of her hair and her skin. The pink reminds you of the fancy ribbons sold at the market back home that many girls would save up to buy. 

“Oh, wow, you’re so pretty! What animal do you shift into? If- if you’re comfortable sharing, of course, I don’t know if there’s some sort of shifter policy–”

Mina squeals and bounds toward you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Aww, you’re so sweet! My animal form is a poison dart frog. But don’t worry, the poison isn’t an issue in this form!”

You smile at Mina, but are distracted as Kirishima starts moving. You look at him curiously and quickly shut your eyes when you see that he’s taking off his shirt. “What are you doing?”

Sero laughs at your obvious embarrassment. “He’s getting ready to shift. If the shifters with larger animal forms shifted with clothes on, they’d go through more than a set every day. It’s not that big of a deal for shifters to reveal skin.”

“Oh!” So that’s why Bakugou didn’t make a big deal out of being naked until you forced him to cover up with your cloak.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we have to get these chains off you first. It won’t do you any good to fight the hunters with a pile of metal in your arms.”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t do for someone so flawless to get injured!” The chipmunk shifter winks at you.

You scowl at him before recognition flashes across your face. “Oh my gosh, you’re Dunce Face! Bakugou told me all about you.”

“Kaminari Denki, at your service. Did he tell you about my handsome face and witty charm?”

You smirk. “No, he told me about your bad puns and inability to get a girl.”

Kaminari’s jaw drops, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, the betrayal! The pain! The–”

He’s cut off by a sharp smack to the back of his head from Sero. “We don’t have time for you to badly flirt,” Sero tells him, then turns to you. “Kiri’s gonna help you get that chain off and then we can go and rescue Bakugou!”

Kirishima approaches you, grinning. He holds his hands out for the chain in your arms, and you pass it over to him, the metal links clinking together. “I’m going to shift to my in-between state, okay? That way, I’ll have enough power to pull the chain apart. I won’t be able to get the cuff off, but at least you won’t have to lug around the long bit!” He rattles the chain for emphasis and crouches down next to your left foot when you nod in agreement.

“Here I go!” The muscles in Kirishima’s back and arms visibly get larger, and a trail of dark hair covers his spine. He grasps onto the chain, one hand right next to the shackle on your foot, and the other just a couple of links down.

He starts to growl, the sound a deeper rumble than Bakugou’s. Then his muscles shift and strain, the metal links are pulled taut, and his growl grows in volume until a metal link finally gives out, breaking the chain.

Eyes wide, you watch Kirishima stand up with the broken chain in one hand. “I- You- Thank you!” you stammer. Shaking your left foot, it feels a lot lighter with the shackle and a couple of metal links dangling from it, instead of the whole chain.

Kirishima laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “You don’t need to thank me! That was just the manly thing to do.”

“All right!” Mina claps her hands twice. “Since we finished with that, let’s get going. Kirishima! Shift!”

The bear shifter drops the chain in a pile underneath one of the trees. Then he reaches for the waistband of his pants, and you quickly turn around to face Mina as he takes them off. 

“So how are we going to get Bakugou out of the hunters’ mansion?” you ask her.

“We’re not sure yet!” She flashes you a blinding smile. “Bakugou’s the one that usually comes up with plans, it’s more our style to just wing it! If you come up with something along the way, definitely share it with us, though. Now get on!” 

Mina grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pushing you toward Kirishima, who crouches down in his large bear form.

“Get on? On Kirishima?”

“He’ll take us to the mansion pretty quickly! Also, you look like you could use the rest. It seems like those hunters weren’t the nicest toward you. Now, let’s go!”

You settle on Kirishima’s back, hands sinking into the dark fur, with Mina right behind you. She holds onto the clothes Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari had thrown off when they shifted.

You tell Kirishima the direction you came from, and he sets off. With Mina behind you, Kirishima’s warmth beneath you, and Sero and Kaminari sitting between Kirishima’s ears, you feel a lot less alone and afraid than you were when you ran away from the hunters.

Biting your lip, your mind races as you try to figure out a plan for when you all get to the mansion. 

You’re going to get Bakugou back if it’s the last thing you do.

–

Series Tags • @steggy4ever​ @tspice283​ @wesparklebitch​

Other Tags • @simplybakugou​ @knifeewifee​ @gallickingun​ (thank you all for being so kind and encouraging while you sprinted with me!) 

[tsukkisbean]

24 cakes pt.1 | oneshot

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mildly suggestive

warnings: none!

a/n: so this kind of turned into a oneshot but oh well. i also tried to make it so that you could technically read the two parts separately if you prefer fluff/smut over the other but idk how well that worked out. anyways, pt 2 has been scheduled to come out in 2 hours. n e ways TSUKISHIMA BEST BOY!! also this is a reupload bc my original post disappeared. if you already saw this NO U DIDN’T

the smell of smoke engulfs your apartment and you quickly run to slide open your balcony door. turning on your heels you make your way back to the kitchen. clambering atop the counter you try to wave the air clear with your palms. when the piercing sound of the smoke alarm finally cuts out, you plop down, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the counter.

your eyes land on the stovetop where your burnt creation sits. you let out a frustrated cry. you’ve made this recipe more times than you can count on your fingers because somehow they’ve all ended up in disaster. first, there was the time you underbeat the whipped cream, and ended up with a sticky mess. then there was the time you accidentally knocked the batter onto the floor. not to mention the time you dropped the cake right as you pulled it out of the oven.

this time you had gotten so wrapped up in your phone call with tsukishima you didn’t realize that your oven timer was going off. by the time you had come to your senses, it was too late.

you rub your temples in annoyance. despite starting weeks in advance to make sure you had the recipe down, it was now the day of your boyfriend’s birthday and you had yet to successfully finish the recipe even once.

taking a quick glance at the clock, you push yourself off the counter to throw away your burnt masterpiece and begin pulling out ingredients once more. tsukishima was supposed to be over in a few hours, so if you wanted to have enough time you had to start now.

you’re about to combine the dry ingredients together when there’s a brisk knock on the door. dusting your hands on your apron, you make your way to the front entrance. you swing your door open, and slam it shut just as fast. 

the knocking starts up again, this time more persistent and more aggressive. your fingers fumble with the door chain, sliding it into place before cracking the door open ever so slightly. you’re about to peek out into the hallway, but before you can get a good view, your visitor tries to force the door open further causing you to jump back in surprise.

“y/n? what the hell are you doing?” the person on the other side says, irritation evident in their voice. when you don’t respond they speak again, this time with a much softer tone, “y/n please let me in. are you okay?”

“mhm” is the only thing you manage to squeeze out though it sounds more like a squeak. gently pressing the door closed again, you remove the chain to let your visitor in. when your boyfriend comes into full view, you flash him a bashful smile, “sorry, kei. i was just caught off guard, i thought we agreed that you’d come over at 9pm.”

the tall male scoffs, raising his hand to give your forehead a flick, before perching forward to press an apologetic kiss against the red mark, “nii-chan got held up at work so he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

you try to pull off your best scowl, only to have him to snort at you, “so? are you going to let me in or are you going to keep making faces at me?” he cranes his neck to look past you, his height giving him a clear advantage.

reluctantly, you step aside and he lets himself in, removing his shoes and changing into his slippers in the process. as the two of you step into the kitchen, you avoid eye contact, already able to picture the smug expression on his face.

his arms slip around your waist, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. despite the sweet actions, the nuance in his voice says otherwise, “aw y/n were you trying to bake me a birthday cake? you really shouldn’t have.”

you pull away from him, sticking out your tongue in response, “fine in that case i’m going to make this strawberry shortcake for myself.” you tap your chin pretending to deep in thought for a moment, “or maybe i’ll ask yamaguchi if he wants some.”

you expect a snarky remark but he says nothing, instead he strides over to one of the drawers to pull out an apron. you watch as he hooks the bib around his neck, and fastens the string around his waist.

he picks up the recipe by the corner, letting it dangle in the air. he shoots you a questioning look but you shrug your shoulders and snatch the paper out of his hands. “so i’ve already tried to bake this recipe a couple of times, it’s bound to have a couple of stains here and there.”

“how many times is a couple, really? three? ten? fifty?”

you mutter something under your breath, fingers fiddling with each other. tsukishima leans in closer, cupping his ear with his hand, “sorry, can you say that again?”

you roll your eyes, this time your voice at a normal volume, “twenty-three.”

this time tsukishima laughs with his whole chest, using his pointer finger to gently push your head, “twenty-three? i’m surprised you haven’t burned the entire place down.”

placing your hands on your hips, you challenge him, “what? you think you can do better?”

he shifts in his spot so that your eyes are level with his, “oh i know i can do better.”

with that, he snatches the recipe back from you, doing a careful readthrough of each step. you watch as he scoops a cup of flour, neatly levelling it with a metal spatula. just as he’s about to pour the flour into the bowl, you lunge forward, bumping your hip against his side. a white cloud rises into the air, coating the both of you in flour.

tsukishima grabs you by the wrists, clicking his tongue in annoyance “tsk, do you really hate losing that much?”

you feign innocence, flashing him your sweetest smile, “sorry, i lost my balance.”

unable to think of a comeback he releases you, turning his attention back to the task at hand. as works through each step, you shadow him, interjecting a few comments every so often.

wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your face against the side of his body, “are you sure that’s soft peaks it’s looking a little runny still”

he tilts the bowl towards you, lifting the mixer up so you can see how the egg whites droop over slightly, “yes i’m sure.”

you take your chance again when he moves onto the next step, “be careful not to add the sugar too fast or-”

but to your dismay he’s already one step ahead of you,“then the stiff peaks won’t form, i know.”

in a last resort to try and distract him, you throw in one last punch, “are you really sure you want to fold your meringue in now? it’s looking a little soft still.” obviously fed up with your antics, tsukishima grabs the metal bowl, flipping it above your head.

instinctively, you duck your head down and cover your head with your hands. cracking an eye open, you’re met with his usual smirk. and so, you shuffle over to the other side of the counter situating yourself on one of the bar stools.

you watch silently as he works through the final steps with ease. once the cake is placed in the oven he turns his attention back to you.

his long frame leans over the kitchen counter and kisses the tip of your nose, “sorry, but it looks like this is just one more thing that i’m better than you at. although 24 cakes does seem appropriate for today’s occasion, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms against your chest, “technically you’re not finished until the cake its cooked, iced, and decorated.” turning your head slightly you side eye him, “besides you may be better than me at some things. but you’re definitely not everything.”

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

(a/n: if you want to read the smutty ending of this then please check out my blog at 3:00pm pst (in 2 hrs)! i’ve scheduled the next post for then. otherwise read on hehe.)

your entire body quivers under your boyfriend. never have you wanted to scream at him so bad before. but you bite your tongue and hold yourself back for the time being. there was no way you were going to lose to him, not when you had so confidently declared that you were going to beat him.

“left hand yellow, y/n.”

you let out a triumphant yell as your hand is already planted on a yellow spot. but the feeling is short lived when you realize that you now have to maneuver yourself to reach the spinner. it’s obvious your boyfriend is thinking the same thing from the way he shoots you a smile.

but you refuse to lose, not when you’ve held out for this long. before your hand reaches the spinner, a blaring noise fills the room.

the two of you look at each other, and this time it’s you who shoots him a knowing smile. he glowers at you as he twists his body to stand up. once he stands up fully erect, your arms and legs give out, your body crumpling onto the floor.

as you lay there, a delicious scent fills your nostrils. automatically, you rise to your feet, skittering over to join your boyfriend by the oven. he takes notice of your presence, and defensively holds his arms out, “don’t you dare come anywhere near my cake. you might ruin it.”

your mouth hangs open, reaching out to give his chest a playful shove, “hey i’m good at baking. i just had a few…mishaps.” your voice trails off momentarily, “plus i just beat you at twister, so technically we’re tied for today!”

tsukishima clicks his tongue, obviously irritated at the fact that he most likely would have won if it weren’t for the timer going off.

“let’s play another round, loser has to wash all the dishes.” he extends his hand out to you.

grabbing his hand, you give it a firm shake, “you’re on! prepare to lose, kei.”

your grip loosens but before you can completely pull your hand away, you’re tugged against tsukishima’s body. in one swift motion his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. after a moment, he pulls away slightly, letting your lips brush against each other as he speaks, “whatever you say, love. but just remember today is my birthday.”

a/n: hello!! i’m putting my final author’s note here just because i didn’t wanna spoil the ending hehe. anyways i hope you guys liked the ending now i’m thinking about doing twister hc with haikyuu sooooooo look out for that :)

[five-hxrgreeves]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,467

Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not You live for the fight when it's all that you've got Woah, we're half way there Woah, livin' on a prayer Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

1  | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Pt. 5- The Road to Hell... 

Five Hargreeves has never claimed to be a people person. Even growing up surrounded by six other kids, he preferred to lock himself in his room and work on equations than actually interact with them aside from what was mandatory. That didn’t mean he didn’t care for them- because he did, at least where Six and Seven were concerned- he just liked his space and it was in this space that he discovered his potential for time travel.

When he’d first broached the subject with his father he’d been promptly shut down leading to one of their many quarrels and another punishment. That was not enough- never enough- to deter him from pursuing something on his own, though. He was smart enough to figure it out without help. The boy also made sure word of it never got out to his siblings; most wouldn’t care and think that he was just rubbing it in like the cocky way he usually did but Six would give him worried, warning glances and Seven would try to talk him out of it in her own shy, quiet way.

It was best to keep this to himself.

He’d been practicing his special jumps for years now and had advanced in leaps and bounds- literally. While he was still limited to short distances he could do more at once than he ever had before and they were pin-point accurate (he could actually land on the head of a pin if he felt like doing something so ridiculous. He didn’t.) Time travel was just another aspect of his powers, as linear as his jumps were and as straight forward as any equation usually was for him. He’d done the math and it was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent possible that he would be successful; the point-oh-one was an unnecessary margin of error that he allowed himself just in case. Every mathematician had their occasional inaccuracies.

Five had made sure to repeat the equations over and over, too, to double and triple check his work. Now, he felt ready to present the subject again and have evidence that it could be done. Distantly, he heard the robotic woman they called mother ring the bell, a tradition that signaled their meal was ready. Setting down his chalk, the boy left the room and met his siblings at the stairs, completely silent apart from their footsteps approaching the table. The recording their father liked to listen to, Herr Carlson, was already playing as they stood by their seats waiting for the man himself to arrive.

They sat in number order beginning with Reginald’s seat, with Number One being on the left, Two on the right and so on until the last three; Five was on the left, Six was across from him and Seven at the head.

“Sit!” their father barked and the children followed the command without delay, pulling out their chairs almost in sync as they sat down.

Now that the speaking part of the meal was over, they turned their attention to the various tasks that they did at the table while eating, the recording continuously playing over the sounds of their activities. Five clenched his teeth slightly at the irritating repetitiveness of it all and stared down the table at the man he called his father, watching him take a drink from his cup.

Knowing he wouldn’t get the man’s attention if he tried talking, the boy gripped the handle of his knife and stabbed it directly into the table.

“Number Five?”

“I have a question,” he said coolly.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times,” Reginald answered, not even sparing a glance up from his plate, “you are interrupting Herr Carlson.”

Irritation prickled along his spine and the boy dropped the utensil roughly against his plate, “I want to time travel.”

“No.”

“But I’m ready,” he responded flatly, “I’ve been practicing my special jumps, just like you said,” he stood and demonstrated, feeling a flicker of pride when he landed right by the man’s elbow.

“See?”

“A special jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel,” he answered, not deigning to look at him, “one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.”

Five forced himself not to snarl at his father’s terrible explanation. He really hated riddles. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, “well, I don’t get it.”

“Hence the reason you’re not ready,” the man said, as if that was all the answer that was needed. He took another sip from his glass.

Five accidentally looked down the table to where Six and Seven sat, knowing that this would be a surprise to them. He rolled his eyes internally at Seven’s predictable reaction as she shook her head at him, looking slightly fearful. He turned back to his father, “I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind are far too unpredictable,” he threw his own utensils down and finally looked at the boy, “now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore.”

The boy’s lips curled into a sneer at the thought of someone trying to control his powers when who knew them better than him? Reginald may be their mentor but what did he know about the extent of their abilities?  He turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring his father’s shouts. He picked up speed as he left the dining room, running, running, running out the door, on to the street.

The fresh air hit his face, spurring him on after the drafty, stale air of the place he called home. Preparing himself for the first jump, he mentally checked his calculations and tore a hole through time.

Around him, the scene changed. The darkness of the evening was replaced by bright sunlight showing a warm, sunny spring. He scoffed, “not ready my ass.”

Fueled by his success, he jumped again, his heart leaping as the scene changed to winter, the previously open buildings changing as they lost business. Adrenaline pumped through him and he wondered exactly how far into the future he could go. What would he see? Predictions from Six’s science fiction books were unlikely but he could still come back and tell his brother all about the future.

He leapt again, blue light shining around him as he created his third portal. The boy suddenly stilled, watching as the familiar sights around him turned to ash and dust, rubble and burning fires stretching as far as the eye could see.

Something akin to terror rose within him. This wasn’t right. How could it be when the world had been so vibrant around him seconds before?

He forced his legs to move, running along the dirt path that stretched on for miles. The sky was a dark, ashy gray that gave away neither time nor date and the falling particles burned his lungs when he breathed causing his breath to shorten rapidly and gasp in his chest.

Five froze outside the familiar building, all grandeur now rubble and fire as he stared up at what was once his home. No. What about his siblings? His family?

“Vanya!” he cried out, forcing himself to be heard over the crackling fire, “Ben! Dad! Anyone!”

No answer came in the nearly silent world despite him looking around wildly for someone, anyone living. He could go back. The answer came to him suddenly on its own accord and hope surged in his chest as he forced his hands into fists, blue shining around them. He pushed against the fabric of time, trying to calculate a way out. Nothing.

“Come on!” he pleaded, he didn’t want to be stuck in this burning hell.

“Shit,” was his next word as his powers failed, sucking away the sudden hope.

His hands dropped and he stared around at the landscape, as desolate as he felt. How was he going to get back? He dropped to his knees in front of the remains of his home- a home that had been whole and filled with life minutes before.

--

Five wasn’t sure how long it had been when he forced himself to pull away. Night would be coming soon and there were other survival things that needed to be done. How had their father known how to prepare them for this?

The thought crossed his mind as he stood, eyes catching sight of a still-standing newspaper holder. He ran over to it and opened the broken glass front, pulling out one of the papers. April 1, 2019 read the date, the headline was one that would be burned into his memory even after years of living in the apocalypse.

Then, he saw the first bodies lying in the rubble. The hand of a man was sticking out of a pile, clearly clutching at something. Five ran over to it and pried the glass orb out of the stiff, cold fingers. He wiped off the red, wet residue on the face of it, revealing a dark brown iris. It was a glass eye.

Still holding it, he followed the arm to a blonde-haired man with a cut next to his eye. Something niggled at the back of his head but he pushed it away. No, it couldn’t be. His siblings were still alive. Of course they were.

He ran to the next pile where a dark-haired man and dark-skinned woman were covered in rubble- both with their eyes closed and covered thickly in the falling ash. His feet skittered in the loose blocks but he made his way towards them, placing his hands on their shoulders and shaking them roughly. Please, he thought desperately, please be alive. Just be asleep.

It was a foolish, naïve thought but he couldn’t push it away.

Farther on, another man with a fur-trimmed coat was lying facedown in the rubble, eyes closed just like the others. Five’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the damning tattoo on the man’s arm: an umbrella inscribed in a circle. The same one all of the Hargreeves children had, except Seven.

There was too much evidence to deny the terrible conclusion that formed in his mind.

--

Five forced the prickling tears at the back of his eyes away. He’d never been a crier; Reginald had beat that out of them at an early age. Still, he hadn’t even recognized his siblings until he’d seen the tattoos that bound them together. Then, he’d added rocks on top of their partially-buried bodies as a makeshift grave. That had been when he’d almost cried, when the last possible sighting of his siblings’ faces had finally been covered. They weren’t really his siblings, though, because he didn’t know them in this timeline. He knew their fifteen-year-old versions, back in 2004. This shouldn’t matter to him.

(It did.)

The boy tilted his head up and stared into the dark sky until his eyes burned for a different reason. Water was going to become a precious commodity; he shouldn’t waste what hydration he had on crying.

Again, he pulled himself away, telling himself it was useless to linger over the dead. He couldn’t help those siblings. (But oh, how he wanted to.) They were somebody else’s family. His were still alive in 2004, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. There was still something he could do about that.

Five turned and walked away, steeling himself to face this strange, new hell.

--

He wasn’t sure what was worse. The dusty, dark days or darker nights. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There was no sound except for howling wind, the crackling of fire and the creak of the wagon which was piled with necessary items like food cans and a supply of water that he’d found, his best prize.

By now, he’d covered himself entirely to keep the ash from burning his skin, a mask over his face to help his breathing and goggles to protect his eyes. These items were all found by scavenging around the city. He’d left the familiar block of the Academy behind and had begun searching in other buildings. These were more family-styled homes and he occasionally came across the bodies of little kids or parents which caused him to quickly turn away before the little food he’d eaten made its reappearance.

There was still no one who seemed to have escaped whatever disaster had ended the world. He’d been on his own for seemingly days now, not another living soul in sight, just stinking, dead bodies partially or fully covered by rubble. The boy tried not to think about them too much. It wasn’t that they disgusted him- well, the adults didn’t- but living in the world of the dead while he was still living was not a thought that sat comfortably in his mind.

Rubble shifted haphazardly under his hands as he searched for food, the cleared space revealing the short, dark hair of a woman. He moved to another spot immediately, continuing his search. Then, he froze.

Unless his ears were tricking him, there was a tinny bang, bang, bang coming from somewhere. The hits were too evenly spaced to be anything but purposeful. The hope that he’d thought had died suddenly resurged full force and he scrabbled over to the sound, “hello?”

His voice was hoarse and uncomfortably loud. The banging continued, “hello? Is anyone there?” he tried again.

There was no answer except for the continuous hitting sound. He shifted the rubble around on top of where he thought it was coming from until a dark crack appeared between the broken pieces, “hello? Can you hear me?”

The sound was definitely louder now and he made an effort to make the hole bigger, muscles tensing as he prepared for a maybe not-so-friendly encounter.  Then, it was large enough to see inside. The pale, dirty face of a girl looked up at him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the apparent brightness. How long had she been trapped under there? Days? Weeks? It was clearly awhile from how thin her face looked.

Five wasn’t even sure if she was real and he was just imagining the whole thing. He couldn’t help the disbelief that entered his tone as he asked, “what the hell?”

That wasn’t the best response to seeing the first human- alive- that he’d seen in however much time it had been, but like he’d said, he wasn’t a people-person. The girl didn’t respond, eyes still screwed up in a way that made her face look scrunched.

“Here, grab my hand, I’ll help you up,” that was better, he decided, and extended said hand to the girl.

After realizing she couldn’t see it, he grasped her hand himself and startled at how small and bony it seemed. He pulled her out easily and wasn’t surprised to see that the rest of her matched the gaunt face and frail hand.

“Open your eyes,” he tried, “slowly. How long have you been down there?”

The girl shook her head, most likely answering both questions. He sighed and turned, “hold on a second, I’ll get something to help.”

Five returned to his wagon before she could protest and shifted around in his items, pleased when he found another pair of goggles. Stumbling slightly back to her, he placed them in her hand, “here, they’re not sunglasses but they should be better than nothing.”

He watched as she put them on, struggling slightly with the strap until it was secure. Her face relaxed and her eyes opened cautiously. Five tried not to suck in a startled breath. Her pupils were so large only a thin, blue line could be seen around them. It was kind of creepy if he was being honest. Immediately, she shut her eyes again. He didn’t blame her.

“What’s your name?” the boy tried, never one for small talk but knowing it was important.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out. She shook her head.

He let out an irritated huff, “fine, then is this your house?”

She nodded, confirming that yes, it was.

“Are there any supplies in your basement?”

Another nod.

“Is there anything I need to know before going down there?”

Again, she nodded, then paused, seemingly trying to get her words to work. When they didn’t, she made an open-close motion.

“Now isn’t the time for charades.” He wanted to tack on moron or some similar insult but he forced himself not to. She wasn’t one of his siblings.

The girl did the motion again and held her cupped hands up to her face, as if she were reading.

“A book, you want me to get a book,” the disbelief was back.

When she nodded vigorously, he sighed, “fine. Where is it?”

The question made her still, uncertain of how to act out the location. Then, she drew a flat, rectangular shape in the air and two smaller ones on top of it. He really hated riddles.

“I don’t get it,” he grumbled, frustrated, “just tell me they’re easy to find.”

The girl nodded again, “fine,” the boy decided, “I’ll get your stupid books. Wait here.”

The darkness didn’t bother him as he descended into the basement. Reginald would never let his adoptive experiments be afraid of something so silly as pitch-blackness. Then, Five’s foot hit something on the bottom step that almost made him loose his balance, “shit!” he cursed, righting himself.

The boy bent down and felt for the obstacle, startling at the waxy feel of a candle. Well, maybe she’s not a complete moron, he allowed. He felt around for matches and soon a small, golden glow lit up the dark space. He was surprised to find the basement completely intact. Then he immediately wrinkled his nose. It stank like hell.

After several minutes of searching, he found the partitioned food in the back storeroom, the paint cans with broken lids and the tools, which he rooted through to find the most useful ones. He was especially pleased when he found a rope. Then, he turned to make his way back to the surface only to pause at the bottom of the staircase. Her stupid books.

Five remembered seeing a desk at the edge of the circle of light so that’s what he went to find. On the surface sat three books: a used notebook and two published authors. He added those to the steadily-growing pile and clambered out messily, fighting to keep his balance as things spilled out of his hands.

Irritation pricked at him when he saw the girl was still standing, unmoving and eyes closed, right where he’d left her. Scratch that earlier thought, he grumbled, she is a complete moron.

After placing the things in the wagon, he made his way back over to her.

“Here,” he said, stuffing the requested items into her arms.

Her facial muscles twitched into what was probably her first smile in days, a sign of gratitude, he knew. He brushed it off, “you better open your eyes, we’re moving.”

She shook her head and his annoyance grew, “well, I’m not guiding you the whole way. There’s too much searching to be done and night will be here soon. You either open your eyes or I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t, he knew. If she was the last human left alive he didn’t want to lose his only source of humanity.

Luckily, that caused her to open her eyes even as her face screwed up in pain. He pursed his lips in displeasure and studied her outfit, “the mask will help but you have to cover up. The ash burns and I don’t have any way of healing you if you get hurt.”

She seemed to be understanding about that and after some difficult maneuvering- and several close calls where he’d had to catch her- they made it to the wagon where he began handing her the extra clothing he’d found.

Once she was set up appropriately, he picked up the handle of the almost-full wagon. The girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked shortly.

She handed him the spiral-bound notebook, opened to the first page. On it, in slightly loopy, readable handwriting was the opening sentence: My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004.

[lokislittlesigyn]

A Day’s Work - Pt.2

Click for part 1!

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Some slight/implied language. The Collector being creepy (again).

Summary: The Guardians of The Galaxy have been, well, guarding the galaxy on their own time. But when a handsome reward for the safe return of an Asgardian princess is released, they may get more adventure than they bargained for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Guardians stood in a dark alleyway of Knowhere, trying to avoid prying eyes. Rocket returned to the group, having just spied on the Collector.

”I got good news and bad news. Good news is, I know exactly where the princess is. Bad news is, she’s already locked up tight in Tivan’s little freakshow.”

"Tivan already knows who we are, we can't just burst in." Gamora crossed her arms. "We may have to act like we're selling something ourselves."

"And what, just use one of our own as bait?" Rocket sat up on a barrel, Groot next to him.

"Gamora's right. We outta beat Tivan at his own game.. But how do we get the princess out of the cage?" Peter shifted his weight.

"I can rig up a deciphering doohicky with one hand tied behind my back. You just gotta keep the Collector distracted for long enough." Rocket smirked.

"Okay.. Well, while I am admittedly super handsome, I don't think Tivan would want to buy me. Plus I'm the leader, and the leader never acts as bait." Peter glanced at Gamora.

"If you think I'm going to offer myself up to be a pet for Tivan, Peter-"

"I am Groot."

"What?" All eyes turned to the small tree seated next to Rocket.

"I am Groot."

"Wait wait wait - you want to do that?" Rocket blinked.

"I am Groot." The tiny creature nodded, shrugging.

"Hey, Groot's got a point.. I mean Tivan wanted him before, right?" Peter glanced around. "It's a good enough plan. Not a great plan, but.. It'll work. We've got limited time anyway, right? With a reward like that, somebody else is bound to be looking for the princess."

Gamora shrugged in agreement.

"Yeah, all right. It might work. Maybe." Rocket huffed.

"I do not understand why we don't just destroy the Collector's collection like before, but so long as we retrieve the princess, I will be satisfied." Drax nodded firmly.

"Great. So we're all in agreement." Peter nodded. "Guardians, out."

The others stared at him.

"...Uh. Yeah, let's go." ~~~~ “I present Tanaleer Tivan, The Collector.” A pink woman lead the Guardians to the Collector. Peter was flanked by Gamora and Drax, who carried a small sack. There they stood before Tivan as Rocket broke off from the group, skittering around to the backside of the princess’s cage - already starting to hack in.

"The Guardians of the Galaxy." The Collector's tone was harsh. He turned on his heel, facing them.

Peter swallowed. "Hey, Tivan. You did a great job, uh, fixing your place up.. Looks great.." He met eyes with the Asgardian, who stared at him apprehensively. She seemed to have a strange collar on - whenever she moved her mouth to speak, no sound came out. He looked back at Tivan.

"What do you want?"

"We want to give you the best damn offer you've ever got." He snapped his fingers, motioning to the table. Drax stepped up, dropping the sack on the table, then stepped back. "Go on. Open up." Peter nodded at the sack.

The Collector glanced at it, then took a curious step forward. Grabbed the sack and opened it.

There stood a tiny, baby Groot.

"I am Groot."

The Collector raised his brows at the group.

"Yeah, he's too small to be any use to us now," Peter shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. "Figured you might like to have him, seeing as you liked him so much and all.."

"Will he reach his previous size?"

"Uhhhh-"

"Yes." Gamora cut him off. "It's a matter of time. Time we can't spare, seeing as keeping a child around is so dangerous.."

"Of course." The Collector sounded unconvinced, but interested. "And what does he do?"

"Do?" Quill faltered. "Well, he can grow vines from his arms. And his back. Basically anywhere."

"He dances." Drax piped up. "Clumsily."

"I am Groot."

"Hey, quiet down, pipsqueak." Peter feigned anger.

"And he eats about twice his weight in food. Daily." Gamora shifted her weight.

"Yeah- Yeah he does. But he'll eat anything. Literally anything. Maybe even one of your other, uh.." Peter glanced back at the princess, then at the Collector. "Collector's items. So keep him by himself."

The Collector took another moment to examine Groot. Picked him up, glancing him over. Then placed him on the table, scratching his chin.

"... Eight million units." He gazed at Peter.

"We'll do fifteen."

"Twelve."

"This is a one of a kind creature here, Tivan," Peter motioned toward Groot, who stood proud, chin up. "Look at him. He's a specimen."

The Collector began pacing. "Twelve million."

"Fourteen and he's yours."

"Thirteen."

"Fourteen," Peter shrugged.

Tivan huffed. Glanced at Groot, then seemingly in pain, glared up at Peter. "Thirteen and a half."

"Tivan..." Peter sighed, glancing over Tivan's shoulder at Rocket, who gave him and thumb's up. "You've got yourself a deal."

Tivan smirked, opening his drawer to grab the money - then KABOOM. Rocket exploded the lock on Sigyn's cage and the door swung open. She screamed silently.

"What-" The Collector turned to face the sudden noise, but Drax grabbed him, tackling him away. "Get off me-!"

Gamora and Peter rushed over to help the Asgardian. She stared at them, scared, but let them cut and break the strange wires that connected her collar to the cage. Soon, she was free.

She coughed, struggling to leave the cage. "Thank you, whoever you- AH!"

Gamora grabbed her, hoisting her over her shoulders. "Let's go!"

"Drax!" Quill called. Drax came running, and Rocket scooped up baby Groot before the group, ran, rather sloppily, from the premises.

Rocket pulled a small device from his pocket.

"Wha- Rocket, is that a bomb? Did you rig a BOMB?!" Peter glared.

"What? I've gotta have some fun!" He pressed the button. Behind them, a louder, larger explosion sounded. He cackled.

"Why is the rabbit talking?!" Sigyn shrieked.

"I am not a rabbit!"

~~~~ Sigyn sat in a seat on a strange ship, gazing apprehensively down at the tiny tree-like creature before her.

He glared at her, arms crossed, apparently convinced he was the most ferocious thing in the galaxy.

She was convinced.

"You been keeping an eye on our guest, Groot?" Quill walked in, leaning against the door frame coolly.

"I am Groot."

"Interesting."

"I am Groot..." He glanced at Peter. "I am Groot!" He turned, glaring at Sigyn, who shifted back slightly. She glanced at Quill, then at Groot, then back again.

"What is he saying?"

"That's none of your business." Peter walked closer.

Sigyn swallowed, looking Peter up and down. Dirty boots, jeans, a t-shirt, and a red leather jacket... She examined his face. Blushed gently. "Who are you?"

"Call me Star-Lord." He smiled.

She blinked. "Star-Lord?"

"Yeah. Star-Lord. And my crew, who you met when we saved your butt, are the Guardians of the Galaxy." He pointed at Groot. "That little guy is Groot."

"I'd put that one together myself, actually..." Sigyn shifted in her seat. "Thank you. For saving me."

Peter shrugged, sashaying into the room, and kept a casual tone. "Eh. Nothing personal, really..."

"No, thank you. I.. I was afraid I'd never leave that horrible place.."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You wouldn't have if it weren't for us, princess."

"Why does everyone think I'm a princess?"

"Uh, because you are."

"But I'm not-"

"You are." Gamora walked in. Sigyn visibly tensed, eyeing the blade on Gamora's hip.

"I'm not."

"The kidnappers that grabbed you must've given you something to cloud your memories. You are a princess, you just don't know it."

"That's ridiculous."

"All right, then." Gamora crossed her arms. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"I-.." Sigyn stopped short. Name. She had a name. She just couldn't place it. "I... I-I don't remember my name.."

"Where are you from?"

Sigyn gulped. "I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I-I don't know. I must be.. Must be whatever you are, right?" She looked at Star-Lord.

Peter shrugged. "Not exactly.”

She glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well-" He was cut off by a blaring alarm. The whole ship shook. "What was that?!"

"Uh, Quill!" Rocket popped his head in. "Might wanna come see this!" The Guardians hurried to the cockpit. Groot hopped up onto the back of a chair. An enemy ship was baring down on them, brandishing its many energy blasters. The audio on the Milano stuttered, then a static-y message came through: "Guardians of the Galaxy. Ashok of Sakaar sends his regards."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, son of a-"

The enemy ship fired.

"Shields up- come on!" Peter swerved to miss another barrage. "Rocket, I need those shields working!"

"I'm on it!" Rocket skittered off, Groot following close behind.

Sigyn gasped as another blast hit, grabbing onto a chair for support. "Wha- Why are we being attacked?"

"I got into a bar fight, okay?!" Peter fired back at the enemy ship. "I'd rather not talk about it!"

"But if you're Guardians of the Galaxy, people shouldn’t attack you-"

"Don't want to talk about it!"

The Milano swerved again, barely dodging another hit.

"Gamora, could you put our guest somewhere else?!"

"With pleasure." Gamora grabbed Sigyn, leading her to the back of the ship, and sat her down. "Stay here."

Sigyn swallowed, bowing her head slightly - obeying. Gamora went back to the cockpit. The Milano was hit. "Peter, we've got to take out their guns..!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it!"

"Ha!" Rocket yelled, running back into the cockpit, "Shields are up! Give 'em hell!"

"'Atta boy, Rocket!" Quill grinned, turning onto the enemy craft and firing at will. The enemy blasts barely grazed the Milano, and after a mere few minutes of fighting, the other ship retreated.

The Guardians cheered. Peter turned to beam at them, "And that, people, is how you beat-"

The others were all staring out the cockpit window. Peter turned, following their gaze. An enormous, hodgepodge ship had arrived. The tinier ship seeming to join with it, meld with it, and begin repairing.

"I do not think we beat them," Drax pointed out, as multiple tiny ships emerged from the larger one, surrounding the Milano.

"You think?" Rocket sneered.

The Milano shook as the enemy ships grabbed it, towing them in to a hangar on the larger ship.

"Well, Guardians, any ideas on how to get out of this one?" Quill swallowed. ~~~~ The Guardians, and Sigyn, stripped of their weapons and belongings, were thrown in a cell. Around them, other cell-like rooms contained various species of aliens. The control panel on the outside of their cell displayed a flickering message: PETER QUILL, "STAR-LORD" GAMORA, DAUGHTER OF THANOS DRAX THE DESTROYER “ROCKET RACCOON” “GROOT” SIGYN LOKIWIFE OF ASGARD RETRIEVAL FOR ASHOK OF SAKAAR Sigyn sat in the far corner of the cell. "How did a bar fight escalate to this? Is that normal in space?"

"I don't know, princess, you tell me." Peter huffed. "This sucks.."

"I feel no sucking sensation." Drax furrowed his brow.

"I-.. Never mind."

"Quit sulking." Rocket walked over to the cell bars. "This whole place runs on electricity. Bet these bars do too. There's an easy way out of here." He touched the bar- "Yow!" -and received a shock. He growled. Drax laughed.

"Oh, shuttup!" Rocket bristled at Drax.

Sigyn stood, staring at the ceiling. "...Is that a vent?"

Gamora followed her gaze. "It's minuscule."

"So is your tree friend.."

They exchanged a look. ~~~~ "Okay. Now you gotta go up in there, and walk that way-" Rocket crouched in front of Groot, pointing to the outside of the cell, "And then drop down on the outside. Right?"

"I am Groot."

"Good. Then you're gonna reach up to the control panel and press the big blue button. That'll set us free."

"I am Groot."

"Excellent. Now say it back to me."

"I am Groot.."

"Uh-huh."

"I am Groot.."

"Yeah."

"I am Groot."

"No- No! Not the orange button, there might not even be an orange button! Blue! Blue button!"

Sigyn glanced over. Bit her lip, stepping over to the pair, and sat down.

"Hey. Uhm. Groot?"

The tiny creature looked at her. She held out her arm, pointing to the blue fabric. "This color. Blue. Blue button."

Groot reached out and touched the fabric. "I am Groot."

"...What'd he say?" She glanced at Rocket.

"He said it's soft."

"Does he at least understand what color the button will be?"

"Groot, what color is the button?"

Groot pointed to Sigyn's arm.

"Well, what do you know.." Rocket picked up Groot. "All right, buddy, let's see if this works."

Drax lifted Groot up into the vent, which they'd finally managed to pry open just enough. "Be free, tiny, stupid Groot." Pattering footsteps sounded above their heads, making their way toward the hallway outside the cell. Stopped.

"C'mon.. C'mon..." Rocket stood, watching, waiting.

Seconds later, Groot dropped down from the ceiling, landing with a clang. He shook his head, standing.

"Ha! Yeah, baby! Okay, now press the blue button. Blue button!"

Groot walked over to the wall. Stared up at the panel. Blue button. Orange button. He reached up.

The cell doors doubled.

"No!" Rocket pounded the door, "Blue button!"

A moment later, the door opened.

"Yes!" Rocket was the first out of the cell. He scooped up Groot, placing him on his shoulder. "All right, let's move."

"We'll stick together. Find our stuff, then the Milano, and bust out of here." Peter stepped ahead of the group.

"What about the others?" Sigyn glanced at the other captives. They were beginning to wake up from dazed naps, ask for help, gaze out at her and the Guardians with desperation in their eyes...

"We don't know these people."

"But.." Sigyn faltered.

"They could be murderers. Robbers. Kidnappers - like the guys that took you."

She swallowed. "...They could also be a very nice distraction." She looked at Quill. They stood a moment, locked in a silent battle of stubborn wills.

"...Fine. But if any of them try to kill us, that is totally on you."

[danjo-ao3]

Betwixt pt. 2

Din Djarin x Paz Viszla x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Reader-Insert, Threesome - F/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Top!Paz, bottom!Din, Bottom!Reader, Paz is kind of a dick but not really, Din is ever the gentleman, Violence, mentions of an abusive relationship

Summary: AU – Din and Paz are working together to capture their newest quarry: you

Part 1 / 2

__________________________

You wake in semi darkness to a strange sound resonating through the ship. As you turn around to get your bearings in the unfamiliar bed, you hear it again. A faint drum reverberating through the metallic chassis. 

Cautiously, you swing your legs over the side of the cot, testing the bacta’s work. And to your great relief the wound on your calf is as good as gone. Quickly you touch your cheek and notice no pain or discomfort there either. 

Quietly, you move toward the ladder and climb it, this time much easier without the cuffs. 

As you reach the top you automatically turn to the cockpit sliding doors only to stop in your tracks. The strange sound actually comes from the opposite side of the small corridor. You hold your breath as you creep forward listening closely for any other sounds coming from inside.

And really, you hear voices. First, Paz’ low baritone mumbling something incoherent but as you press your ear against it there is an answering groan. Wondering what is going on you draw back and search for the button that opens the door. Maybe Din was hurt in your escape as well? You’re worried that he got hurt because of you. 

Before you push the button though, you remember that you better knock, seeing as you’re their guest and all. 

You raise a slightly shaking hand to the metal and knock three times, your heart beating a little faster. 

The sounds from within cease, then you hear a thump again, followed by a muted argument. 

“Come in, princess,” Paz then calls out and you finally push the button. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight you stumble upon. 

Against the wall there is Din, sans cloak and his beskar armor, only in the padding he wears underneath the metal. In front of him is Paz, equally undressed, pressing the slightly smaller man against the metal of the ship with a hand around his throat. They’re very close, you notice, then your eyes drop downward and there you can see Paz’ fist engulfing and lazily stroking a very erect Din.

All the breath leaves your lungs as you fall against the closed door behind you. 

“Oh, my–I’m  so  sorry,” you stutter and frantically try to blindly find a button that opens the doors, but the sight before you seems to steal all coherent thought. 

“Why the rush?” Paz seems unphased by your presence, his hand on Din’s neck tilting the silver Mando’s helmet back until it clanks against the wall. So that was the mysterious sound you heard. You can see Din’s chest rising and falling with elevated breaths, his own hands are currently grabbing at Paz’ shoulders, holding onto the man before him. 

“Paz,” Din pants, then moans when the other strokes him a little faster. 

Oh gods , that sound just went straight to your core. This is so wrong… 

It’s not like you are appalled at what you see–it’s quite the opposite–but you’re getting the feeling that Din is not too eager to have an audience. 

“I’m just… leaving,” you mumble and finally turn around to find the button that opens the door. Only that there is no button at all, no console, nothing. Oh great… 

You whirl back around and just by the way Paz is shaking his head at you you know that he is amused. 

“Holding cells,” he explains with a nod towards the barred door behind him. “Nobody gets out without one of these.” He kicks Din’s vambrace currently lying on the floor towards you. It skitters over the metal noisily until it stops just a few feet away from you. “You want out, press the blue button.”

You just stand there, watching as Paz pleasures the other Mandalorian, your knees becoming weak at the sounds coming from Din. 

“Or you come over here and we’ll take good care of you,  cya’rika .”

...what? Is he really proposing what you think he is? You’re supposed to join them?

“I–I don’t think that… Din is okay with that.”

The big Mandalorian chuckles low through the vocoder. “Tell her what you told me, Din.” 

Din takes a deep breath, then his visor turns toward you, making your heart stutter. 

“I want to make you cum so much you forget your own name,” he says, voice crackling through the helmet. 

Hot and cold shivers run down your spine at his words. Is this really happening or are you still experiencing bacta induced dreams?

“So what’s your answer?” Paz is shifting subtly against Din, who thrusts up into the fist still wrapped around him. 

Your eyes fall to the vambrace laying at your feet, you could pick it up and push that button and that would be it. Do you want this? You barely know these men. But what you do know is that they helped you when you were in need. The mystery of their true identities also adds that edge to it if you’re being honest. 

Before you know it, you take a big step right over the vambrace and towards the two Mandalorians. 

“Good choice,” Paz comments and holds out the ungloved hand that previously held Din’s neck  out towards you. Excitement bubbles up inside you at seeing his skin up close for the first time. With trembling fingers you reach for him, then he pulls you towards Din and himself gently, until you stop at their sides. 

“So pretty,” Din murmurs as he skims your cheek with two fingers, then moans again when Paz twists his wrist just so. Your knees buckle at the sound once more, there is something about his voice that gets to you. 

“I think she likes it when you do that,” Paz says as he leans in toward the other man. “Tell her what you want.”

It takes Din a few seconds to concentrate enough before he can talk again. 

“Want to feel you,” he grinds out and you gulp once at the thought of his hands on you, a pleasant shiver running over your skin. 

“Alright,” you say quietly and close the distance between you and him. Immediately Din’s hands come up, ungloved as well, one into your hair and the other on the small of your back. 

You close your eyes when you feel him on your scalp, then cool metal against your forehead. Paz is coming up behind you then, sandwiching you between the two of then. 

“If you change your mind, just say  rancor  and it will stop, no questions asked.” His hand strokes up your neck. “Understood?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, head still pressed against Din’s. More shivers rack your body as Din’s hands start caressing you through your clothes. The bigger Mando behind you pulls away again, while you enjoy the forehead “kiss” you’re sharing with Din. A shame, you think, you’d love to actually kiss him right now. But you know that Mandalorians are not allowed to show their faces to anyone and you accept that this is their way. 

As you’re pressed against him, you feel Din’s dick poking you through your leggings and tunic. 

“M–may I?” You ask him breathlessly while your hand is traveling down his abdomen. 

“Do whatever you want,” the silver Mando sighs and leans his head back against the wall. 

Excitement runs through you again at the thought of holding him like that, to make him come undone. You look down then, to see his proud erection stand at attention, a good amount of precum making his glans glisten. It halts your breath, then you finally touch him, lightly, experimentally. Until you get a good firm grip of him. His girth is quite impressive, Paz’ big hand made it look smaller from afar than it actually is. 

The Mando sighs through the vocoder, you can see his Adam's apple bob through a small gap between his helmet and the padding he wears underneath the beskar as you take a look at him, gauging his reaction. 

Up and down you stroke him, reveling in the silky soft feel of his skin and the hardness underneath. Din hums in appreciation, his hands squeezing you sporadically, he is already pretty far gone, you wonder how long Paz and him were doing this before you came in. 

Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees before him, mouth watering as you get a good look at his beautiful cock which is flushed and weeping precum. You lick your lips before closing the distance and getting a taste of him. Just a small lick, then another until you gently suckle at the flushed head. 

Din groans loudly, you cast your eyes upward to see his helmet tilted downwards toward you, watching your every move. You hold his gaze as you wrap your right hand around him and take him further into your mouth, humming in delight. 

You take your time exploring the many different textures of his cock, using your other hand to cup and fondle his balls, drawn tight and full between his legs. 

He curses in Mando’a, which spurs you on to suck a little harder, move your hand a little faster around him, already feeling him pulse with the need to release. But then there is a hand in your hair, pulling you off of Din’s dick with a loud wet sound. You moan at the feeling of Paz’ hand on your scalp, bordering on painful, when he pulls to haul you back to your feet slowly. 

“Wait,” he purrs in your ear, “We don’t want him to cum just yet,  cyar’ika .” He chuckles. “You’re playing him like a fiddle. Look at him, he’s a mess already and we barely started.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks at Paz’ praise, are you really affecting Din so much?

Again, the hand in your hair tightens the slightest amount and you moan in answer. Paz hums in thought as he pulls you against his chest that is softer now that he removed the metal plates. “You like that?” He murmurs so low you’re not entirely sure if your mind made it up. 

You try to nod in answer but it’s almost impossible with his fingers holding you like that. His other hand lands on your hip, stroking you there and traveling upward and underneath your tunic, now raising goosebumps on your skin. 

“I’m going to undress you now,” he whispers in your ear, the static from the vocoder making it hard to understand him, but you try to nod anyway while you bite your lip and look at Din who is still standing leaning against the wall, chest rising and falling quite rapidly, holding his heavy dick in his hand and stroking it idly while watching Paz’ hand travel over your body. 

The man’s hand withdraws from your head then to lift your tunic over your head, leaving you in leggings and a binder. You shiver at the cool air hitting your feverish skin. But Paz’ hands already land on your shoulders again, brushing down sideways and over your arms, then behind your back to unravel the binder. 

It falls away from your body and reveals your chest entirely, making Din moan in answer while he has to squeeze himself to not cum right then and there. You bite your lip again when Paz’ warm hands go from your ribcage and over your breasts to fondle them before pinching your nipples. 

You gasp and moan when he does it, the feeling curling your toes as you raise your arms and grab his helmet behind you to give him better access. The sound he makes is like a growl, then he presses his cool helmet against your neck and keeps playing with your breasts until you’re shaking with want. 

“Hng, Paz,” Din suddenly groans, and your eyes crack open a little to watch how Din is still holding his dick that is now purple with how he is trying to hold himself back. The way Paz is touching you must be unbearably arousing to him. 

“Not yet,” Paz warns him and keeps kneading your breasts with big, strong hands. 

Now it’s you who groans with want, his ministrations go straight to your core and you are already squirming in his hold with need. 

“Touch me, please.” Your breathless plea elicits another chuckle from behind you. 

“But I already am touching you,  cyar'ika .”

“Do–down there, Paz,” you say, “Please.”

“Oh, but I like the sound of my name on your tongue,” he rasps and obliges by brushing over your belly and to the waistband of your leggings, pushing them down along with your panties, farther and farther until you are standing completely naked. You shy away from Din’s gaze a little, feeling too exposed all of a sudden. Only when Paz steps forward and against your back again do you not feel so vulnerable anymore, the Mando seems very capable of grounding you and you’re grateful for that. All in all he seems to be taking the lead in your encounter, his demeanor rather commanding. 

“You want me to touch you here?” Paz is stroking you again, one hand pets your throat lightly while the other is drawing circles where your hip meets your thigh, steadily moving in towards your core. 

“ Gods , yes,” you almost sob when you feel him drawing closer to the spot that is pulsing with want. 

Finally, he cups you between the legs, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit softly while his thick fingers drag through your folds. You whine at the feeling, twisting your head to the side to kiss the man behind you only to remember that that isn’t possible. But it seems as if he knows what you wanted to do and instead presses his forehead against yours much like Din did before. 

Heavy breaths land against the cool metal of Paz’ helmet while he keeps stroking you beautifully, inserting a single finger and making you moan with it. 

Faintly, you can hear Din’s groans. They sound pained and you turn your face toward him again to see him slowly slide down the wall, hands off his dick now that is weeping a steady stream of precum onto the floor. The sight makes you clench around Paz’ finger inside you. 

“Do you want to help him?” Paz asks you while a second finger slips between your soaked folds. 

You nod frantically as your heart bleeds with sympathy for Din and a wave of pure need washes over you. Slowly, Paz removes his hands from you and gives you a small push toward the other man who is now sitting against the metal wall. On shaky legs you move toward him, already lowering yourself to straddle his thighs. 

He holds your hips as you hover over his proud erection, aligning its tip with your entrance. 

“D’you want this?” His words come out slurred, but he needs to know that you’re fully consenting to this. 

“Yeah,” you assure him, laying your hands against his shoulders when he finally lets you sink down in his lap, engulfing him in your heat slowly. 

A low moan sounds from his helmet when he’s fully sheathed inside you. It takes you a moment to adjust to his girth, so you just sit there, eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of him inside of you. 

He feels incredible like this, you feel him twitch when you move your hips just a fraction. The rough material of his top is fisted between your fingers when you lift and grind down again, your head falls back, mouth going slack, as you chase that feeling already building inside of you from all the stimulation. 

Din’s hands are wandering over your back, pulling you against him, your heaving chest meets his and you lay your head in the crook between his helmet and shoulder. 

“Din,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

“Cum, pretty girl. Cum all over my dick,” he says heatedly and kneads your ass while you’re grinding against him in staccato rhythm. 

And you do. It only takes a few more seconds of rocking against him until you come with a muted cry. Bliss floods your entire body for a precious few moments before you collapse against Din, who embraces you in welcoming arms and continues to thrust up into you until he too, comes with a grunt, spilling inside of you. 

When you come back from the high, you pull away a bit and roll your hips lazily, testing the feel of him against your sensitive inner walls. You two gasp at the same time.

“That was lovely,” Paz announces from behind you, causing you to turn around and look at him. He’s sitting on the floor just a few feet away, the front of his jumpsuit-like padding completely open and revealing a massive chest, defined abs and a half-hard thick cock peeking out of the bottom of the suit. Your mouth waters at the sight and you clench around Din’s dick still nestled inside of you. 

“Show-off,” Din mumbles and strokes your legs. 

“You love it,” Paz chuckles, then beckons you with two fingers. “Come here, princess.”

You try to lift yourself up, but find it very hard on your muscles. “I… I don’t know if I can,” you admit, getting help from the silver Mando as he lifts you from his lap. 

“If you can’t walk, you can crawl instead.”

Seeing as you all are currently very close to the floor anyway, you figure it alright to crawl to him on all fours. You go slowly, trying to make your movements alluring, thinking about how Din has a perfect view of your backside. You can feel where his seed is running down your thighs, making you blush before arriving in front of Paz. 

He reaches for your face to bring you close, and when he wants you to touch foreheads again you can’t help it and press a kiss to the helmet where his mouth would be. 

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” He observes while brushing his thumb over your lips. “I think I know what you need right now.” He holds you gently and turns you around to sit between his legs against his bare chest, stroking over your face until his hand settles over your eyes, effectively blinding you. 

“Wha–” You tense up, unused to being blind in a room with two other people. 

“Shh, it’s alright. Just relax and lean back, okay?”

You try to take his advice and relax against him, still a little uncertain of where this is going, but trusting him completely. 

You can hear Din moving now, the rustling of his clothes, how they’re shuffling along the floor and coming closer to you. His fingers brush over your thigh and you gasp at feeling him, then he stops in front of you and you only hear a faint clicking sound, then something being put on the ground. 

Heart beating wildly, your mind paints the most fantastical pictures, wondering what is actually happening. 

“You’re even prettier without the visor in the way.”

You hold your breath. His voice… it’s so clear, smooth, unmodulated. And so close.

Did he really take off his helmet? Emotion makes your throat close up, did he take it off just for you?

His warm breath blows on your face now, his lips ghost over your cheek and you feel tears starting to gather behind Paz’ palm over your eyes. Din speaks against your skin. “I want to kiss you.”

A nervous tongue darts out and wets your lips in invitation. “Then kiss me,” you whisper against him and then you feel his warm lips brush over yours. It’s perfect, it’s beautiful and it makes you so emotional you fear you’re going to lose your heart tonight. 

The kiss goes on for quite a while and you almost get lost in it, forgetting that another man is keeping your eyes closed. Din’s tongue is slipping past your lips and sliding over yours sensually, eliciting a needy moan from you. 

Meanwhile, Paz’ other hand is traveling down your body again, over your thigh and pulling it aside and over his own, making room for Din to settle between your legs comfortably. Your pulse quickens when you feel fingers playing with your clit. 

“What a mess you made, Din.” Paz tuts, dragging his fingers through Din’s cum leaking out of you. “Clean her up, will you?”

With a last lick over your tongue, Din pulls away reluctantly, leaving you panting for breath, before kissing his way down and over your belly, until he reaches your folds. 

His warm tongue flicks against you and you gasp at the sensation. It is so intense, so wonderful you squeeze your eyes shut behind Paz’ hand. Din licks along your nether lips until he reaches that bundle of nerves that makes your thighs tense where they lay spread over the other Mando’s legs. When he tastes you like that he sighs against your skin, then delves right into you, squirming his way through his own seed seeping from your core. 

“Din,” you call out, unsure what you even want to convey, but needing to say something to him anyway. It makes him work a little faster on you, licking inside and along your inner walls, until you shake with want. Paz’ palm is still firmly pressed over your eyes, making it impossible to see anything and never were you so thankful for something like that. It’s like a gift he bestowed upon you, Din’s mouth feels heavenly against you and it’s only possible because of Paz keeping your blind. 

Paz shifts against you from behind, his hand over your eyes never leaving their spot, but the other one is sneaking up your chest to play with your nipple again. All the stimulation is making you squirm, and then you feel something poking into your backside when Paz pulls you in just a little farther. 

“Pretty princess,” he says right next to your ear. “I want to fuck you so badly. Will you let me pleasure you?”

You almost choke on your own saliva when you hear him speak these crude words that go straight to your core and you clench around Din’s tongue still lapping at you.

Not trusting your feeble voice you nod enthusiastically, then you can already feel him rearrange you just like he needs to; he leans back, pulling you a little further upward and away from Din to align you with his dick. 

You tense a bit when you remember the size of him and blindly seek for something to hold onto in preparation. 

“Ready?” He asks, the tip of him just resting against you. 

“Yeah,” you rasp, trying to calm yourself down somewhat. 

“Good,” he whispers and then the tip of him is pushing between your folds causing you to hold your breath when you feel his girth. He doesn’t let up before he’s sheathed inside of you completely, making you shake and fight for breath with it. It’s almost too much, but then you feel Din’s tongue against your once more, bringing you to that level of arousal again that makes you see white spots behind your closed lids. 

“ Gods ,” you sob when Paz is fully seated inside of you, you can feel his pulse where he is nestled against you, even though Din is already working on you again. Just the thought of what you three must look like…

Paz moans behind you, his hand squeezes your hip and pushes you a little further onto his cock. It feels absolutely incredible, you are so  full . 

You arch your back when Paz starts moving his hips while guiding yours with his free hand, establishing a slow, unhurried rhythm. Still, there is Din licking at you, then his lips close around your clit and suck, stealing a groan from you. 

“Hm, you feel so beautiful around me,” Paz murmurs in your ear, thrusting up just a little harder and you whine at the sensation. 

It robs you of any coherent thought, the only thing you’re aware of is the combined feeling of the two Mandos currently working to bring you to that climax that’s just waiting on the horizon. And then they bring you over the edge so hard, so  powerful , that you scream with the force of it. 

With your head thrown back against Paz’ shoulder you slump against the Mando, breathing heavily and completely out of it. Sparks still tingle where Din is lazily licking over your clit, causing you to jump and squirm against his mouth and on the cock currently inside of you. 

It’s too much already, you’re overly sensitive right now, after coming twice in such a short span of time. But Paz isn’t finished yet.

You feel Din licking and kissing along your inner thigh before pulling away entirely. The absence of him leaves a cold wet spot and you shiver. 

Gradually, Paz stops grinding into you and instead removes his hand from your eyes. You blink them open slowly, the bright lights in the room hurting after being in the dark for so long. 

In front of you there is Din, face hidden behind his helmet once more and you can’t help the feeling of disappointment at the view. Of course you knew this was bound to happen, but it still leaves you aching to know the man’s face. From what you were able to feel of him, he has very soft lips and likes to shave. But that’s all. 

Suddenly Paz pushes you off his lap and you land on all fours on a conveniently placed cloak on the ground that is surprisingly soft and warm. As you turn around to see what Paz is doing, you get a great view of him as he pulls up to his full height and comes forward in a few powerful strides to tower over you. 

You can’t help the small surge of fear when you see him like this, all big and imposing, and still  very  hard as you sit on your ass meekly, craning your neck to be able to see him. 

“Playtime’s over, princess.”

He reaches for you and you whimper when his hand wraps around your throat and pushes you onto your back, easily pressing between your thighs with his knees. Trembling, you try to gauge his intentions through that damned helmet of his, but it’s impossible. 

The swift change in the room’s atmosphere makes you search for Din with wide eyes. What is happening?

But Paz’ hand on your neck brings your face back to his visor. 

“Paz?” you ask him uncertainly. 

“Remember your safeword?” He asks back, tone flat, while idly stroking along your jaw with a single finger. 

It takes you a moment to order your thoughts. You are somewhat scared. But… you’re still turned on. The evidence is between your legs and leaking onto the cloak beneath you. Paz is indirectly asking if you want what he is about to do. 

You nod your head.

“Say it for me,” he says, a little softer now. 

You swallow around his hand on your throat. 

“... Rancor ,” you whisper, certain that he can feel your pulse spike where he is holding you. 

“Good girl,” he praises and again you feel that rush of warm pleasure wash over you, eliciting a quiet moan from you. His hand on your neck leaves to grab under your knees and already you can feel his cock sliding back into you, your mouth falls open and your head back against the floor, back arched and hips canted to allow Paz to go in as deep as possible. 

You feel his big hands around your wrists now, pinning them on both sides of your head. 

With shallow breaths you stare with half-lidded eyes at the man’s visor mere inches from your face, your hands clenching to fists where they’re held. 

Why does the danger he exudes turn you on so much? It turns you to mush inside, ready to lay on your back and spread your legs for him. It scares you a little, that you’re so ready to yield to him, but deep down you know you can trust him with your life. There is no doubt that he will stop this at any time if you give him the word. The thought fills you with serenity, a deep longing to give up control to somebody else. 

You wonder what he thinks as he just keeps staring back at you, not doing anything. It makes you a little nervous, you bite your lip and squeeze around his dick between your legs. 

With a snarl he snaps his hips forward and you yelp with the force of it. Again and again he does it, pushing so hard you’re sure you’d be moving away from him if he didn’t hold on to you. 

You’ve never been fucked so hard in your life, his grip on you is surely bruising and you are certain that you won’t be able to walk right tomorrow, but you’ll be damned if this isn’t the most amazing feeling. With every thrust he hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, you can’t stop the noises that come out of you, moans, mewls and dry sobs rack your body with every violent snap of his hips. 

At some point you closed your eyes and when you open them now everything is blurry with unshed tears.  

“ Cyar’ika ,” Paz moans, burying his helmet between your neck and shoulder, making you shiver with the coolness of metal against your heated skin. His bare chest slides over yours deliciously and you arch against him with want.

“Paz,” you gasp, feeling the third orgasm of the night approaching, secretly wondering if you ever had that many in a row before. 

“Tell me what you need,” he rasps through his vocoder, and you tremble with the vibrations of it against your skin. 

“Need to–” You sob with his next hard thrust. “–to come.  Please .”

A guttural groan erupts from the man above you as his movements become impossibly faster, stealing all your breath and rendering you mute. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, my sweet, sweet princess,” he gasps with his next few thrusts before you come again, intensely, painfully hard as you strain against his hold on you. But he keeps his grip steady and firm even as he spills his own release deep inside of you. 

Blissed out of your mind you just lie there, limp and shakily, breathing small sobs of overstimulation. Paz is lying on top of you now, his heavy body hot and crushing, but so welcome at the same time. It only takes him a few seconds to get back up on his knees, releases your wrists and strokes over your cheek lovingly, wiping at the moisture there. 

Your breath catches at his gesture, your emotional state frayed and overstretched,  vulnerable . You sniff away the tears that you shed during this intense experience, suddenly a little insecure. One word from him could break your heart–you always tend to get too attached too quickly. 

“You did so well,” he suddenly praises you and you only hiccup in answer. Slowly, gently, he removes himself from between your legs, his and Din’s combined seeds running out of you now that he’s gone. The feeling of it makes you blush.

“So pretty,” he sighs and gathers some of the cum up with his fingers to press it back inside, you bite your lip at the sensation. “Din,” he calls tenderly and then the other man appears behind him, a towel in his hands. 

Din moves to kneel next to you, the damp towel wiping at your face with welcomed coolness. 

“Would you like me to clean you up?” He asks before waiting for your nod and then wipes between your legs, gently and efficiently. Paz is still kneeling in front of you, his erection slowly waning, then Din folds the towel and uses the clean side to wipe his partner as well. 

Paz brings his hand behind Din’s head and pulls their helmets together in that now familiar gesture of affection that makes your heart clench. You watch them as Paz leans away again to move up and zip his clothes. 

“Thank you,” you say to Din when he gathers the towel and gets up again. 

He stops in his tracks, then holds out his hand to you which you take and let him pull you up to unsteady feet. 

“No,” he says, hand on your chin, “Thank you. For trusting us. I’m sorry we brought you back to that… womp rat.”

From behind you, Paz wraps his cloak around your shoulders. 

“I can’t fault you. You needed the money.” You shrug, not at all mad at them for doing their job, even though it earned you a throbbing cheek and hurt pride. 

“I like her, Din. Can we keep her?” Paz speaks up, his hands massaging your shoulders. 

“I’m not a pet!”

“But would you like to be?” You can tell from Paz’ voice that he is grinning suggestively and you can’t help but chuckle at it. 

“Paz,” Din sounds exasperated as he sighs and inclines his head towards the other man before addressing you again. “Do you have anywhere to go?” 

“...No,” you admit, lowering your gaze to your feet. Your family probably hates you now that you ran away from marrying Layn–or rather  murdering  him. Cold dread settles in your stomach. What if someone finds out who killed him? 

“I guess you can stay with us until you find a place to live, if you want,” Din suggests and goes to pick up his beskar armor from the floor. 

“That’s…  stars , that’s so generous of you.” You already feel close to tears again as you clutch the material of Paz’ cloak against your chest, still very much naked underneath. 

“Don’t thank him yet,” Paz says as he gathers your clothes from the other corner of the small room and hands them back to you. “He is a grouch and he snores in his sleep.”

“Paz,” Din sighs for the upteenth time as he snaps the vambrace back into place on his forearm. 

The big Mandalorian just laughs as he leads you through the door downwards to the ‘fresher. 

On your way there you think about the actions that led towards this moment and how you could never have anticipated this outcome, but you finally feel something like hope stirring in your chest and it puts a smile on your face.

end

__________________________ 

A/N: Thank you so, so much for reading! This is my first fic in this fandom, but hope that I’ll find the time to write more eventually.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Can We Keep Him? (pt 2)

This is part of my Uncursed AU

AO3

Masterpost

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

If there was one thing Eda hated most, it was boiling rain.

She could tell by the storm clouds gathering one was on the way. However, she currently had a possible buyer looking over what she had to offer that day. So she impatiently tapped her fingers on the table as she watched the witch hm and haw over every little thing she had.

A boom of thunder snapped her patience.

“Do you want anything?” Eda snapped.

The witch lifted his head and blinked at her, dumbfounded.

“Oh, no, I was just browsing.” He said cheerfully. “I spent all my snails earlier.”

Eda stared at the witch, her left eye twitching as her nails dug into the table.

“Then move along!” She shouted.

“Alright, alright! Jeez,” The witch grumbled, raising his hands and backing off. “Kids these days, I swear.” He mumbled as he hurried along down the marketplace.

Eda didn’t bother to retort. She frantically began gathering up her items in the table cloth. She picked up anything that had fallen and attempted to tear down her sign proudly stating; Human Collectibles!

She had nearly gotten the whole thing down before she heard something sizzle.

Eda whirled her head around. And sure enough, the first drops of boiling rain were beginning to fall.

Eda looked around frantically, spotting a stand that, thank the Titan, had a stone over it. She regrettably ditched the bag of human objects before diving for the shelter, wincing when she felt the drops of rain graze her right leg.

Eda crawled up underneath the shelter, pulling her leg close as she hissed out a string of curses. Thankfully, the burn on her leg wasn’t all that bad. Though it’d definitely bug her for the rest of the day. She considered using her magic to heal it, but decided against it. Using magic on such a small thing wasn't worth the effort.

“Sorry, Lilith,” Eda sighed, peering up at the cloud-filled sky. “Looks like I’m gonna be late again.”

She leaned back against one of the posts holding up the empty stand, settling in for a long, boring wait.

Until a yelp caught her attention.

,

Eda turned her head, looking back out to the open path in the marketplace. Off on the opposite side was an empty clay pot turned over. Beside that pot was a very familiar small plastic crown.

The pot lifted slightly and a black paw darted out, trying to grab at the crown before a drop of rain landed on it. Whoever was in the pot squeaked and instantly retreated their paw.

Only a few seconds later, the paw darted out again.

“Is that…?” Eda squinted her eyes.

Droplets of rain splashed onto the crown. It sizzled and hissed as the boiling temperatures of the water immediately ate away at the crown, bringing it down to a half-circle.

“No!” The pot lifted up higher, revealing the face of the self-proclaimed King of Demons, his face full of horror. “My crown! My beautiful, beautiful crown!” He wailed, once again nearly getting nicked by the rain and drawing his paw back into the safety of the pot.

“Hey, I know you!” Eda called. “Demon Lord, or, whatever your name was.”

The demon lifted his head, spotting Eda and perking up.

“Oh, hey witch lady!” The demon greeted. “You got any more crowns?” He asked hopefully.

Eda gave the demon a deadpan stare before pointing over at her abandoned bag of goods, which was now nearly completely eaten through.

“...oh,” The demon deflated.

“What are you doing out here?” Eda asked. “Everyone knows to get somewhere safe before a rainstorm!”

“Well--I--” The demon faltered for a moment before angrily fluffing up his tail. “Then why are you out here?” He retorted.

“Someone was ‘browsing’ my items when I thought they were gonna buy something,” Eda sighed, knocking her head back against the pole she was leaning on. “Apparently he didn’t think the oncoming wrath of boiling rain wasn’t something to be concerned about.”

“Personally, I think not boiling alive is worth more than a profit.” The demon said, dropping the pot back over his head before standing up, wearing it like a long hat that went down to his legs.

“You’re a demon, you don’t need money.” Eda snorted, watching the demon walk around in the open under the pot for a minute before skittering over towards her.

“...what are you doing?”

“It’s getting hot under here!” The demon said, hurrying underneath her shelter before ditching the pot and kicking it away. “This is a much more adequate roof for the King of Demons.” He nodded in satisfaction.

“Don’t you have, like, an owner?” Eda raised a brow. She reached out and grabbed his large gold tag.

“The King of Demons belongs to no one!” The demon snapped, tugging back and brushing himself off. “I am my own demon!”

“What’s with the collar then?” Eda questioned.

“I…” The demon blinked before looking down at his collar and fiddling with the tag. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Eda said disbelievingly. “How can you not know why you have a collar?”

“I just don’t know!” The demon snapped back. “But I like it!” He said, sitting down and crossing his arms angrily.

“...alright then.” Eda said, turning to look out at the rain.

When she had first met the demon, she had assumed he had been someones escaped pet, due to the collar. It would also easily explain the inflated ego and delusions. People spoil their pets all the time.

But if he didn’t belong to anyone…

“If I may ask, since we’re clearly going to be here for a while,” Eda said, glancing over at the demon. “Does the so-called ‘King of Demons’ have a name?”

“A mortal like you couldn’t bear to know the true name of the King of Demons!” The demon said, raising his head snootily.

Eda gave him a deadpan stare for a few moments.

“How about I just call you King?” She tried.

“That…” The demon frowned and thought for a moment. “That name will suffice.” He decided with a nod.

“Nice to formally meet, King.” Eda said with a bit of a smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Eda.”

“Eda...I can work with that.” King said, taking her hand and shaking it.

“Sorry about the crown,” Eda said, pulling her hand back and looking over at the pieces of scrap that were once some plastic toy. “I could probably find another one.”

“You would...find the King of Demons another crown?” King asked excitedly, tail wagging.

“Only because I feel bad,” Eda said, crossing her arms, though her smile only grew. “And you’ll have to pay me this time.”

King gestured to himself before holding his paws out at his sides.

“Do I look like I have money?”

“Then how about this,” Eda said, thinking on her feet. “In payment, you have to find stuff for me to sell.”

“Like...scavenging?” King tilted his head.

“Sort of,” Eda said.

She dug in her wild mane of hair before pulling out a small dark brown key with a yellow eye on it and showed it off to the demon.

“A while ago, I found this key to the human realm.” She explained. “It’s where I get all my items. Although, recently, it’s getting harder for me to steal stuff from their metal bins without getting caught.”

“Oooh. So you wish to enlist the help of the mighty ruler of demons, eh?” King realized excitedly. “Fear not! For I accept this offer. In exchange for a crown, I will hunt down the greatest human artifacts the Boiling Isles has ever seen!” He said, standing up and posing proudly.

“Thanks, King.” Eda chuckled, tucking the key back into her hair. “Hope you’re a good tracker, though. I don’t set up shop in the same place two days in a row.”

“Pssh, how hard can it be?” King waved his paw. “I just have to look for the loudest witch in the market.”

“Wha--says you!” Eda scoffed. “You’re the loudest demon I’ve ever met! I’m genuinely surprised I haven’t met you yet.”

“Yes, well, I’ve decided to grace this side of the Isles with my presence.” King said. “You’re welcome.”

“Gee, thanks.” Eda shook her head before reaching over and ruffling the fur that connected to his skull by his cheek.

King let out a weird ‘weh’ like noise and struggled for a moment, batting at her hand with his paws.

Which, now that Eda got a better look at them, really didn’t look too good.

Demons had tougher skin than witches, so a few droplets of boiling water wouldn’t cause severe harm. And yet, the way his skin was twisted and discolored from the burns he’d received made Eda's own chest twist.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” Eda asked, drawing her hands back and gently placing one of his wrists in her open palm.

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” King shrugged. “The King of Demons needs no sympathy.” He said, turning his nose away.

Eda frowned, worried about what ‘worse’ such a small demon like King could be referring to.

Her eyes drew to his broken horn.

She decided not to ask and pulled him a bit closer.

“Could I at least try to heal it?” She asked.

Eda had never been good at healing magic. Her best had always been defense and offense, not sitting on the sidelines and tending to the wounded. Lilith had more knowledge in that aspect, thanks to the Emperor’s Coven.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

“I...suppose,” King said, sounding suspicious. “Just be careful. I don’t want to chip a claw,” He said, this time sounding like he was partially joking.

“I won’t,” Eda promised before turning back to his paw.

A faint yellow glow came from her left hand and she brought it closer to King’s paw, eyes squinted in concentration as she gently pressed a finger to his burns.

King winced as though expecting to be hurt, though he didn’t pull his paw away.

Slowly, Eda ghosted her finger over the burns, smiling as she saw his previously gnarly skin untwisting and fitting back up.

“There we go,” Eda said, bringing her hand back. She couldn’t heal it up all the way, but now it was practically invisible unless you looked for it.

“Whoa,” King turned over his paw, mesmerized. “Do the other one, do the other one!” He chanted gleefully, sticking out his other slightly less-burned paw.

“Alright, hang on, hang on.” Eda chuckled, concentrating as she drew her glowing finger over the burns, bringing it to about the same state as his first paw.

“That should heal up on its own, now.” She said, letting him admire and study his freshly healed paws.

“Thanks...uh,” King squinted. “What was your name again?”

“Eda,” The young witch sighed. “It was Eda.”

“Right, Eda! Thanks. I'll remember next time.” King promised, holding his paws close.

Eda smiled at the demon. What had happened to him to make him so astonished that a witch would help him, she didn’t want to know.

But she did know that right then, she wasn’t going to be quite as alone out here as she thought.

“Anytime, King.”

[mmvalentine]

Home is Where You Are pt 8 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. Smut, unrestrained smut. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Kissing Feyre on the countertop had Rhys out of his damn mind. He had imagined this moment so many times, had such grand plans to take it slow with her and not rush or pressure her into anything. What he had not counted on was the ferocity that Feyre came at him with, and how incomprehensibly sexy it was that not only was she letting him touch her, but she wanted to touch him too.

So there they were, somehow having stripped off most of their clothes and on their way into Rhys' bedroom. Rhys laid her down, caged his body over hers, and the feel of her pressed down under his body had him in pieces. He took a second to get back in control of himself.

Then Feyre licked him from chest to chin, and had him shuddering into her. Slow, slow, went the voice in his head. He wasn't going to ruin this. Not with Feyre.

Before she could completely break him, Rhys slid down her body and put his mouth back between her legs. Already tightly wound from being licked on the countertop, Feyre bucked her hips immediately against his tongue. He worked her first in broad, slow strokes, then got faster and shorter as he narrowed to her clit.

"No," Feyre panted. "Slow down or I'll..."

Rhys sped up. At the same time, he reached his hands up, scratching his nails up her stomach and then squeezing his hands over her breasts. Feyre came on his lips, and although the thought made him want to bury himself deep inside her, it also gave him a glow of satisfaction. And put him back in control.

Feyre was scrabblng for him now, trying to pull him back up toward her. But as her climax faded, Rhys smoothed his fingers lightly over her still throbbing centre. Letting her calm down, and then building her back up again.

"Not yet," he said.

As Feyre's breathing was just starting to shallow again, he slid up slightly to press hot, open mouthed kisses on her hips, her stomach, her ribcage, her nipples. Waited until Feyre was lost to the world in her pleasure, then slid his fingers inside her. He had barely started to move them when she broke over again.

"That's two," he murmured.

Feyre was incoherent beneath him. This time, he didn't let her come down. Rhys pumped his fingers fast in and out of her, curling them to feel the rough patch inside her. His other hand spread over her chest, just below her throat to hold her down on the bed. Feyre's hands pushed against the headboard, and she bounced her hips to meet his fingers. When he added his tongue, she came so hard and so loudly he was sure she'd be heard down the hall. And he fucking loved it.

"And that's three," he purred. Feyre's head fell back against the pillow, and Rhys came up to lie beside her as her muscles let go. She breathed deeply, near comatose on his bed. Rhys ran his lips from her chin to her ear lobe, and chuckled softly. Feyre turned her head toward the sound, and he caught her lips with his.

"Sleep, Feyre," Rhys said. Feyre's mouth puckered as if trying to form a protest, but it was no use. She was out in seconds.

Rhys watched her face relax into sleep, and laughed to himself silently. He curled himself around her, and pushed his nose against the nape of her neck, where the smell of her shampoo and skin sank to the core of him. He was still hard as steel and wildly uncomfortable of course, but if it meant Feyre got to be safe and comfortable, he was more than happy to wear it. Rhys fell asleep to the deep rhythm of Feyre breathing in his bed.

And woke in raptures.

Rhys was dreaming of something peaceful and nondescript. He didn't know how it turned so dirty. He dreamed that his cock was being thoroughly sucked, his muscles both tensing and liquid on the bed. His shivers of pleasure were hard enough to drag him back into the real world. Where he looked down, and found Feyre indeed with her mouth wrapped around him like the patron saint of heavenly mornings.

"Fuucckkk," Rhys breathed out, not awake enough to say anything more articulate.

He rolled his hips a few times, lost in the deliciousness of it, then reached for Feyre. She let go of him only long enough to say, "my turn." And then she had him back in her mouth and if he could have knelt at her feet and worshipped her he would.

This absolute nonsense went on for another few minutes, then Rhys woke up enough to find that if he didn't get inside her right the fuck now he might just die. So he sat up, pulled Feyre upward and rolled her onto her back. Feyre let out a yelp of disapproval, and tried to grab his cock again, but he had her trapped beneath him and started lazily sliding his dick up and down Feyre's hot centre.

Now they were both fully awake and fully naked, Rhys marvelled at the satin of her bare skin all over him. Her breasts squashed against his chest. Her hipbones pressing into his stomach. Her gorgeous, lovely legs sliding under his. Rhys ground into her again, and kissed his way along the under side of her jaw. The feeling of her growing wetter against him had his sanity skittering away again.

Feyre smoothed her hands down Rhys' back, and her nails on his backside made him impossibly harder. He kissed her lips, tongue finding hers, until she pulled away and gasped, "Rhys. Condom."

Rhys reached into his bedside drawer without letting any of his weight up off her. He kissed her again, opened the foil packet, and when he was ready he paused at Feyre's entrance with a question in his eyes.

"Rhysand you prick if you make me wait one more second I'll flip you over and do it myself."

Rhys broke into a grin, barking a laugh before slowly pushing into her.

Feyre's moan was heaven. Long and low and luscious, he barely registered that he was making the same sound, too. He had meant to pause and give her time, but she was so wet she had him sliding all the way in. Their eyes met, and he kissed her perfect lips in gentle reverence. Then he pulled out and did it again.

Feyre's legs wrapped around Rhys' waist as he thrust into her, pulling him in more even as he tried to take it slow. She lifted her hips to meet him, bumping up their speed to what she needed. Rhys put his head on her collar bone, and when her hands tugged through his hair he picked up his pace. She felt much, much too good. He scooped his hands behind her neck, and tilted her jaw so he could get his tongue in the hollow of her throat.

When he moved up to her earlobe, Feyre breathed "more."

So Rhys changed their position. Flipped her over and gripped her soft ass as he took her from behind. This drew even more intense sounds from Feyre, that drove Rhys wild and before he knew it he was pounding into her. Feyre arched her back so he could get deeper, and started to moan in earnest.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, and the memory of her dreaming of him on the couch when she had said the same thing had Rhys pulling her up against him. Feyre lifted an arm to the back of his neck, and his fingers found her clit. She started to melt against him, and he held her up and kept fucking hard into her until she was screaming his name. Rhys didn't let himself come until he knew her climax was over, but when she dropped to her hands and knees she looked back at him, and the sight of her in that position undid him.

Rhys dropped his forehead onto her back and came with a groan that had Feyre shivering around him, and that feeling, too, was incredible.

Rhys collapsed next to Feyre, and they lay like that for some time.

"Good morning to you too," Rhys said, when he could speak again. Feyre grinned. "It will be," she said, then climbed up to straddle Rhys, and all the gods damn it all if he wasn't hard again in an instant for her.

****

WELL. This was just one giant filth post now wasn't it. I know a few of you were a bit mad at me for cutting you off last time so I hope this makes up for it <3 Guess I better go find some of that... what do they call it? Plot?

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @asteria-of-mars@booksmusicandgoodvibes @burritowithfeels

[forestfanders]

Birds of a feather - pt 4 What You Gotta Do

A long list of injuries on the page, and a longer list of potential responses to their trauma. Working out how to treat the pair of tiny humanoid avians was going to be a challenge, but it is one Logan and Patton are determined to meet.

Pt 4: Caring for abused individuals is not easy, and there are somethings that are hard but necessary. You gotta do what you gotta do.

whump, hurt/comfort and dehumanisation <3 wingfic, g/t kind of

tw: animal abuse, mention of burns and neglect, dissociation, panic attacks, medical hurt

AO3 link

Chapter 1  /  Chapter 2   /  Chapter 3 / you are here/ Chapter 5 masterlist

Anxiety was huddled at the back, but Princy was next to the water bowl.

“Good morning kiddos.” Patton smiled in.

Princey gave a little wave, and Patton beamed. Anxiety uncurled a little bit too, and after a moment's hesitation, gave a little wave of his own. Patton’s smile increased in intensity.

“Waves from everyone!” He exclaimed softly, “Today really is special!”

Anxiety gave a shy smile that he tried to cover by fluffing himself up into a shadow-shaded fuzzball. Adorable.

Patton dipped his fingers into his pocket and drew out two blueberries. “Here, I am going to roll these in as a special treat ok?”

Princey actually took a step forward in interest as the fruit rolled towards him. He wrapped both of his tiny hands around the blueberry and held it out towards Patton, much like he had done with the chicken cube the previous day.

“It’s a blueberry. It’s for you.” Patton reassured. Roman nodded to himself and took a bite, and his expression widened with happy surprise. Patton chuckled, “Blueberries are very sweet, so they are only as treats.” He rolled a second one to Anxiety. “And that’s for you.”

Anxiety regarded the fruit, and Princey’s joyful reception of it, before unfluffing himself and shuffling a few paces forwards. Carefully, he picked it up with his foot, before swiftly transferring it to his hands, his eyes never leaving Patton. Patton smiled and gave a nod of approval. It was progress.

Princey was getting covered in blueberry juice, and finished off the fruit faster than Patton thought was avianly possible. Anxiety tucked his beneath his wing, presumably to eat once Patton was gone.

Logan quietly entered the room, his vet’s bag tucked beneath his arm.

“Good morning everyone.” He greeted, “How are we all?”

Princey bopped in place, licking the juice from his hands, and gave a thumbs up. Logan gave him an amused smile.

“They both waved hello to me this morning, so I gave them each a blueberry as a treat.” Patton said proudly.

“That is… very good to hear.” Logan said carefully. Patton nodded, partially in agreement, and partially to reward Logan’s thoughtful word choice.

Logan set down his bag on the rubber topped examination bench in the corner of the room.

Patton looked back at the avians. They were so confident this morning. Clearly decent food and a good night's sleep had done them wonders.

It made what Patton was about to do feel even worse.

“Hey Logan, maybe I can give them their breakfast now if you want to check on all the other animals first?”

Logan regarded him a long moment before nodding and handing him the keys to the padlock on the avian’s cage. Patton smiled, and scampered off to retrieve some fresh food for the avians. He and Logan had put together a meal plan of suitable nutrition for the recovering avians, and with the wide variety of foods they could eat, it had been easy for Patton to pack a lunchbox of suitable foodstuffs.  By the time he returned to the recovery room, Logan had fed and checked on several of the recovery room’s residents, and had Ted Bunndy up on the examination bench.

“How’s Ted?” Patton picked a rolled oat out of the avian’s breakfast bowl and held it up, “Back to being our little cereal killer?”

“The high carbohydrate content of cereals make them unsuitable for consumption by rabbits in all but the smallest quantities.” Logan replied dryly as he palpated the bunny’s tummy. Patton laughed, and turned to the avian’s cage. The pair had retreated to the back of the cage, but did not seem overly nervous, especially compared to the previous day. He set the bowl atop the cage, and fished the keys from his pocket.

“Ok kiddos. I am going to open the door and give you some breakfast, ok? I will only touch the bowl.”

The pair did not respond. Anxiety had a white knuckled grip on Princey’s arm, who himself was regarding him warily. Patton flicked off the padlock, and picked up the bowl before sliding back the bolt.

“Here we go kiddos, just a moment.” Patton swiftly switched out the old bowl for the new. The avains did not move until the door was closed and padlocked again.

“Good boys. Good job. You can eat now.” Patton praised. Princey gave him a tiny stressed smile. Anxiety looked like he had slid sideways into a dissociation episode.

Logan had put Ted and his companion in carry cases.

“Going off the fact Ted Bunndy nearly took my hand off when I offered him some spinach, I would say his appetite has returned and he is ready to go home.”

“Let’s go put them in the rabbit room now then.” Patton said.

“We can do it after…” Logan started.

“Now.” Patton cut him off.

Logan’s gaze flicked towards the avains and he nodded once before picking up a rabbit carrier and holding it to his chest for stability. Patton picked up the other, and they excited the room quietly.

“We cannot put this off any longer Patton.” Logan muttered.

"It’s just, they were so confident and I don’t want to lose that yet. They are not going to be happy about this," Patton sighed.

"If we leave their bandages unchanged, there is a high risk of infection. Therefore, it is necessary." Logan's tone was final. The vet was right of course, but Patton couldn’t help but worry about the stress that being touched would bring to the already traumatised and injured pair.

"I know" Patton sighed, “Just, we will explain to them what's happening and why it will help right?”

“Ok,” Logan hesitated, “That is likely to help... Avian humanoids are sentient and most are able to understand their owner’s language to a high level but…” Logan stared at the floor for a second too long before continuing, “But vets have no training on how to talk to their patients. I fear my attempts to communicate shall be...inadequate.”

“Oh, I believe in you buddy” Patton gave him a hopeful look, “Do you want a formula to help?”

A prescribed mode of speech always helped Logan, even if he was loathe to admit it. But his heart-smart friend could guide him where his book-smarts ended.

“Yes please.”

“Ok , sooo...What you are doing, why you are doing it, and how much it will hurt.” Patton gave his soft smile that Logan knew was never patronising,  “Example. I am taking the bandage off, to see your injury, and it will only hurt a little. Got it?”

“I believe so.” Logan deposited Ted Bunndey into a vacant hutch in the small animal room. Patton gave a tight smile.

“Alright. Let’s go wrangle some bird men.”

-88888-

Patton looked more calm than he felt. Although he knew changing bandages were medically necessary, he really didn’t want the avians to, well, hate him. Still, it was better that he did it rather than one of the vets that the avians neither knew nor trusted.

Patton knelt on the vinyl floor in front of the cage.

“Ok kiddos, Logan and I are here to give you both a check up.”

Princey’s eyes widened in fear, and he gripped onto Anxiety, who had started to shake.

“So, um, we are just going to pick you up, take the bandages off, have a quick look at your injuries,” Patton swallowed hard. Logan glanced sideways at him, is expression neutral in the way it always was when relieved that someone else was handling social situations. The vet turned to start setting up bandages on the examination bench in the recovery room.

“Then we will put a little antiseptic on, which will sting but is super important. It will stop your burns from getting icky and infected. Then we will bandage you back up, nice and clean, give you a delicious piece of tuna as well done, and leave you two alone til lunch. Ok?” He quietly put on a pair of latex gloves that Logan handed him. “Ok, I am going to open the door.”

The avians scattered.

Patton shoved down his own rising empathetic panic as Logan ordered him shut the door again before they had the chance to escape the cage. His mouth a slash, the vet retrieved a towel, and threw it over the pair.

After a moment, the panicked skittering slowed to sluggish lumps in the fabric.

“The dark will help calm them a little. We can take one now.” Logan reached slowly under the blanket till he came in contact with a docile bird and pulled it out. As soon as the light hit him, little Anxiety thrashed in his hold, taloned feet kicking as he let out a single short shriek.

“Hey hey hey it’s alright,” Patton cooed, just as Logan reassured the avain with a calm,

“It’s ok, I got you,” And rose smoothly to his feet and walked to the examination bench. Patton settled nervously opposite him.

Logan held Anxiety to his chest for a moment till he judged the struggling had subsided enough to set his feet down on the table, then carefully transferred the avain to Patton’s waiting hands. He held him, fingers pinning the tiny arms to his sides. The birdman shuffled backwards away from the vet, until he hit the solid wall of Patton’s chest, where he could go no further.

"Hey there little guy," Patton crooned.

His toes scrunched into the towel Logan had covered the bench with, while the rest of the bird was still aside from a slight shaking.

“Good job.” Logan congratulated, “I am going to put this,” he held up a thin digital thermometer, “on your back against your wing joint. It will let me know if you are getting a fever. It will not hurt.”

Anxiety squirmed for a second at the cold metal on his back, then settled in Patton’s grip.

“Very calm, very good.” Patton crooned. They waited patiently until the thermometer beeped, causing Anxiety to lurch out of his dissociation.

“That’s it.” Logan gave a practised reassuring smile, as he slid the device out of the hollow of Anxiety’s wing. He checked it swiftly, and turned it off.

“I am going to remove your bandages now. I am going to start by loosening bandage adhesive with some of this,” He held up a bottle, and dipped a cotton bud into it, before bringing it slowly towards Anxiety. “It smells a bit strange, but it won't hurt at all.”

Patton nodded in approval at Logan's communication.

The avian jammed his face into Patton's t-shirt as a whiff of the chemical drifted up.

Logan was not deterred by the action, and started to dab at the steri-strips holding the gauze in place. After a second, he was able to peel off the old bandage.

Anxiety tried to bury himself further in the t-shirt. Logan’s long fingers aided him, pulling at Patton’s shirt till the material pooled a comforting piece of shadow around Anxiety. Patton took a steadying breath.

“You are doing really well kiddo,” Patton murmured to the shaking ball of feathers.

Logan scrutinised the avian’s ruined chest for a long moment, his face impassive.

“I am going to spray your chest with some antiseptic. This will prevent infection. It will sting slightly. Now.” Logan directed the spray bottle towards the top of the avian's chest. The bird man hissed at the sting. “And again,” Logan gave him a second spray. Anxiety sagged a bit in Patton's hands, quivering. His heart beat frantically against Patton’s fingers.

“I think he is having a panic attack.” Patton informed the vet.

“We are nearly done. Just focus on breathing for me.” Logan reached for fresh bandages. “Just going to put the bandage back. It won't hurt.” His practiced fingers pinned the pre-prepared gauze to the tiny heaving chest and secured it with extra strength steri-strips.

“So good, so good,” Patton reassured.

“Ok, that's you done now,” Logan stated, “Patton, you can put him back in his cage.”

Patton adjusted his grip to lift Anxiety carefully from the table. The avian flopped bonelessly, completely lax in his hold.

“Is he ok?” Patton asked in a small voice.

“Mostly likely overwhelmed. Put him down next to the towel hollow.”

Patton carefully lowered the birdman to the floor and tried to set him on his feet, but Anxiety’s legs buckled beneath him. He laid him gently on his side instead, and withdrew his hand.

After barely a moment, Anxiety was back on his feet and beelining to bury himself beneath the towel.

Patton gave a sigh of relief, and Logan put a hand on his shoulder. He plopped the piece of tuna down where Anxiety had been moments before. It felt like poor compensation.

“It is quite scary, but hopefully now we have shown him it doesn’t hurt, he will be calmer next time. Now we just need to get Princey.”

Well, one down, one to go. And Princey seemed the more confident of the two, he should have been easier to deal with.

Patton was wrong.

Princey did not want to be scooped out of the towel. Princey wanted to scream the whole time. And boy, for such a small creature, he sure had a set of lungs on him. The frightened wordless babble was the first vocalization Patton had heard Princey make. It should have been a milestone in his recovery. It wasn’t. Patton felt sick. He knew the care of the traumatised twosome wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows, but the tiny avian’s cries were heartbreaking.

Logan moved confidently, spoke reassuringly, did everything right. They managed to manoeuvre him against Patton's chest, and Logan brought out the adhesive loosener, moistening a cotton bud and bringing it to the bandages.

Princey shifted his weight the tiniest bit, one foot shooting out to bat at the stick, before being almost delicately lowered again. “Ok ok ok,” Patton chanted like a prayer. “It’ll be over soon, then you can go home, and get some yummy tuna, it's even better than chicken, I promise, just please…”

Princey stopped screaming, let go of the cotton bud, and allowed Logan to remove the bandages.

“Good boy. You definitely deserve some treats Princey. So brave. Good boy.”

He squeaked and writhed when Logan sprayed him, but quickly settled and allowed Logan to put a fresh bandage on, with the generous application of praises and promises of food.

“All done. Home time, and then reward.”

Princey allowed Patton to lift him and place him back in the cage. He sat patiently till Logan handed him a small block of tuna meat and the little bird tucked into it immediately with a happy squeak. He paid no heed to Logan shutting and locking the cage door.

At the sound of the door locking, the Anxious lump moved in the blankets. Patton didn’t stare too long to see his beady eyes watching Princey, fearful for his companion's safety.

“We will see you later. For lunch. I-I’m… Just, have a restful morning kiddos.” Patton tried to smile. He grabbed Logan’s hand and fled the room.

“Great…” Patton tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. “That could have gone worse. Could have gone worse.” He pulled his gloves off in disgust, and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. “I am going to go prepare for my clients now. See you later Logan.”

Logan caught his arm before he could turn.

“Can I hug you?” Logan requested. When Patton didn’t protest, he pulled him close, and Patton curled down into him. Logan ran his fingers through Patton’s hair, stroking gently. He didn’t cry, but it was a close thing.

“It was essential that we did that. Even if it was...harrowing to see their reactions. Bandage changes will reduce the chances of life-threatening infections. We prioritised physical health and did everything we could to protect their mental health.” Logan’s voice was ever so soft, and Patton could tell that he too was empathetic to the avian’s predicament, “But, knowing that it is necessary does not make causing distress easy.”

“You did great Logan. Your communication was perfect.” Patton whispered into Logan’s hair. Logan hummed, and some of the tension released from his shoulders too.

“It looks like Princey is either food motivated, praise motivated, or both.” He said with a hint of humour to his voice. “Let us hope that he likes tuna enough for it to sooth his medical anxiety.”

They stood quietly together for a moment, unwinding from the pressure of carrying futures in their hands.

"Get a room guys. It's to early for pda in the office."

Logan dropped his arms and his back went ramrod straight.

"Aww Remy don't be like that. Platonic touch is important and should be normalised more!"

“Whatever babes, just don’t stand between me and my coffee.” The other vet squeezed past them to the vet’s office.

Patton looked at Logan and smiled, truly this time.

“We are doing a good job. An important job”

“We are indeed.”

next chapter    masterlist

[thewinedarksea]

thief/assassin au pt 4

ft. (the mention of) handcuffs and a river. also liel’s flip-floppy emotions. mildly suggestive.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 3.5)

Sirens drifted through the air, faint from distance. There were at least five blocks between them and Liel but she walked faster nonetheless, gait casual as she strolled down the chill city streets. 

A cold wind skittered after her, slicing through her thin shirt; she’d been counting on a getaway car to provide warmth, so she was clad only in a pair of leggings and a top made for attraction and not practicality, her toes frozen inside the thin leather of her boots. Another gust of wind and she curved her shoulders inwards, tightening her grip around the hot chocolate cup in her hands. Warmth bled through the cheap cardboard and into her fingers, a mild protection against the temperature. It was the only thing keeping her going. 

Well. That, and the promise of getting revenge on Johann’s worthless hide ten times over. Liel was thinking a lifetime subscription to some truly awful porn mailing lists, maybe a stint in a minimum security prison depending on how long it took for her to get back to her hotel. Half a million in diamonds, ripe for the taking, and she’d had to abandon them all. Idiot kid. She didn’t know what street corner Emory had picked him off of, but he could damn well put him back. 

She stepped off the street and onto a bridge, blending with the horde of pedestrians making their way across. And there, propped up against the railing, her long black coat whipping in the wind, stood Celine. 

Despite the cold and the bustle of people flowing past her she looked unbothered, eyes on the river’s banks, just one of the many citizens taking a break from her everyday life to admire the view.

The sight of her sent a confusing tangle of emotions rushing through Liel: fear, always and ever-present, because she hadn’t survived ten odd years as a criminal without a healthy dose of being able to recognize a predator when she saw one, and wanting, too, sharp and immediate as a knife to the gut. More than both of those though was the annoyance, a matchstick flare that promised to ignite.  

Liel should walk away. She should go back to her hotel, drink a staggering amount of wine, and sink into the suite’s luxurious tub until the water washed away all the frustrations and disappointments of the afternoon. She should. But Liel had just had two weeks of planning go up in smoke thanks to a jumpy kid and an early guard patrol, and all that irritation was just begging for an outlet. Celine would do nicely.

She tossed her cup into a nearby trash can and wandered over, propping herself up on the railing, so close her arm brushed Celine’s sleeve. The river below was a chaotic swirl of dark water, shiny bits of aluminum and old coffee cups caught tumbling in its hold. On its banks the sidewalks teemed with life, awash with shoppers catching up on last minute holiday gifts. 

“I was going to complain about the cold, but I find I’m plenty warm just by being around you.” 

Celine didn’t so much as glance at her, her eyes fixed on one of the cafes lining the waterway. Liel squinted, trying to make out what she was looking at, but saw nothing besides some red striped umbrellas and a few customers enjoying a meal in the freezing cold. Masochists. 

“Because you’re from hell,” Liel elaborated. “Like a demon. Hellfire. It’s very amusing.” 

A faint smirk touched Celine’s lips, but that was the extent of her reaction. No teasing, no clever remarks. Not even an acknowledgement that the last time they’d seen each other Celine had had her hands around Liel’s neck, before they’d shifted to other, less mentionable places. 

The annoyance flared brighter the longer she ignored her. Liel wanted to draw a reaction, to claw some control from her perfect grip. Crack it, like she had the night of the party, Celine’s mouth on hers, gasping and half-breathless, teeth and tongue and sweet words that had spilled like a river from her lips.

Liel smiled up at her, batting her eyelashes in the way that normally made people fall all over themselves to give her what she wanted. 

“What’s a girl have to do to get some attention around here?”

“Try coming back when I’m not working.”

Okay, see, that was just rude. Liel had been working every time they’d crossed paths, but that hadn’t stopped Celine from fucking her over or just fucking her, period. It was called a double standard, and Liel had no intention of letting it get in her way. 

“Ooh, are you on a job?” She slid closer, pressing their sides flush together, and made a production of following Celine’s gaze back to the cafe. It didn’t take long for her to hone in on the trio sitting off to one side, their clothes worth far more than the cafe’s old facade warranted. The woman on the left was definitely packing a gun. 

“A hundred dollars says it’s the one in pink.” A shot in the dark, but it landed, Celine’s expression going even more carefully still. Liel pressed the advantage. “I could make some phone calls. I’m sure the police would be very interested in knowing someone hired an assassin to go after Miss Dior and Co. over there.” 

“And I could snap your neck right now and throw your body over the edge.” Celine’s voice was as cool and dangerous as ice. “But you wouldn’t make me do that, would you pet?”

The fear came back with a vengeance, her annoyance snuffed out beneath the douse of ice water sliding down her spine. It might have been a mistake antagonizing the girl who killed people for a living. A small, small mistake. 

“That does sound unpleasant,” Liel said as lightly as she could manage. “My neck is much prettier when it’s in one piece. Tell you what, I’ll just come back when you’re not working.” 

Celine’s hand lashed out, gloved fingers wrapping around Liel’s wrist as she moved to step away. 

“Oh no,” she said softly. “You said you wanted attention.” 

She was watching Liel now, cafe abandoned for more interesting prey. Her eyes slid over Liel’s body, noting the lack of a coat, the goosebumps littering the bare skin of her arms. Despite the chill Liel felt herself heat up, all too aware that the last time Celine had seen her it had been without a stitch of clothing. From the smug slant of her mouth she remembered it, too. 

“Poor thing. You’re shivering.” She tugged Liel in front of her, her head against her shoulder. Celine was unfairly warm despite the weather, warmth bleeding from her in far more pleasant ways than the hot chocolate had managed. Damage control, Liel reassured herself as she snuggled closer, allowing herself to melt into the heat. She had to protect her pretty neck, after all.

“And here I thought we were getting along so much better,” Celine murmured. Her breath ghosted against Liel’s ear, lips brushing skin with every word. “Threats don’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me,” Liel informed the sky because, honestly, she didn’t have much more to lose. It stared back, a pale, dispassionate gray that put her in mind of a blade. “Also, I’m angry at you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Celine’s voice echoed in her ear as she wrapped an arm around Liel’s middle, drawing her ever closer. “Why so upset, sweetling? I thought our evening together went very well.”

“You tied me to a bed.” Liel’s legs struggled to hold up beneath the assault of Celine’s pet names, the scent of her rose perfume curling around her, light as a kiss.

“I did,” Celine agreed. “But I seem to recall that you begged me to do it. Quite prettily, too.”

Liel flushed all the way down, cheeks burning red. Memories stirred, flickers of Celine’s mouth on her neck, between her legs, biting at the skin of her thighs. She’d worn the bruises she left for a week, and the memory of them a hell of a lot longer.

“You didn’t untie me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. One of the hotel staff had found her and boy had that been a particularly humiliating conversation to have. She’d been lucky the maid had proven sympathetic to her tale of a prank gone wrong. Luckier still that Celine hadn’t been cruel enough to call the police.

She could sense Celine’s smirk where it rested against the side of her head. “Consider it your punishment.” 

“For what?”

“You stole a drive from me when we first met.”

“That was three months ago!”  

A few heads turned in their direction at Liel’s cry, glancing away when they saw the two of them entwined. Liel made an effort to squirm out of Celine’s grip, swearing at the lack of give. Pettiness was her deal. It looked way cuter on her.

With an exasperated noise Celine crowded her forward against the rail, bending Liel over until Celine’s chin rested on the top of her head, her body pinned between metal and flesh with no easy method of escape.

“Stay still,” Celine chided. Her grip tightened until Liel subsided, slumping back against her. “That job cost me a lot of money, to say nothing of what it did to my reputation. You’re lucky all I did was tie you up.”

And threaten to kill her, and actually try to kill her. The list went on.

 “Can’t imagine how great your reputation is going to be if you get yourself caught throwing me off a bridge,” Liel muttered.

“Believe me, there are far more interesting things I would rather to do to you.” 

That sounded promising. Interesting typically required alive, which was a step up from a watery grave. Liel wriggled even further back, pressing herself into Celine until any distance between them was eaten up. 

“Elaborate on that?” she asked, sweet as she could manage. 

Across the river Celine’s target stood. Her pink dress, terribly impractical for the weather, swirled around her legs as the wind blew again, a bright streak against the dull pavement. At the motion Celine straightened, stepping away from Liel as quickly as she’d grabbed her. 

The frigid rush of air that crept into the space she left set Liel trembling all over again, colder now that she’d found protection and lost it. 

“Business calls,” Celine said, composed once more. God Liel hated her. “You have my room key?” 

And her bracelet, and half her credit cards. Liel hadn’t taken her gun, though, so honestly she should be heralded as a paragon of self-restraint. She didn’t bring that point up though. 

“I’m still cold.” Scared and pissed off, too, but she doubted she would care about that. 

Celine’s mouth twisted in amused exasperation, and then she stripped out of her coat, wrapping the garment around Liel’s shoulders like a shawl. The fabric was warm, the scent of her perfume clinging to the silky lining. 

“Be a good girl and wait for me in my room.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Liel’s cheek. Her lipstick left behind a mark. “I’ll bring my handcuffs.”

“What if I say no?”

Celine paused in the middle of turning away, an eyebrow raising in mock surprise. “I thought you wanted me to elaborate. Although if you prefer the river, I will have to ask for my key back.” 

When Liel made no move to hand it over she smiled, teeth gleaming sharp in the sunlight. “It’s the Royal Suite. Don’t bother with clothes.”