#Do you think she turns into a weapon if you pet her belly?

[call-sign-shark]

Pls tell me heaven has cuteness aggression towards arthur it seems very in character for her lol

You bet she has, nonny! Damn, you know her better than I do! 🥹🖤 100% true her brain goes: HUSBAND TOO CUTE. MUST BITE.

So yeah she has cuteness aggression towards Arthur and she usually expresses it with bites and nibbles, especially on the hands, arms, shoulders, neck, and chest. For instance, I can refer to when they are enjoying a quiet moment in front of the fireplace of the living room, Heaven all snuggled up in her husband’s arms. It’s when Arthur dozes off and he’s too freaking cute all sleepy that, suddenly, his tiny menace of a wife brings his large hand to her mouth and bites it.

She pretty much behaves like a little feral cat when she’s overwhelmed by his cuteness. With that in mind, poor lanky dude is never safe from being ambushed, tackled, bit, and aggressively hugged — which is okay because he does the same.

✞ This reply is related to Heaven in Your Eyes. An Arthur Shelby x You series.

[the-doctor-3000]

Hello, can I request a Lion-O x fem reader.

A Fluffy Isekai, like reader was a human nerd who loved learning about animals and plants~ spending most her time camping, but ended up having an accident one day, then waking up in Third Earth.. she’s fascinated by this new world, ends up specializing in wilderness survival, learning about every species of plant, what’s edible and what’s not.. eventually coming across the Thundercats when foraging. She helps them with food and medicine, with Panthro asking if she’d join them. (He’s sick of the gang complaining about his cooking.. and her food was really good.) she agrees, having grown a bit lonely on her own, and smitten shenanigans between her and Lion-O begins

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to write this! I was experiencing a writer's block! Also, since you didn't specify whether you wanted it to be hcs or a one-shot, I decided to do a mix. I will be doing the hcs part in 2nd pov, but you can send me a message to change it if you want. I hope you enjoy it! And again, sorry!

Warnings: Fluff, my knowledge about camping (and things related to it) is non-existent, so I had to do some research - I apologize if they are not accurate. For those who also have no knowledge about it, please do not listen to the things that will be written in this fic as they may as well be false and read a book about it instead, or listen to a professional.

Found Love In The Wild

Y/n groaned as she felt a bright light on her eyes. She cracked them open with great difficulty. She sat up slowly, and her vision focused. She could see that she was in the middle of a desert. She rubbed her eyes and then looked again. She wasn't hallucinating. She was indeed in a desert. 

She stood up, stumbled a little as she did, and took another look at her surroundings. Her eyes were half closed from the sun, her fists on her hips as she looked around for any signs of life. How did she even end up there? She could've sworn that she was on her way with her friend to camp in the woods. 

She pinched herself to see if she was dreaming but nothing. She did it again, and still the same result. She trembling nodded to herself as she tried to take deep breaths.

"Okay, okay, okay." She muttered to herself. "So this just happened. Don't panic, y/n. Everything will turn out fine." She removed her shirt and tied it around her head. "Okay. Now I need... I need..." She snapped her fingers, trying to remember the next thing to do when you're lost in the desert. "Water! I need to find water, food, and shade!"

Once she found them - with great difficulty since the dessert was really huge and it wasn't easy at to find what she needed - she decided to build a makeshift tent because it was getting dark soon. 

The next few days have been rough, but she tried to adjust as she explored. She used whatever she had and found in order to survive. At first, she had to deal with food and hydration. She never expected anything to attack her— Well, actually no, she did think that she might have to defend herself against wild animals, but she never thought that the animals would be humanoid lizards with deadly weapons almost identical to the ones humans have.

She started making her own weapons ever since the first interaction. She would even try to camouflage herself in order to avoid confrontation, if possible.

One day, in the woods, while she was hunting for food, she came across a group of cats. A tiger, a cheetah, two small wild cats (she thought), a panther, and a lion. There was another one, one who appeared to be the size of a pet. The creature was on the ground, laying with its belly up. It groaned in pain.

Y/n approached the group. Her footsteps had become as light feathers. She learned that during her time in the wild. She put her hand on its forehead to check its temperature.

They all looked at her, noticing her presence, and most of them were ready to attack her. She gently opened its mouth and sniffed a little.

"They ate holly berries." She spoke, ignoring the way they reacted. The small creature's stomach growled a little, and its face became green. It groaned in pain. "Can someone please fetch me some water?"

The cheetah female reacted fast to her request and brought her a flask. Y/n then put the creature in a better position so it wouldn't choke. The creature puked on her, and she winced a bit in disgust, but she didn't pull away as she patted it on the back. It was better if it threw up rather than hold it in. Once the vomit was over, she helped it drink water.

When it started feeling better, y/n gently wrapped her handmade cloak around it. 

Now that their friend was alright, the interrogation began from the tiger. Humanoid, too. "And who exactly are you?"

Y/n looked at him, but the humanoid lion responded. "Easy there, Tygra. She helped Snarf."

"She still could be one of his spies."

Y/n sighed as she stood up and said. "I assure you, I am no one's spy. My name is y/n." She then pointed at Snarf. "May I know who the idiot who thought it was a good idea to feed them holly berries might be?"

All of them turned to the bigger cat, the panther. He responded. "Hey! How was I supposed to know it would be poisonous!?"

The lion male looked at y/n, fascination in his eyes. "How were you able to tell, though?"

"I've had some previous experiences, but I also had to learn in my time in this place as it seems that I am trapped here."

"Trapped here?" The cheetah female asked curiously.

"This world. Where I am from... well... let's just say that it's nothing like here." Y/n did not know how to describe her situation to them and if they would even understand it. "To keep it short, I am from another dimension, and I have no idea how to get back, and–" She stopped as she sniffed the air and covered her nose. "What is that disgusting smell?"

The cubs laughed at that. "That would be Panthro's cooking!"

"You brats—!" Panthro said with a glare. Y/n walked up to the cauldron. There was a soup of sorts inside. She took a spoon and tasted it. Tears formed in her eyes as she made a sour expression. She covered her mouth with a gag. "Oh, c'mon! It's not that terrible!" 

Y/n did not even bother addressing him. She looked at the others and sighed. She then searched through her bag and took out some peppercorns. She put some in the soup, ignoring Panthro's protests, and started mixing.

She added some other herbs that the others had never seen before, and when she was done, she called them to eat.

Everyone appeared to be extremely satisfied with the results. Even Panthro, although he wouldn't admit it. The red-headed male came up to her with a smile.

"Hey, thanks for helping Snarf and for the food." 

Y/n returned the smile. "I am pleased that my assistance is appreciated."

"Sorry about Tygra." He said apologetically. "He doesn't trust easily."

"I've noticed."

He put out a paw for her to shake, which she did. "I am Lion-O, by the way." He then gestured to the others, one by one. "These are Panthro, Wilykit and Wilykat, Cheetara, Tygra, and Snarf."

Y/n nodded. "Interesting names for interesting... uhm... people." They stopped shaking hands. "I better get going. It was nice to meet you all. Well... most of you."

"You could always join us!" Wilykit chimed into the conversation with her brother. 

"Yeah!" Wilykat added on, nodding in agreement. "We could really use someone with healing abilities!"

"And someone who knows how to actually cook, too." Kit said in a feign whisper.

"Hey! I heard that!" Panthro shouted in the distance, offended.

Y/n looked at the others, if they were okay with that. They didn't seem to hold any objections to this. She spoke. "I don't see why not. It's not like I have places to be, and it has been quite lonely lately—"

Kit and Kat, as they told her to call them, cheered in happiness.

And that's how it all began. The day you joined the Thundercats. 

And of course, it didn't take long for the lion prince, now king, to start falling heads over heels for you.

I want to safely assume that it would be a 'he fell first, she fell harder' scenario. Mostly because I am one hundred percent sure that Lion-O would be the first to have a crush on his significant other. Plus, I think it would take lots of time for a human to fall in love with a... humanoid cat. (Wow... what a sentence 😂😭)

Anyway, moving on!

When you both started having a crush on each other, it would be so obvious to everyone, but you two. 

I think the reason would be insecurity.

Though after you get over that and do confess to one another, you two are very lovey dovey.

You two would hold hands whenever you walked side by side, felt threatened, or generally. 

After finishing a conversation with the entire team or just the two of you, you will give him a peck on the cheek and walk off. 

The twins would probably find it cute until you kiss in front of them. 

Lion-O loves hearing you talking about the things you like and whenever you all aren't in danger, he takes you on picnics and camping – a little further from the Thundertank just in case Mumm-Ra's forces attack – for dates.

He wants to show you that he listens to you.

Sometimes, he will often try to recreate some of your favourite memories from your world or even attempt to bake your favourite sweets with Panthro.

Which ends in disaster, but you still love the gesture.

[thebest-medicine]

Day 3: Cuddles

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - Mighty Nein C2 - lee!Caleb

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: starts in reference to [C2E122] when Caleb polymorphs into a golden retriever and gets scritches and belly rubs from Veth and Yasha ❤️ see also reference to the talks machina when Liam was asked how Caleb felt about polymorphing into a creature with low intelligence for the first time and he said (paraphrasing) He loved it. He is so smart and smart people are unhappy, and so with an 8 intelligence for the first time, it was like this happiness and lightness that he had never been able to really experience before. It has been on his mind since he changed back. He can’t stop thinking about it. He’s gonna have to do it again some time.

[read on AO3]

Words: 2.7k

…

An uneasy chill drifts through the air as the Nein find themselves with some questionable guests in Caleb’s tower. An unexpected turn of events, bringing them close to people that they are quite confident cannot be trusted. When it is time for bed, no one wants to spend the night alone. They may not be completely safe, they may have an unclear, potentially quite dangerous path ahead. But for now, tonight, they are together, they are okay, they are home. The Nein gather up for the night in Yasha’s room, better together after all - they could set up the dome, sleep in shifts, keep an eye out for any suspicious goings-on from their guests. They take a vote. They’re going to see how this plays out - not rush in, weapons and firebolts blazing as they would have a few months prior.

As they gather in close, whispering about what to do next, Caleb sits off to the side of the group, fiddling with his thumbs, the dome having just been set up. Veth sits on the floor, leaning against Yasha’s bed. Caduceus sits on the other side of Veth, night time tea in hand. Yasha sits on the edge of her mattress, watching each of her compatriots with a concern in her eyes. Beau leans against Jester, who leans against Fjord, a few feet from the halfling.

Caleb brings his hands up to his face, rubbing his temples. He slaps his cheeks a few times. With a quiet, “Ja, ok,” and a mumbled incantation, a fluffy golden retriever is before them instead of the familiar human. Dogleb pads over to Veth and lets out a quiet whine. He circles once, twice, and lays down near her legs, plopping his snout on her ankles. His eyes drift closed, and Veth regards him with a warm smile on her face. She reaches down to pet his head. Veth turns to look at the group, admiration in her eyes as they all fight back an urge to “awww” loudly. She starts patting Dogleb on the head, behind the ears. He makes a happy sound and leans into her hand, she always finds it interesting which parts of Caleb seem to change (and which become more clear - more Caleb-y) when he polymorphs like this. Her other hand comes down and begins scratching and carding through the fur along his back.

Yasha - unable to curb the desire to join them any longer - sits down beside the pair and reaches over, her hands covering a much wider area as she starts to scritch his ears and back and legs. Dogleb is making all sorts of happy dog sounds, his tail wagging a mile a minute. “Aww, you’re so cute. Who’s a good boy?” Yasha smiles as she coos at him.

Dogleb’s tail wags faster, he starts to roll to his side. “Oh, do you want your belly rubbed? You want me to rub your belly? Yes you do. Yes you do. Oh you’re so sweet.” Yasha’s fingers thread through strawberry golden fur as she scratches lightly and pleasantly down Dogleb’s back to his side and toward his partially exposed belly. Yasha is lumbering over him now, encouraging him with praise as he rolls onto his back, paws in the air, head splayed back on the floor. His tail beats against the floor, a metronome keeping an ever-increasing tempo. Around them, the dome is filling with the quiet laughter and sweet whisperings of the Nein.

Veth sits up a bit more and joins Yasha, putting one hand on the soft, fluffy dog belly with a claw-like motion, scratching away at the fluff and fur there. Dogleb melts into both of them along with the floor. She leans toward the hulking barbarian-turned- professional-tummy-scratcher. She scritches under Dogleb’s chin with her other hand as he flops lazily side to side on the ground, squirming pleasantly. His back leg begins kicking in the air as they find a good spot on the side of his tummy.

“Just precious!” Veth chuckles as she acknowledges the shaking limb. She pulls Dogleb in to lie between them, still partly on her lap, as she and Yasha make moves to cuddle up for sleep on the ground with their fluffy prize. The others, more than likely, will join them soon.

“Don’t lay on your back Caleb, that’s weird!” Jester teases with a snicker. His back leg continues to kick rhythmically into the air as he spreads out, Veth and Yasha co-scritching all over his belly. “Oh man, Caleb’s flashing everyone!” Jester laughs and reaches over and scratches behind Dogleb’s floppy ear, joining the other two next to Veth.

Beau slides over to the other side of the group, joining Yasha and pressing into her thigh. She reaches over and scribbles at Dogleb’s belly, smiling.

Curling around their fluffy wizard, the group slowly melts into a pile of bodies strewn comfortably between and across each other. Veth has a face full of dog chest. Yasha has a hand still lightly stroking his belly. Beau is curled up on Yasha’s other side. Jester has an arm around Veth that reaches up just enough to softly scritch behind Dogleb’s ear. Fjord rests with his head in Jester’s lap, Caduceus is wrapped around Fjord and Jester’s other side. A slow rhythm befalls their breathing - calm, safe, together, and starts to keep time with the now-slowing tail-beat.

They decide not to all sleep at once, just in case. Yasha stays up for the first shift, Beau groggily insists on staying up with her (maybe so they can kiss a little bit, who can blame her).

It seems to be a losing game for the monk, as she curls herself into Yasha’s lap and keeps a hand scritching at Dogleb’s belly - the absentminded motion is surely enough to keep her conscious. He seems to relax into the feeling.

Nothing out of the ordinary happens during the night.

About an hour into the watch, Yasha startles at a whoosh of magic as Caleb regains his human form, jostling her and Veth a little as he shifts back. Yasha smiles with a light laugh. Beau’s half-asleep and her hand is still on Caleb’s stomach, wiggling every so often. Each time she does, mumbling into Yasha, Caleb squirms a bit - just a flinch here or there. Yasha looks up to his face and sees him smiling in his sleep. Veth is wrapped along Caleb’s now very-undoglike side, her hand on his chest. With a few sleepy mumbles, everyone’s drifting off again.

Yasha moves her hand from next to Beau’s, still on Caleb’s belly, and scritches her fingers again, as she’d been doing to his dog form for the past hour. She feels Caleb’s muscles twitch under her. She tilts her head with a curious half-smile, attention on him, and watches the small smile on his face. She wiggles her fingers against his stomach. His eyes scrunch and he huffs out a quick breath, almost a laugh. She smiles, tracing her fingers slowly and lightly over his stomach. Caleb’s form shivers, and she can’t quite tell if he’s still fully asleep or not. His breathing remains slow, and his eyes remain closed. Her other hand starts to mirror the pattern on Beau’s back.

The monk shivers pleasantly, this one is definitely semi-conscious. “Mmm- feels nice Yash.” She leans in and nuzzles into Yasha’s side. “You’re not trying to make me fall asleep, are you?” She yawns.

Yasha smiles gently. “No. But if you’re tired, you should. I can wake up Caduceus when it’s time.”

“Nah- I wanna stay up with you.” Beau mumbles, slurring into her side, and wraps her arms all the way around Yasha’s middle.

A few hours pass, and Yasha spends not a small part of them tracing softly over Beau’s back and Caleb’s middle. She doesn’t want to keep them up or startle them, just comfort. Her nails move slow, tracing gently. Beau fades in and out of sleep, continuing to lose her battle with conscious thought - Yasha’s both amazing and not-helping, as Beau loses her fight with the light tracing and tickling along her back. She wants to melt.

Eventually, Yasha turns her head and whispers loudly over the pile of friends. “Hey, Cad. You up?”

Caduceus nods his head slowly as he opens his eyes. “Sure.” He sits up, stretches his arms, and gives Yasha a content smile.

She smiles back, then looks around at the group, a hint of sadness in her eyes. A few breaths pass between them. Fjord snorts an almost snore in his sleep, a smile grows on their faces in soft appreciation. “We have to protect this.” She exhales, eyes flicking up to meet Caduceus’ gaze.

Caduceus nods, understanding. “Get some rest, I’ll keep an eye out.” He gives her a wink as she rearranges herself within Beau’s limbs, ending up with her head on Caleb’s thighs, Beau wrapped around her. Yasha drifts off happily in the embrace of her family.

Caduceus finds his watch goes uneventfully. Nothing nefarious seems to be cooking up in the tower, for now at least, despite their guests on the other floor. Caduceus considers the pile of friends beside him. He hums. They needed to have more nights like this, when there is less at stake.

It’s a few hours later when Caduceus wakes Jester for the final watch and curls himself back into the group, one arm looping around Fjord, reaching past to Veth and Caleb. His other arm rests over Jester’s legs.

It starts off easy enough, entertaining herself with her own thoughts and ideas. But patience, self-restraint? Those are not really her virtues. She puffs her bottom lip out in a bit of a pout as she starts to feel boredom set in. Looking up at the amber dome around them, Jester gets inspired. She takes her sketchbook out of her bag and spends her watch using the dim glow of the dome to illuminate the pages. She draws all of her friends sleeping in a big cuddle pile. She draws Yasha and Nott giving Dogleb belly rubs. She draws all of them as different types of dogs. She draws a couple of dicks. She draws a cute little picture of herself and the Traveler. She draws everything that she can think of, everything she enjoys.

The sun is almost peaking above the horizon when the first of her friends begins to stir. Caleb yawns as he comes into consciousness and notices the arms and heads of Beauregard, Yasha, and Veth all around him. Jester watches a small smile grace his lips just before his eyes flutter open. When he does, and sees her looking - Jester notes disapprovingly - his expression schools back to something neutral. “Ah, good morning Jester.”

“Morning Caleb. How did you sleep?”

“Mm. Fine, what about you?”

“Sooo good.” She beams. “Want to see what I drew while you were sleeping?”

Caleb flushes a little, a sheepish smile turning up his lips. “Ja, of course.”

Caleb gets one elbow up under him, careful not to disturb his sleeping companions. He leans in a bit as Jester shows him her various sketches and close ups of their sleeping faces that she cooked up earlier this morning. Caleb follows along, reminding her to whisper when she gets a little excited explaining the drawings and what kind of dog everyone would be.

“Aww.” She coos, pointing to a drawing of him as a dog with Yasha and Veth petting him. “You were so cute last night Caleb, do you want another belly rub?”

Caleb goes bright red. “Was- no.” He squirms beneath the pile of his companions, more aware now that he is weighted down with the head of a sleeping Yasha on his thighs and a Veth curled up beside him.

Jester wiggles closer. “Oh, why not? You seemed like you liked it last night!” She reaches out toward his middle, fingers wiggling exaggeratedly. “Are you worried your belly would be too ticklish when you’re not a dog or something?” Her voice is silly, lilting up at the end. It’s dangerous, like a Venus fly trap, drawing you in with its sweetness.

Caleb watches her, and she watches him back with glee as his panicked eyes slowly widen under her scrutiny. He squirms. “Jester..” He whispers cautiously, trying to sound stern and school his expression despite his beet red face. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he gets an excuse out. “It is too early to wake everyone up.”

“Are you scared they’ll help me tickle you?”

“Nein!” He nearly shouts but cuts himself off with a whine in the back of his throat. “Jester!” He hisses as she reaches closer, dangerously close to his side. They maintain eye contact for a brief few moments, Caleb’s eyes wide and embarrassed, standing out even more against the dark shade of his face. A few breaths. Jester’s smirk softens to a smile. Caleb soon finds his expression softening as well, and his head falls back softly. His heart races in his chest as he takes a few deep breaths. “Please.” He puts up a hand pleadingly and meets Jester’s eyes. “Not- not right now.”

Jester makes a face as she contemplates. This seems like a reaaaaaally good time to make Caleb laugh and smile and be happy and tease him a little. But, it is pretty early. And everyone else is sleeping, it would be a little rude to wake them up, even if it was for something super fun.

An idea seems to dawn on her if Caleb is reading her expression right. He feels a shiver down his back.

“What about if I just tickle you like, just a litttttttle bit, like this?” She reaches and tickles behind his ears. He squirms and scrunches his shoulders. “I’ll be really nice and gentle and-”

“Ah- hehe- Jester!” His eyes are wide, matching his nervous grin.

“Shhhh, be quiet Caleb. Don’t wake them up!” She scolds with a grin. Jester lightly tickles Caleb’s ears and neck. He squirms more, shaking his head.

“Ehehe- I can’t- no-” Caleb whines, trying to catch Jester’s hand with the one of his that is free. His other arm cradles around Veth. He squeezes her close a bit in his panic as he tries to squirm out of Jester’s way.

Veth blinks awake, a bit confused as to why Caleb keeps squeezing her, and looks up to see him barely stifling giggles while Jester wiggles her fingers all around his neck and shoulders and ears - anywhere she can reach.

“Stop- stop! You’rehehe hehehe going to wahahake them!” Caleb pleads through soft giggles.

“Jester!” Veth scolds, smacking at one of her hands lightly. “He’s right.”

“I mean, technically he would be the one waking them.” She counters, then meets Veth’s soft but stern glare. “Oh, fine.”

She scratches under Caleb’s chin for a moment longer and then finally pulls her hands back. It’s minuscule, but she picks it up when his jaw follows slightly when she pulls away. She thinks she catches something in his eyes, but he closes them too quickly for her to make it out.

He takes a few shaky, deep breaths. Veth readjusts her spot, cuddling back up against him, and to Jester’s delight he flinches when she first curls into his side.

“Okay okay, go ahead and get your precious last minutes of sleep.” Jester sticks out her tongue at them, poking Caleb’s side once more and making him flinch. It takes a tremendous amount of will power to turn her attention back to her sketchbook for the next half hour or so as everyone slowly starts to stir awake.

[thedawningofthehour]

I was really sure we wouldn't have a chapter today, waking up and seeing the chapter notification was really surprising and scary.

'Bella is still under arrest and it looks like Pax went to live with Draxum'.

I WANTED ONE THING, FAI!!! ONE THING!!!

Northampton Arch!

Not Northampton Arch.

I love April's parents, if anything bad ever happens to them I will resent you for the rest of the series.

Nice to see Mr. Bone again, definitely a great character, hope he can still reconcile with his brother in this reality as well. Don suave could be super useful. What are your headcanon about the guy.

'Draxum has not let him be seen, Or mentioned his name. Pray that continues'

Yeahh, Donnie will have a hard time even if the court pardons him. The boy will not only have to deal with the emotional burden, but also with the fact that many people hate him for what he did even if he was brainwashed.

Finally we get to see the repercussions of Draxum's actions more closely, God, it reminds me so much of the Mutant town arc. You said book 3 will focus more on donnie, right? I hope he gets a closer glimpse of what Draxum's war is causing.

Again, poor people, their lives took a 180° turn thanks to Draxum, and not because they are now mutants the Yokai will accept them just like that, and Draxum is too focused on his goal of mutating everyone to see it.

Lita! No Wait, Jenny! JENNY!!! as in JENIKA!!!?

Poor Raph, they should give him a pizza for every time they mistake him for an adult.

Ending up with a turtle power is the sweetest and most beautiful thing ever and you should never feel bad about it.

I've honestly been surprised by how much I got into writing the O'Neils. Originally I just put them in because I was making April a very prominent character and either I constantly show her making excuses and whatnot to keep them off her back or I imply that she's hella neglected. Which-people have done neglected April before and it works great for them, but I thought it would be simpler to just have them meet the fam and get it over with.

Simpler. Lol.

I've really enjoyed writing their dynamic, especially in this last chapter. They do fight, of course they do, all married couples argue. They're extremely stressed out, worried about their daughter and three bonus sons, and deeply worried and mourning for the bonus son they haven't gotten to meet. But they're good people with healthy communications and whatnot, and they still use little terms of endearment and show affection and are still generally in love after being married for probably twenty years.

And they're so parent-coded. They were perfectly happy being one and done, but these boys are children 2-5 now.

I mean, depends on how homosexual you think Bishop is? I feel like he's one of those asexuals who wields their asexuality like a weapon. Don Suave tries to seduce him and he just pulls out his pistol and shoots his dick off.

I was thinking of mentioning the Hueso-Piel reconciliation later on, but it would be a pretty minor thing. Probably just a mention and Piel walking around in the background. Shit's getting real, it's dumb to hang onto stupid brotherly feuds when your brother might die tomorrow.

Lol, that's why I made her a yellow-bellied slider. I kind of liked the idea of Leo having other slider mutants around, considering they're such popular pets and more people would have slider DNA on their person verses alligator snappers or softshells. We can say that Jenny grows up to be a fearsome crimefighter herself. But right now she's six.

[matriarchjojo]

" WATCH OUT, LITTLE KITTY! "

H. RINDOU, H. RAN + BIMBO!READER

18+, DUBCON/NONCON, slapping, belly/throat bulge, fingersucking, ran throat fucking you with his baton, degradation, hinted yandere themes, fingering, spit kink, use of "kitten", readers skin color is not mentioned, MDNI

you live in Roppongi in a little neighborhood with a lot of stray cats, you always go out to put some food for them out. But this night the infamous brothers bumped into you

"Come here! kitty, kitty"

You called out to the fluffy kitties in the alleyway that you fed every night for 4 years

Three cats jumped out and walked to the little plate with food on it, and started eating.

You smiled and pet one of the cats, you then stood up again. It was pretty cold tonight and you're just wearing shorts and a tight small Spaghetti strap top. Without a bra no less

The kitties ate everything up and so you turned around to start walking back home

You suddenly saw a figure in the dim light, and immediately got a bad feeling seeing the figure walk towards you. It was a man.

As you walked closer you could make out what he looked like, he had blonde hair with turquoise dyed strands. He was pretty attractive too. But then you realized that he looked like someone you heard about before. You stood still and took a few steps back

"watch out, little kitty" the blonde man chuckled.

And as he said this your back hit something, the fear you felt bore a hole through your stomach.

It was a taller man with blonde and Black braided hair, you now realized who these men are. They are those delinquent brothers, all you knew about them Was: when you see them, run the other way. But that was too late now.

The taller man hummed as he smiled down at you "what's a pretty thing like you doing out this late?" He purred, while you were distracted by the older sibling that you didn't notice the younger one being now right behind you "don't you know, it's pretty dangerous for girls like you at night." The younger one stated matter of factly.

The older one tilted his head "cat gotcha tongue?" Both of them were really attractive but you were still scared shitless. "Aww, she's shivering~" the older one spoke up again and smiled

the younger one's index finger hooped around the strap of your top "Yeah no shit, she's probably cold with how she's dressed" as soon as his gloved finger brushed against the exposed skin you snapped out of your scared trance and tried to run past the taller man but you were really stupid to think that would work.

when you tried to run he grabbed you by the hair and something cold pressed against your cheek "Woah there, little kitty..not so fast~"

it was some sort of weapon, your heart was beating so fast that you could almost feel it if you held a hand to your chest.

"did you try to run away?" the younger one stepped in front of you and grabbed your face "that wasn't very polite now was it?"

He looked at his older brother who was sliding his baton from your cheek down to your collar bones "we are talking to you, kitten" you just couldn't remember their names, you know you saw them 2 years before, in the news when they went to jail for something you can't remember. You just remembered that you thought they were pretty hot for criminals.

The younger one suddenly smacked you in the face "you're a bratty one, huh?"

you tried your best to talk in order to not tick them off "u-uh..n-no.." The one still holding you by the hair smiled down at you "ah, there's her pretty voice, rin" the younger one hummed in satisfaction.

You finally got it! Their names are rindou and ran haitani

Before you could say anything else or beg them to let you go, the cold metal of the pipe traced your hard nipples that poked through your shirt forcing a whine out of you

"Oh~" ran purred against your ear as he slid the pipe lower until it pressed against your sensitive clit "ahh~"

the younger one smiled "ya like that, hm?" He whispered against your lips as he took one of his gloves off and placed two fingers on your bottom lip

"Suck." You mindlessly obeyed and opened your mouth to suck on his fingers like a slut

"Guess she's not a brat after all" the older chuckled and pressed his baton harder and circled on your clothed clit

"Mhh-" you moaned around and bit fingers lightly before you were suddenly forced to your knees.

Rin removed his fingers from your mouth and both of the taller men looked down at your trembeling form

Ran's baton prodded against your lips as he kept his hold on your hair "c'mon, kitty..open up we wanna see how deep you can take it" for some reason your pussy responded positively to his deep but soft voice

Your mouth opened with your tongue out and ran didn't waste any time placing the tip of the metal on your tongue and sliding it down your throat till you started gagging

he pulled it out once that sweet choking sound of yours invaded his ears, you kept your mouth open and coughed while letting drool paint your lips and chin.

"What a good kitty, you can take it pretty deep huh?" Ran patted your head

"Let's see if you can also take getting your little throat fucked" rindou chuckled, and then watched his brother grab your head to force it back down your throat repeatedly at a fast and rough pace. You could see that the brothers were enjoying tormenting you by the Tents building up in their already too tight-looking pants.

Rindou stepped closer to you with his clothed cock right next to your cheek "that's good, take it like a good little whore." His mean words were just building up more and more heat inside you. or more specifically, more heat in your pussy.

You tried telling yourself that you didn't like it but your pussy disagreed with you.

Ran was Holding the baton next to his hips and as he was fucking your throat with it, he continued to move his hips along with the movements of his hands. "You've done this before, huh y/n?"

Your heart dropped immediately as your name left ran's lips, your tear-filled eyes stared up at the grinning men in disbelief

"your dumb little head is probably wondering how we know your name right, kitty?" Rin placed his hand on your head in a soothing manner

"Well, we've known you for a while now~" your whole body froze all of a sudden

Ran pulled his baton from your mouth and you coughed some more spit out "Wh-wha.." Ran smiled at you struggling to breathe and talk

"Kitten, we have been watching you for over 4 years now~ and now we have you. You finally belong to us" Ran kissed your forehead "isn't that right, doll?" You were trembling at this point, you didn't know what was happening.

Your mind was still so clouded that you couldn't really register the danger of this situation.

Ran's eyes softened and were filled with so much adoration all of a sudden and kissed your wet lips "hey!" Rindou complained as his brother kissed you.

Ran slipped his tongue past your lips, let it glide alongside yours, pushed your face closer to his one Last time, and broke the kiss.

"You fucking promised I get to kiss her first!" Ran just kept staring at you while his little brother complained "I'm sorry, dear brother I couldn't help myself~"

he stuck his tongue out in a cute manner as rindou squatted down next to his brother and took your pretty face in his hands to kiss you as well "mhh!" You whined at how soft both their lips were and at the fact that ran was kissing up your neck now "Pretty girl♡" Ran purred against your neck.

The brothers both stood up leaving you shaking on the ground "you look so cute down there~" rin said while taking off his other glove and then his glasses "wonder how cute you would look with a cock in your face" your eyes widened and sparkled due to the tears welling up in your innocent eyes.

The both of them couldn't fucking wait to make you choke on their cocks. So they didn't waste a single second to unbuckle their belts and pull their cocks out.

Both of them were really big. Ran's was a little thicker than rindou but rin's was a little longer than ran. "C'mere, kitten" rin began to intertwine his fingers with your hair and pull your face into his warm and Rock hard cock "ngh-"

You gasped as a little precum leaked onto your face "suck it, baby.. I know you want it deep down your throat" your pussy clenched at his deep voice and commands. Your sweaty hand took ahold of his shaft and you began to swirl your tongue on his head.

You looked up to see if you were doing well, to see rin with his eyes closed as he let out a guttural groan. "Oh fuck.."

Ran grinned down at you licking like a hungry kitty and started stroking his cock in front of your face "Careful, doll. Our little rin is still a virgin"

Ran snickered and earned a disapproving glance from his little brother. You began to suck rin's tip into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it at the same time "mhh- fuck..feels really good, kitty..don't fuckin' stop"

rin threw his head back and shoved his whole cock down your throat, forcing you to whine around his cock as you struggled to inhale and exhale "through your nose, darling.." Ran reminded you as he started to fist his cock next to your face.

Rin forced your throat to keep cockwarming his cock as your tongue kept licking. "F-fuck..m' gonna cum" rindou groaned, tugging your hair "fuck her throat, don't cum from a little cock warning!" Ran laughed at his pathetic brother, when he was actually the pathetic one because Ran couldn't cum until he saw tears ruining your pretty makeup.

"Sh-shut up!" Rin leaned forward, came down your throat and shoved his cock even further down. "F-fuck..take it- yeah..just like that, ohh god"

You thought rin was super cute for cumming so soon and so loud. when he slowly pulled out, you coughed and smiled up at him. Ran got behind you and whispered in your ear to "lay down n' spread your legs, baby"

You did and looked back down at rindou who's cock was hard again looking at the wet Spot on your cute pink shorts before he took them off to reveal your soaked panties as slick was dripping down your legs

"she's so wet" rin growled stroking his cock while his other hand struggled to take your panties off and handed the dripping fabric over to his brother

Ran smiled and gladly took it before shoving them in his back pocket "don't worry baby, you won't need panties when you're our wife~" he laughed.

And before you could process what ran just said rindou shoved two fingers inside your leaking and clenching hole "aaah!!" His Fingers were so thick and felt so good. You were suprised at how well he could move his fingers for a virgin.

"M-mhh" Rindou licked his bottom lip and was confused if he should be looking at your erotic face expression or at your pussy that kept sucking his fingers in and clenching on them.

"Fuck..her pussy is so fuckin' tight.." he couldn't help but moan at your Feeling and noises. Rin immediately picked up the pace of his thrusts and started finger fucking you.

"Nhh! A-ahh! Rinn!" Your thighs twitched at his sudden speed and accidentally moaned out his name, to which rin's cock visibly twitched and oozing pre-cum from his angry red tip

"Rindouu! P-put it in please!!" Your words even made ran's cock react. So rin didn't even hesitate to pull his fingers out and line his cock up with your throbbing hole. "Can't deny our pretty kitty now can I?" He smirked as sweat ran down his temple.

He tried to seem calm and composed when he really wasn't, he was dreaming of this moment for so long. His hands were shaking as he felt your throbbing hole on the sensitive head of his cock.

He looked back up into your shiny eyes, practically begging him to finally fuck you. Rin bit his lip and slipped his head inside of your unbelievably tight and warm cunt "ohhh fuckk.." rin tried so hard not to cum on the spot, but it was hard.

You got really lost in the Feeling of rin's large cock once he slowly slid it fully inside your clenching cunny, that you got so surprised when ran suddenly yanked your hair back to look at him as he placed his heavy cock on your pretty face

"c'mon doll..ya didn't forget about me did ya?" Ran chuckled and you just shook your head as you stared at his fat cock, it was so thick..you weren't sure if it would even fit in your mouth.

But even if it wouldn't..ran will make it fit~

"Open up!" Ran giggled and slapped his cock on your lips. You hesitated a little bit but then opened up your mouth for him.

Rin glared at his brother for trying to get your attention back to him, so rin was determined to fuck you absolutely dumb. He picked up his pace, making his balls slap against your wet ass

"AAH- NGHH!!" you wanted to moan but as you did, ran shoved his cock down your throat, watching a little bulge appear on your throat "mhh~ pretty girl" he praised and grabbed your throat to hold you in place while he fucked your sore throat

Ran bit his bottom lip as he felt your throat bulge every time he would thrust inside your throat on the palm of his hand. "Ohh fuck..my pretty wifey~"

rin's head shot up at that and began to thrust even harder and he swung your right leg over his shoulder to hit your deepest spots.

"You mean- mhng! Our wife." Rin was so done with his brother's shit, he just wanted to focus on your angelic pussy. But it was hard when his brother kept trying to capture your attention all for himself.

Ran let out a breathy chuckle as he kept fucking your throat and making his heavy balls slap in your face.

"Mnggg! Nhhh~" you moaned around ran's fat cock stretching your throat and making your jaw hurt.

Rin decided to ignore his brother's antics and turned his attention back to your pussy when he saw a little bulge on your tummy.

He halted for a second and even saw the twitch of his cock inside your belly. "Ohh.." his moan came out as a cute stutter making your little pussy flutter around him.

"G-gonna cum inside you, pretty baby, yeah?" He groaned and thrusted harder into you again and biting your thigh to stop his moans from coming out.

Ran was just as close as rindou because you kept moaning like a slut, making your throat vibrate around his thick cock. "Mhh..ah- gonna cum, kitten..prepare yourself~" when ran came to the thought of you it was always so much.

He wonders how much he would cum when you were sucking on his cock.

Rin cursed one last time before his cock throbbed in your clenching pussy and shot his hot strings of cum deep inside of you "a-ahhh..ohh fuck..god..such a good pussy, taking me so well.."

Rin kept his sensitive dick inside your snug pussy and continued to rub circles on your little clit, making you moan even more.

"Nhh- fuck, yeah baby..suck harder—yeahh..just like tha- ugh.." Ran was on the verge of cummimg but then pulled out to cum on your pretty tits with a loud and pretty moan.

"So good for us~" ran's gloved thumb caressed your cheek while you arched your back and came hard on rindou's cock "A-AHHH! AHHNN" your hands tried to grab at anything they could find as your hips started to grind onto his still hard cock.

"D-daddies!!" You mindlessly wailed, leading to both of the men's eyes widen.

The shocked looks quickly turned into smirks, ran came back down to kiss your messy lips and lowly groan into it.

It would be an understatement to say that they were obsessed with you, no, they literally need you in their lives.

Rin slowly pulled out and helped you sit up to kiss your forehead and then your lips softly before ran took his jacket off to put it over your shoulders.

"Are you okay, baby?" Rindou cooed, caressing your cheek. You weakly nodded and gave both of them a soft smile.

You tried to stand up with the brothers but you kept falling so ran just squatted down and showed you that you should get on his back.

You did exactly that and rin didn't take his hand off of your back as the two of them walked towards your house.

You should've known they know where you live, they know everything about you!

Maybe they are Kind of creepy but the dick is too good so who cares.

[toweroftickles]

Hey! You got any cuphead headcannons? (For either the game or the show, or both)

Now, as we all know, these two boys love to roughhouse - blindfolded pillow fights, good old-fashioned wrestling and boxing matches, really any kind of horsing around that might break Elder Kettle's possessions. The only rule they have, established long ago and strongly enforced, is no tickling. (Except in specifically-designated tickle fights).

They don't particularly like or hate tickling, but they're both hysterically ticklish and will surrender immediately. Loud laughers with very physical reactions, and both pretty much ticklish everywhere. Will definitely get you back. If they get the idea to, say, tickle a boss, they make quite a capable tag team too. Usually use that cartoony finger-wagging style of tickling (seen below).

Also, cup people are apparently ticklish on their handles. Somehow.

Ms. Chalice

This container girl is definitely a ler by nature - just look at that smirk and those sharp, spidery fingers. ^^ If she thinks she can get something out of you by tickling, she will. Doesn't possess a particular liking for the activity; it's just another useful trick in her arsenal. Mischievous, spunky, and a little mean, she'll make you laugh and make you like it. Definitely uses the "cootchie cootchie coo!" kind of tickle talk.

Despite this, she hates being tickled herself. She has an adorably loud laugh that she's not particularly fond of letting out. Doesn't like showing weakness or being vulnerable. Most ticklish on her sides and stomach. Like Cuphead & Mugman, has weirdly ticklish handles too.

It seems that her weapon in The Delicious Last Course consists of a whirling tornado bullet which can create a giant storm of feathers. Wonder what she could do with a weapon like that.

Hilda Berg

As the only villain character who can literally attack by cackling the word "HA!" at her opponents, laughter is naturally very important to Hilda. She's kind of got a deviously sick sense of humor. Delights in the misery of others, definitely, but she's not a tickler by nature. She will, however, get quite angry if she's tickled. She'll furiously order her ler to stop in between earth-shaking belly laughs and launch every star in the sky at you to make them stop. This is one of her big weaknesses, and she can't stand that. Will always deny it, of course. Most ticklish on her back and her feet.

Might laugh if you squeeze or punch her in her blimp form, but her crescent moon monster form seems mostly immune.

Baroness Von Bon Bon

Total ler. Tickle tortures her candy kingdom's criminal citizens in her dungeon.

...that's basically all I got.

Cala Maria

I'd make that classic dad joke about octopuses here, but let's face it...you've already made it in your head.

This gigantic mermaid is absurdly ticklish, especially on her tummy and those constantly-swaying hips. Immediately loses composure when tickled...her arms become flailing noodles and she squirms around like...well, like a fish on a hook. But as skilled as her snake-topus hair is in the art of tickle torture, Cala isn't likely to strike back that way...she'd much rather turn you to stone and break you. Though she does get some wicked glee out of tickling a helpless victim with her hair...or her tail. Or any of her sea-dwelling pets.

Her electric eel friends sometimes swim around her tail or nip at her belly to make her shriek, and she hates it.

Rumor Honeybottoms

Rumor is basically one of those I'm-so-much-better-than-you anime mean girls, with a mocking "Ho-Ho-Ho!" kind of laugh. As a literal queen bee, sometimes her smaller worker bees will buzz past her body or crawl through her fuzz and accidentally tickle her into peals of hysterical laughter. Anyone who does this is immediately fired or killed. Or at least put into an even-tinier cubicle.

She apparently has some kind of thing going on with Cagney Carnation, though this can create awkwardness when his petals and vines accidentally tickle her.

Denizens of Inkwell Isle

Ginger - Completely a sweetheart from head to toe, this cookie girl just adores tickles. There's no better way to brighten someone's day! Very much a lee.

Buster - This jolly figure is just too ticklish for his own good. But there's nothing he likes more than a good chortle! He's a lee too.

Ludwig - He’s a sour, serious phonograph. But rumor has it, if you turn his crank the wrong way, he’ll fall into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Cora - This pirate gal has tangled with the most dangerous seafolk around. Unfortunately for her, both Cala Maria and Captain Brineybeard’s pet squid have discovered how to use their tentacles against her! She’s ticklish everywhere and would surrender her treasure map to make you stop.

Chip - Always cheery and eager for adventure, Chip is up for anything that puts a smile on his face. But be careful when you tickle him…that sharp head might cut you.

This Random-Ass Cat/Bat/Whatever Demon Lady in the Background at the Casino

Pfft. Who does this lady think she’s fooling, sitting there all innocent like that? She’s such a freakin ler. Come on. Look at that smug-ass smile.

[justlookatthosesausages]

HTBC 🌱 chapter 9!

But still I cannot see, if the savage one is me

Panicked adults and scared children were the reception of Anna and Elsa when they eventually came back to the camp.

The Northuldra were so busy running around to grab weapons or organize the defense and put kids into safety that they didn't notice their presence right away.

Anna frowned and grabbed the arm of a man. "Hey, what the hell is going on?"

The Northuldra looked devastated. "They're gone."

The Queen blinked. "Who?"

"Honeymaren and Ryder. They're gone."

Elsa's eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat like someone actually suddenly squeezed it. "Wh… What?"

Yelena appeared next to the man, saw that Elsa's usually pale face got even paler, and nudged him angrily. "Review your vocabulary! You make it sound like they're dead!"

"But…" Replied the man, trembling. "We have no idea if–"

"As long as I'm alive, I will never assume or let Northuldra assume that we die without fighting. We're a surviving tribe. Do you understand? I hope that you'll pass the torch when I'm gone." Frowned the old chief.

The Northuldra gulped. "Y-yes."

He then left, and Yelena sighed. She looked at the Fifth Spirit with seriousness, though one could see sadness in her eyes.

"They've been captured. The bandits have taken advantage of the two Nattura siblings being on their own next to the reindeer to put sacks on their faces, and several people of the tribe saw them knock their heads before putting them on the back of horses and going away as fast as they came. We tried to go after them, but it was too late. They had scared the reindeers anyway, and we had no ride to catch up. They… They took advantage of your absence to do so."

Anna and Elsa were devastated by the news, astonished and speechless, like the air had been captured from their lungs. The redhead turned to her elder with shock, and saw that Elsa was astonished.

"They… They were on their own?"

The chief had a sad smile. "Well, yes. You two left and they remained on the edge of the Forest. Iskko told me that Ryder had meant to ask Honeymaren about her feelings since the… Letter incident, and it's probably why they weren't focused on their surroundings. The conversation went confidential, I think, because the Wind Spirit was above the herd and yet she came back to the center of the camp, which she usually does when one of us asks for privacy. And I know Ryder. He likely opted for a quiet conversation and eased her nerves with the reindeer babies to pet."

Elsa's heart sank in her chest and she looked at her own sibling. Anna gulped with a sad expression, perfectly imagining what was crossing her mind. She wasn't even there when the reading of the letter had happened, and yet she had sensed Elsa's emotion when she told her how it went. It was natural for Honeymaren to feel even worse.

Elsa's face crumbled, and she started to hold her head.

"No, no, no… Honey… I shouldn't have left her."

"Wait, Elsa, Yelena is right. Even if we were next to her, she would have asked for privacy." Assured Anna.

"But I could have protected her!" Jolted Elsa.

The redhead widened her eyes when she saw her sister suddenly pace around, her left hand passing through her hair while the other was over her belly, like a reassuring self-hug. Anna knew that posture too well.

"Relax, it's gonna be okay…" She whispered, lifting calming hands.

"I'm always here with her! I live with her!" Exclaimed the Spirit, twirling around and around. "I can always keep an eye on her and protect her, I can't believe that–"

"That when you're absent, someone takes her away? Yeah, that's the whole plan, actually." Pointed out Anna, trying to ease her with that blatant fact.

Elsa kept pacing around with anger towards herself.

"Of course whoever did this has waited for me to go away so I won't protect her. But that doesn't change the fact that it's my fault!" She exclaimed.

Yelena slipped away from the emotional outburst. She had lots to do to protect her tribe anyway.

Anna planted herself right in front of her sister at her next turn, to block her in her unending spiral.

"Elsa, Elsa, calm down. Think rationally. We need your clever and composed brilliant side now."

The Spirit snorted at the compliments, still passing a hand in her hair - now really sparkly with all the added layers of ice - but she eventually calmed down at the trusting teal blue eyes.

"You surely have enough faith in Honeymaren to know something. Even the tiniest thing." Encouraged Anna.

Her elder sighed. She closed her eyes and thought, took the time to breathe out, then opened them again with calm.

"Honeymaren is a hunter, a strategist at heart. She always plans things in advance, and she actually always has a second plan, and it's very likely that she planned something in case she gets captured by Hans or any thug when I'm not around. She just never got the occasion to tell me."

The Fifth Spirit felt terrible as she theorized that Honeymaren maybe never told her her plan because she didn't want to hurt her with that possibility after the Collapse.

Anna frowned at Elsa's theory. "But if she told her suspicions and plans to someone, that would put the person in danger. It's not very Honeymaren." She cleverly noted, aware of how the brunette worked.

"I agree." Said Elsa. "So… She must have written a note for me somewhere."

Anna agreed in turn, nodding.

"And hid it. Now the question is, where and how could she hide a note that only you would find?"

Elsa thought for a moment.

Then she suddenly widened her eyes, and turned to stare at Anna.

"The cryptex."

"Uh?"

"THE CRYPTEX!"

[Read more on FF] [Read more on AO3]

[fett-djarin]

Anything

this bitch done YEET

anyway this is Boba Fett x f!Reader! I had this idea kicking around for awhile and shit finally came together and i was able to get it done!

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, canon-typical violence (not in the smut), PiV intercourse, unprotected sex, fingering, riding, throne sex come get yalls juice, multiple orgasms, creampie, spanking, slight cockwarming?, pet names, swearing

NSFW BELOW THE CUT!

Boba Fett was an enigma. He intimidated you, intrigued you--but he didn’t scare you. Boba could be violent, occasionally cruel, but only to those who had earned his ire. You had nothing to fear.

You still remember the day he stormed into Jabba’s palace, a wrathful spectre on a mission. You had been afraid you would be caught in the crossfire, an exchange of possession through violence. But then your chains were blasted apart, scum of men dying around you instead of finding your own demise. Instead of fleeing like the other girls, you dove towards a dropped blaster and levelled it at one of the smugglers putting up a fight. This particular one had been a thorn in your side for a long time. You’d be lying if you said you felt no satisfaction watching him fall lifeless from your well-placed blaster bolt.

“Nice shot,” the woman--Fennec, you had come to learn--commented. You had turned in a panic, pointing the blaster in her direction, her own rifle coming up in an instant, aimed squarely at your head.

“Easy, girl,” the Mandalorian--Boba--had said. “We have no interest in fighting you.”

“If you mean to sell me again,” you spat, “it would be easier to kill me now.” Your fingers flexed on the blaster, and you tried to steady your shaking hands. Fennec’s aim hadn’t faltered.

“Stand down, Shand,” Fett directed the sharpshooter, who immediately lowered her weapon. He then addressed you again. “I don’t deal in flesh.” You slowly dropped your arm. “What’s your name, girl?”

That had been...a few standard months ago, now. Boba ran his syndicate under a tight fist. He had no use for slaves, and had told you you were free, even offered you credits to return home. Some of the others took his offer. You had opted to stay--your birth planet had nothing to offer you, and you did not want to try your luck as a newly freed woman with nothing to your name on Tatooine. You didn’t even have a name, really. You were called something different each time you moved; your birthname was no longer you. That person had died long ago.

“Call me anything,” you had told Boba. “I don’t mind.”

He thought for a minute, and then decided. “Mayen.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. The gruff, seemingly serious man had a sense of humor. Mayen--Mando’a for ‘anything.’ His lips quirked in a sly smirk. You liked it. Mayen it was.

“You know Mando’a?” He had asked.

“I’ve picked up things here and there,” you smiled in return.

He later on told you that you could pick your own name, you had no obligation to go by the silly pun he called you. But you had a sense of humor, and actually liked how it sounded. It was a new beginning. You decided you would keep it.

You knew quite a few languages, or bits and pieces you heard over the years. Boba had hired you as a translator, and you accompanied him to meetings with traders, smugglers, and pirates. He didn’t allow any of them to harass you. If they so much as leered in your direction, they tended to lose a few fingers or teeth, either by your hand or his. At Boba’s insistence, you now carried a blaster and a vibroblade. Fennec had been showing you how to properly aim and shoot so you could better protect yourself. He had gifted you the vibroblade as part of your payment.

Yes, Boba Fett was a hard man, but you appreciated his kindness.

His scars added to his imposing figure, and you often found yourself wondering about their origin. What he must have gone through for his skin to be marked so. You also wondered about how stupid some people could be--Mandalorians were legendary warriors, and Boba Fett had some infamy connected to his name, yet fools still picked fights they were destined to lose. His armor impressed you--and the dark stare of the T-visor when he looked your way always had something low and warm stirring in your belly.

It didn’t help that sometimes he would watch while you practiced with your blade. Your heart thundered in your ears the first time he came up behind you, chest to your back, and moved your arms into the correct defensive position. His boot also nudged your stance wider, centering your weight. It’s part of training, you told yourself. You prayed he didn’t notice the heat in your face or the way you refused to look at him. Stars, if you turned your head you could kiss him--

What could you say? He was a handsome man.

Occasionally he offered to spar with you, which was laughable. The first time you had outright refused. “I don’t want to die, thanks,” you said.

“You’re gonna have to face people bigger and stronger than you sometimes, princess,” he said the endearment mockingly.

“Most people aren’t Boba Fett.”

“You’re right about that. Still, come on, show me what you’ve learned.”

Your first fight ended miserably in about three seconds. You gave him a pointed look that said I-told-you-so, and he just shrugged. “Not bad for your first time.” Sparring became regular.

“You’re quicker than me. Use that to your advantage, stay out of my reach. Strike and retreat.”

“Arms up, but keep ‘em close--protect your body.”

“Stagger your stance, distribute your weight. Make it harder for people to knock you down.”

“Move with confidence--this is not the time to falter.”

His words of advice came with each session and stuck. After a few weeks, you could hold your own for a minute against Fett. Then five minutes. Then your sparring was like a coordinated, aggressive dance, blades flashing and deflected, ducking, dodging, weaving, spinning around each other. Once, you had even managed to disarm him, knocking the blade from his hand--you both froze in stunned surprise before Boba recovered and had you pinned to the floor in an instant.

“Very good.” He said from his place atop your legs, pride curling darkly through his voice. “But next time, press the advantage. You freeze, you die.” Now you froze for an entirely different reason--his weight on top of you caused something hot and wanting to smolder in you, his thumb gently stroking the hollow of your throat making your breath hitch. And then he was off you, pulling you back to your feet with ease.

You still couldn’t beat him--you don’t think you would ever be capable of that. The best bounty hunter in the galaxy against you? You much prefer being on his good side.

Boba had just returned from a recent bounty hunt alongside a fellow Mandalorian, having left you and Fennec at the palace. You had been helping her sort through the datalogs and contraband left behind from the previous occupants when he appeared, moving surprisingly silent for such a broad, imposing man.

“Mayen,” he called you, and you looked at him over your shoulder, having been preoccupied cataloguing the contents of the crate in front of you. He was still in his armor, adding to his bulk. The green-painted beskar gave nothing away. “I’ve got a meeting. You’ll be needed. Fennec, I sent you scouting information on the next bounty.”

You nodded, and with your acknowledgment, he turned and strode back towards the throne room. Fennec stood, brushing sand off her pants. “Careful,” Fennec warned. “Keep your blaster close. You never know how these meetings will turn out.” She patted you on the shoulder.

“Got it,” you said, adjusting your tunic so she could see the holster on your hip. It would be the first time she wasn’t there alongside you while Boba arranged deals with crime lords. Sometimes Boba would go in alone, or the both of you would attend. “Trained by the best.”

She cracked a smile at that. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to track down our next target.” She exited the storage room opposite of the way Boba went.

You gathered yourself, then followed after Boba. Entering the throne room was daunting, as the traders he was meeting with were already there and turned to stare. A few of them openly looked you up and down. Your eyes were fixed solely on Boba lounging on the throne, legs spread, seemingly completely at ease and exuding power. You strode past the group of men come to bargain, refusing to look away from the void of Boba's visor that tracked your movement. One of them muttered something as you passed that you couldn't make out, but it had not sounded pleasant. You took your place at Boba's side.

"Boba Fett, the legendary bounty hunter back from the dead," a wiry human man stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. His grin was more of a baring of teeth. "Now that you run this joint, I have a few propositions to consider--"

Since he was speaking Basic, you have to admit, you tuned out. You watched the two Twi’leks that had accompanied him, who kept throwing glances your way, murmuring to themselves. Something about them put you on edge. Of course, you never trusted the people who came to do business with Boba, but you liked this group even less.

You translated for a Rodian bounty hunter when it was his turn to speak. You noticed the Twi'leks and the first human had been getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot and continuing to eye you and Boba. The Twi'leks had never come forward. They spelled trouble. You were tense the entire time, but they reached an agreement and left without trouble.

Boba on the throne was a sight. Your mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to sit on his lap, straddle his strong thighs. You shook your head to clear it as Boba cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

"Go get some rest, little one." And with that, you were dismissed.

You touched yourself thinking of him that night. Imagining it was his fingers instead of yours bringing you to your peak. You bit your fist as you came, muffling your moans and preventing you from calling his name out into the night.

The next day, he had gone out once again. When he returned, you noted his armor had some new scratches, some of the fresh green paint chipped away. He beckoned you forward with a wave, following him to the throne room. He sat with a heavy sigh. You stood before him, waiting for his direction, when he removed his helmet and set it aside. There was a new cut on his cheek, dried blood sticking to his skin.

"You're hurt," you said, stepping forward. Boba grunted noncommittally in response, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a small container of bacta.

"Use this," his voice was gravelly and he tossed the container to you. He...wanted you to put the bacta on him? Your pulse kicked up. But you would do as he asked.

You unscrewed the lid, swiping your finger through the gel. "What happened?" You asked as you spread it as gently as you could over the cut.

"Those hunters from yesterday," he sighed. "Thought they could catch me unaware out in the dunes. Their last mistake." He chuckled. "This was really the only hit I took," he gestured to the cut along his cheek. You had finished spreading the bacta, but your hand still lingered. You were entranced, being this close to him. Your thumb mindlessly caressed his cheekbone.

"Mayen," he said your name. You met his eyes, the heat in his gaze taking you by surprise. He always had fire and fight in him, but this wasn't like that. It was wanting. Boba grasped your wrist of the hand that still held his face, his other coming up to cup the back of your head.

Then you were kissing him.

You don't know if you leaned down or if he pulled you down or if he leaned up or if it even mattered, all you cared about was his rough lips against yours. When you gasped into it, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Boba's kisses were all consuming, overwhelming--he demanded all of you, and wouldn't accept any less.

He leaned back, bringing you with him so you had no choice but to straddle his lap or be pulled off-balance. You settled along his thighs, sighing as you could now grind your center against his stiffening member. He nipped your bottom lip, breaking away to press kisses down your throat.

“Tell me, sweetheart…” he murmured, worrying a mark into the delicate skin of your neck.

You whined, rolling your hips against his. His hands clamped down like durasteel around your hips, stilling you. “Tell me. We stop if you say so.”

“I want you, Boba,” you gasped, and he rewarded you with another hickey sucked into your neck. He guided your hips back into a slow grind, thrusting up against you. The layers of clothes between you dulled the sensation, but warm waves of pleasure still radiated through you. You cradled his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours, before trailing your palms down his chest. You pawed at his chestplate and robes, making him chuckle.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased you lightly. You squeaked when he pinched your ass. “Take this off, princess.” His hands slid up under your tunic, running up and down your sides before caressing your breasts.

You lifted your arms, helping him slide your shirt over your head. Instinctively, your arms came down to cover yourself, but Boba tutted at you. “Don’t get shy on me now, mesh’la. Let me see you.” He murmured in your ear before lightly nipping the lobe, sending shivers down your spine. He encouraged you to put your hands back on his chest. You whined against him, need building in your core as he undid your bindings and continued to guide your hips in a deep grind.

Boba’s fingers crept along the waistband of your pants before diving inside. You moaned as they landed on your clit. “This wet already? Someone’s a needy little thing.” You felt your face heat at his teasing accompanied by his rough fingers circling your clit built you up even more. You hid your face in his shoulder, grinding against his hand for more of that raw pleasure. Boba suddenly pressed hard against your clit in a tight circle, making you cry out loudly and grip his robes for dear life.

“Boba, please,” you whined, lips tracing his throat, his jaw, wherever you could reach. You brought your own hand down to cup him through his pants, running your hand along his bulge. He cursed lightly in your ear as you gently squeezed him.

“Up,” he said, patting your ass. You stood, taking the opportunity to shimmy out of your pants and panties. He lounged back against the throne, taking in your form. You didn’t cover yourself this time. “Good girl. Come here.” You stepped between his spread knees and he took you by the elbow, pulling you down and turning you so your back was pressed to his chest and your legs were spread by his own. His touch returned to your clit, sliding through your slick folds to tease your entrance. You pressed your ass back against his hardness and he groaned.

His arm banded around your waist as he finally slid a finger into your dripping entrance. You gasped, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. When he introduced a second one, you began to squirm. The stretch was so good as his fingers slid within you, curling and pressing into that perfect spot that sent you soaring. You were practically riding his hand, your hips circling as his fingers moved faster and faster.

“Oh,” you gasped as he added a third, legs trembling. Your hand shot to his where it was locked around your middle, holding you against him, while your other curled up and back, turning his head so you could kiss him. Boba found that spot in you that made you clench tight around him and zeroed in with deadly precision. You felt him grin smugly against your lips as your breathing stuttered. “Boba!”

“Look at you, so desperate for my fingers. Squeezin’ me so tight, sweetheart, can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

You found yourself teetering at the edge of release. You turned your head, burying your nose in Boba’s neck. “Please, Boba, g’nna cum, please--” you gasped out. It was a good thing he held you to him, else you would have been bucking off his lap.

“Cum on my fingers, cyar’ika.”

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you tipped over the edge of orgasm, cumming hard around Boba’s fingers. Your cunt flooded with wetness, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into you becoming even wetter. If he hadn’t been holding you to his chest you would have doubled over with the devastating pulses of pleasure rocking through you from your center. He continued working you through it until you whined, pushing at his hand that still moved between your thighs, need building up in you again.

Boba brought his fingers up to his mouth and you moaned at the sight of him sucking and licking them clean of your arousal. “Taste so sweet,” he said. “Open.” You opened your mouth, and he slid his fingers inside. Obediently, you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around his fingers like you would his cock. Boba groaned. "Dirty girl."

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and you begged. "Want your cock, please, Boba--please fuck me, please--"

"Hush, needy pet. You'll get what you want." He bit your neck, the sharp pinpricks fading into a warm buzz that made you squirm, wiggling your hips on his lap. Boba reached down between you two and shifted himself out of his robes, sliding his cock against your soaked folds. You looked down and Maker, he was thick. You were suddenly glad he made you take three fingers--you hoped you would be able to take his cock.

He rutted against you, his cock sliding through your folds and pulling breathless little gasps from you each time his head nudged your clit. Each slick drag of him against your lips coated his cock in your wetness. Boba evidently grew tired of teasing you, because he urged you up and took hold of the base of his cock, guiding it to your dripping entrance. You moaned at the feeling of his thick tip splitting you open, sinking down the first inch.

Boba's hand came around to rub little circles on your clit, making you jerk against him, his other hand caging you in by your hip. Slowly, he encouraged you to sit back on his lap, the thick drag and push of his cock working inch-by-inch deeper into you. Stars, you felt him in your fucking guts. Your thighs trembled, and when your ass touched his lap you nearly sobbed from how full you felt.

"Look at that," he murmured into your hair. "Takin' me so well, princess. Feels fucking good, doesn't it?" You clenched around him at his words, making him choke off a moan. He rubbed your clit a tick faster just to feel you spasm around him again and he laughed at your high gasp of pleasure.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was too good--that ache, the raw sparks shooting down your legs and up your spine. Shifting the slightest bit pushed him right up something devastating inside you and you couldn't stop the wrecked moan that tore from your throat. Boba gave an experimental thrust and you nearly shrieked and lurched off of him, if he hadn't grabbed a hold of your hips and held you on his lap. You babbled senselessly, too overwhelmed as every ridge of his cock pressed your walls just right. "B-Boba, Boba, move, please--"

His big hand slapped your inner thigh and this time you did wail, the hot sting fading into a pleasant, buzzing warmth. His fingers dug in to the soft flesh hard enough that you knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers come morning. Then he lifted you slightly off him, cock sliding only a few inches out, before pulling you down in time with a thrust upwards, burying himself in you with a deep grind. You let out a choked moan, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

"Ride," he demanded. Your breath hitched as you scrambled for purchase, hands going to his strong thighs for support. It was sort of an awkward position, your feet barely touching the floor, requiring you to go on your tiptoes to pull a few inches off his cock. Boba's thick fingers cupped your pussy in a V shape, so every time you rose and fell they rolled against your clit. You couldn't tell if you wanted to push your hips back away or forward for more stimulation.

He slapped your other thigh this time, rubbing to soothe the sting, encouraging you to bounce on his cock faster. Your breath was coming in high, moaning pants as each drop of your hips buried him deep inside you, reaching places you never had and lighting up your nerves like a star gone supernova. Paired with his touch teasing your clit with every thrust, you weren't going to last long.

Boba's hands on your hips guided you faster, rougher--each downstroke hitting deep and holding you there for a second just to feel how full, how stuffed your pussy was of him. His thrusts up as you dropped down allowed his cock to hit your g-spot dead on, over and over. You felt yourself rhythmically clenching around him, heard his groans as your cunt strangled his cock, and you were so close to cumming again. The feeling coiled up at the base of your spine, the pleasure winding tighter and higher and ready to burst.

And then--then Boba hooked his hands under your knees, pulling your legs up so all your weight rested on where he was buried in you, and he slipped another inch further inside. You couldn't stop the sob of pleasure as he held you like this, open for him to take, and he set a punishing pace. The dull slap of skin-on-skin paired with the wet gush of your arousal around him, dripping down his balls and onto the throne, made your head tip back onto his shoulder and wrenched moan after moan out of you.

You were talking, babbling nonsense--begging, pleading for him to make you cum again. Boba tilted his hips just right and you keened as it pushed his cock right against the soft spot along your walls. Each thrust shoved you closer to the edge right until that coil inside you snapped. Your legs shook and your pussy clamped down so hard around Boba's cock that it stunted him to short, shallow thrusts as you rode it out. You distantly heard him groaning, praising you, telling you good girl, good fuckin' girl--you were spasming around him, each jolt of pleasure like a white-hot knife radiating from your core to your toes. Boba kept fucking you through it and you nearly begged him to stop--it was too much, the bite of overstimulation burning your nerves--when he pulled you down, fucking into you as deep as he could and he came with a groan of your name, cock throbbing as his release coated your walls.

Somehow, you ended up turned, face buried in his neck and legs wrapped around his waist as you trembled and caught your breath. His hands trailed up and down your spine and thighs in soothing motions as you came back down. You sighed and cuddled closer to him, the hard beskar plating cold against your bare skin, but it felt good on your overheated body.

"Made quite a mess on me, sweetheart," he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest under your ear. You just mmm'd and clung closer to him while he chuckled. It was true. Your arousal coated your thighs, dripped down onto the throne, soaked Boba's cock where it was still buried in you. Boba pulled his robe around you and stood, supporting you with his hands under your thighs. "Come on, little one, let's go to bed." You closed your eyes as he made his way out of the throne room and through the palace. He didn't drop you off in your bedroom, instead taking you to his and laying you in the spacious bed before stripping off his armor and joining you.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Be Your Man

A/N: I know I say it every time, but seriously, thank you SO MUCH for your requests, anon or otherwise. It means the world to me that you trust me with your visions. Here’s a requested fic inspired by the song “Be Your Man” by Rhys Lewis! It’s angsty and has the slightest hint of smut if you look really hard. As always, there are no physical descriptions of the reader! I hope you like it - I cried at the end lmao. 

It’s not proof-read so I apologize in advance!! I really hope you like it. 

_______________________________________________________

Being with the bard was, in a word, comfortable.

His connections ensured you always had a soft bed in a warm inn waiting for you at the end of the day. His reputation and acclaim afforded you a higher status among villagers, scholars, and even knights. Everyone loved his music and adored his visits. With him, you were always welcome.

With him, every day was a gift and every evening a celebration. With him, you never found yourself in harm’s way. Never felt the gnawing pull of hunger or the ache of thirst. He never left your side and you had no reason to leave his. And he loved you, he really did. He showed you everyday, through his songs, his words, his touch.

You were his sun and you were, for lack of a kinder word, comfortable.

That isn’t something you were used to, being comfortable. Your life had been tumultuous from the start and you had hardened yourself accordingly. Everything you had you’d earned as a journeying blacksmith; working whatever you could to make a sale. Now though, having access to any workshop, material, or tradesman the continent could offer, you were at the height of your craft.

But still, nothing could ever compare to the blade you forged for Geralt.

It was stunning, perfectly balanced, crafted from your best steel and iron Geralt had been gifted from the mines of Mahakam. The ornate curve of the hilt took you days to perfect and the faceted garnet you’d set within the pommel shone brilliantly with a clarity that royal houses across the continent would envy.

“It’s exceptional,” he murmured, completely in awe, while examining your work, “how you manage to make your blades look so intricate without sacrificing quality, I’ll never understand.”

You bit your smile to keep yourself from gushing as you watched him wield the sword as if it was an extension of him. And it should be, as you crafted it with him in mind.

“Whoever buys this will be one lucky bastard,” he said as he came out of a mock-parry and pirouette.

“Oh, I’m not selling it!” you said, shaking your head at him as he sheathed the weapon.

“What? Y/N this could get you four maybe five hundred Novigrad crowns! Did someone commission you for it?”

“No, no, it’s a gift.”

“Y/N you are far too generous.” He admonished, attempting to hand the sword back to you.

“Hush, it’s for you.” You say, laying your hands over his, your eyes sparkling.

Gods the way he looked at you then. The way his face softened when you laid your hands over his, how his breath hitched when you took a step towards him. Your bodies so close, eyes flitting from his hooded lids to his lips, and when you finally –

“We’re just about there, darling!” Jaskier sang, pulling you out of your reverie just as the familiar ache began pulling at your lower belly.

“Ah! Y-yes! Wonderful!”

“Well look at you, you’re blushing! Are you remembering the last time we were here?” He teased flirtatiously, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Mm you know me well,” you lied, quickly taking his hand in yours to get it off your thigh. “How much farther, would you say? I’m starving.”

“Not too long, darling.” He said softly, glad that you were watching the forest with rapt attention, and praying the sting of your deflection wouldn’t be too obvious should you turn to meet his eyes. You didn’t turn to look at him though, and that filled the bard with both relief and immense sadness.

Jaskier wasn’t a fool, he recognized your guilt, sensed the way your heart longed for another. But every now and then, when it was just the two of you, he was sure he saw joy in your eyes. You loved him, maybe not quite as he loved you, but he was certain you loved him.

She just loves him more. He smiled at you sadly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand in silent resignation.

**

“God, I fucking love these beds!” you sighed blissfully, rolling onto your back. The pair of you had meant to get your room and then head out into the village to find work but you hadn’t been able to ignore the fire the earlier memories had ignited.

“Careful my sweet, or I’ll start to think you’re only with me for the fine accommodations.” Jaskier chanced, hoping you’d finally say the three words he so desperately wanted to hear you say, and see that you meant it.

“Ha! Shut up, Jask.” You laughed lightly, snuggling into his arms where you couldn’t catch the disappointment in his eyes, and where he couldn’t see the sadness in yours. Don’t go there, Y/N, you thought, Jask is Jask, and he loves you just fine.  

“Why don’t you let me,” you whisper, peppering his neck and jaw with kisses between words, desperate to get your mind off your witcher, “show you how much I love you?”

“Aa-euhm…” Jaskier let out a breathless squeal as your hand creeped between his thighs and he let himself be lost in your touch. Maybe, he thought, good enough could be enough.

**

You’d given up on the idea to go out to find work long before the sun had set on the village, but that surely didn’t keep work from finding you. The pair of you had barely settled yourselves at the table when you were recognized and showered in contracts.

“Please, madam, I know it’s not the priceless blades you normally work with, but my pots and pans are in desperate need to be replaced –”

“Of course, miss Eldridge,” you interrupted the inn’s owner gently, placing a light hand over hers to calm her nerves, “it would be a pleasure to help you. I’ve recently been working with new casting molds, and it would be an honour to sell you my first.”

“Oh, my! Thank you, Y/N, thank you!”

“No, thank you – this stew is easily the best we’ve ever had! It would be a crime if you weren’t able to keep serving.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” she laughed humbly, giving your arm a squeeze in thanks before walking back to the kitchen.

You were beaming as you watched the woman practically skip back behind the heavy wooden door.

“What? Why are you staring?” you asked Jaskier, bringing your beer up for a long sip.

“I love watching you work; you shine like the stars on a winter’s night.” He said, reaching over to hold your hand in his.

“Ugh, Jask,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose at his poetics. “You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased him lightly, as you’d done many times before, but this time something flashed in his eyes.

“Hey! I know you were never showered in compliments when you were with Geralt, but-”

“What?!” you interrupted, practically spitting out your last sip.

Jaskier merely leaned back in his seat and gave you a one-shouldered shrug. You could tell he was trying to be aloof but in the six months you’d been together, the topic of Geralt had been a like a landmine. Someone always got hurt, actually, you both ended up hurt.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m not wrong here, love.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jask. It was a beautiful sentiment, really! I’m just – y-you know how I am with this kind of stuff.”

“I know, dear” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink.

“I adore your work,” you added, your nerves heightened by his apparent sense of calm, “I’m just not… always comfortable being the subject.”

“My expressions of love make you uncomfortable now?” he scoffed, looking up at you with big, sad eyes.

“No! No, Jask. T-that’s not what I meant!” you put your drink down and scooted closer to him to take both his hands in yours. “Jaskier, please… I love you. This is how I love, it-it’s who I am, it’s how I am. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll be your star.”

Jaskier only shook his head slowly as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve seen you in love, Y/N. I believe you love me,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze, “but you’re not in love with me.”

“That isn’t true, Jask.” You whispered, blinking back heavy tears. You held his hands so tightly now, as if afraid he’d just disappear into thin air before you.

“It is though, and that’s okay.”

“Jaskier…”

“You know, you always use my name,” he said, nodding slightly as he thought, “not always my full name, but alas.”

You opened your mouth to disagree but couldn’t bring yourself to use a pet name, and so your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish. The bard looked at you knowingly with his large, knowing eyes, full of love but still heavy with sadness.

“Jaskier,” you finally conceded, feeling yourself crumble under his heavy gaze, “what’s happening?” you asked, your voice coming out of you like a strangled whisper.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I can’t lose you too.”

“‘Too’.” He repeated flatly.

You wanted to comfort him, to correct him, but nothing was coming to you. He wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him now.

“Why are we doing this now, Jask? I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were happy,” you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

“Look, I’m,” he tried, his own voice breaking despite himself, “I know I can’t compare with him.” He waited a beat to see if you’d interrupt him with a correction and when you didn’t, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know how you feel. How you’ve… been feeling. Y/N, Geralt is here. He walked in not long ago, and he’s sitting at the back the of bar.”

Everything went blurry. You could tell he was still talking to you it was like your ears were stuffed with cotton – everything was muffled but too loud. You were going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Every inch of you was screaming to turn around and look for him, but you were frozen in place like a deer who’d spotted the archer and heard the bow snap but just stood stock-still and let the arrow hit.

“Y/N,” Jaskier pulled your hands closer to him, pulling you back to reality along with them, “I made the decision that I’m okay being your second choice,” he swallowed thickly before continuing, “but now I need you to make a choice.”

You felt as though you’d just been struck. He was looking at you with too much kindness, too much understanding, too much compassion. Holding his gaze made you feel as though a knife was being twisted into your chest, but you were so afraid that if you looked away, he’d leave you.

“My dove,” he says softly as if reading your mind, “I love you and no matter what you chose I’ll be there for you, always. I just want you to be truly happy.”  

You squeezed your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling, but upon feeling him get up to leave the table, your eyes shot open and you let the tears fall.

Very softy, Jaskier cradled your face in his hand and gave your forehead a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going to head upstairs… I’ll see you up there?” he whispered hopefully.

You nodded up at him wordlessly and let the tears fall as you watched him head up the stairs.

Left alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your cheek until you tasted blood to keep yourself from openly sobbing. The bustle of the inn allowed you some sense of privacy, which you appreciated, but it also exacerbated your loneliness. Letting out a shaky breath, you poured the rest of your drink into your mouth and swished it around to wash away the blood before swallowing.

Jaskier knew. All these months you thought you were the only one hurting, the only one who felt the weight of the witcher’s memory, but you were wrong. Gods were you ever wrong.

You felt terrible, and far too sober. You quickly swiped at your tear-soaked face, picked up your empty stein and turned to make your way to the bar.

But then you saw him.

He was alone, as always, wearing the thick wool cape you loved. The hood wasn’t up so you could see that his snow-white hair was a mess of knots. His eyes were fixed on his drink, so you were saved from meeting his gaze. Gods, you’ve missed him, and fuck he looked good. And tired. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

Then he looked up at you and your breath caught in your throat. His rich, golden eyes were looking straight at you… and they were vacant. He was looking through you, not at you; he didn’t remember you or care to, and your already broken heart shattered once more.

I am nothing to him, you thought somberly, exchanging your empty mug for a full one. You took a deep, shaky breath and downed your beer in one go, slamming the stein back down decisively. But I’m everything to him, maybe that will be enough.

Before heading up the stairs to where you knew the bard was waiting, you allowed yourself one last look at Geralt, only to find he wasn’t at his table anymore. Seems the fates had decided for you, your thought, letting a hollow laugh escape your lips.

The staircase wasn’t especially long, but the trip up felt unending. You took every step slowly, allowing yourself these brief moments of grief over the official loss of your witcher before you committed yourself fully to Jaskier. No more daydreams, no more longing, no more imagining his large, strong arms around you while the bard’s sinewy frame enveloped you.

You had just about convinced yourself that you’d made the right decision when you spotted him, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“G-Geralt,” you breathed, feeling yourself smile despite yourself.

“Y/N.”

“What, um, how – uh, hi,” you stuttered, needing to look up at the ceiling to keep yourself from completely melting under the burn of his gaze.

“Hm,” he hummed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “still the wordsmith I see.”

“Hilarious,” you retorted, falling effortlessly back into your habits. “I’m happy to see you’ve still got my blade,” you said, nodding to the sword behind his back.

“Of course,” he breathed, now dangerously close to you. “I take you with me everywhere.”

“You mean my blade?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“No.” he said, his eyes boring into you, sparking the flame you’d spent so long trying to tamp out. “Are you here with him?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“You know I am.” You replied defensively, irrationally angry to hear him bring up the bard.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” you spat, but seeing the way Geralt’s eyes softened knowingly at you, you couldn’t help but to backpedal your aggression. “He’s Jaskier, you know? All silver linings and sunshine.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward as he remembered his friend’s almost insufferable positively. “And you? Are you happy?”

“Geralt…” you practically groaned, crossing your arms to keep the heat radiating off of him from taking over you.

“Are you?” he insisted, reaching over to let his warm, calloused fingers ghost over your forearm. The feeling lit your body on fire and left an obvious layer of goosebumps in their wake.

He was standing so close to you know, you could smell the leather, cedar, and smoke emanating off of him, just like it always had. You could feel his breath on your face. Despite yourself, you looked up at him through your lashes. His proximity was intoxicating, inexplicably comforting.

“This is cruel… you’re being cruel…” you whispered, wiping stubborn tears away but not taking a step in any direction, unable to risk his leaving if you were to move.

“Y/N…”

“He loves me, Geralt, so much.” You insisted, almost like a mantra.

“But are you happy?” Now he was whispering. He sounded sad, his deep gravelly voice melting over you like sunlight after a frozen night.

“Geralt –” you warned, shaking your head.

“Answer me.”

“No. I-I’m not.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I’m not happy.” You conceded, the truth of the statement washing over you as you heard yourself say it.

“Me either.”

You looked up at Geralt then, letting yourself take in the sight of him in full; his eyes, big and sad and fierce as ever, his brows furrowed, creating that deep crease you so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe, his mouth, his lips. You were barely inches from each other now, all you had to do was tip your chin, stand a little straighter…

He closed the gap between you then, his lips crashing into yours hungrily. You fully surrendered yourself to him, reveling in the feeling of his body against yours and you let yourself be happy, insanely, deliriously happy, for the first time in months.

***

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, his head in both hands, and sobbed. His broken breath echoed around the empty room, sporadically drowning out the sound of his best friend kissing the love of his life on the other side of the door.

She was never mine, he thought as sobs broke through him.

She was never mine.

[kanene-yaaay]

Sentence Starter - Part 2

I decided to gather all my Sentence Starters in a post. This is the second round!

I know I already said thankys before but, really, thank you so much for your support, it means the world for me. <3

[~.~]

[Gee these covers are lumpy, better fix the covers up!]

"Gee, these covers are lumpy, better fix the covers up!" Mina wormed her hands under the giggly boy, fishing a loud shriek as she vibrated her thumb between his shoulder blades and her other hand squeezed his sides, resulting in a more desperate wiggling from her victim. "Squish, squish, squish the squirmy Ojiro to fix all the lumps!"

"I AHAHAM NOT A COHOHOVER!"

"Hmmm, I don't know if I am convinced," her eyes glinted when the blond arched his back and her hands immediately dashed to scratch his incredibly, horribly ticklish lower back. "I mean, why else would I find such a cute squeaky toy, oops, I mean, cover in my bed?" Bubbly squeals painted Ojiro's laughter almost as strong as the red that painted his cheeks as he shook his head, protesting.

"I ahaham not s-squeheheaky!" Mina's nails scribbled and grazed on his ribs, the quick, high pitched sounds that flied from his lips contradicting his own words. "That doesn't prove anything!" The tailed teenager managed to breath out before descending in belly laughter again.

His pink friend matched his laughter in response, slowing her silly tickly attack as tears began to form on the other's eyes, pinching and poking his tummy in order to keep the adorable giggles filling the air. The cute wiggles from him and his tail were a bonus, as well.

"Hard day?"

Ojiro nodded, a smile still plastered on his face.

"It was. Your behed is fluffyhihihi. Sorry fohohor intrudihihing."

She waved his worries off, "it's no problem! Just give me a warn next time so I won't lay on you again, okay?"

Ojiro snickered, remembering the scared screams from they both when a few minutes ago Mina decided to jump on her bed and didn't even realize the strange lump that was Ojiro sleeping under all the comforters and plushies.

"I will."

"Good." The pink haired girl then cracked her fingers, a dangerous smirk spreading on her face, probably an effect of being Bakugou's friend, and making goosebumps ran freely on Ojiro's spine.

"No no nohoho!" He shot his hands up in an a placating gesture, excited giggles already falling from his mouth. "I already agreed with you! Please!"

Mina pouted in faux empathy. "Sorry, friendo, but your squeaky squeaks and wiggly wiggley wiggles are just too much cute for me to not tickle you again!"

"Ihihi don't," a snort cut his sentence, "I don't dohoho any of that!" He says, in between his wiggles and squeaks.

"Well," She attacked his armpits, a blinding smile taking over her features as the other began to giggle and snicker non stop. "I am sure we can compromise, eventually."

[~.~]

[I wouldn’t say that with the position you’re in, star student]

"I wouldn't say that with the position you're in, star student." Sero grinned, the non said threat falling heavily between them.

Todoroki blinked, stopping his struggles to lay limply on the floor, still staring the black haired friend on top of him, the fake dagger pressed on his neck.

"It doesn't make sense." Sero threw his hands up, exasperated. Shoto turned to look at Momo, who signalized at Jirou to stop the filmation. "If he's just got into my house in the middle of the night to kill me how does he know about my grades?"

"Well, maybe you just look like a super genius or something!" The other actor retorted, shoving his face on his hands and then on the floor as Todoroki stared at him with an unconvinced expression.

"Or," Kaminari jumped in, ignoring his friends dramatics "he can be his archenemy, building his hate and revenge plan since Todoroki did.... Something bad at him in the school."

Todoroki piked up at the opportunity to put another conspiracy in the movies' plot. "That could make sense."

"Don't encourage him." Jirou smirked at the protesting 'hey!' shouted by the other, preparing another snarky remark before being cut by Momo's voice.

"We're not making any more changes on the plot. We will just remake this scene and then everyone can go home, okay?"

"I think Izuku would lose it if we asked for him to rewrite another part." Nods and mumbles of agreement to Sero's words filled the room as all the occupants remembered the boy's determined rant of why the dagger's blade shouldn't be completely straight nor silver. "Anyway, I still need to buy that new Fatgum's game that came out. Let's move on."

"I can't," the dual haired actor claimed, a blank face "you're sitting on top of me."

And, for a moment, as the pun sank on his friends' brain, only silence met him.

Then Jirou and Kaminari immediately broke in loud laughter, Momo hiding her own chuckles behind her hand.

"Oh my god," Sero bit his own laughter in order to try to look at least a bit serious as he attempted to glare at Shoto. "You think you are so funny, don't you?"

Smugly, Todoroki let the corner of his lips twitch.

"Let me help you to show what is funny, then!"

"Wait-" but he was too late, before the words even came out from his mouth Sero was already dancing his fingers on his sides, switching between squeezing them quickly to scribbling and prodding at his ribs, yelps and guffaws already spinning in the air. "Dohohon't! Wait, wahahahait!!"

The black haired friend laughed with him, his blinding smile and uncontrollable giggles being too much adorable to resist. "I think you actually meant 'I am very sorry for ever complaining about your great performance, my amazing friend Sero.', right?"

Todoroki shook his head, gasping and squirming harder when Sero experimented clawed at his stomach, a series of quiet nononono's and pleaseplease's spilling freely from his lips.

"Tsk. Not even close, man. But don't worry, we have aaaaall the afternoon." A snort escaped from Todoroki and he hid his face on his hands, making Jirou 'aww' and Kaminari shout a 'wait wait make he do it again!' "So take your time, OK?" And then, in a quieter voice "If I go too much far just hold my wrists and I will stop."

A barely there nod showed that the other had heard him, however, as his hands continued to hid his face, bright laughter and shy giggles still filled the studio for much more time.

[~.~]

[Oh yeah! I told you’d they’d win! Ha! Pay up, Midoriya!]

"Oh yeah! I told you they'd win! Ha! Pay up, Midoriya!"

"B-but this is not fair! Tokoyami bought the victory by offering to do Shoji's dishes! That is not a-!

"There is nothing against this in the rules." Tokoyami shrugged, still panting from the sparring. "And I just remembered there is Midnight-sensei's paper for tomorrow that I didn't even start."

"Sorry, Midoriya. But we will have much more training in the future, still, and your analysis really helped me! You're right, maybe starting to use some weapon, since a hand to hand combat can give my quirk some damage, will be a good advantage." The taller teenager waved at them, Dark Shadow mirroring him enthusiastically as they followed Tokoyami back at the dorms. "I should search for options before choosing. Thank you for the cheering."

Kaminari waved back before turning to Izuku, his smile getting bigger as he saw his protesting pout. "Aww, is someone angy?" He hugged him from behind, snickering when he saw a glimpse of a smile on the other's expression before an exaggerated frown took over, green eyes deviating from his teasing grin.

"I know you want to smile. ~" Denki delivered a couple of pokes on his stomach, an evil idea full of wiggly fingers and giggly squeals blossoming on his mind. "Maybe the 1-A sunshine need some cheering up after being such sore loser? ~"

Midoriya turned on his embrace, now being face to face at him, determination burning on his features.

"Maybe I do!"

And then he blew a raspberry right on that spot where his neck and collarbone met. A loud, surprised squeak answered him and he was quick to dig on Kaminari's hips, being so careful and so mindful to give plenty of attention and tickles to every sensitive inch of flesh, don't forgetting to still deliver smaller raspberries at random spots on the blond's neck, successfully ending with all his coordination to get revenge.

"Whahahahat!! That is nOT-" A snort, more bubbly giggles. "That is not fahahhair!!!"

"But you're helping me to cheer up. See, I have no more pouts and no more frowns thanks to you!"

"Then stop!"

Kaminari tried to squirm his way out of the ticklish embrace, finding that maybe bringing Midoriya to his lap when he decided to tickle-hug him wasn't his best idea.

"I don't know. I think I am still a bit grumpy..." He stopped his attack in order to gently trace that spot right on the blond's right third rib, drawing circles around it and trying to not giggle together when Denki's bubbly snickers filled the air. "Maybe you amazing laughter can help me with that!"

[~.~]

[You know, this fluffy duster feels a lot like your tail...]

"You know, this fluffy duster feels a lot like your tail..." Izuku said, thoughtfully, a particular idea shining on his mind that may or may not was inspired by yesterday's Great Tickle Fight.

"Really?" Ojiro, (un)fortunately, didn't notice the danger hidden on the smaller's words, petting the duster and the fluff on his tail for a bit in comparison. "It really is. But it's not stronger like mine tail!" He made a show of flexing the aforementioned, both chickling at his silliness. "Oh, are you going to clean the curtains? I can help!"

A plan formed on Izuku's mind. He controlled his features to not show the playful grin that threatened to take over his face.

"Yes. Could you hold that part right there?" He pointed to a high spot on the fabric. "I can't research it."

"No problem!" The blond smiled and did as asked, not realizing the way Midoriya stepped closer nor how his shirt exposed a small patch on his stomach with his new position. "Like this?"

"Yes!" Izuku, then, shoved the fluffly, soft, tickly duster under his shirt, instigating a loud squeak to escape from the other.

"Midoriya!!"

But he didn't let go of the curtain, a smile spreading on his face.

"Yes?"

"Dohon't"

The green haired boy slightly moved the duster, quick enough to make the bristles of the feathers to barely tease the skin, but only that. Another yelp and a few giggles leading Ojiro to try to hide his red face on his shoulder.

"Don't what?" He beamed.

A small shook of head, a shy giggle. "Ihim not falling for thahat."

"Aw. But I am going to tickle you anyway!" Ojiro yelped, trying to curl on himself, however immediately regretting his decision as the movement shot light shocks across his torso, every feather following his squirms. "Yes! I am going to tickle, tickle, tickle you until all those cutes squeals and nice laughter trapped inside are free. As a future hero, it's my job to help them!"

"Dohohon't say that word." His words were in vain, especially because now Midoriya carried that determined look, thoughts racing on his mind as his hands continued to keep the duster on the same place.

"Maybe I should try to tickle his stomach first? I could start wiggling the duster there and then change to his sides and ribs or maybe I could start on his sides and ribs going up and down a few times and then tickle his stomach as I change from a side to another. The element of surprise is always a powerful tool so I should always change from going extremely soft and low to more quick attacks! I wonder if I can try it on his tail too? I could-"

"Ihihizuku, please!" The one being called snapped out of his rambling by a very flustered, giggly Ojiro, who still held the curtains as if his life depended on it. "J-juhust do it already, plehease."

And Izuku was happy to oblige.

[~.~]

[As nice as this is, we really should get up]

"As nice as this is, we really should get up." Tokoyami said softly, patting the green hair of the head which rested on his shoulder, - it was really as fluffy as it looked! - almost snorting when Midoriya squinted his eyes at the credit's playing on the screen. "Everyone else already went to their room."

Izuku looked around, as if he just realized all his friends decided to call it a night when President Mic - who has been called both due his good taste in movies and to keep an eye on them and their ability to cause chaos - woke up half of the class as he fell asleep in a bad position and started snoring, accidentally activating his quirk.

"It's not-" A yawn cut Izuku's words and pulled Tokoyami away from his thoughts. "It's not a movie night if we can't watch at least five movies."

"Oh no, the horrible punishments that the Universe will bought upon us after such terrible offense. What we shall do in the face of that helpless fate?"

Midoriya lightly shoved him away, a sleepy smile taking all the seriousness from his frown. "N't f'nny."

Tokoyami started to softly scribble his fingers on the other's neck, following him as he tiredly wiggled away, no real fight on his movements.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Tohohokoyami! Naha!"

"What? Wait... Is this the punishment from the Universe?" Maybe it was because it was so rare for his friend being this playful, or because the drops of faked seriousness painting his words, but Midoriya found himself giggling harder, a bubbly tittering escaping as the tickling traveled to behind his ears. "Giggling and wiggling until we inevitably give up and decide to watch movies until the end of our brief mortal existence, oh, the pain."

"You're so sihihihilly!"

"Me, the embodiment of darkness ‘silly’? Oh, Midoriya, what have they done to you?" His tune was bathed in faux pity.

"Plehehehease!" Tokoyami decided to travel to the smaller boy's sides, scratching and poking them lightly enough to keep the flow of airy laughter and rare squeaks as a reward for the sudden, quick pinches. "It tickles! It tickles so much!"

"The Universe is tickling you? Will the cruelness ever end? Ah, the struggles someone as ticklish, so, so ticklish as you must be going through... Do not give up, Midoriya!" He did his best to not huff in amusement as the aforementioned hugged him, hiding his face oh his chest and muffling his louder laughter due the teases. "Don't let its darkness to dim your light."

His fingertips grazed the back of his ribs, Izuku only giggled harder, "Okahahay, Okay! We- no, not there! - we can go slehehehep!"

Tokoyami stopped the light tickling, waiting for the moment green eyes locked on his before proceeding, a deadly serious gaze on his face.

"Don't." Izuku warned.

"But the Universe's punishment-"

"O-oh my GOD!"

[~.~]

[i did not say that!]

"I did not said that!" But the giggles were already spilling out.

"Yes!!" Izuku, the traitor, couldn't be any more happy, basically sparkling as the feathers of his wings fluffed up in amusement. "You did! You did! You did! I am totally going to do that, now!"

Kirishima was quick to retrieve a pillow and prepare it to a fight, pointing it at his guardian angel with a half groan, half giggle. "That is not fair, man!! You can't ask questions when I am about to sleep, I always say the first thing that pops in my mind!"

"It wasn't really my original intention," the angel smiled sheepishly. "Humans' need to sleep are still confusing to me... But!!" He crept closer, fingers wiggling. "That only means that when you said yesterday..."

"No."

"That you likes when I-"

"No!" Big smiles, small giggles. "Come on. Shut up!"

"-that you like when I tickle you-" The rest of the sentence was a squeak as the red haired boy jumped at him, his soft weapon firm on his hands, and both dashed across the room in a chase. "I knew it!" Izuku laughed, - laughed. Not shyly giggled or awkwardly grinned, - pleased that one of his theories about his protected human (and friend) was right.

Damn, Kirishima wanted to at least fake a pout and put on a real fight, but how could he when the magical being was acting so happily? When he was so full of joy?

That didn't stop him from tackling his friend on the floor, both rolling in a playful roughhousing and playing fair until Kirishima felt something incredibly, impossibly soft on his neck, wide eyes as he realized only now how Midoriya's wings were stretched around him, almost engulfing both beings on its length.

The soft feeling came back, now scribbling all over his neck, sending tickly shocks through his body and weaking his strength, something which allowed the other launch his arms around his waist, hugging Eijirou from behind and leaving him to freely stare at some free feathers that slowly swung on his direction, aiming for his tickle spots.

Izuku felt a bit worried when the human stopped squirming.

"If I last 30 seconds without laughing you will let me go to that Parkour classes on Monday."

"But they're dangerous," Eijirou interrupted him, "you can use your magic feathers."

He could almost feel the angel thinking, analysing his options.

"Forty-five seconds."

"I will get you back and ask Shinsou to help me."

Pout. "You're mean."

A feather wriggled on his bellybutton, cutting any snark answer that the human had to that.

More feathers appeared in front of him. Adrenaline ran on Kirishima's veins at the idea of his new challenge.

"Deal."

[...]

Sidenote: Shinsou is Kirishima's cat. He loves to randomly lay and nap on the angel, but for some reason his purring tickles Izuku. He likes to purr a lot. Izuku is almost sure the feline knows what he is doing. Kirishima think the whole situation is hilarious.

[soft--dragon]

Home

This is it guys! The fic I've been working on for the past few days! Hope you guys enjoy cause I sure did love writing this one ^^

Also, if tag this as a ship fic I will fight you 💙

Word Count: 2,748

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Sam entered his house, sighing to himself so heavily his shoulders sagged. It had been a long day at Pandora's Vault. Dream was getting on his nerves again, testing his patience. He was sorely tempted to cut down Dream's food quantity in punishment but it was still early days. Dream was probably just lashing out due to not being in power.

Sam prayed he would settle down the longer he stayed in the prison. Otherwise he was going to start dreading every day being the Warden.

Sam slung his bag off his shoulder, hooking it around a chair and started removing the weapons from his belt. Some needed cleaning and a few were close to breaking. He pulled out his diamond sword and frowned at it's integrity. Chips and blood spots were scattered across the blade, definitely needed some work.

"Sam?"

Sam's instincts made him swing the sword around to point at the source of the voice. Tommy froze in place, staring at the blade with wide eyes. Sam blinked then realized who was standing in front of him.

"Tommy I-" he quickly shifted the weapon from the boy's chest. "Sorry, I didn't expect you to be here."

Tommy's shoulders sagged noticeably when the sword was taken away and he rubbed his arm. "I um... I'm sorry, I can leave?"

Sam took in Tommy's stance. He was shifting his weight, gripping his arm so tightly it looked close to bleeding. His eyes kept flicking from Sam's face, to the door and the walls then returned back to Sam.

"No," Sam said, "no it's alright, are you okay?"

Tommy swallowed and gave a shrug. "I just didn't want to go home" he said quietly, "is it okay if I stay here for a bit?"

Sam softened immediately. "Of course."

He made sure Tommy could see his hand before he gently placed it on the boy's shoulder comfortingly. "I told you before you could stay here whenever you wanted, what's mine is yours and all."

Tommy blinked and to Sam's alarm, tears started to gather in the edges of his blue eyes. He suddenly wrapped himself around Sam, his hands scrabbling to hold the back of his shirt, and once they had, it was with a shaking grip.

It was one of the most intense hugs Sam had ever had in his life.

The creeper hybrid instantly reciprocated the embrace, holding the back of Tommy's head and rubbing soothing circles into his back.

"Hey, Tommy, hey just breathe yeah? Copy me" Sam kept his voice gentle, like he was soothing a frightened animal. He had no idea why Tommy was suddenly freaking out, but he would hold him for as long as the boy needed.

Tommy's breath shook as he inhaled slowly, still holding onto Sam in a vice like grip. "I'm- I'm sorry..."

Sam squeezed him reassuringly. "No, please don't apologize for this, it's alright" he murmured. "It's alright."

Tommy whimpered, pressing his face into Sam's chest to hide himself. "He's not gonna get out is he?"

Sam froze. "What?"

Tommy shivered, hands tightening on the back of Sam's shirt. "You're not going to let him out of the prison...a-are you?"

Sam understood. "No" he instantly said, "Dream isn't leaving Pandora."

Tommy visibly flinched at the name and held Sam tighter. "T-Thank you."

Anger flooded the creeper hybrid. He knew what Dream had done to this boy, the hell he'd put him through. Tommy had been broken in exile, rebuilt with Sam's help, then shattered in prison. Dream orchestrating the one sided fight with twisted enjoyment.

"Psychopath" Sam hissed quietly making Tommy glance up.

"W-What?" He blinked.

Sam shook his head, squeezing Tommy to him again. "Nothing" he said quietly, "just hate that green asshole."

Tommy smiled a little, "me too."

Sam eventually got them both to the couch, Tommy not leaving his arms the entire time. They held each other in silence, only broken by Tommy releasing a shaky breath every once and awhile.

"You gonna be alright?" Sam murmured after a while.

Tommy hesitated. "I think so, after...after some time."

Sam appreciated the boy's honesty. "Of course" he nodded. "Would you like to stay here for a few nights?"

Tommy blinked up at him. "I don't want to be a burden Sam-"

"You're not" Sam gently ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm offering, and I'd appreciate the company, I sometimes get lonely up here. Fran's companionship is good but having someone around would be nice for a change."

Tommy opened and closed his mouth a few times then buried his face into Sam's collar bone. "I'd like to stay" he whispered. "I-If you're sure."

Sam smiled softly, dropping his head atop the boy's blonde hair. "Absolutely sure" he reassured him.

A slow exhale of breath then a shaky, "Thank you Sam."

Sam heard the relief in Tommy's voice and held the boy a little closer. Damn Dream and his manipulation. Damn the people of L'manberg who did nothing to help this boy. And damn himself for taking so long to realize how bad it had gotten.

Sam dropped a small fatherly kiss to the side of Tommy's temple and pulled back. "Have you eaten?" He asked softly.

Tommy blinked a few times, then shook his head. "I haven't eaten all day" he admitted.

"How come?"

Tommy shrugged awkwardly.

Sam's eyebrows dipped in concern and stood. "Better get you something to eat then, yeah?"

Tommy shrugged again.

"You want something specific?"

"No, anything is good."

Sam nodded and gently carded a hand over Tommy's head, lightly messing up the golden locks. "I'll be back in a second."

Tommy leaned into his hand and watched Sam leave to the kitchen. The creeper hybrid glanced over his shoulder to give him a smile before disappearing round the doorway.

Tommy curled into a ball on the couch, gripping his knees tightly and counting the seconds Sam had been gone.

It had been almost three minutes when the man returned, two plates in hand and a wolf at his side. Tommy's eyes lit up a bit at the sight of the canine and the dog's seemed to do the same at the sight of Tommy.

"Be gentle Fran" Sam said, placing the plates down on the coffee table and sitting back down on the couch.

Fran gave a soft woof of greeting and instantly licked Tommy's hand when he hesitantly stretched it out. It didn't take long for Tommy to be petting the dog with a soft smile on his face, Fran's tail a blur with how much she was wagging it.

"She's such a goofball" Sam laughed a little. "You're meant to be a wild predator Fran."

Fran didn't seem to care about her status as she lay down and rolled over. A wide smile on her face and tongue lolling out her mouth. Tommy grinned and immediately started giving Fran a belly rub, giggling quietly when the dog's back leg started kicking.

Sam relaxed at the sound of Tommy's soft laughter. He had a brief idea of why Tommy had turned up out of the blue, so he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Tommy could keep smiling freely.

Tommy eventually stopped and sat back, eyeing the food Sam had set out.

"Go for it Tommy" Sam nodded towards the plate. "I made it to be eaten."

Tommy smiled a little in gratitude and picked up some of the food, nibbling at the edges.

Fran whined, obviously upset from the lack of attention and rolled back, pawing at Tommy's foot.

"Oh come on Fran" Sam rolled his eyes. "Let Tommy be, he needs to eat."

Fran glared at Sam and woofed, but this time it held a judgmental tone. (How the animal managed to do that was beyond Sam.)

Tommy laughed but immediately stifled it behind his hand, smiling shyly. "I don't think she's impressed."

"She never is" Sam shook his head, "she's constantly judging me."

"Maybe she has good reason to, who would ever want belly rubs to stop?"

Sam snorted. "Stop taking her side Tommy" he gently poked Tommy's ribs.

Tommy gave a muffled squeak, flinching from Sam's finger with wide eyes. Sam also paused, blinking.

"Tommy?" Sam began to smile. "You wouldn't happen to be ticklish would you?"

Tommy flushed a little. "Of course not! I-I'm a Big Man after all" he tried to brush off but Sam wasn't having any of it.

He carefully pushed the plates away, a smirk starting to pull at his lips. "Oh really?"

"Y-Yeah-"

"Then you won't mind if I do this?"

Sam was fast to scuttle his fingers across Tommy's stomach making the boy yelp, giggles spilling from his mouth instantly.

"Sahaham!" He covered his face to hide his blush but made no move to get away.

Sam internally awed. Could this boy get any cuter?

"I think you're a bit ticklish Tommy" Sam tutted gently brushing over his sides, "did you lie to me?"

"Nohoho, nohot t-ticklish" Tommy pressed out between giggles.

"Not ticklish? Hmm, no, gonna have to disagree with you on that one, bud" Sam teased, moving his hands up to gently squeeze the boy's lower ribs.

"Sahahaham!" Tommy whined, twisting slightly.

Sam took his hands back, gently resting one on Tommy's knee making the boy jump slightly at the change of spots. When nothing happened, Tommy slowly lowered his hands to look at Sam.

"You okay?" Sam asked, a kind smile on his face.

Tommy nodded, shyly looking away. "C-Could...could you- um..."

Sam took one of Tommy's hands, squeezing gently. "Do you want me to keep going?"

Tommy averted all eye contact but his timid nod was unmistakable. Sam let out an audible coo making Tommy bury his red face in his hands.

"Aw Toms, come on, don't hide" Sam took the boy's hands from his face. "I want to see your smile."

Tommy seemed to be struggling on whether to speak or whether to try and hide himself again. He eventually settled on doing nothing, staring at Fran on the floor who was watching curiously. Sam chuckled and gently pushed Tommy to lie down, giving him better access to the boy's torso. He tapped his fingers against Tommy's ribs making the boy flinch and look back at Sam, nervous giggles already building up.

"S-Sahaham" Tommy pressed out, his hands lifting to his face again.

"No hiding Tommy" Sam said again, pausing his fingers in their gentle prods, waiting for the boy to lower his hands.

Tommy screwed his hands into fists pressing them to his eyes as he giggled hysterically. "Yohohou're beheheing mehehean!"

"How am I being mean?" Sam chuckled, "I just want to see your cute smile Toms, and hear that adorable laughter of yours."

Tommy shook his head, cheeks flushing even more. "Nohohohot cuhuhute" he protested through his soft laughter.

"Mmm, no, you're wrong there" Sam smiled and lightly pinched up and down Tommy's sides.

Tommy gave a short squeal, gripping the couch cushions tightly to stop himself from hiding again. Sam's fingers slowly started to climb up Tommy's ribcage, lightly fluttering around each bone on the front and back, leaving Tommy nowhere to squirm.

"Shihihihit!" Tommy kicked out, giggling up a storm.

"Good or bad?" Sam asked, gently squeezing Tommy's upper ribs.

"G-Good" Tommy managed to stutter out, then fell into another fit of giggles.

Sam smiled down at Tommy, warmth blooming in his chest. He decided to try one more spot then let the kid rest. "Mind if I test your tummy?"

Tommy squeaked, and his ears burned but he nodded, words being difficult to use.

Sam's hands dropped to Tommy's belly, he felt it quivering and chuckled.

"Something tells me you're a bit ticklish here Toms" he cooed.

Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to give in to the need to hide himself, his giggles never ceasing.

"I dohohon't knohohow" he admitted through his gentle laughter.

Sam smiled. "Well then, let's find out Gigglyinnit."

Tommy didn't have a chance to reply when Sam used one hand to spider along his belly and pinch at his sides with the other. The sensations caused Tommy to toss his head back, giggly hiccups peppering between the adorable laughter.

"Awwww! Toms! That is so cute!" Sam cooed, nimble fingers scratching at Tommy's lower belly making the boy squeal loudly and kick his feet.

"Sahahaham! Ihihit tihihickles!"

Sam snorted. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed! Does this tickle too? How about this? Don't just laugh Tommy, I need you to tell me!"

Tommy's eyes were starting to glisten with tears as Sam vibrated his fingers on either side of his stomach, wiggling them around his navel, prodded at his sides then repeated the cycle.

Sam then gently rubbed at his belly, relaxing the muscles but still making Tommy giggle hysterically.

"Okay Toms, do you want me to do one last thing or would you prefer me to stop now?" Sam asked kindly.

Tommy placed his hand over Sam's, pausing his movements on his stomach. He blinked up at the man and then with a giggle laced voice said, "O-One lahahast thihihing."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, letting a mischievous smirk lift his lips. "You sure you can take it?"

Tommy nodded, a nervous but excited look in his eyes.

"Alright then, you asked for this" Sam shrugged.

When he started to slowly lift Tommy's shirt, the boy's eyes widened and he started to giggle louder.

"S-Sahaham" he stuttered.

"Yeah, that's my name Tomathy," Sam grinned.

Tommy shook his head and gripped his arms, watching with giggly anticipation. Sam softened.

"I'll stop the second you tell me to, okay?" He promised.

Tommy nodded and relaxed a bit, although his stomach was starting to quiver again. Sam chuckled and then without warning, blew a quick raspberry on Tommy's side.

Tommy squealed, body twisting into the couch. "SAHAHahaham!"

Sam then started squeezing at Tommy's hips bones, blowing mini raspberries across the teen's lower belly.

"SAHAHAM! SHIHIHIHIT!" Tommy started kicking the couch cushions, trying to curl into a ball.

"Nuh uh" Sam tutted, "none of that Tommy."

He gently got the boy to uncurl, massaging circles into his hips all the way. "The tickle monster wants to give you more raspberries! Don't hide his favorite tickle spot from him!"

"Nohoho! Sahaham!" Tommy blushed, "dohohon't tahahalk lihihike thahahat!"

"Why not? Does it embarrass you Toms?" Sam grinned, "well too bad! The tickle monster is hungry so laugh for him!"

He dropped his head again to blow a raspberry directly over Tommy's bellybutton. Tommy threw his head back with a shriek, bubbly laughter tumbling from his lips seconds later.

"Om nom nom!" Sam made over exaggerated eating sounds, blowing short raspberries all over Tommy's stomach and pinching at his lower ribs.

Tommy shook his head in his hysteria. The sensations felt amazing but it also overwhelming, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

"SAHAHAM! STOHOHOP!" Tommy squealed out, pressing his hands to Sam's shoulders.

Sam immediately lifted his head, running a hand over Tommy's stomach to help ease the ghost tickles. Tommy lay giggling on the couch, eyes closed and a wide smile on his face.

"You alright?" Sam asked, pulling Tommy's shirt back over his stomach.

"Y-Yehehahah" Tommy squeaked out, "I'm good."

Sam smiled and scooped the boy into his arms, Tommy practically going limp the second he was settled against Sam's chest.

"You did so well" Sam smiled, "took that like an absolute champ."

"Pogchamp" Tommy muttered with a giggle making Sam laugh too.

"Pogchamp" he agreed.

Fran leapt up onto the couch, not wanted to be left out of some cuddles. Usually Sam would protest the dog being on the couch but when Tommy immediately buried his hands in the wolf's soft fur, he couldn't find it in him to get Fran off.

Instead he ruffled his dog's ears and held Tommy securely.

"Thanks Sam" Tommy mumbled after a moment of silence, "for everything."

Sam squeezed the boy to him. "Course Toms, wasn't about to let my favorite kid down."

Tommy looked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. "I'm your favorite?"

"You're the tickle monsters favorite" Sam lightly wiggled his fingers at Tommy's neck making the boy flinch and giggle softly. "And you're also mine."

Tommy grinned. "Don't tell Tubbo and Ranboo, they'd throw a fit."

"Wouldn't dream of it" Sam chuckled.

They sat in comfortable silence until sleep over took them both, Fran watching over them protectively.

[dearcat1]

(Tentative Front)

Part 29 of Biases and Expectations

He picks his son from his wife's arms, ignoring his pout. Between her belly and her sore breasts, carrying Antonio is a bigger ordeal than necessary. "Come on, kid. Let's go."

Emilia smiles at him, kissing Antonio's cheek. "Mama needs a rest, Anton."

Antonio pouts harder because he's a mama's boy but he hugs Xanxus's neck anyway. "Snack?"

"How is this kid always hungry?"

His wife shrugs, walking back to the kitchen. "His stomach is too small for his needs, I think." She comes back with one of those sunflower seed packets that Antonio loves. "Here you go," she pets Antonio's hair. "How long do we have to stay?"

Neither of them likes the Iron Fort, if for different reasons.

"Maybe an hour or two. We'll make an excuse." Xanxus grabs her by the waist and guides her out of the room. "We can't evade this one."

Julienne has been doubling her efforts to meet his wife again. Xanxus hasn't lifted a finger to help out, it's not his problem both her and her sister let the position get to their heads. Now she's pushed away most of the alliance wives. Given that the only other Vongola wife, non-civilian at least, is Emilia; Julienne has been trying very hard to bring her one set in stone ally back into her fold. Emilia has been resolutely uncooperative. Xanxus finds the entire thing hilarious; he can appreciate the art of it when his wife's manners aren't weaponized against him.

Emilia breathes deeply. "I wonder if we can fake an emergency on the way."

Xanxus snorts, still surprised by her snark when she lets it out in his presence. "Let's just get in the car. Timoteo is going to be there, I can only put him off for so long."

They make it to the Iron Fort sooner than Xanxus would like. Timoteo and Sawada, of course, come out to greet them before they can even finish leaving the car.

"Xanxus," Timoteo smiles, lifting his arms like he thinks Xanxus might hug him. "Emilia."

"Don Vongola," his wife inclines her head. "Tsunayoshi. I hope we're not late."

"You're not," Sawada smiles at her; small and shyly pleased. "Julienne has been looking forward to this."

It doesn't land. Xanxus doesn't know exactly what his wife's opinion of Sawada is but Xanxus isn't an idiot either. It might be Xanxus doing the humiliating bit but neither Timoteo nor Sawada tried to intercede on her behalf. They sat there and allowed it to happen. Emilia hasn't forgiven him for it, he doubts they're any different.

"I'm honored." Emilia blinks slowly, her hand tightening on Xanxus's arm.

"Let's get inside."

"Of course," Timoteo steps forward when Sawada falters. "We're this way."

Sawada hesitates before turning to Emilia, "how have you been?"

Emilia looks at him, turns to Xanxus and then returns her attention to Sawada. "Quite alright, thank you."

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[why-not-ask-me-a-better-question]

Hi. I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m trying. That’s the goal though, right? Alright well. These are two of my OCs. Emily is a female human and Jordan is a male demon (incubus, specifically.)

*Crash*

Damn it. The cat must have knocked the food over again.

Emily groaned as she got up and walked out of her room. She flipped on a few lights and whined.

Damn lights.

She continued her way to the barn door. She was lucky to have her barn connected to her house. It certainly made taking care of Calypso much easier. She slid open the door and made her way down the wooden steps. She sighed.

“Yep. Damn cat.”

Sure enough, the small dish was knocked over and cat food was spilled all over the dirt floor. The barn doors had also been left open. The cold winter air blew in. Emily rushed over and closed the doors.

“Sorry Calypso” she said as she locked the doors. Calypso whinnied as Emily walked over.

“What is it, girlie? What’s wrong?”

Emily turned around and looked at the open stall across from her.

In the corner of the stall was a man. More like a boy. He was curled in a way to show one black wing protruding from his back. Emily screamed.

A demon. A demon in my house. In my barn.

She raced up the steps into her room. Slamming the door behind her.

“It’s okay. You can do this. You just need your sword and… your spell book! Okay. You can do this.” Emily rummaged through her things to find her weapons. She took a deep breath and opened the door. He hadn’t come into her house.

Good. He’s still in the barn.

She carefully made her way down the steps.

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

It was so cold. Too cold. Too cold to even think. Jordan was trudging through the snow, trying to find anywhere he could hide.

I need to get away from that village.

He held his arms tighter to his bloody chest. His broken wing held tight to his body.

*crunch crunch crunch crash*

He had fallen again. Jordan simply laid in the snow, trying to conserve heat. He was too tired to get back up. His eyelids were heavy from exhaustion.

“Please. Someone. Anyone. Please help.” He whispered. In the distance a faint light glowed. He carefully lifted his head. It was a building. It wasn’t too far. He could make it. Groaning, he got back up and made his way toward the light.

When he got to the doors, he realized that it was more of a barn, but it didn’t matter. It was warm and dry and he could rest. He limped into the barn. There were 4 stalls. 3 were empty and one held a tan colored horse. She looked at Jordan and nickered, as if inviting him in. Across from her was an empty stall, the door wide open. He sighed. This was his break.

His stomach grumbled. He held his stomach tight to try and easy the pain but it had been a long time since it had anything in it. He looked down and at his feed was a bowl of dry pet food. He bent down and started to shovel as much as he could past the iron bit in his mouth. Wincing every time it dug deeper or he accidentally touched it. It didn’t matter. It was food and he was hungry but he was too hasty. In his hurry to fill his belly, he knocked the dish over, spilling the food everywhere. He winced at the sound. Movement came from the house. He scurried into the open stall and curled in the corner.

Please please please.

The door to the house opened and Jordan could hear each step down the stairs. A sigh came from the bottom of the stairs along with a “Yep. Damn cat.” The footsteps started to make its way closer and closer to him. He held his mouth closed and tried to suppress his tears.

Please don’t come any closer. Please stay away.

The barn doors slid closed and Jordan tensed. His only way of escape was gone. He couldn’t flee. “Sorry Calypso”

The footsteps got farther away and the horse whinnied. “What is it, girlie? What’s wrong?” The footsteps shifted and a scream rang through the barn. They ran back up the stairs and into the house. Jordan had to get out of here. He jumped up and tried to open the barn door. It creaked but held strong. He desperately tried to claw it back open, but to no avail. Tears started to stream down his face. He was trapped and the person was coming back. They were going to hurt him. He searched around the barn for anywhere he could hide. The stairs. Under the stairs. Jordan scrambled under the stairs and curled tight.

To be continued…

[dzamie-oc]

05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

-----

“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.

[cricketchaology]

the bile of the beast

this fic includes discussion of the symptoms of PTSD, especially as it relates to eliot's past with violence (including allusions to sexual violence). if these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution.

READ ON AO3

it's san lorenzo (again, but different than it used to be) , and it's sweeter this time. it's fake blood on sophie's dress and damien's smirk melting off his face, a president's hands on nate's lapel. it's righting a wrong, but it's also a burning warehouse a country or so away, cops called and infiltrating, and they won't find who did it because eliot is a professional, always has been. they'll find a room full of messy corpses, turning in the evening sun, each as nameless as the last. moreau likes his men to be nothing (outside of him).

it's something eliot knows intimately: the way moreau can sink his teeth in so slowly you don't release you are nothing but a chew toy. and it's an odd thought when you are the dog, that your hide is flea-ridden and blank. that you are the soft toy he humps in the yard, not the doberman across the street that bears its teeth behind the screen door of close-cropped control. that, sometimes, you aren't even the weapon. sometimes you are the display: the show dog, heeling at the hand that no longer bears a treat. that your ribs are the home of boot-toes, breaking you down to the red dust you thought you escaped when you took up the mantle of a flag all those years ago.

so he holds the bottleneck. he clinks the right glasses, smiles appropriately in a way he prays reaches his eyes because sophie will notice if it doesn't and he can't. he's not feeling the happiness he knows is supposed to rise in his stomach at revenge because this isn't, the shapes are all pulled too long, too neat. it's moreau, it's messy by nature, it’s bloodied hands and broken chairs and little bits being removed from base-spine with even tweezers, folding on the floor like christ in the tomb, listening the tut-tut-tut of a man who doesn't love, but he loves you , or you think he does. eliot's grip tightens at the notion.

cause he knows moreau. he knows moreau like the back of his hand. knows how many times each knuckle's been busted and finger broken, constellation tracing each freckle. he knows moreau like a typewriter knows the author's touch, pounding away till the letters are worn. he knows moreau, which he means he knows it's not over, which means he can't stop running because he never, ever could, and it's why he's here now, with a team that knows him too much for him to stay. who will act like tomorrow is a new day, a free one. like with the italian off their backs, nothing is hanging over their heads.

tomorrow is day one of post-post moreau. it's not the first time he's escaped, and it won't be the last. it is a fact he knows the team won't understand- not when they got off easy, this time. last time it was by the skin of eliot's teeth, shoulder bullet-lodged and airplanes unnamed as he crossed ocean after ocean just to put enough distance between him and the hammer so that he could avoid being the next nail. he wasn't free then. wasn't free a day after moreau, wasn't even free before, because when moreau wants something, he gets it. and he wanted eliot spencer less then than he wants him now. the thought makes his skin crawl, remembering the heat of the brand as it grew closer to his inner thigh, kissing the hairs near his groin before drawing away. because moreau doesn't even need to lay claim to own you, just has to say he did. just has to release that wolf-grin and hold your collar like its always been his.

eliot's spent years clawing at that loop, the necklace that bites too tight around his skin even when no one else knows. he cooks, and he smiles, but it's always there, always weighing on the nape like a hand, skin pinching. he's spent years scratching and howling, enough that the red ring is more evident than the too-tight collar itself. enough that he knows it doesn't come off. to know even a moreau locked in a hole in san lorenzo is still the one he remembers, even if the shape is different.

so when nate offers up a glass of whiskey, raised high by an unshaking hand, it takes everything in eliot to smile, lift his beer bottle, and cheer.

///

he does not remember much of the first day post-post moreau, which is something that scares him. he's not sure how it passed him by; he remembers waking up in the hotel, turning in sunbeams as they scrape past the window screen. he remembers the panic of nate not answering the door when he knocked, and he remembers slamming his body into it until he saw nate alive and well, but he doesn't remember the conversation that followed. he doesn't remember what comes between the elevator and the airport, or what movie hardison played on the flight, or how many seats were unfilled. they're the kind of lapses that could get him- get all of them, he amends, wondering how he could forget- killed. because what eliot lacks in computer skills or acting ability he makes up for in counting hats, mapping exits. he pays his stay in blood.

except he doesn't now, or he's not supposed to. the thought haunts him the rest of the flight. he's barely conscious when they arrive back in boston, his head swimming between the then and the now, post and post-post. he doesn't even realize they've landed till the seatbelt light flickers off, and his hands go to help sophie carry all the luggage she packed in place of the carryon he didn't need.

because eliot never travels with a suitcase. when he arrives, the clothes will be laid out on the bed that’s been paid off for the next few nights. the most that ever belongs to him are the shoes, but even that is a danger- particulates are easily traced, so the red dirt is disposed of every other week, burying the people he isn't supposed to say he's been. disoriented as he is, he winds up picking up a stranger's briefcase before he realizes it's the weight of paperwork-filled folders and not a sniper rifle nestled intimately inside.

he drops it like the handle burns. the movement is abrupt enough that his elbow nudges nate's side. his furrowed brows say we need to talk.

eliot wants to meet his eyes but can't. instead, he grounds himself, taking enough of the team's bags that the straps start to wear into his skin, pulling him from the nothing that's begun to spread from post to post-post. he's silent on the drive home, oddly unperturbed by the fact that parker insists on driving (something about how airplanes don't feel fast, and she wants to feel fast, and everyone being too tired to argue) . he doesn't so much as grumble as he makes a roundabout the vehicle, jabbing each tire with the tip of his toe. he stares at the license plate for a moment too long, trying to remember why he's in boston before nate shouts something along the lines of "come on, let's get home."

it's raining; something eliot doesn't register till they've arrived at the office and are piling out of the car. his arms are loaded with bags by the time he hears someone say, "we'll worry about the luggage later," which they surely said before he loaded up. by the time he makes it inside, his hair is curling at the ends in a way it never did in the before- cropped too short then for even damien to find much comfort in running fingers through, though he'd do it anyway. petting more than soothing, and the difference was something eliot learned to sense before the hand was even laid down, the way a knee aches before a storm.

the thought must show on his face, or maybe his disheveled appearance is enough to earn the concern coloring his team as they stare at him, dripping in the doorway with their luggage draped across his body all pack-mule-like. he's shivering, though he isn't exactly sure why, by the time they pull the bags from him, ushering him upstairs as the bar staff eyes them no more curiously but perhaps more timidly than usual. the soles of his shoes squeak against the vinyl, and he flinches, thinking about all the ways a wrong sound could get him killed. moreau is tut-tut-tutting in his ear again, like before, in the during .

the whole team is talking, mumbling mercies and platitudes, and his heart is racing in his chest, pounding like heels on rooftops and down staircases in foreign countries. the rain beats down on the window like fists, like prisoners you knew before they were prisoners and allies you used to trust, and he's not really breathing; the air in the crawlspace is too thin. his hands are shaking, and his CO is saying “steady, steady,” whispering it like a mother to her babe, and the shot rings out with that familiar flashbang of lighting.

"stop," he mutters, and it feels like too much noise, too much noise (surely, they're going to catch him this time). "please, stop. stop."

the air falls quiet, like new york news as the death of osama bin laden is broadcast, like hushed last phone calls on the plane going down, army basecamps right before the armada. it's quiet like death is- like two lovers who don't know each other yet. like hair coiling, blackening, burning in the heat. his breath hitches like he can remember it.

"...eliot?" parker asks, because she's parker, crazy by design, but even now, she isn't touching him, though her hands are outstretched like she wants to. hardison looks at her like she has horns, like she's breaking a vault while the sirens scream, and she is, in every conceivable way. it makes eliot ache in a way he didn't know he could still feel. it makes him want to be the person she thinks him to be.

he meets parker's gaze like he's staring down the business end of a gun. like being the fish in the barrel.  he averts her gaze, transfixed on the city skyline behind her, peering through beating rain. he's scanning for men laying belly-down on balconies, sniper's trained and at the ready. he struggles to make out the horizon through obscuring strands of hair he doesn't remember growing out. he swallows, fingers flexing with a familiar hunger for hurt.

before he's aware of it, he's being lead to the couch, his soaking jacket somehow shed without his knowledge (he was too busy counting hats, mapping exits. moreau wants to know how many hats). the sofa is soft beneath him, swallowing him in warmth better than his standard-issue sleeping bag, and he's helpless against the hands on his shoulders pushing him purposefully deeper. the nails are enough for him to know it's sophie, even though he can't fully see her in front of him. the hair is tucked behind his ear with a tenderness he didn't know still existed. that he doesn't think he can deserve.

he isn't sure how long he sits there, his hands shaking in his lap. he isn't sure how long the silence permeates till it's replaced with the sound of knife striking board, and he comes to understand that Chopped reruns have been playing on the screens ahead, and it's sweet because they think he'd like it, not because he does. his boots have been unlaced, pulled from his feet (now bare, like christ folding on the floor in front of the disciples, moreau saying "wash my feet, eliot") and set gently near the end of the sofa. the thermostat has been turned to a temperature he lovingly calls "oklahoma august," which the rest of the team always whines is too hot, and the smell of thai food from his favorite food truck seeps into the air. he hangs on the scent like a cartoon character to fresh pie on the window.

it's too much like post , rather than post-post, the way they smile at him shambling to the island. the ache of the fights from the past weeks are starting to catch up to him; without a fresh neck in his hands, it's easier to remember the skin peeled from his knees. seeing him, nate holds out a steaming plate of his favorite and eliot takes it slowly. he stares down at it, enchanted by the authenticity of it even after it's pulled from a takeout box.

but you don't eat things you didn't see prepared; it's a lesson he learned after being poisoned in some hole in south america, and that he risked with every hors d'oeuvre moreau would hold to his lips, saying taste this, meaning die for me, like the sound of vultures overhead. something must change in his eyes because nate isn't smiling anymore. because nate is reaching out, taking the plate back, and it's clear that he doesn't understand what he's done wrong, no one does, not even sophie, if the way her gaze fluctuating between eliot and nate is to say anything.

"i'm not supposed to eat anything i didn't cook," he instinctively explains (this must be a test), wanting the sad look to leave hardison's eyes. "you either. i'm not supposed to let you eat anything i didn't prepare- that i didn't taste."

a beat of silence follows, heavy like the snow piling on slates, like soot on a seven-year-old brow. nate breaks it hesitantly.

"eliot-"

"let me taste your food," eliot says, all too much like the during and unlike post or post-post; it's too soft and ungrowled, too eliot and not enough spencer .

the look sophie shares with nate is deadly- like hiroshima at ground zero or kitum cave circa 1980. there's a silent battle wagging there, one eliot can't find the energy to care about because, without even a second of hesitation, parker hands him her plate of too-sweet noodles. she smiles at him, strange in that way parker always is, like a rat taking trap-bound cheese.

eliot takes care, inspecting the color, the smell, and though all of it is wrong, it's parker's, and it smells like how parker likes pad woon sen, which a post , but not post-post, eliot would have the energy to despise tenderly. but that's not who he is now, twirling noodles up on the fork, chewing garishly until he can gulp them down with confidence, like swallowing a key and knowing they can't beat it out of you. like downing the rations before the taste of them reaches your brain. he hands the plate back, feeling lighter, and hardison must be able to tell because he offers his dish up next. he watches as eliot inspects it thoroughly like a jeweler counting carats. the process doesn't take long, and, after a few minutes, each takeout box has been combed through for error, and eliot has determined they are safe enough to settle at the bar for the meal.

he doesn't sit down though, isn't supposed to. he goes to check exits, to stand by the door. he thinks about meetings in moreau's office, thinks about clubs and bars and women in bikinis that moreau never wanted to touch. because women were shows- because if moreau wanted something, he got it, and eliot knows this, so he knows moreau didn't want the women. he knows that moreau hungered for something different- not younger, but meaner. harder. he thinks about moreau in the sauna, beckoning eliot over, saying dismiss your post and meaning drop to your knees, folding before him like christ, like washing feet, like intimacy anew. he thinks about hardison, tied to the chair, and about chapman and his gun and moreau towel-drying sweat from his skin. he thinks about the kick, the move he invented, and hardison sucking air from the pneumatic, thinks about sucking air and-

///

"pause the show," sophie says, right before eliot goes from nervously checking the locks for the dozenth time to crumpling to the floor, his fingers digging claw-like into the edge of the doorframe. his breaths are too quick, huffing in and out, in and out, fast as chopper blades overhead screaming against wind. his whole body is vibrating by the time ted's voice is cut off, hand closing over the cloche in slow motion.

parker is the first to him, light on her feet and perching in front. she observes him like a cat might a dead bird; curiosity and hunger, unfamiliar yet innate. but then that hunger fades, is sated, and she's tucking her knees beneath her body and folding herself by eliot, kneeling. she surrounds him, skin heavy like a blanket, and eliot melts into her like one fades into the air after jumping from a plane- the way the heat melds to your back as an explosion follows you out the door.

with only slightly more hesitance, hardison joins them on the floor, his long arms enveloping them. eliot's hair tickles his nose, hardison's soft breaths blowing them away, then pulling them back like the ebb and flow of waves lapping a shoreline. he closes his eyes for a long moment, batting away the thought of water filling his lungs, and reopens them to find nate staring down awestruckenly.

sophie smiles softly in a way that means she knows something no one else does, cracking the mark open like a pistachio shell. hardison squints, searching for an answer, but she gives none. instead, she pulls nate away by his wrist, casting a look across the room before quietly trailing up the staircase, leaving eliot, parker, and hardison tucked tightly into the corner.

///

the seconds evade him while he sits there, sobbing on the floor. it feels like a weakness, something he should be hiding- he hasn't cried like this since the night his momma died (not in his pristine funeral suit. his father has pulled his tie-tight and said, "now don't you embarrass me," and he didn't then- made sure he never did again.) he hadn't cried like that the entire time during , or post , but now it was post-post and here he was, broken to bits on the wooden floor of a dingy bars' loft in boston.

not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up here. how he escaped the during , how he made it to post-post. because, really, he's seen greater men die on their first tour. he's been in the hellholes they strung soldiers up in, purple heart wearers bleeding nothing but red, red, red- and he's been that man, russian roulette spun and against the odds making it a baker's dozen rounds before the tortures tired of threats and moved onto toenails. even then, he didn't cry like this- if he did cry, well, that was sweat in his eyes. that was him praying to a lord he stopped believing in at 18, saying, "if you get me out of this one alive, i'll get better" and it never, ever being true.

he isn't aware that parker and hardison have been whispering a mantra of "it's okay, it's okay, eliot, you are here, you are ours" until they pause for breath until parker's voice is addressing hardison, asking, "hey- hey, if it's too much, it's okay. you can take a break."

it's then that he realizes he isn't the only one praying then; they all are, the shoulders of his shirt on either side soaked through, not by the unrelenting rain but by the two closest things he has to family. that hardison's voice has gone from soft and strong to shaky: a leaf resisting those oklahoma winds rising from 40 to 50, from cold fronts and warm one crashing and crushing everything in their path as they war with one another. that parker's body has cooled as she gifted her warmth to eliot's still rain-frozen form.

it's then that he realizes he's lucky. that san lorenzo is sweeter because parker dashed it with maple syrup when he wasn't looking- that hardison replaced the whiskey sours with sodas. that post-post doesn't fit any of the characters sophie has taught him to play, and that he doesn't need to count the hats because nate already has; he knows each shape and each color, the brand names printed on the bill.

the next breath is a little deeper as hardison whispers, "i'm good, i'm good," across him to parker, and eliot feels the rattle of her head against his neck more than he sees it. the way they draw in a little closer, the way parker subconsciously syncs their breathing like sophie's taught her to do with marks, but it's different because eliot isn't a mark- because it isn't post-post, it's something different entirely.

it's the scent of his favorite thai food crusted in the corners of an unwiped mouth. it's his closet being reorganized by color, his go-bag packed with money he didn't put there. it's in-jokes and damnits and distinctive sounds. it's not explaining because they won't make him.

when his breathing is finally stable, he feels them pull back- not entirely, but enough that there's an instant ache in eliot's gut for them to come back to him. hardison's brows are knit, all the anger of the week prior washed away and replaced with nothing but care. parker is smiling gently with that even present lilt to her eye- like she's stolen his watch and is waiting for him to notice.

with slowly re-steadying hands, eliot brushes the last remnants of tears from his face, feeling his cheeks flush slightly when his father's voice tries to rise from somewhere within him. as though feeling the demon climbing up, hardison places a hand on the outskirts of eliot's bicep, holding him gently- grounding him.

"you good?" hardison asks simply, but the question makes all the raw things in eliot sore again in the way a second-day sunburn feels; not quite painful, but omnipresent. warm.

"yeah," he finds himself saying, and it's not something a post eliot would mean, but maybe a post-post eliot does. maybe a post-post eliot can. he finds himself smiling at the notion.

"yeah, i am."