#Had to go back to my past of giving every character I drew sharp teeth lol

[larrycommitsarson]

Guess which creature decided to get back on his SalAsh bullshit? That’s right gamers, it’s me :)

I’m very normal about them (they spin in my mind 24/7)

[casuallyimagining]

Fix You (1)

hybrid!Min Yoongi x female!reader

Summary: When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?  Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, fluff Word Count: 3,660 Rating: M Warnings (may not appear in every part): minor character is a dick to animals, mentions of a gun, main character injury (non-serious), discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

Notes: This is for the March project for @thebtswritersclub. The prompt word was ‘adventure’ and I mean, what’s more of an adventure than adopting a pet? Banner by @birbdae; thanks to @voiceswithoutlips, @taetaesbaebaepsae​, @hoebii​ and @aroseforyoongi for editing various parts of this for me.

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“That cat got into Rick’s chickens again. Killed a couple chicks. He said he’s going to kill it if he sees it on his property.”

Your dad had said it nonchalantly, barely glancing over his newspaper. Without a second thought, you were out the door. There was no way to be sure, not really, but the sinking feeling in your stomach made you run a little faster down your parents’ driveway.

You could have sworn you saw that cat slinking under Rick’s fence on your walk earlier.

Rick’s property neighbored that of your parents, but you wouldn’t necessarily consider him their neighbor. If you stood on their front porch, you could just barely make out Rick’s house through the stand of trees that served as the property line. Your parents had chosen to let their piece of the world be natural, carving out just enough space for a house and a decent sized yard all those years ago. It had made for some great childhood adventures in the woods: pretending fairies were real, living out your childhood fantasies of being some sort of wizard, making friends with the trees--normal kid stuff.

Rick, on the other hand, had turned his land into farmland, even though he neither farmed nor cared for the land. The vast rolling fields of Rick’s “farm” were mostly bare. He had a pond in one corner on the other side of the property, and he had a small cabin for hunting when game season started. Mostly, though, Rick raised chickens. Annoying things, the chickens were, not unlike Rick himself. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the hens’ incessant clucking from your parents’ house, and the roosters never seemed to shut up.

When you moved to the city to attend college, you were elated to get away from the chickens.

According to your dad, the cat had showed up in the woods a few weeks ago, and it had made an enemy out of Rick almost immediately. The poor thing was skinny--too skinny, like it had been living on the streets for a while--and though its dark fur was ruddy and matted, you could tell it would be a beautiful onyx if taken care of.

As you got closer to Rick’s farm, you heard barking and a sharp yowl, and you hurried in the direction of the sounds, afraid of what you’d find. Rounding the corner of the chicken coop, you gasped in horror.

Rick stood with his back to you, shotgun in his hands. His dog, an old bird hound with caramel spotted fur, had the cat clutched in his mouth, the dog’s teeth sunk directly into the cat’s shoulder. The cat, to its credit, had puffed itself up greatly, its tail nearly double its normal size. It was growling and hissing, and, despite the pain it was almost certainly in, was swiping at the dog with its front claws.

“Call your dog off, Rick.” Your voice was steadier than you thought it would be. You were out of breath from the run over there, and being anywhere near Rick with a gun and his snarling dog made you a little uneasy.

“Fuck off.” The man barely turned his head to you. “Damn cat’s been a pain in my ass since someone dumped it here. It killed four of my chicks.”

“Look at it. Of course it’s going after your chickens. You don’t keep them in their coop. It’s starving.”

“Damn thing should stay at your soft-ass parents’ house if it wants handouts.” Rick cocked his gun, pointing it at the cat. The cat’s copper eyes flashed to Rick at the sound. It looked terrified.

The fact that it knew what a gun was and knew to be afraid of it broke your heart a little bit.

“Call off the dog,” you said again, taking a step toward him, hands splayed out in front of you placatingly. “Calm down. I’ll get the cat out of your hair, and you won’t have to worry about it again.”

“Ain’t going to replace my chickens.” Rick’s voice was gruff, but he lowered the gun.

“I’ll pay for your chickens. Just call off your dog.”

He stared at the cat, the gun clutched in his hands but no longer pointing it at anything. For a second, you thought he was going to sicc the dog on the poor thing just to spite you and make a point. You had a feeling he was the type of person to do that. But after a tense stare down, he whistled through his teeth.

“Drop it,” he commanded the dog. The dog looked to its owner, and he repeated the command. It took a second, but the dog released its bite, and the cat slumped to the ground. Rick regarded the cat with a sneer before turning to you. “Take care of that thing. If I see it on my property one more time, it won’t be so lucky.”

You nodded tensely, and he whistled again. The dog trotted over to Rick’s side and the two walked off. You stared after him for a moment. A pained yowl drew your attention back to the cat.

The cat looked angry, and you didn’t blame it. Its tail was still puffed up, and you could tell that if it hadn’t just been attacked by a dog, its hackles would be straight up. Its copper eyes glared at you, its ears flat against its head. You approached cautiously, and it growled deeply in its throat.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, crouching down to make yourself less threatening. “I’m going to get you help. Is that okay?”

The cat hissed at you and attempted to back away. It made two limping steps before collapsing into the mud around the coop.

“That’s alright. It’s okay.” You sighed, unsure of your next steps. You didn’t want to traumatize the cat by coming any closer, and you really didn’t want to risk injuring it further by picking it up and having it fight you.

You looked at the cat, blinking slowly when you accidentally made eye contact with it. You had read somewhere that blinking was a way to show a cat that you weren’t a threat, and though you felt kind of silly, at this point, you were willing to try anything.

“What am I going to do with you, kitty?” you questioned, sitting down in the mud. The cat looked at you curiously, as if asking what the fuck you were doing. “I don’t want Rick to hurt you,” you confessed. “I’d like to take you somewhere safe.”

Truthfully, that was part of the reason why you were even visiting your parents. Your mom had told you about the cat, and how it didn’t seem to be wearing any collar, and while you were visiting them you wanted to try to trap it, either to bring it to live with you, or to take it to a nice shelter where it could get a good meal and hopefully find a nice family.

“Can I take you to the vet, at least?” You really were desperate, talking to the cat as if it understood what you were saying. The cat, to its credit, looked at you, copper eyes staring into your face before it blinked, just once, slowly and deliberately.

When you reached out to it, it didn’t growl.

You stood and approached the cat, doing your best not to make any sudden moves. You scooped it up gently, careful not to jostle his left shoulder too much, and cradled it close to your chest.

The walk back to your parents’ house was slow, but the trip to the vet was even slower.

It was a weekend, so the vet in your parents’ sleepy little suburb was closed. You had no choice but to pack your bags back up and make the trek home to the city to take the cat to the 24/7 emergency veterinary hospital.

You tapped your hand on the steering wheel. Traffic wasn’t usually this terrible on a weekend, but there was some sort of sporting event happening, so of course, all the roads into the city were clogged.

Stopped at a red light, you spared a glance toward your passenger seat. The cat laid on his side--it was a him, your mother had confirmed--his breathing labored. You could tell he was still on edge. His tail was still puffed up like a cat-of-nine-tails, and he kept eyeing you warily. But he had let you wrap him in a blanket and carry him to your car, and he had stayed on the seat, almost like he knew it was the safest place for him.

“Almost there, kitty,” you mumbled, changing lanes, finally free of the congestion. “Hang on just a little longer.”

Thankfully, the vet wasn’t busy, and you were able to get in with the assistant almost right away. You explained everything that had happened to her as she examined the cat, tutting slightly as she checked his shoulder.

“There are some punctures, but nothing that’s too worrying. I can bandage it and give you some antibiotics.” The assistant pulled her hand back as the cat swatted at her for touching his shoulder a little too forcefully. “Do you know if he has an owner? It would be helpful to know his shot records.”

You shook your head. “He just showed up in the woods one day.”

“We’ll get him a full round of vaccines, then, too.” Copper eyes met yours, and for a second, you thought you saw a look of concern cross them. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

The vet ordered an MRI, and thankfully, because it was a large veterinary hospital connected with the local university, they were able to do it the same day. So you ended up staying at the vet for two hours as they anesthetized the cat and did the scan. While the cat was waking up, the vet called you into the exam room.

“We checked for a microchip, and there was none,” the vet--Dr. Jung--informed you, his brow furrowed. “Based on the cat’s malnutrition and the condition of the coat, it’s likely he was a stray for at least a few months.” You nodded. The poor cat. “We should have the MRI results soon. I’ll give you a call in a few hours once I get a chance to read them. Normally, since he’s a stray, we would contact our foster network to see if anyone would be able to take him in. But since you brought him in-”

“I’ll keep him,” you said quickly. You were planning on it anyway. Just because he was hurt didn’t mean you were willing to give him up.

“Good.” Dr. Jung smiled at you. “My assistant is wrapping his shoulder now, and we’d like to just monitor him for a few more minutes to make sure he’s coming out of the anesthesia well, but you should be clear to take him home after that.” He placed a box on the table between you. “This is Clavamox. One millilitre twice a day for seven days. I don’t think he’ll develop an infection, but since he was so dirty, I think it’s probably better to be safe.” You nodded and pocketed the box. “We also gave him a rabies shot while he was here. It’s standard because he was bitten. If you notice any symptoms, please call us immediately. Once he’s feeling better, we can get him the rest of the vaccines he needs.”

You nodded. This was a lot all at once. And you didn’t even know what you wanted to call the cat yet.

Dr. Jung seemed to be able to tell you were feeling overwhelmed, because he offered you a comforting smile and patted your shoulder. “I’m going to go check on him. You can come if you want.”

As soon as you entered the room, groggy copper eyes were on you. The poor thing looked stoned out of his mind, but there was recognition there, and that gave you some comfort. At least he wasn’t glaring at you anymore. Dr. Jung’s assistant had wrapped his shoulder, so he had a bandage from his upper left front leg wrapped all the way around his chest and up around his shoulders.

“What are we going to do with you, kitty?” you questioned softly, reaching out and gently placing your hand on his head.

After checking the cat’s vitals one last time, Dr. Jung let you leave.

He was limp in your arms as you carried him into your apartment, still a little drugged up from the anesthesia. The whole way back to your apartment, he had sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window like a drunk, moody college student.

“It’s up to you if you want to stay, kitty,” you told him, gently laying him down on your couch as soon as you kicked your shoes off. Of course you wanted to keep him. You had grown attached to him in the few hours you had been with him. But if he was miserable, you were willing to help him find somewhere that was more suited for his needs.

He tried to stand, succeeding only long enough to give a dramatic wobble before collapsing back into the overstuffed cushion. While he was completely recovered from the anesthesia, Dr. Jung had warned you that the cat might be feeling the side effects for a day or so. You reached out to pet him, but his copper eyes slanted into a glare, and you pulled back.

Assuming the cat was hungry, you left him alone and headed into the kitchen. You had some chicken in the fridge, and you thought maybe he would enjoy some fresh meat he didn’t have to steal. You weren’t sure when his last real meal was, so you wanted to go easy on his digestive system until you knew he was feeling better. You’d have to stop and get cat food at some point, but for now, chicken would do.

You did your best to trim off all the fat from the chicken breast. You knew he wouldn’t mind eating it--cats ate weirder things from fresh kills, after all--but you figured with how thin he was, lean meat would probably be better. Carefully, you cut it up into small, easy-to-chew chunks and put some on a plate, wrapping the rest and putting it into the fridge for later. You used a dropper to evenly spread the required dose of the antibiotics onto the chicken in hopes that it would make it easier to give him the medicine.

Returning to the living room, you noticed that the cat hadn’t moved aside from doing his best to curl up as small as possible in the corner of the couch. You tried not to make eye contact with him as you pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it on the cushions. You weren’t particularly keen on having raw chicken all over your furniture, but you sat the plate on the blanket anyway. There was no way you trusted the cat to be able to jump down off your couch at this point.

“Here’s some chicken, kitty.” You gestured toward the plate, and he eyed it warily, unmoving. You supposed he would feel more comfortable eating if you weren’t in the room. “Don’t leave it too long--it’ll go bad. I have to go do some work. I’ll be in my office if you need me. It’s just down the hall.”  As you stood up, you paused. You were talking to a cat. You were talking to a cat as if it could understand exactly what you were saying.

Maybe your parents were right. Maybe you had been living alone for too long.

Your mother had suggested you get a hybrid when you first moved to the city--a nice, loyal, protective one, like a German shepherd hybrid or a golden retriever--but you had never gone further than passively looking.

You were happy for the hybrids. A majority of them were still owned, but they could move about their lives freely and without question. It was illegal to treat them as servants, and all ownership had to be consensual, though you weren’t sure how well those rules were enforced. You didn’t really understand how someone could just own a hybrid--they were people, after all, even if their DNA was a little altered. It was weird to you, owning another sentient being like that.

Their lives were certainly much better than they had been. Some hybrids were naturally occurring, but others--a majority of them--had been created by rich and powerful individuals and the government in secret during some shady human experiments in the early 20th century. And, of course, because they were experiments, it created a whole host of problems regarding rights and discrimination.

But despite all the improvements, there was still a long way to go. There was nothing wrong with owning a hybrid if it was consensual, but that didn’t mean you were necessarily comfortable with it.

After a few hours of sitting at your desk working on your most recent graphic design project for work, you turned away and stretched. If you had to stare at the color chartreuse for ten more minutes, you thought you would go blind. It was time to check on the cat anyway, and you wanted to make sure you threw away any chicken that was left on the plate you had given him so he wouldn’t get sick.

When you entered the living room, you were immediately confused. The cat was gone, but so was your blanket. The plate was still on the couch, almost exactly where you left it, but it was entirely empty. Wonderful. You had taken in some sort of Houdini cat.

You grabbed the plate and put it in the sink, trying to look for your blanket as you went. You found it when you returned to the living room, the corner sticking out from under your TV stand. There was just enough space between the bottom shelf and the floor for the cat to fit under, and apparently he had taken the blanket with him. You couldn’t really blame him--it was April, and it was late evening, and your floors were still a little chilly.

“Hey kitty?” you called, bending down to see if you could see him under the shelf. You had thought about it while working, and at this point, you were just going to lean into the whole ‘talking to the cat like he’s a person’ thing. “It’s starting to get late. I’m going to go get ready for bed, okay?” You could just barely see his copper eyes hidden all the way under the TV stand. His pupils were blown wide to capture all the ambient light they could. “You can explore or whatever you’re comfortable with tonight, but please don’t ruin my stuff. Please be a good kitty.”

He blinked once and continued to stare blankly at you.

“Okay, well… if I don’t see you, goodnight.”

You stood and headed off to your bathroom to start your nightly routine. It only took you about a half an hour, but you were soon laying down in bed with your book. You had started it a few days ago, but you were hooked, and you were already almost done with it. The author had managed to somehow insert a space alien robot into today’s modern digital age, and you found it fascinating. You would never look at social media and influencers the same way after reading this book.

It was cozy in your room with the little bedside lamp on, snuggled up in your blankets. Your bed was soft--it was one of those that you could change it using a remote to fit your mood and preference, but you almost always preferred it soft--and you had plenty of blankets and pillows to make it comfortable.

You only had a few pages left when you noticed it, the shadow lingering in the hallway, slowly getting closer to your open bedroom door. It started out against the wall across the hall. When you next looked up after glancing down to your book, the shadow had moved to your doorway. He even had turned his head away like he was pretending it was a coincidence that he had ended up in your room.

He was walking with a slight limp, which was unsurprising given the bandage and the fact that he was attacked not even 12 hours before. He was much more lucid than he was when you first brought him home, though you could tell he was still a little groggy. You didn’t say anything to him--you figured if you did, he would bolt, so you let him do what he wanted.

After a few minutes--maybe 15 or 20--you closed your book quietly, careful not to startle the cat. You glanced at the doorway and didn’t see him, so you put your book on your nightstand and turned off the light. It took you a second, but you snuggled down into the blankets, pulling them tightly around you. You were just about to drift off when you felt it.

Something landed gently on your bed by your feet. It paused for a moment before slowly making its way up the bed to your head, its gait uneven. When it got to the other pillow, it laid down. You risked opening an eye then, and were met with copper eyes staring back at you.

He watched you warily, as if waiting for you to yell or kick him off the bed. When you didn’t, his eyes narrowed, and he slowly allowed himself to lay down, his head on his paws, curled up as best as he could be.

You fell asleep to the sound of him snoring lightly.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or thoughts about the series. I’d love to hear from you!

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[mci-writing]

Reminder (Yandere!Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

A/n: A piece originally made for the Izumonth collab that never got posted for very obvious reasons if you look back. I still had the draft and thought it pretty banger if I went through with posting it this year so people can experience what they missed out on

Warnings: Yandere themes, yandere character, bodily harm for pleasure, knife play, carving, branding, blood, licking of blood, unhealthy relationships, Midoriya's batshit

“I-Izuku~” Emerald eyes glance upwards to meet your own. His scarred hands give your thighs a soft reassuring squeeze before pressing them more against your body in an attempt to have his cock hit deeper inside of you. They soften in a way you missed seeing, his hips slowing a bit as he takes his time admiring every soft curve and crease. He squeezes at the swell of your thighs, his breath catching in his throat at the soft sound he hears you make. His hips softly buck into you desperately, his face moving to bury itself in your neck as he breathes in your scent before pulling away to continue adoring the heavenly sight of you under him in such a blissful state. You were even more beautiful without the restraints on you, with you consenting to have him be so close to you and love you in such a way.

Your cooperation added another layer to the way he would love you tonight.

Being here with you like this had once been an almost unattainable dream, so much so that he thought he was imagining this wet scenario after finally going crazy as a result of you constantly denying his love. Even if it was, it wouldn’t ruin the pure ecstasy and excitement he received from having you allow him to love you so intimately without protective chains.

There’s an admirable amount of beautiful marks he’s left on your soft skin, the newer ones more prominent in shade and size. He works so hard to maintain your eternal glow, getting only the best products for you to ensure your body is well-kept and maintained. This was something entirely different to him, a milestone that he could only dream to achieve in the midst of his past lonely nights where he only had a small token of your panties to sniff as he masturbated to the seemingly far-away idea of pleasuring you. Having this key to you in his hands was such an honor to him and he would make sure each of your needs was met, no matter how dirty or how soft he needed to be to achieve the euphoria for you.

He would love to die in such an intimate position with you, with his dick buried deep inside of you with your walls twitching around him and tightening from all the overstimulation he gave you beforehand. Just the thought has him softly moaning in pleasure. Only he gets to see you so needy with desires, so adorably flushed in bliss. It’s enough to have him finally cum from stimulation that night (every other time he came was just from hearing your adorable noises and watching you release and withe under him from the ministrations and feathery touches he gave your body).

He pulls out when the desire to see you painted white in his semen outweighs the idea of filling you to the brim with his release, leaving him to settle with rutting into his hand until he ejaculates all over the frontal half of your body. His cheeks burn brightly seeing you make such an erotic face after having him cum on you, a face he’s only seen from afar and up close only in dreams before tonight. He has pictures he’s taken, videos he’s recorded with you in such euphoria but having it so close he could practically touch you and melt was millions of miles better than his original jack-off material. He can only feel sorry for his past self for having to settle without the true, ephemeral beauty of having you before him in such a horny state.

How many people have gotten to see his darling like this before him? Touch them and love them in such a way?

He suddenly finds himself glancing at his bedside table, a look flashing through his eyes as an idea comes to mind. You're too lost in your own high to notice him reach over and you can’t find the energy to care once you catch him pull something out from the drawer. The sharp item doesn’t truly catch your eye until a reflection of light shines off the blade. He finds the small inhale you make delightfully adorable and a small smirk deviously comes to his lips as he flips the idea over in his head.

“You’re so amazing, baby” He presses the tip against your skin, not enough to bruise, yet, but enough for you to know just how sharp and fatal it is. He finds the way you hold your breath and squirm away from the knife arousing and the fact that you’d think he’d kill you is just so precious. He presses it more against your skin, the inhale of jolted pain you make with the small cut enough to make his dick hard again. He brings the blade up to the side of your face, mockingly caressing the area before lowering the knife to your chin and lifting it with one of the flat sides, “So amazing that you’ve pushed my hand to really claim what’s mine. You don’t mind having Deku on different parts of your body, right?~”

It takes a moment for you to begin bleeding from the small cut he gave you and you're thankful that it’s not deep enough to need immediate attention. He’s careful with outlining your curves with the weapon, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he grows aroused further from your soft noises of excited fear.

He runs the tip down your body, making sure to carefully scrape between your breasts during the slow descent downwards. The way your breath hitches confirms how much you’re enjoying the way he was currently threatening you and it’s enough to set him off into initiating his branding on you.

He delineates the letters of his hero name in a big font along your abdomen, an excited grin playing along his lips as the cool feeling of the knife continues to tease and taunt you of what’s to come. The pain isn’t quick when he begins truly writing them out, each mark drawn out longer than you would’ve liked as he attempted to have the utmost precision and neatness with his name claim on your skin. Your soft cries of pain egg him on to continue out of excitement and worry.

He feels a small tug at his chest once the blood begins to well up in the wounds halfway through the characters, your blood slowly streaming from them and spreading to flatten out against your skin in a faint red. His heart begins to beat faster at the reminder of him earning this moment with you after all the work he went through to make sure you were of utmost comfort in his home. Through all the fighting, the arguing, screaming, yelling; he deserves to be here with you and making you feel great.

His, once again, hardened dick presses against the plush of your thighs and his hips needily rutting against them for some purchase once he finishes spelling out the markings on your delectable skin. His face is buried deep in your neck again, whispering small reminders of who you belonged to and would always belong to with the accompaniment of small nips and affectionate kisses. He's unable to stop himself from thrusting his cock inside of you again, immediately bottoming out in his desperation for feeling the wonderful bliss of your insides.

He leans away to watch you again, breath caught in his throat from the pained pleasurable looks you give him. The way your (e/c) eyes downturn in embarrassed defiance paired with the way your walls squeeze his cock would drive anyone mad with a desire only you drew from him. He turns the knife between his fingers in a playful manner before threateningly pressing it against your neck, enough to leave a small slit big enough and leak enough blood to make his tough act believable. The way your eyes, wide and afraid, stare back up at him and continuously give him all of your attention.

With a new bout of given confidence, he leans down and licks at the blood on your neck before it can properly slide away from the cut he gave you. He smiles almost deviously at the reaction he receives from your body.

As he tends to the bruises left on your body later that night, he has to calm himself down each time he’s reminded that he is the only one that can love you and your body in such a way.

[pressedinthepages]

Beneath Each Other's Bones

My fic entry for @eskelbigbang <3

Please also check out @drachedraws two amazing pieces of art that they made for this fic!

Relationship Tags: Eskel/Geralt

Character Tags: Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, Lil' Bleater

Other Tags: smut, established relationship, oral and anal intercourse (m/m), some very soft smut. what can i say.

Summary: Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold.

The stones of Kaer Morhen sighed as the sun rose over the winter-frosted valley. The birds and harpies had long since traveled south for the cooler months, and the draconids had nestled themselves in the depths of the mountains around the aging keep. The castle itself was full of its Witchers, who were patiently waiting for the first snowfall to blanket their surroundings in layers of quiet white . With the last witcher having finally arrived a few evenings prior, the pack were all finally able to rest peacefully with the knowledge that all were safe.

The first thing that Geralt felt was cold. His nose, the tips of his ears. The rest of him was encompassed in warmth, but the chill rudely nipped him awake, undaunted by his furry woollen fortress. He squinted one eye open with a grimace, finding his bedroom washed in the cool sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was still early. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon. Lambert would still be snoozing away, cocooned in the safety of a warm and familiar bed, but Vesemir would likely already be down in the kitchen preparing for the day.

Geralt’s ears, barely poking out from under his blanket, picked up the steady thunks of wood being chopped, and he grunted as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. His chest was bare, pale, scarred skin reluctantly exposed to the early winter air as the witcher roused himself. Still sitting in his bed, he turned and scooted to the windowsill, peering at the courtyard below.

Ah, fuck. Geralt’s morning arousal became actively invested in the sight that met him. Eskel had a stack of freshly chopped logs at his side, with one propped up atop a large stone. Geralt could see his muscles strain against the thin linen of his shirt as he swung the sharp ax high over his head, its honed edge glinting with the emergence of the sun as it met its apex, only to fall again with breathtaking force. The log split in two, and Eskel gathered the halves off to the side, stacking them neatly with the others on a long piece of thick canvas with handles on either end.

The ax found a resting spot for a moment as Eskel wiped the sweat from his brow. Geralt set his chin in his hands and his elbows on the edge of the windowsill and held in a low groan. Eskel had reached for the neck of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, revealing the olive-toned flesh of his stomach and the dark curls of hair over his chest that drew a delicious line below the band of his trousers. It was clear he’d been the first to return to Kaer Morhen. A comfortable roll of belly fat protruded from the confines of his belt, proof he’d had plenty of time to rest and indulge over the past weeks. His skin shone with perspiration and his thighs flexed and pushed at the fabric when he lifted another heavy log onto the chopping stone. Hells, the haphazard seam of one of the trouser legs was coming loose as his thigh threatened to free itself.

Eskel breathed in and swung again, driving the ax all the way through the thick log in a single stroke. As the two halves hit the ground he turned, dropping the ax and facing the little patch of green that remained before the frost. Lil’ Bleater was happily bounding through the grass, pouncing off of crates and rubble like it was her sole duty in life. Eskel smiled wide as Geralt did the same from his perch. The sun glinted off of Eskel’s back, dancing over the drops of sweat that dripped into the hollows of his muscles. Geralt swallowed thickly, unable to look away when Eskel’s arms came up to sweep the hair out of his face. The muscles of his shoulders and down the line of his spine flexed and shifted beneath his olive skin as he moved his hands to his hips.

“Alright, Bleats,” Eskel laughed as she came bounding over to his feet. He leaned down and offered a few sweet pats to the top of her head, “Think we’ve given Geralt enough of a show?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a cheeky grin to where Geralt was watching from the window, jaw agape and gobsmacked. The goat bleated as Eskel turned back and waved, and Geralt truly couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face if he tried.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Geralt grumbled half-heartedly as he watched Eskel drape his tunic back over his head. He was picking up the straps to the carrier for the firewood when Geralt finally tore himself away from the window, willing himself calm.

It only took a moment of deep breathing and a lifetime’s worth of practice, but Geralt soon found himself presentable to pleasant company. He threw on his usual winter attire, soft trousers and an even softer loose-fitting tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, his lined boots, and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. He tied his hair back off his face and let the rest hang on his shoulders in long silver waves. Finally, Geralt grabbed his swords and scabbards before heading down the stairs to the small kitchen space.

As expected, Vesemir was there with a steaming mug, poring over a book that was almost certainly older than Geralt himself.. He grabbed an apple and plopped down on the bench next to Vesemir, the both of them wordlessly grunting a greeting at the other. Geralt ate in relative silence for a bit, only the latent thrumming of the older Witcher’s heart and the crackling of embers in the fire accompanying the crunch of apple between his teeth.

That is, until Eskel butted open the doors to the hall and dragged his firewood haul in with him. Lil’ Bleater was riding the pile of wood like a pirate would her ship, the stack being almost as high as Eskel’s shoulders. Speaking of Eskel’s shoulders, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the visible line of sweat that trailed its way down his back, darkening the linen of his shirt and making it stick in all the most tempting places. He felt his mouth water at the sight and the piece of apple still in his mouth felt thick and hard as he choked it down.

Eskel grunted as he got close enough to the fireplace to relinquish his load, letting the heavy pieces fall haphazardly as he dropped the canvas sheet. The apple slipped from Geralt’s hand and bounced on the table before falling to the floor. “Dammit,” he growled, pointedly ignoring the disappointed sigh that escaped Vesemir’s nostrils.

He picked the fruit up and dusted it off, slicing off another piece as Eskel approached the table. Eskel smelled...like he needed a bath. Salt and sweat clung to his skin and wood dusted the strands of his hair, but he still carried that deep, musky, earthy scent that shone with a hint of citrus. It was the scent that kept Geralt awake at night, kept him sane on the Path. It was everything.

Eskel reached over and plucked a handful of dried fruits and nuts, as well as the jar of honey. He dropped the fruits and nuts into a bowl and carefully swirled a generous portion of honey over top. His fingers shone with the golden, sticky sweetness as he grabbed a dried grape and popped it between his lips. The scar turned his mouth upwards at the edge and pulled oddly at his lip while he ate. Geralt remembered how long it took for Eskel to be comfortable eating in front of him again after he got that scar, and he treasures every moment that he gets to see.

“Geralt?” Vesemir peered over his mug at him.

Geralt hummed in response, already dreading the day’s assignment.

“Oh don’t give me that. I need you to go out and put salt on the training grounds before the dirt frosts, and freshen up the wards around it. I don’t need the goats going in and licking it all up again. After that, the day’s yours.”

“And me?” Eskel asked around his mouthful.

“You can be done, you’ve already chopped enough wood to last us a good few weeks. I’ll get Lambert to-”

“NO. Don’t go giving my assignments before I even get to the table, old fart,” Lambert called down the stairwell.

Vesemir blinked slowly and sighed once more. “I’ll get Lambert to do SOMETHING ELSE today, though if you want something to keep busy, I’m sure there are some books that need rebinding.”

Geralt watched Eskel nod and swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, alright. I may take some time later and see what I can do about those books. Lay them out for me?”

“Of course.”

Eskel smiled over at Geralt, his deep amber eyes meeting Geralt’s sunrise gold. Geralt’s moon and stars rested in those eyes, a whole universe tucked away in the depths of Eskel’s soul, bared just for him. They smiled at each other before Geralt tore himself away, draping his cloak over his shoulders and striding quietly towards the door.

Eskel watched him haul the heavy bag of salt up onto his shoulder with a grunt. He shook his head with a smile and polished off the last of his breakfast. The stool scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table, ready to go fall into a warm bed somewhere. Eskel heard the door shut from Lambert’s room as his feet pounded down the stairs, so he made haste in avoiding that breakfast discussion.

***

Why’s Geralt back outside?

Eskel rounded the corner of the staircases, following the fresh scent of Geralt trailing out to the courtyard. It was far past noon by this point, and Geralt had already taken care of the training grounds. He had come back in right as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, climbing the spiral stairs in search of a snack.

Eskel shouldered open the heavy wooden doors and turned to the east, following the light footprints over the balding grass. He smiled to himself as he heard soft whispers coming from the stables, low and not meant for anothers’ ears. Well, another human’s ears.

He stopped just short of the doors, now close enough to make out the words being murmured.

“-n’t give me that look, I was just wanting to braid your mane.” Geralt’s honeyed tenor drifted over the heartbeats and huffed breaths behind the stall. “I know Eskel doesn’t normally do it, but it’ll help keep it from matting over the winter. I bet you’d hate for our big softie to have to cut off old chunks of your mane, wouldn’t you?”

Eskel heard Scorpion huff heavily from his nose and he chuckled, pulling on the cool steel handle and closing the door behind him. The whispers stopped as Geralt peered over the short wall between the stalls, his hair shimmering golden with the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace. He held a hardy brush in his right hand and had his other resting lightly on Scorpion’s flank, and his hair was tied up high and away from his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eskel rumbled, crossing to where he could see into Scorpion’s stall. He let his back hit the wall behind him and slid down, his bottom thumping audibly onto the ground.

“Just gonna sit there and watch me?” Geralt grumbled, resuming his brushing of Scorpion’s mane. The great warhorse stamped his foot impatiently, butting his head into Geralt’s chest.

Eskel quirked his brow and nodded, “Figured you wouldn’t mind after you ogled me this morning.”

The tips of Geralt’s ears flushed a pretty pink as he hummed noncommittally in his chest. Not denying it.

“Your man’s a smartass,” Geralt mumbled to Scorpion, and the horse fucking snickered, I shit you not.

“Ay,” Eskel laughed, watching a little smile threaten to pull at Geralt’s lips, “no need to turn my horse against me, I’ll need him come Spring.”

“Don’t wanna talk about Spring,” Geralt sighed, carefully running his fingers, long and delicate, so unlike Eskel’s, through the wispy strands of Scorpion’s mane.

“Me neither.” Eskel pulled up his knees and rested his elbows atop them, his eyes drifting down Geralt’s body. Gods, but he’s so gorgeous.

If you asked him, Eskel would say that he couldn’t pick a favorite part of his Geralt. Everything was his favorite, it was impossible to choose. But Eskel did have a favorite, and he very well kept it to himself, thank you very much.

That damned waist. The way that Geralt’s shoulders, broad and sharp, sloped in and down over his stomach and into a glorious handful for Eskel. Nothing about Geralt was dainty, not in the slightest, but Eskel loved that he could wrap his arm over the soft line of his waist in the dead of night, or grasp desperately onto it while lost in the throes of passion.

Eskel sat there quietly, listening to Geralt mumble to Scorpion while he busied his hands. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the idle sounds of the castle and nearby woods overtake his mind and senses. He could hear Lambert’s heavy footfalls from beneath the castle, down in the labs. A pack of wolves patrolled the treeline past the castle walls, jaws snapping as they called to each other under the low afternoon sun.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps grow close to him, stopping just where Eskel’s hips met the floor. Geralt’s fingers brushed gently through Eskel’s thick, dark hair and Eskel couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that spilled from his lips. Geralt chuckled and knelt at his side, running his hand down Eskel’s cheek and thumbing over the line of his brow.

“I know you went down to the springs and got clean earlier,” Geralt rumbled lowly, “but maybe you’d want to join me for a bit?”

Eskel smiled and opened his eyes, two golds meeting and melding into one. He nodded and Geralt leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Geralt reached and grabbed onto Eskel’s hand, pulling him to stand and brushing the stray bits of straw from his backside.

Eskel chuckled as he batted Geralt’s hand away, though not before he got a solid squeeze in edgewise. “Hey, if you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.”

Geralt shrugged as they walked through the doors to the castle and down the center spiral staircase that led to the hot springs, “I always want to touch your ass. Doesn’t really matter.”

Eskel shook his head and laughed heartily as he felt the air change. It felt thick, musty, warm with minerals and moss that grew in sharp brushstrokes up the walls. His lungs filled with the comfort of home, the air that was unique to this one spot of the castle, and only ever really meshed with his soul when Geralt was around to share in it.

He watched Geralt peel his shirt from his body, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dim caverns lit only by the stray candle or two sporadically placed in the cracks of the stones. Eskel reached out, his hand guided only by the raw urge to touch, to feel Geralt’s skin yield under his fingers, and he felt the warmth before he even made contact.

Geralt’s sigh tingled under his fingertips, vibrating through his bones with a summer long lost. Eskel stood flush to Geralt’s back, his hand resting over Geralt’s heart and his neck bent to rest his forehead at the nape of Geralt’s neck. He invaded Eskel’s every sense, every fiber of his being, just by existing in the same space. He smelled of sweat and horse and hay and happiness and home, and Eskel just wanted to...breathe him in. To take him into his lungs and never let him go. He felt Geralt’s fingers intertwine with his where they rested on Geralt’s chest, long and thin and pulling him up to Geralt’s lips. His lips were cool and chapped from the chill outside, but Eskel felt the warmth being pulled from his soul into the sweet press of Geralt’s lips.

“C’mon, let’s get into the baths,” Geralt mumbled, his lips still pressing into the pads of Eskel’s fingers. Eskel hummed noncommittally, honestly fine with just standing here, Geralt in his arms and close enough to finally feel. Geralt turned and stepped back, just out of Eskel’s reach with a grin as he reached for the ties on his trousers. “I’d like to get clean before I die of old age, so you best get naked.”

Eskel smirked and shucked his own shirt to the side, undoing the bright ties on his codpiece and letting the thick leather fall away. His trousers fell and were kicked away with his boots and the air embraced his skin with a welcoming grasp. He padded towards the pools, slipping into the water with a grateful sigh that one would expect from the sight of a long-lost friend.

He peeked over his shoulder and found Geralt standing where he was left, mouth slack-jawed and his hands hovering with his trousers half-undone. Geralt blinked and cleared his throat, adjusting himself through the leather of his trousers before untying them the rest of the way and letting them fall away. “I...it always surprises me just how much I can forget…”

Eskel crooked his head as Geralt stepped into the water beside him, rippling the waves over and up the stone sides. “What do you mean?”

“Just...you,” Geralt murmured, dipping under the water to soak his hair, “you are always so much more...real than I can ever keep in my mind. Whenever I think of you, it always pales in comparison to actually seeing you in front of me.”

Eskel felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, running his damp hands through his hair before lounging back into the edge of the pool. “I can never really get how you feel right. I know how good it makes me feel, but actually touching you? Or hearing your heart? My brain can’t replicate that. Not well enough, anyway.”

“Exactly. And it always is a bit of a shock. But a good one.” Geralt soaped up his hair quickly, batting away Eskel’s hands when he tried to help. “No, I want to get this part out of the way so we can relax. We can do that next time.”

Eskel thought back to a couple of winters prior, when Geralt had requested that he wash his hair for him. Albeit, with a bit of a caveat. Eskel spent an hour washing Geralt’s long, thick silver locks with his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s ass, the both of them gasping and clinging onto each other by the time his hair was rinsed. Eskel smiled at the memory as Geralt ducked back under the water, leaving his hair dripping wet and free of suds.

Geralt peered over at Eskel with a smirk playing at his lips as he reached his hand for Eskel’s thigh. He felt the muscle tense briefly under his fingers as he moved up slowly, his other hand sliding up and onto Eskel’s neck. Eskel sighed gently, a pull of air from deep in his lungs as Geralt played with the little curls of hair on the nape of his neck. Geralt’s hand moved over his hip, warm and soft and just a tad squishy beneath the water, and splayed over his stomach, tracing idle swirls through the hair that led down to his groin. Before he could get far, though, Eskel caught his errant hand with his own and brought them to his lips.

“We should eat first,” Eskel rumbled, his lips brushing the sensitive tips of Geralt’s fingers with every whispered word, “then I’d like to take you to bed properly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt traced down the scars on Eskel’s cheek and into his lip, watching the tiniest little shudder shoot over his nerves, “Lambert cooking tonight?”

Eskel nodded and ran his hands down Geralt’s spine and the swell of his backside. Not pushing or pulling with any direction, just feeling the skin that he so craved, even in his sleep. Geralt bent down, just barely pressing his forehead into Eskel’s and brushing their noses together. “You’ve kept me waiting all day,” Geralt sighed with a smile, “I suppose I could wait a bit longer. Not much though.”

Eskel chuckled and pecked Geralt on the cheek, “I promise. Once we’re both warm and comfortable and full, then I’ll take you upstairs and show you just how much I’ve needed you.”

“If you don’t let me go now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself,” Geralt growled and nipped at Eskel’s chin. Eskel laughed and playfully shoved him back, watching the crystalline water drip down the dark hairs over his chest and into the dip of his waist. He had been feeling the stirrings of arousal all day, but it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Eskel followed Geralt as he clambered out of the springs, his hands and feet striking roughly against the weathered stone beneath them. He smirked at the quite obvious state of arousal that Geralt was in, his skin flushed and his cock straining upwards from between his thighs.

Geralt could feel Eskel’s eyes on him as he strode towards their pile of clothes and drying sheets. He peeked over his shoulder at him, finding Eskel hauling himself out of the bath with his arms, the muscles dipping and pulling as he rose to his full height, soaked to the bone and sporting a very pretty erection of his own. Geralt’s mouth watered as he wrapped a sheet to hang low on his hips before gathering his worn clothes into a bundle in his arms.

Eskel followed suit, feeling the drafty air whistle through his legs and cool the drips of water that still wore their path down to the floor below. They traveled through the halls together, still shoulder to shoulder even though the walls were just a tad too close together to accommodate them both comfortably. They didn't mind though, drawing their warmth together and letting their souls mingle in the approaching evening.

As they climbed the spiral staircase that led back to the main level of the keep, Eskel could smell the dinner that Lambert had been working on, something with chicken and hearty vegetables, along with bread and fresh butter and citrus chutney. They continued on up the stairs until they reached the door to Eskel’s chambers. They did typically end up sharing the room over the winter, but Geralt still liked to have his own little private space for himself. Eskel knew how loud the world could feel, and he liked having his own space too sometimes.

He kissed Geralt sweetly on the shoulder as he moved to continue up the stairs to his own room, leaving a tingle of his lips to keep him company. Geralt shook his head with a light hearted huff and slowly climbed up the spiral, and Eskel waited until he heard the heavy thud of his thick wooden door to open his own. He threw his clothes onto the chair by the fireplace before flicking his fingers out and up in the sign for Igni, feeling the warmth from the fire bloom from his palm and onto the wood, bathing the room in a pale glow.

Eskel dressed quickly, throwing soft trousers over his underthings, followed by a knit shirt that stretched across his chest and held tight. He left his swords propped by the door next to his boots before padding back down the stairs into the dining area. The three fires roared beneath bubbling pots and sizzling pans, sending rich scents swirling softly around the room. Lambert stood over one, giving it one last stir before grabbing onto the handles. Eskel lowered himself onto the bench at the table just as Lambert set the steaming cauldron down onto the nearly-black wood.

Vesemir grabbed the other pan and brought it over, lifting the lid to reveal several chicken breasts that had been seared and seasoned to perfection. Lambert began to ladle some of the stew from his pot onto his plate and tore a chunk of bread for himself before tossing the loaf to Eskel. It was warm in his palm and he smiled, the bread soft and yielding as he tore off some for himself as well. Vesemir declined, so he set the rest of the loaf in Geralt’s spot and began to heap his own plate with Lambert’s delicious looking dinner.

Geralt joined soon after they began to eat, dressed comfortably with his silvery hair pulled up and away from his face. Geralt swung his long legs over the bench and sat down next to Eskel, humming as he picked up the bread.

“Yeah, pretty boy, saved that bit for ya. Dig in before it all gets cold.” Lambert chucked the ladle down in Geralt’s direction, sending stray bits of stew flying to the walls. Vesemir rolled his eyes as Geralt caught it without looking and gave it a spin, rotating it flamboyantly around his fingers before plopping it straight into the great pot.

The four of them ate in relative silence, only the gentle scraping of utensils or grunts of acknowledgement breaking the fragile quiet. Vesemir was the first to be finished with his meal, leaning back in his seat and breathing in deeply. “Delicious as always, Lambert. Thank you. I'm headed to the library, gonna try and go through some of the old tomes.”

Lambert nodded and the others hummed, no one willing to part with their plates quite yet. Eskel wiped his plate down with the remainder of his bread, sopping up the stew and downing it all in one satisfying mouthful. Geralt watched with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Alright lovebirds, I’m off. Try to keep it down, at least a little, huh?” Lambert winked as he stood and wandered off, likely back down to the alchemy labs for more of his...experiments. Eskel chuckled as Geralt lobbed an old apple at the back of Lambert’s head, more for effect than anything else. Lambert batted it away into a corner and Eskel sighed. He stood and retrieved it, knowing that it would be long forgotten if he didn’t. He set it back onto the table before stretching his arms up above his head and turning to the door that led to the staircases.

Eskel held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it through hooded lids. “Join me?”

Geralt smiled and lept to his feet, the last few bites of his dinner instantly forgotten. “Fuckin’ finally, you tease.”

Eskel laughed as the two of them bumbled up the stairs and into Eskel’s room. Geralt could feel the warmth emanating before they even swung open the door, his cheeks flushing and his arms shivering with the welcome change in temperature. Eskel shut the door behind him and led him to stand before the fireplace, his olive skin glowing in the flames.

Geralt sighed as he felt Eskel’s hands on his hips, his fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s shirt and just glancing to the skin of his stomach beneath. Eskel slid his hands up and pulled Geralt’s shirt with him, lifting it over his head and letting it land with a soft thud in the cushy armchair in the corner.

Next Eskel moved to Geralt’s trousers, sliding the ties open and letting them fall to the floor. He gave Geralt’s bum a little pat and nodded to the bed. “Go on, I’ll be just behind you.”

Geralt reached to push down his smalls but Eskel caught his hands and dropped them back by his side. “J-just wanna hold you for a bit...that okay?”

Geralt hummed, pressing his lips to the junction between Eskel’s neck and shoulder, “Of course, Wolf. Don’t take too long though, gonna get cold without you.”

Geralt smiled as he climbed onto the wide bed draped in thick furs and soft knit blankets. Eskel loved textures, and tried to surround their bed with as much comfort as he could find. His golden gaze found Eskel once more as he too stripped down to his smallclothes. Geralt leaned back onto the soft pillows as Eskel slid up next to him, resting his head on Geralt’s chest and breathing in deeply. Geralt wrapped his arm around the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders and held him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his side. Geralt could see out of the little window cut into the stone, revealing the sun setting in bright oranges and deep purples between the craggles of the Blue Mountains.

Eskel ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, tracing those same swirling patterns as before while he peppered kisses up and down the line of Geralt’s neck and over his collarbone. Geralt could always feel the little crook in Eskel’s lip from his scar as it traced over his skin, grounding him home in warm arms and soft eyes that held endless love and patience.

Geralt threaded his fingers into Eskel’s hair and gave a little scratch at the nape of his neck, chuckling a bit when he felt the full body shudder that Eskel granted him. Geralt felt the gasp of hot breath ghost over his collar when he tugged gently on the handful of hair that he had, and a possessive kind of growl erupted from behind his teeth. Geralt didn’t often let this part of himself show, this need to hang onto every thread of his partner, but with Eskel, it felt safe, known, instinctual.

Eskel pushed himself up and pressed his hand firmly in the center of Geralt’s chest, breathing with the steady thuds of the heart that rested just beneath his fingers. Eskel’s eyes were dark with lust and hunger and something so deep and innate that it escaped such a simple name. Eskel slid his hand up and wrapped it gently around the back of Geralt’s neck and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he climbed between Geralt’s legs.

Geralt lifted his leg and wrapped it around Eskel’s hip in an attempt to get him to maybe speed things up a bit. “Eskel,” Geralt hummed, “Gods, you’re killing me…”

Eskel smiled and ran his nose down the line of Geralt’s jaw and into the hollows of his neck. His lips traced along the tendons and veins and his teeth just barely glanced over his pulse point and Geralt felt his cock thicken and throb where Eskel pressed into him.

“Can I have you like this?” Eskel asked, his voice still muffled in Geralt’s neck, “Just wanna be able to look at you…”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, turning his head in search of Eskel’s mouth. He finally, finally, slid their lips together, breathing each other in and holding onto each and every piece that they could reach. Geralt wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist and stroked up and down the hard lines of his back, tracing the scars he knew better than his own.

“Lift-nng” Eskel tried to say, though Geralt nipped and tugged at his lower lip to keep him in place, “Lift your damn hips, you great oaf.”

Geralt chuckled and did as he was bid, letting Eskel run his fingers through the ties keeping his braies on and loosening them. They slid down his thighs and Eskel let him rest his bum back on the bed. Eskel shimmied himself backwards and fully pulled the smalls off of Geralt, sending them careening through the room to land somewhere in the shadows. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed and weeping on his stomach and Eskel took a deep breath in through his nose, grounding himself in the lust on the air and the taste of Geralt already on his tongue.

Eskel stood up and turned to face the fire as he undid his own smalls, pushing them down quickly and without any dramatics. But Geralt found himself drooling over him anyways, seeing the beautiful bronze skin revealed inch by glorious inch, the swells of his backside just begging for his teeth to sink into. Again. He then grabbed the little vial of oil that spent most of the year gathering dust on the mantle, but in the winter found a new home atop the little table next to their bed.

And oh fucking shit I’ve missed that so much, Geralt thought as Eskel turned back to him with his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. Eskel crawled onto the bed and prowled over top of him, his chest already heaving and pressing into Geralt’s. Eskel sat up on his knees and Geralt braced himself on his elbows, watching Eskel uncork the oil and slowly drip a generous amount of the cool liquid onto their cocks where they rested together. Eskel’s hand was warm when he reached down to rub the oil around, wrapping around them and tugging and pulling and-

“-Fuck, Eskel,” Geralt spat through grit teeth when Eskel just barely thumbed the slit of Geralt’s cockhead. “If you’re gonna do all that shit, I need you in me now.”

Eskel laughed breathily and kissed Geralt hard, all teeth and tongue and rushed whispers of affection. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you, Geralt. I’ve got you…”

Eskel poured some more oil between Geralt’s legs and Geralt felt it slowly trickle down to his entrance. Eskel’s fingers followed soon after, languidly rolling his balls around in his palm before trailing down between his cheeks. Geralt sighed as Eskel started pressing around his hole, not pushing in yet, just massaging and loosening the tight muscle.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel murmured, dragging his free hand down Geralt’s flank and across his stomach, “you’re so tense…”

“No one’s been back there since Spring, Esk…”

Eskel blinked up at him and Geralt could taste the new wave of arousal that poured off Eskel. “You’ve not had anyone? All year? Geralt, I...you-”

Geralt’s head hit the pillow and he sighed, trying desperately to put the words together in his head. “I-fuck, Eskel, I just want you. You’re...you’re the only one who I can...who I can be comfortable with.”

Eskel surged forward and captured Geralt’s lips between his own, tasting of salt and honey and fucking unending love. “Geralt. Fuck. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts, and then you just go and say that? You’re gonna put me in an early grave-”

Geralt’s world twisted and turned as Eskel’s hands gripped onto his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as they rolled and shifted on the bed, winding up with Geralt laying on his stomach and Eskel’s lips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck. Eskel dragged his mouth down, leaving hot wet kisses down Geralt’s spine and over the swell of his bottom.

Eskel’s breath ghosted over Geralt’s skin as he slid his finger back down to press against his entrance, finding only a gasp of resistance as he pushed in to his knuckle. He worked Geralt open slowly, kneading and licking and nipping the soft flesh of Geralt’s ass while he slid in another, and then one more finger. He relished the little noises that clawed their way out of Geralt’s chest unbidden, gasps and moans and keens that he felt more than heard.

Meanwhile Geralt was warring with his own mind, torn between wanting so desperately to grasp into Eskel’s hair and haul him back up to feel his lips cover his own, trailing down over his jaw and neck and chest, but also needing to feel more of him, deeper, harder-

Their words broke off between gasps for air and fisted sheets and Eskel quietly continued his task of working Geralt open on his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat when Eskel crooked his fingers inside of him, warm and slick and hitting up against that devastating bundle of nerves. But all too soon it was not so nice, his fingers sliding in and out and not being close to enough for Geralt. “M-shit, more, Eskel.”

Eskel hummed and bit down into the tender flesh of Geralt’s bum, feeling the fluttering of his walls play at his fingers. He looked down and watched his fingers slowly slide in and out, stretching him in preparation of what was to come. Eskel had his own wars inside of his head, his need to shower Geralt with soft touches so rarely afforded to his battle-worn skin clashing against the feeling tugging behind his belly to find the breaking point nestled so deep inside of Geralt’s body.

Geralt’s hips thrusted softly against the bed beneath them, chasing the release that had been teasing at them both all damn day. Eskel chuckled when a particularly hard thrust made him bonk his nose into the crease of Geralt’s asscheeks, and he shifted himself to sit up with a sweet pat to the swells of muscle.

“Roll back over, wanna look at you-”

Geralt sighed when he felt Eskel’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him oddly empty and aching and wanting. It took him a moment to find his bearings, but he flipped over soon enough to meet Eskel’s fiery eyes. Eskel hovered over him, his chest heaving with hot breaths and his medallion clinking against Geralt’s. Geralt ran his fingers through the soft dark hair over Eskel’s chest, pressing his fingers into the yielding flesh over his heart and giving it a squeeze. Eskel growled with a sinister grin and moved faster down his body than Geralt had anticipated.

Eskel leaned down and lapped his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock just as he slipped his fingers back into him. Geralt shook when Eskel wrapped his lips around the tip and sunk down, teasing and licking while his fingers hit that precious bundle of nerves nestled so deep inside of him. Eskel’s mouth moved with his hand, pushing in and out and up and down and humming against him and Geralt could feel the pearly arousal dripping onto Eskel’s tongue with every slick slide of his lips.

“Ah, ah, Esk-g...gonna-fuck...”

Eskel only hummed, low and hard from his chest, and Geralt arched up off the bed in pleasure when Eskel zeroed in on that spot within him, holding there and sucking and slurping every bit of spend that Geralt had to give. It just kept coming, shooting down Eskel’s throat and spilling out the sides of his lips messily. Eskel felt the haze of his own pleasure tease at the edges of his eyes as his hips thrust lazily against the bed, his free hand holding tight to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt sagged back onto the bed in a haze, tender and sensitive and already craving more. He pulled Eskel back up to him and ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth, gathering his own spend onto his finger. Geralt slipped his thumb between his lips and licked it clean as Eskel watched with great gasping breaths and eyes so dark there was only a little ring of gold shining in the night.

“Geralt, fuck, c-can I-” Eskel stuttered over his words, his hands running over Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest, his cock dripping down into the hair above Geralt’s own half-hard cock.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed and fit his hand up onto the nape of Eskel’s neck, his fingers pressing firm while Eskel shifted on the bed to line himself at Geralt’s entrance.

Eskel gasped into Geralt’s skin as he just barely pushed into the rim, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist to hold him as close as possible. Geralt’s fingers tightened in Eskel’s hair as he started to gently thrust inside of him, Eskel’s chest rumbling with a low purr as he smothered Geralt with his body.

“G-Geralt,” Eskel murmured, his hips already losing rhythm, “I’m, fuck you’re so-”

Geralt hummed and nodded, running his hands down Eskel’s shoulders and back up again around his neck. “Go on, Eskel. You’ve been on edge all day. Give it to me.”

Eskel’s voice went high and strained, tight mumbles escaping from between his teeth as he ground his hips deep against Geralt’s, spending inside of him. Eskel rubbed his face into the tender skin of Geralt’s neck as he finally, gloriously released into him, feeling the way that he fluttered and flexed around his cock. He saw great stars shooting behind his eyelids as his climax tore through him, unrelenting and all-encompassing.

Geralt kept his hold firm on Eskel as he went limp in his arms, Eskel’s mind blanking and blind for a blissful moment. Geralt felt the pressure of Eskel everywhere, on top of him, around him, inside of him, leaking out of him. The only thing that could ever gather him enough strength to move was Eskel himself, and he didn’t really seem up to that quite yet.

Or, well, maybe he did. Eskel didn’t even soften a little bit in Geralt, his hips already rolling deep and slow inside Geralt. His bones sang out to Eskel in ecstasy, yearning for him, craving him.

Geralt’s cock rested hard once more on his stomach, steadily dripping his arousal into a little pool. Eskel’s hands tightened on his hips and pulled him into each and every thrust, slow and hard and deep and addicting. Eskel couldn’t keep his hands still as he dragged his cock inside of Geralt, only just barely shifting back and forth as he tried to stay buried in his tight, wet heat as much as possible.

“Ger-nnng,” Eskel gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he felt the pressure of Geralt around him clench and smother every last bit of him with every soft move of his cock. Geralt smirked and bore down farther, tightening his hold on Eskel’s arm and around his neck as he pulled him down so that their faces were held with only the space of a breath between them.

Geralt could feel the tight coil of release draw taut as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s chest and to his own cock. Eskel’s eyes followed him, branding his skin with the fire behind them, watching as Geralt took himself in hand. Geralt shuddered as his climax came closer and closer into view, only needing just a little more, a little something to push him over the edge-

“Fuck, Geralt, I...I can’t hang on much longer…” Eskel ground out, brushing his nose down over Geralt’s and pleading with his eyes.

“Let go, Eskel. I want it, please-”

And then he did. Eskel thrust hard and deep a handful more times as he hit his peak, his cock pressing against that devastating bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of Geralt each and every time. Oh, and then when his release finally overtook him once more? Gods, his cock flexed and spilled and hit Geralt like a punch in the gut over and over and over, until finally Geralt too climaxed with his cock in his hand. Long stripes of spend spilled and painted his chest while Geralt groaned from low in his stomach.

The two of them laid there for Gods know how long, just lingering in each other, the scent of their combined arousals making them feel almost drunk from the heady way it went straight through them. Eskel was the first to move, slipping from the tight embrace of Geralt’s body and flopping down onto the bed at his side. Geralt reached out and tangled their fingers together while their chests heaved in great gulps of air, their minds still addled and off-kilter.

Eskel swallowed thickly and focused his mind on the feeling of Geralt’s thumb running over the back of his knuckles, back and forth and back again… “Gods, Geralt,” he murmured, peering over at him, “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Geralt chuckled without opening his eyes, already feeling the threads of consciousness being steadily pulled from him. “You better not. I plan on getting fucked like that until I die.”

Eskel hummed and reached out blindly with his free hand, groping for the spare scrap of cloth that he kept by the bed. Once he found the soft fabric he gently swept it up over Geralt’s stomach and chest, feeling the vibrations of his hum beneath his fingers. Eskel reached back between Geralt’s thighs and cleaned there as well, knowing that although Geralt would never really say anything about it, he wouldn't enjoy being sticky in the morning.

Eskel tossed the rag away and shifted underneath the blanket, reaching out to pull Geralt into his chest. “C’mere, you. Wanna hold you.”

Geralt grunted and rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the hair on Eskel’s chest. Eskel wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and held him close, pressing his nose into the silver hair atop Geralt’s head. Woodsmoke, spice, pine. Home.

Geralt sighed into him and wrapped his own arm around Eskel, snuggling in and quickly letting sleep take him away. Eskel felt the shift, the way that Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his hips fell further into the bed, his mind finally quiet and his hands still. He pressed his lips softly to the crown of Geralt’s head and held it there for a heartbeat or two, pouring everything he could into those soft moments before he himself fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

[idabbleincrazy]

Go Out with a Bang Ch. 5

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<-- Chapter Four

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Characters: Angel, Spike, Wesley, Illyria, Gunn, Lorne

Word Count: 7561

Warnings: Smut, angst, teasing, rough sex, anal fingering, anal, dirty talk, semi-primal sex, possessive!Angel, coming on command, biting, blood drinking, Sire/Childe dynamics, Vampire dynamics, mention of canonical character death

Summary: Spike has lingering doubts about the coming battle and requires a rougher touch to wash them away before he and Angel leave the solitude of the suite.

A/N: Normally I wouldn’t end a fic like this, but since I plan to make this a series, I made an exception. mo cheann milis - my sweet one

Feedback fuels my creativity! If you like my work, plz comment/reblog!!!!

Spike woke just as the vibrations of his phone started and without pulling fully away from Angel, he managed to grab the phone and shut it off before the sound of the alarm filled the silence. Setting the phone down, he wrapped himself back around Angel, brushing his lips across the nape of his neck in a soft kiss. Tried to push back the looming dread as the seconds ticked away, same as he always did. He couldn’t waste the time he had left, not when he finally had what he’d wanted for over a century. 

“Know you’re awake, luv.” Spike let his hand play over the expanse of Angel’s stomach, his fingers trailing down between his legs to wrap around his half-hard member. “Hmm, looks like all of you is awake. What were you dreaming, naughty Liam?”

Angel hummed sleepily and thrust up into Spike’s enveloping hand, his own reaching back to clutch at Spike’s side, holding him fast against his back. 

“Was dreaming of you, of us, and that week in Bruges. D’you remember, lovely William? Such passion you showed, even when I’d had to repay you for getting us kicked out of that first hotel.”

“Remember nearly losin’ a toe to your own passions that first night after the girls had left for Vienna”, Spike tightened his grip slightly and pressed the evidence of his own arousal against the small of Angel’s back. “Never found myself face-down so quick in all the years before that; barely had yourself out of your breeches before you were in me. Rest of the week weren’t much slower, neither.”

Angel let out a soft groan as Spike worked him fully hard, turning in the blonde’s embrace to capture his lips in a slow, deep kiss. Spike’s hard cock brushed against his and he nipped at his bottom lip before breaking the kiss. 

“How much time do we have left?” 

“Not due back over at my flat for ‘bout an hour ‘n a half, give or take. More than enough time for one more tumble before we shower and pack up whatever little mementos you plan on scarperin’ off with.” 

“Good.” 

Angel growled playfully and pressed Spike onto his back, settling between his spreading legs as his lips trailed along his jaw. Spike ran his hands up Angel’s back, arching himself closer against him as blunt teeth nipped a path down his jaw. He let out a soft moan as Angel teased his tongue over his Siring mark, tilting his head to grant him better access.

“Bloody hell, Angel. Keep tonguing that and I’m gonna go off too soon, luv.” Spike felt his cock throb with every flick of Angel’s tongue, a trickle of pre-cum pooling on his stomach as Angel thrust his own hardness against his. “Fuck, always too much and not enough. Need you, Angel.”

“You’ve got me, Spike.” Angel kissed his way further down Spike’s body, biting softly at his collarbone before sliding himself down to lick over one pert nipple. “Tell me what you want, hmm...want my mouth on you? Wanna be in me again, filling me up so fucking good? Tell me, Will.”

Spike whimpered as Angel’s teeth scraped gently over his nipple, his hands winding into Angel’s hair, fingers carding through the short strands at the nape of his neck. Needed this. Needed the distraction, to keep the nagging thoughts from pecking at his resolve.

“You. Just want you. God, Angel, wanna feel you in me. Now.” Spike pulled Angel back up to him with a sharp tug on his hair, drawing a growl from the elder vampire. “Can’t wait, luv. Need you in me, need you to make me feel it, to forget…”

“Forget? Forget what, sweet Spike?” 

“Forget that I might lose you tonight.” Spike turned his gaze away from Angel’s concerned look, willing himself not to dwell on the battle that loomed before them. He knew Angel had promised to do everything he could to keep them both from dying their final deaths at the hands of the Senior Partners, knew he was more than capable of holding his own in a fight, but the renewed Sire claim and the newly formed Claim were filling his head and soul with all kinds of doubts and worries. “Need you to drive these thoughts from my head, Liam, please. Fuck me, good ‘n hard, Sire.”

Angel gasped softly at Spike’s hushed words, feeling his pain just as clearly as he smelled it rolling off him, like acrid smoke swirling up in the scant space between their bodies. He braced himself against the pillow on one hand, using the other to grip Spike’s chin and urge him to look back at him. His eyes flashed a heated amber as they locked onto stormy blue, the fear and desperation he found in those steely depths made the claims flare up in his still heart, aching for his Childe, his mate, as he felt the need to soothe away all of Spike’s apprehension. 

He let a soft purr rumble in his chest as he dipped his head down to capture those beautiful lips, determined to kiss away the sorrow that curved them down. He wouldn’t make promises beyond those he had already given, couldn’t promise more than he had, but he could help him, help keep that wall from falling to dust. He could give him this distraction. Spike’s hands clutched Angel closer as he deepened the kiss and he let his tongue slowly tangle with Spike’s until the first soft moans escaped the pliant mouth beneath his. A whimper of complaint hit his ears as he pulled away to look down at his Childe, blue eyes less stormy, if not a bit glazed by the lust that steadily darkened them. 

“Please, Da…”

“Shh, my beautiful boy, I’ve got you.” Angel runs his hands over Spike’s chest, fingers caressing the Claim gently, reverently, as he shifts on the bed. “I’ve always got you, till I dust.”

He sits back on his heels and looks him over once more before steeling his resolve. Minutes have passed since he woke from his dream yet it seems like hours, days, a lifetime. Had he made a mistake in giving into their needs for the Claim? Should he have insisted they wait? Or would they still have ended up like this, with him needing to bolster Spike’s nerve one last time? He wouldn’t take it back if given a million chances. Needs the connection as much as he fears that it could ruin them both tonight. Maybe Spike’s not the only one who needs the distraction.

“Turn over.”

Spike does as he’s told, knowing that look on his Sire’s face, reveling in it. Angel wants to keep him on his back, to love him as he has these past few hours. Can’t. Can’t give his Childe the hard, fast fuck he needs while looking into those eyes; not while the Claim still lays such a fresh and vibrant shade of raw, fang-torn red above his heart. Needs him on his knees, Renaissance-sculpted face pressed into the pillows as he drives away the shadows that crowd his mind, one harsh thrust at a time. Spike knows this, understands, and says nothing as he settles himself face-down, knees drawing in towards his chest, ass up, back sloping as his shoulders press into the mattress. He lets his hands rest on either side of his head, ready to reach back for Angel and pull him closer, or up to grip at the headboard for leverage to push back harder. 

Angel lets a soft growl of approval rumble in his chest as he reaches over for the lube. He pops the cap and squeezes a drop onto his fingers, pushes the first slick digit into Spike’s tight hole before the gel even has a chance to warm up. Draws a gasping hiss from the blonde beneath him and has to resist the urge to soothe a hand up along the visible knobs of his spine as he gives him a cursory thrust before adding a second finger. 

“Yesss...oh, Christ, Da.”

“This what you want, boy? My fingers working you open for me? Speak, William, let me hear you. Wanna hear every little sound, Childe, every filthy word that falls from that sinful tongue.” Angel let himself get lost in the pattern of the recent past, keeping his probing fingers moving fast, not nearly deep enough for either of their liking, slipping back into the Angel that - since his boy returned to him - had kept his deeper feelings and wants hidden from the body beneath him. “Moan for me, Spike, such a sweet little whore.”

“Fuck, Sire, Angel, yes. Yes, it’s what I want, please. God, Da, fuck me.”

Angel growled low and deep, his brusk fingering slowing, the minimal prep already more than Spike probably wanted, less than he would have preferred. Removed his fingers from the barely-stretched hole. Back to the pain, then, like in the shower, like all the weeks and months since his Childe had become corporeal once more. For Spike, he let the demon closer to the surface; for himself, he kept it firmly in check, kept it precariously balanced with the soul as he took up the bottle of lube once more and poured a meager drop onto his aching cock. Yes, aching. Even as he longed to make love to his sweet William, his body still could never deny its response to the prospect of a rough fuck. 

“Please, please, Sire...LiamAngel’GelusDa, please!” Spike whined desperately, one hand reaching blindly behind him to pull Angel closer as the elder vampire drew out the moment, stroking himself. Angel allowed himself a second of pride; Spike’s mind was definitely not on the night ahead, if his rambling was anything to judge by.

“My filthy boy, I’ve gotcha.” Angel reached out a hand to grip at Spike’s hip and pressed forward, sliding into him in one quick thrust. “Oh, Jesus, Spike...so fucking tight.”

Spike moaned loudly, his fingers gripping at the back of Angel’s thigh as he pushed back against him. He braced the palm of his other hand against the headboard for leverage as Angel began a harsh pace after only a slight pause, more to gather his own wits than to give Spike a chance to adjust. He fought with the Claim as he thrust into the yielding body beneath him, wanting nothing more than to give in and flip his Childe back around and watch every emotion play across that beautiful face; but that wasn’t what Spike needed. He didn’t need the slow caresses of their previous two rounds, he didn’t need the time and energy to dwell on the imminent future; he needed the fast, deep thrusts, forcing out any thought that wasn’t focused on the here and now.

“Fuck, yes, Angel, just like that. Fuck your boy, Da.”

Angel snarled at that, letting himself tap into the primal need that always lurked deep within him to possess this particular blonde over all others. He took Spike’s hand from his thigh, wrapping it up in his own and stretched out over his back, spreading Spike’s arm out along the pillow as he plowed into him. He let his demon face to the fore, dipping his head down to scrape his fangs along the unblemished side of Spike’s neck, his tongue trailing back up the same path to lap up the beads of blood that welled up from the shallow scratches. 

“Always such a little whore for me, aren’t you, Spike?” Angel’s voice was gruff in his ear, and Spike couldn’t hold back the shiver that ran through him, moaning wantonly in direct confirmation of the question. “That’s right, always spreading those pretty legs so easily for your Da. Ripe little slut, my perfect boy, not satisfied without my cock filling you, stretching you open just right.”

“Angel…”

“Yeah, that’s it, lemme hear you. Love it when you beg for me, when you go hoarse from screaming my name. Loud as you are, the whole city must know whose cock you always hunger for by now.” 

The scent of Spike’s anxiety was slowly erased by the increasing scent of their lust, the musk of arousal overpowering the sour tang of his fear with each hard snap of Angel’s hips. As Spike called out his name again, those slim hips pushing back to meet each deep thrust, Angel slid his hand around his waist and wrapped his fingers around the slick shaft of Spike’s cock. His fangs scraped over sweat-dampened skin again as Spike let out a keening whimper when he began stroking the throbbing length in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Christ! Da, ‘m close. Fuck, make me come, Angel, please, lemme come.”

Angel groaned loudly against the back of Spike’s neck and sped his thrusts faster, skin smacking against skin as he felt his orgasm surging closer. He no longer scented his Childe’s trepidation in the air now, all-consuming lust and want and need swirling thick around them as his brutal pace continued, pushing them inexorably towards that edge. Spike’s cock throbbed in his hand, and he tightened his grip around the girth as he stroked him, the copious pre-cum slicking the way easily. His thumb and forefinger twisted sharply at the now-exposed head and he fought back the renewed urge to sink his fangs into Spike’s neck at the mewling plea that fell from the blonde’s lips. So very close.

“Come on, then,” Angel pushed deeper into the clenching hole, the tip of his aching cock brushing over that bundle of nerves as he held himself within his Childe, needing Spike to come first before he finally let go. “Spill for me, mo cheann milis, let me feel it.”

Angel’s voice rasped in Spike’s ear, the Gaelic endearment tipping the scales for him and he cried out a wordless howl of ecstasy as he came, ropes of cum spurting from his pulsing cock to soak the sheets beneath him. He sagged in Angel’s enveloping embrace as his climax ripped through him, letting the arm wrapped around him hold him up. 

Angel felt already tight muscles clench further and barley kept himself from following immediately behind as Spike’s cool seed spilled over his hand.Angel released his grip on Spike’s hand and raised his to the blonde’s moaning lips, offering his wrist as he staved off his orgasm just a few more seconds.

“Drink, Childe”, Angel murmured against Spike’s skin, his own fangs sinking into the nape of his neck as soon as he felt the sharp sting of Spike’s piercing through his wrist. 

Spike’s now-free hand reached back to grasp once again at Angel’s thigh, pulling him impossibly deeper as he took a long pull of blood from the offered arm between his teeth. Angel thrust into him one last time, his fangs latched onto his neck, muffling the roar that sounded around the flesh as he came, his cum surging from him into Spike’s tight warmth to fill him as though it could mark him even more completely as his from the inside out. 

Barely half an hour had passed since Spike had brought him to full awareness with a mere touch, but for all Angel could tell, it could have been an eternity unto itself. His mercurial Childe would never lose that effect on him, he supposed. It was so easy to lose all sense of time, to just exist, trapped in amber, when his hands were full of miles of pale, smooth skin, and his ears were full of exquisite, sinful sounds he’d failed to find anywhere else in all his many years of unlife. 

Angel took one short draw of blood from the pinprick wounds on Spike’s neck, savoring the flavor of his mate before swallowing it and disengaging his fangs. His climax tapered out as he laved his tongue over the wounds, a purr vibrating through him from the body pressed back against his as Spike followed suit. 

“Needed that. Ta, luv.” 

Spike’s gasping voice was soft, and surprisingly sober as he pulled away from Angel’s wrist and let himself slump down to the mattress, a sated calmness wafting off of him. Angel hummed in welcome, and eased himself carefully from between Spike’s legs with a grunt before collapsing next to him on the bed to catch his breath. 

A few minutes later, Spike shoved himself up and slid from the bed, stretching languidly before turning to face Angel. He still smelled of a resolut calmness, but Angel could tell the look on his face was diligently schooled to conceal the tiny kernel of doubt that still lay deep in the back of his mind. Angel sat up and waited for him to speak, knowing the younger vampire well enough than to push the issue. He’d given him enough of the reassurance he sought to shield himself behind and carry out the fight. Angel would never stop marveling at his Childe’s silent strength.

“So, we showerin’ together, or ‘m I soaping myself up while you pack up your gear ‘n whatall?”

Angel laughed softly in relief and clambered out of bed to follow Spike into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the already-healing bite mark on the back of his neck before trailing down the planes of his back. In his need to give Spike the ‘rough and tumble’ he required, he’d not had the chance to appreciate the way those muscles shifted with every little movement. He made a mental note to rectify that if they saw tomorrow. 

After they showered, Spike pointed out that he couldn’t exactly wear his shirt back to the apartment, seeing as how they’d used it to wipe up after that first round. Angel somehow managed to look both sheepish and proud at that fact, and pulled an extra shirt from the closet for him to wear. He’d gladly have let Spike go around shirtless if there was time for him to be distracted further by the finely-muscled beauty of his chest. 

Watching as Spike buttoned up the too-big shirt, Angel felt his cock stir yet again, the demon rumbling in contentment at the sight. Some things even a soul couldn’t change and the particular pull of possessiveness he felt for his golden Childe had failed to fade away over the past century, no matter how hard he had tried to tamp it down. Seeing Spike in his shirt, the fresh Sire mark just visible above the collar, sent a thrill down his spine he hadn’t felt in too long. 

Forcing himself to turn away from the beautiful blonde before he ripped the clothes right back off of him, Angel finished getting dressed as Spike pulled on his boots and went out to the living room to retrieve his duster, lighting a cigarette as he walked back into the bedroom. 

“So, what goodies were you plannin’ on packing up to scarper off with, luv?” Spike leaned against the dresser as he took a drag from the cigarette, a put-on pout forming on his lips when Angel crossed over to him and plucked it from his lips to take a puff from it himself. 

“Well, aside from the cooler of blood in the fridge and the toys on the table, I really only planned on taking some of the clothes. Nothing else here was really much to my taste, anyway, and the few things that were have already been moved over to the Hyperion. But, if there’s anything you have your eye on, feel free, I’ll drop it all off at the hotel after the meeting.”

“Wouldn’t mind raiding that liquor cabinet, they kept you well and truly stocked up on the good stuff and it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Angel chuckled and handed the cigarette back to Spike, walking over to the closet and pulling out two duffle bags out and handing one to him. Spike took one last pull from his smoke and stubbed it out on the wood of the dresser before heading out to pilfer the booze. Angel set about emptying the closet and drawers of the clothes he liked best and collected the handcuffs, lube and various other items from the bedside table before zipping up the duffle and following Spike through the suite. He set the bag by the elevator and fetched the cooler of blood from the kitchen, returning to find Spike eyeing the various knick-knacks.

“Any of these things collectibles, you figure? Only, just wonderin’ what we would do for dosh once that company card of yours gets cancelled…”

Angel smiled slyly at Spike and pulled him away from the painting he was inspecting, the duffle bag in his hand clinking as the glass bottles were jostled. 

“Trust me, Spike, I’ve planned very well for this. Managed to set away a few million dollars just in case the Senior Partners keep us on the run for a while. We’re more than set.” 

“You stashed how much?!” Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief, looking for all the world like he’d just seen Angel sprout a second head.

“Fourteen million, give or take. Helps when you can bullshit about having palms to grease and the Partners can’t track the cash. And, if a few harmless, yet rather valuable artifacts happen to turn up missing from the vaults, well…” 

“Lord, Angel, good to know all that penny-pinchin’ of yours amounted to something. At least we won’t be livin’ off scraps if we survive.” Spike followed behind Angel as they walked over to the elevator. “Guess this makes you my Sugar Daddy, then, eh, Peaches?”

Angel groaned and resisted the urge to turn around and cuff Spike upside the head as he pressed the button for the elevator doors. As he picked up the duffle bag, Spike turned him around to look up at him, his face once again serious.

“Hey, if the worst comes, couldn’t think of a better last day. Came here expectin’ you to toss me out flat on my arse, laughin’ all the while. ‘Stead, you gave me more than I ever dared to hope for, you gave me you. Thank you for that, Angel.”

Angel shouldered his bag and stepped closer, reaching up to brush his thumb softly over Spike’s cheekbone, the blonde’s love for him flowing through their bond in full force and hitching an unnecessary breath in his throat. Spike stared up at him, his eyes clear and bright as they hadn’t been in a long time. Angel dipped his head down and captured his lips in a relatively tame - for them - kiss, his nose brushing across Spike’s as he pulled away. 

“Thank you for taking me back, Spike.”

A soft purr rumbled in Spike’s chest as the two of them stepped into the elevator, more determined than ever to see them through the night. 

Spike pulled the Viper into the apartment building’s garage with Angel close behind in the recently tinted Plymouth, and stepped out of the car on slightly shaky legs. Angel got out of the Plymouth and came to stand next to him, his eyes narrowing in concern as he took in the look on Spike’s face. 

“What? Will, what is it?”

“Think the Claim’s kickin’ in a bit now that there were more than a few feet between us. Heard you, in my ‘ead, naggin’ me ‘bout my driving. Was bloody unnervin’.”

“Oh,” Angel breathed a sigh of relief with a soft smile. “So, I guess that was why you swerved three lanes over about three miles back?”

“Well, yeah...didn’t you hear cussin’ a blue streak?”

Spike looked a little crestfallen at the possible imbalance in the progression of their Claims and Angel hated having to shake his head no.

“Try it now, think something at me.”

Still angry ‘bout that jibe at my drivin’, ponce. Least I don’t drive like some soddin’ Grandma who forgot how to shift bloody gears. 

Angel watched Spike’s face bunch up in grumpy concentration as he waited for the blonde to think something in his direction, soon becoming unnerved when a minute passed and his head stayed British accent-free. 

“Well?”

Spike’s frown deepened and he tried again, shutting his eyes to focus better.

Stupid bloody git, I drive just fine thanks very much. Not everyone has to compensate for that beach umbrella you call a forehead.

When Angel failed to growl at the insult, Spike’s frown fell into a pout, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“Nothin’? Not even a whisper?”

“Sorry, Spike. Wait…” Angel decided to try to direct his thoughts at Spike to test the connection. Will...can you hear me still? “Anything?”

“Not a blip.”

“Well, maybe it was just a one-off, then. I wouldn’t let it get you worked up, Spike, I’m surprised it happened at all so soon. From what I know, the effects take time to form. At least we can already sense each other better, that’s something.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Spike sighed wistfully. “Was just lookin’ forward to bein’ able to broadcast naughty thoughts at ya when the others are ‘round, though.”

Angel scoffed and shook his head and started walking towards the stairs that led to Spike’s basement apartment. 

“Believe me, Spike, your eyes are expressive enough for me to get the very inappropriate gist nine times out of ten.”

“Still, it’d be nice to have the back-up for that tenth time.”

Spike and Angel stepped into his apartment to find Wes and Illyria still there, Wes hovering protectively at Illyria’s side as he helped her from the bed. Spike became all too aware now of how big Angel’s button-down was on him and how fresh their Siring scars looked on their necks as Wesley looked between them, his brow raised knowingly. Even with the heat of embarrassment that tingled at the back of his neck, he couldn’t find reason to put more space between himself and Angel, and he was happy to note, rather, how Angel pressed closer beside him, his large hand resting at the small of his back.

“I see the two of you spent the day...productively.”

Spike surreptitiously tasted the air to gauge Angel’s reaction, relieved to find a happy calmness rolling off of him instead of the expected sense of discomfort, and relaxed into his soft touch. 

“We’ve worked out some things that should have been settled months ago, yes.” Angel smiled wistfully at the ex-Watcher. “We won’t traumatize you with the details.”

Wes gave a quiet chuckle and nodded in understanding. Spike noticed how Wesley smelled considerably less of alcohol than he had the previous few weeks and was glad the man wouldn’t be going into this foray quite so compromised.

“Well, I’m happy for you both, truly. We’ve all been waiting months for you to finally gather the courage to admit to each other what had already become obvious to the rest of us. I’m glad you both will be going into this with the truth of your souls made known. And don’t think for a second that I begrudge you it, either of you.”

“Ta for that, Percy.” Spike leaned into Angel’s side and nodded at Wes, his soul twinging at the sadness he felt for the mystic and his loss. “Means a lot, from you.”

“Thank you, Wes. Really. You, more than any of the others, know the importance of the step we’ve taken. But, I want you to know we’re not going to let it distract us from whatever blowback we have to face tonight.”

Wes nodded in understanding, a sad smile on his face. 

“I know. I trust you both to have taken all due considerations beforehand.” Wes looked over at Spike. “Gunn and Lorne will be here soon, you might want to change into something less telling...unless we have an hour for all the sordid details and all of Lorne’s inevitable questions?”

“Right.” 

Spike ducked his head and reluctantly left Angel’s side to change his shirt. He could feel Angel’s cheeky mirth and heard him clear as day when he spoke too softly for Wesley to hear. 

“Too bad. I was getting used to seeing you wearing my clothes.”

“Possessive bastard”, Spike whispered back with a smile in his voice.

Angel chuckled quietly, the sound cutting off abruptly as he caught Illyria’s gaze, her head tilted curiously at him. 

“I do not understand. Why should it matter if he wears the clothes of his mate?” Illyria looked down at Wesley for clarification on the matter, and Angel found himself regarding them with his own curiosity. They seemed to have formed a tenuous bond of their own in the past few days, and he could scent a sense of companionship burgeoning deep within them. His soul took comfort in the slight easing of Wesley’s grief, even if it wasn’t likely to last. “Even the base creatures of this world seem to carry the scent of their mates with them, on them, when they must be apart, why should the half-breeds be any different?”

Wes huffed a soft laugh, not quite looking at her as he spoke.

“Sometimes, the full details of the intimacies between two people are preferred to be kept secret. Not for the lack of understanding, but simply to have something that is just theirs. Displaying themselves as something other than they previously were perceived to be can lead to prying questions into matters better left private, especially in the early days of a change in dynamics.” Wesley looked at Angel, his eyes portraying just how much he truly understood what had gone on between Spike and himself. “Lorne, as a demon himself, may appreciate the delicacies of such matters, but the empath in him might find it hard to resist boasting of his foresight of such partakings. Charles is another matter, entirely. He has a penchant for not being able to read the room and asking the awkward questions others would politely refrain from inquiring upon.”

Illyria looked like she had even more questions than answers, but before she could open her mouth to speak them, Spike returned and silenced her with a look. Angel wondered at that, at what things may have passed between them during the hours they had logged in the firm’s training rooms for her haughtiness to be quieted so easily. 

“Enough of the lessons on demon relations, Perce. Blue don’t really need complex understandin’ of what makes vampires tick right now, you’d only succeed in spinning her godly little head in circles. And not a word to the other two, they don’t need the distraction.”

Spike sat himself on the couch just as the sound of footsteps on the stairs reached Angel’s ears, signalling Lorne and Gunn’s approach. Just as the doorknob turned, Angel let out a quiet mine, and Spike’s eyes flashed golden as he mouthed always back at him.

Charles entered the apartment first and promptly sat down on the couch beside Spike with a nod in Angel’s direction. Lorne lingered by the door for a few seconds, his red eyes widening as they flicked between Angel and Spike and narrowing again as he looked over at Wes and Illyria. Another look at Angel, his mouth opening to speak and shutting again when Angel curtailed his questioning with a shake of his head. 

“Fine, don’t tell me all the glorious details then, Angelcakes. Just too bad it didn’t happen sooner so I could’ve collected that fifty bucks from Lloyd in accounting.” 

Lorne ignored Angel’s indignant grunt and went to lean against the kitchen table. Angel’s gaze lingered on the empath a second longer, disconcerted that he couldn’t quite gauge his emotions.

Once everyone settled, Angel stood before them all, the weight of the mission settling upon his shoulders once more and making him all business yet again. 

“This may come out a little pretentious, but...one of you will betray me.” Everyone looked over at Spike as he raised his hand, that wry look on his face, but Angel rolled his eyes and continued. “Wes.” 

Wes looked over at him, confused no doubt by his newly restored memories. His eyes narrowed as he waited for Angel to explain.

“Oh.” Spike deflated slightly but carried on, determined to push Angel’s buttons with his little passion play scenario. “Can I deny you three times?”

Angel could feel through the bond that Spike wasn’t serious, his emotions playful. No doubt just trying to keep the mood as light as possible in the given circumstances, so he refrained from growling at the blonde and kept his focus on the task.  

“Vail’s the sorcerer of the bunch. You know that game. You’ve seen his place. He believes you’d make a play for my spot.”

“That’s not very flattering.”

“It’ll get you in the door.” Angel turned his attention to Illyria as Wesley frowned in resignation. “Illyria, Izzerial the devil...and three other members of the Circle dine together almost every night.”

“I’ll make trophies of their spines.” The glint in her eyes left Angel suppressing a shudder and making a mental note to keep from getting on her bad side again.

“Good to have you on the team. Gunn-”

“Yo.” 

Angel could smell the trepidation that threaded through the grim determination that rolled off Charles, the young man hiding well how badly he needed to make tonight count for something. Angel understood all too well the lingering need for penance that he hid behind his seemingly composed state. He hoped Gunn wouldn’t let that need goad him into being too rash, hoped he wouldn’t get himself killed in his search for redemption.

“Your friend, Senator Brucker, has a campaign office in West L.A. You already know she’s pure hell spawn, and she tends to surround herself with vampires.”

“I was hopin’ it’d be vamps. Haven’t dusted nearly enough this year.” Charles turned to Spike, his hand out in placation. “No offense.”

“It’s alright.” Spike could feel the worry coming from Angel as he had spoken to Gunn, and shared in the elder vampire’s hopes that the boy wouldn’t be too rash in his actions. 

“Spike.”

“Right. First off, I’m not wearin’ any amulets.” Spike pushed himself up off the couch to face Angel directly. The two of them may have been closer than they had ever been in his entire unlife, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting his digs in where he could. “No bracelets, brooches, beads, pendants, pins or rings.”

“Fine. All you need is a rattle.” A small, nearly smug grin pulled at Angel’s lips as he spoke.

“Ah, the baby.” Spike had been itching for a fight for a few days now, and this promised to be a good one; the Brethren were no small clan, they were sure to put up a ruckus at any attempt to take away their future sacrifice.

“And the legion of the Fell Brethren. I want the kid returned to his mother and the foster family dismembered.”

“Done and done”, Spike agreed as he returned to the couch.

“Archduke Sebassis has over 40,000 demons at his command.” Angel paced around the small space as he spoke, keeping his emotions carefully guarded from the non-humans in the room, especially Spike. Better to let them think he was simply taking on the old demon. “Other members of the council fear him. He’s the key player, so he’s mine. Lorne-”

“I’m not a fighter, Angelwings.” Angel paused in front of him. “Never had the stomach for it. Looks like I’m your weak link.”

“I just need you to back up Lindsey.”

Off to his side, Wesley spoke up.

“Still can’t believe you brought him into this.”

“He’s a part of this.” Angel paced again, feeling less like Patton rallying his troops and more like Leonidas condemning his warriors with every passing second and had to remind himself that they had all chosen freely to follow his plan. “It’ll be just as dangerous for him as it will be for everyone else on our team.” 

Clear that Angel was finished doling out their various tasks, everyone began to stand and ready themselves to leave. Charles, looking as nonchalant as possible with his hands in his pockets, caught Angel’s attention.

“So I guess we’re not goin’ back to the office after this.”

“The alley just north of the Hyperion. Everyone who makes it meets there. We do any damage at all, the Senior Partners are gonna rain hell on us. So be ready.”

Spike gave a nod of his head and headed into the kitchen for a beer as Lorne approached Angel.

“Hey, uh, Ange - I’ll do this last thing for you, for us, but then I’m out.” And there it was. The secret Angel had felt Lorne trying to hide. “And you won’t find me in the alley afterwards. Hell, you won’t find me at all. Do me a favor. Don’t try.”

Angel felt the loss of him already as he watched Lorne walk out of the apartment ahead of the others. He knew he owed it to the empath to honor his request, and hoped he made it through the fight with Sahrvin to enjoy his newfound lease on life. He also made a note to keep an eye out for any new acts in Vegas that might boast to be home to the green demon in case Lorne gave in to the temptation of fame again.

“Day went by fast, huh?”

Gunn, Wes, and Illyria headed to the door as Angel and Spike watched on, Spike drifting closer to Angel as the others spoke.

“Try not to die. You are not unpleasant to my eyes.”

“Uh, thanks. You...try not to die too.”

Angel quirked a brow over at Spike at that exchange and Spike merely smirked back at him. Neither vampire even wanted to try to work out Illyria’s thoughts. The three fighters by the door looked between each other, Wes and Gunn shaking hands with a sense of finality that spread across the room.

“Later, then”, Gunn spoke directly to Wes as he left, the shared grief over the woman they both had lost palpable between them, a bond unlike any other.

Wes turned back in the doorway and cast a meaningful look over at Angel and nodded imperceptibly, before he and Illyria followed Charles up the stairs. Angel relaxed minutely as Spike stepped up next to him to watch them leave.

“What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo?” Angel folded his arms as Spike spoke, his mind flitting back to the meeting with the Circle. “We make it through this, does one of us get to be a real boy?”

“Who you kidding? We’re not gonna make it through.” 

Spike scoffed, able to tell that Angel didn’t mean it.

“Well, long as it’s not you”, he teased, smirking when Angel rolled his eyes. 

“Doubt this would even count as the apocalypse it refers to anyway, Spike. We’re going to be the focus of the destruction, not the world. And, even then, we haven’t lived through the countless plagues mentioned in the prophecy.”

“Mm, true. Though, I think the Whirlwind may have counted as one of said plagues, given the body count we racked up.” Spike could smell the tension rolling off of Angel in thick waves and gave him a look-over, not ready to force his gaze away yet. “Say, you think we got a few minutes before we have to part ways? You seem to be in need of a bit of relaxing, luv, and I could do with a refresher of what it is I’m fighting for.”

Angel let out a soft growl, nostrils flaring as he scented Spike’s growing arousal. Before he knew it was coming, Spike found himself laid out on the threadbare couch, Angel hovering over him as he settled between his legs.

“Think I can spare ten minutes.”

“You’re not goin’ after Sebassis, are you? Not if you’ve got even that much flexibility in your schedule.”

“Always were so astute, Will. No, the Archduke’s already dead by now; it’s Hamilton I need to dispatch, now did you want to talk some more, or,” Angel palmed at Spike’s groin, pulling a moan from the blonde’s lips, “did you want to use the next eight minutes and thirty seconds helping me ‘relax’?”

“Fuck, Angel, what is it with you and bloody couches…”

Angel can smell Spike’s blood, even over the rain, feels the pull of the Claim urging him towards the end of the alley. Spike can hear Angel’s light footsteps, can smell the blood, his and Hamilton’s, and Connor’s lingering scent. He hopes the boy is safely away, for Angel’s sake. Family means everything to Angel just as it does him, even if the elder vampire was more reluctant to admit it, and Spike couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if they were to pull through this just for Angel to find out his son was lost. He waits till he hears the faint clink of chain-link as Angel reaches the fence before stepping out of the shadows. 

“Boo.”

Angel turns to face him, relief etched on his face. Spike steps up to him, leaning up to flick his tongue over the cut on his cheek to clean away the blood there before nuzzling him briefly. Angel’s fingers slip through his as they pull apart, dual purrs of reassurance just audible over the sound of the rain, each one trying to put the other at ease despite their own building discomforts as time passes without the others appearing.

“Anyone else?”

“Not so far. You feel the heat?” Spike can feel Angel’s nervousness wafting off of him, the rain doing nothing to temper the adrenaline rushing through them both, and presses closer to him.

“It’s comin’.” 

Angel dips his head to capture Spike’s lips in a fleeting kiss before pulling back. Spike tilts his face up into the rain briefly before speaking again. The Claim is screaming at him to drag Angel away to safety but he tamps it down, assures himself once more of the elder vampire’s ability to hold his own.

“Finally got ourselves a decent brawl.”

They’re so focused on each other, assessing their wounds, their emotions, they fail to hear or smell Gunn’s approach until his voice fills the air.

“Damn!” They both turned their heads to see Charles jogging up the alley towards them. “How’d I know the fang boys would pull through?” 

Angel and Spike hurry towards Gunn as he slows, his face drawn up in pain. 

“You’re lucky we’re on the same side, dogs, ‘cause I was on fire tonight. My game was...tight.”

Gunn came to a stop as they reached him, and they helped him to sit back against the alley wall, the smell of his blood reaching their noses over the rain. Gunn clutched his side with a grimace, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Supposed to wear that red stuff on the inside, Charlie boy.” Spike and Angel share a worried glance.

“Any word on Wes?”

Spike shook his head just as Illyria dropped from the roof of the building on the opposite side of the alley, landing in front of the battered trio.

“Wesley’s dead.” The three of them looked down in dismay. Spike and Angel both smell the faint trace of tears coming from her, and feel a pang of sadness and more than a little surprise at Illyria’s display of emotion. “I’m feeling grief for him. I can’t seem to control it. I wish to do more violence.” 

Spike hears the shouts and cries of the Senior Partners demon hordes growing closer and looks over at her, hardening himself for the closing battle. 

“Well, wishes just happen to be horses today.”

Angel looked up and beyond Spike, and sees the giant horde entering the alley. Various demons and monstrous creatures are making their way closer to them, boxing them in.

“Among other things.” Angel looked up at the sound of a loud screech and spotted a dragon flapping its leathery wings overhead.

“Okay. You take the 30,000 on the left”, Gunn’s voice quavers despite himself as he tries to be glib about the insurmountable odds before them.

Illyria wonders at the young human’s surprising conviction as he attempts the joke.

“You’re fading. You’ll last ten minutes at best.” 

Charles struggles to stand as the others face the demon army standing at the ready less than thirty feet away. 

“Then let’s make them memorable.”

The four of them take their stance across the width of the alley, steeling themselves for the fight.

“And in terms of a plan?” Spike directed his question at Angel, memories of past battles leading him to defer to the brunette.

“We fight.”

“Bit more specific?”

Angel stepped out in front of the others, doing his best to provide a protective shield, his every nerve tuned towards Spike’s position just slightly behind him and off to his right. 

”Well, personally, I kinda wanna slay the dragon.” The horde rushed towards them, and Angel braced his stance. “Let’s go to work.” 

He raised his sword as the army fell upon them, his Childe and the last vestiges of his family stepping into place beside him.

~~~~~

@thewhiterabbit42​ @prose-for-hire​ @highonbandcandy​ @laurensshitpost​ 

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[fandom-collective-writers]

Redamancy (Napoleon Bonaparte x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Napoleon Bonaparte x MC

Prompt: Summer festival, Fireworks, Dancing

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2,669

Requested by: @kissmetwicekissmedeadly​

Written by: @lordsisterxotome​

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: I finished this still sleepy from surgery sedatives so I hope it’s okay! I’m determined to keep typing even though my left arm is in a cast.;D

       Redamancy: (n) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

       MC’s skirt billowed as Napoleon twirled her, tinkling laughter erupting from her smiling lips. The sound was echoed by the love of her life as he led her through another few steps before spinning her again. Music played in lively tunes from the band set up on the street corner, the sweet sound of the violin joined by the brassy bellowing of the accordion in a song that would have been impossible not to dance to. Other townspeople danced around them, rich and poor blending regardless of social class. Reds, greens, pinks, blues fluttered around them, the occasional handful of confetti thrown into the air from one of the balconies overhead.

       Napoleon couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy, dancing simply for the joy of it with the person he loved most. His cheeks hurt from smiling as he drew MC into his arms, his hands on her waist as they spun, his cape flaring out behind him.

       The dissimilarity between this and his past life wasn’t lost on him. He couldn’t recall ever dancing without restraint, without a care in the world in his past life. All of the balls and gatherings he was required to attend were always stuffy and restrained down to the very step he took, each move carefully watched and analyzed by the vultures that were always looking for some sign of weakness, for the smallest opening to slip in and overthrow him.

       All dark thoughts of the past disappeared however, when MC’s gaze captured him on the next turn, oceans of light sparkling in their depths and burning away all of the bad. She laughed in joy when he took the opportunity to dip her into a kiss, the taste of her happiness on his tongue as he pulled away. Each day with her was a gift, every piece of her a blessing he meant to cherish until his dying breath. 

       Napoleon startled when a boom exploded overhead, instinctively pulling her close. She clung to him as another boom joined the first, the dance coming to a stop around them as fireworks lit up the night sky. He felt her giggle softly, her grip on his jacket loosening as they watched the colors flare and die, blocking out the stars as more were launched. Too quickly, he lost interest though, his attention focusing on the way her body felt pressed against his own. He could feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest as she breathed, and his chest swelled when she cuddled closer, hugging him.

       His eyes left the sky, unable to keep away from the true object of his interest any longer. MC was still watching the sky, colored light playing across her face and reflecting in her eyes, and a wave of longing washed through him, his clothes suddenly too restricting.

       She sensed his gaze, eyes flitting to him, and her lips parted around a silent gasp at the heat in his eyes, at the question that lay within their jeweled depths. The want between them was undeniable and the feel of him pressing closer as his hands smoothed down her hips sent lust coursing through her suddenly sensitive body. He held her gaze, making sure she was focused on him and him alone, until she nodded. Smirking, Napoleon slipped a hand into hers before leading her through the crowd to hail a carriage, his blood rushing hot in his veins. 

       With a quick word to the carriage driver, he jerked the curtains shut and pulled her into his lap, her back to his chest. One hand grabbed a breast over her clothes while the other hiked her dress up, reaching between her thighs. Fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth descended on her nape, his tongue licking hot trails along her skin. 

       The sound of the carriage rolling over the cobblestones and the party-goers lining the streets covered MC’s voice as she moaned his name, rolling her hips into his hand as he stroked her through her panties. She was already soaking through them, and he chuckled in her ear, “This wet for me already?”

       Whining, she tossed her head back against his shoulder, bottom lip caught between her teeth. He wanted to bite that lip. Working the straps of her dress off her shoulders, he tugged the top down so her breasts spilled out, bucking his hips up into her ass as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. When her mouth opened to whimper his name, he dove in, nipping at her lip before his tongue slid in to tangle with hers.

       Muffled grunts and moans filled the space as they ground against each other and she writhed in his grip as his fingers pulled her panties aside to slip into her dripping heat. Napoleon groaned as she clenched around the two digits he thrust into her, scissoring them as his thumb searched for her clit. 

       “N-Napoleon! More! Please, more!” The hand that wasn’t tugging on his hair reached for her free breast, squeezing the soft flesh as she rolled her ass against the bulge in his pants. She looked so delectable in his arms, eyes shining with love and need for him, that if he hadn’t had some presence of mind left, he would have unbuckled his belt and taken her right there on the velvet seat, but he could feel the carriage beginning to slow, warning that they had nearly arrived at their destination. 

       Pulling her clothes back into place, he turned her in his lap to kiss her heated brow, his arms tight around her. The thought of letting her go for a couple of minutes was nearly unbearable. “Why don’t you get a head start? I’ll meet you in my room.”

       MC nodded shakily against his chest, breathing deep as she pecked his jaw, and she was off as soon as the carriage door opened, leaving his arms feeling empty without her. The carriage driver gave him a questioning look but Napoleon just shrugged, giving the man an extra tip along with his standard fare. 

       He didn’t care how he probably looked to the driver as he bolted through the front door and up the stairs after her, blood pumping and pants tight at the thought of his prize waiting in his room. The door burst open just as she finished the last of the ties on her dress, fabric slipping off her figure to pool at her feet and leaving her clad in her panties and corset.

       Napoleon didn’t waste a second. Licking his lips, he lunged for her, grabbing her by the hips to pull her into a hungry, dominating kiss. Small hands tugged his jacket down his shoulders as she moaned into his mouth, letting him back her onto the bed. A brief moment of weightlessness and then she landed on the soft comforter with a muffled gasp, her legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his waist. 

       He couldn’t get enough of her lips, following when she broke away to gulp lungfuls of air. The rest of their clothes disappear in a desperate whirlwind of limbs and lips, teeth clacking a couple times as her hands went to his belt and his tore her panties and corset away. Napoleon only parted to look down at her, sprawled wanting and vulnerable beneath him, and a groan tore from his throat as he bit his lip. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, face flushed dark pink. “So beautiful, so perfect.” MC whined as his hands wrapped around her thighs, hoisting her against his lap as his lips ghosted over her breast. Nuzzling the soft flesh for a moment, his lips found her nipple, sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. Napoleon felt her inhale shakily, trembling with pleasure, and he moaned at the taste of her skin, nursing her breast while he rolled his hips down into her.

       She threw her head back with a moan, fingers diving into his dark hair, as his aching cock slid through her dripping heat, smearing his pre-cum along her folds. He released her breast with a groan, eyes closed at how good it felt to grind his erection against her, seeking that relieving friction. 

       “N...Napoleon…” Her voice shook as she spoke, her hips bucking when the tip of his cock grazed the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. “Please, I need...I need you!”

       MC yelped when he suddenly released her thighs to flip her onto her stomach, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled them up against his crotch. Hot breath fanned across her ear as he leaned over her, sharp teeth nipping at the shell as he husked, “Me too. I need you so badly, it hurts. Can you feel it?” His rock-hard length slipped through her folds again and she whimpered, grinding back against him in an attempt to angle him into her. Napoleon growled when the head of his cock caught on her entrance before slipping out again, both of them crying out in frustration. “God, don’t do that, nunuche. You’ll make me go crazy.”

       She turned to peer at him over her shoulder, eyes hazy with desire and hair disheveled. “Why don’t you?” His breath caught as she smiled shyly, pure love and adoration in her gaze. “I love you, Napoleon. Please, give me everything. Don’t hold back.”

       He froze for a second, cheeks burning as he just stared at her and his gaze swirling with unrestrained emotion. A heartbeat later he surged forward, swallowing her questioning call of his name in a fierce kiss. “I love you so much,” he panted against her lips, one of his hands gripping the headboard while the other held her in place. 

       She gasped as he suddenly hilted inside of her, splitting her around his girth. Her core burned a little at the stretch and he stilled for a moment to let her adjust, planting soft kisses along her nape and shoulders. MC didn’t register his fingers ghosting along the natural path of her hip until the pads of two fingers pressed down on her clit and stars dotted her vision as she screamed. 

       Her arousal dripped down her trembling thighs as he pulled back before slamming in again with a harsh thrust, gaining in intensity until he was pounding into her. The wet, erotic sound of his cock drilling into her core filled the room, turning her into a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him.

       The welcoming warmth of her walls sucking him deeper felt like heaven to Napoleon, aiming for the spots inside of her he knew would bring her the most pleasure. He was rewarded with a gratifying scream of his name as the tip of his cock kissed her cervix on a particularly sharp thrust, her walls clamping down on him hard. Groaning into her shoulder, his pounding turned harder, rougher, his balls slapping against her ass as he plowed into her.

       “So - ngh! - tight!” he panted, leaving a mess of love bites along her neck and shoulders. “You feel...hah...so amazing…my good girl, all…ngh!...mine.” The bed frame slammed loudly against the wall, but he couldn’t bring himself to care if they were disturbing any of the other residents. All he cared about right now was loving her until she begged him to stop, until all she could think about was his dick deep inside of her, where he belonged.

       “Napoleon!” MC moaned, tears in the corners of her eyes as her arms shook and her breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts. “I-I can’t-!”

       “Close already?” he chuckled, licking the shell of her ear. “Hang on - ah! - just a little longer, mon amour...Yes, just like that...yes...yes...yes!”

       His fingers found her clit once more, stroking, pinching, pulling on the little bundle of nerves until she whimpered and cried for mercy, oversensitive. She didn’t have to wait much longer. He was nearing his peak too, cock swelling inside of her as he forced her upper body down into the pillows and his hips moved inhumanely fast as he buried his face in her hair. Gritting his teeth, the tantalizing scent of the blood rushing just beneath her skin made him groan, his tongue laving across her skin in preparation for his fangs.

       “I-I’m so close, please, Napoleon!” Her hands fisted in the sheets as she tried moving her hips back to meet his thrusts.

       Without warning, he pressed down on her clit and pulled her hips back onto his cock hard, thrusting as deeply as he could at the same time. MC screamed in pain and pleasure as his fangs sank into the spot he’d picked on her shoulder, and he roared into her skin as the irresistible taste of her blood flooded his tongue, an ambrosia his thirst for which would never be quenched. 

       Her velvety walls spasmed around him as she came, hot core coaxing him to paint her insides white as she drenched him in her release. Napoleon’s hips stilled as his climax washed over him, taking long drawls of her blood as he shot ropes of cum deep inside of her. 

       His hands smoothed over her heated skin as they recovered, giving a couple more shallow thrusts to draw out their pleasure. He didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to leave the loving warmth of her body. He wanted to stay connected to her like this forever, wrapped in love and safety. But he gently released his grip on her hips anyway, letting her tired body settle against the comforter as she caught her breath.

       A shiver wracked her form as he slipped out of her, his seed seeping from her entrance and down the inside of her thigh. Napoleon couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, something hot and primal rising inside him as he continued to watch his cum drip from her. His cock was already hardening again, pearly white beading at the swollen head, colored an angry red with need. 

       Ever so gently, he turned her over onto her back and spread her legs apart for a better view. He looked up at MC when she whimpered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as her gaze flitted away from him and back again. “Don’t look,” she whined, “It’s embarrassing.”

       He smirked and pushed a finger into her oversensitive core, swirling it through their combined release. His hand was practically drenched when he pulled his finger away, his smirk growing with satisfaction. “Never be embarrassed by this.” He held her gaze as his tongue darted out to give his coated finger a long lick. “It’s proof of how well I’ve loved you.”

       She gave him a small smile and held her arms out to him, spreading her legs further in invitation. “Napoleon…” Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as her eyes shone with want, a need for more.

       “I know, mon amour.” Climbing over her, he pulled her legs over his hips, taking his rightful place between her thighs once more. His lips graced her throat and collarbone, licking away stray drops of blood. “You did give me permission to go wild, you know.”

       MC arched up into him as he entered her again, fingers digging into his muscular back to pull him closer, and he moaned at the delicious squeeze, so tight even after his rough treatment only moments before. 

       Napoleon took his time this round, his strokes slow and forceful as he took her breath away and marked her neck and breasts in his affection. Maybe the next round would see him pounding into her once more, but he claimed her gently now, making love to her. Tonight he would love her as he always wished to love her, passionately and as much as he could muster, until the entire world knew who she belonged to.

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Just Fine (Part 2 of Unexpected Reunion)

Here’s the requested 2nd part of “Unexpected Reunion”. *Familiar characters do NOT belong to me!*

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth(not graphic, but still). A couple swear words, if that bothers you. 

Pairings/Characters: Past!Michael Shelby/Gray x fem!reader, Michael Shelby/Gray x Gina Gray, The rest of the Shelby Clan

A few days after your confrontation with Michael, you sat in your flat crying your eyes out. You had refused to talk to anyone as every emotion you felt came pouring out in hot, angry tears. Polly and Finn often came to check on you, but you refused to open the door for them. You loved them, but you couldn’t face them. After about the fourth day, there was another knock on your door.

         "Go away, Pol,“ you called out in a scratchy voice. "Open the door, Y/N,” Arthur’s voice called out. You didn’t reply. He knocked again to no answer. The third time he knocked, another voice said, “Open the door or Arthur will break it down!” You recognized Tommy’s growl and sighed. You knew he was serious. You got up and threw the door open, meeting the faces of Arthur, Tommy, and Ada.

         "What?!“ you snapped. Tommy looked unimpressed and Ada had a look of pity on her face. "Don’t. Don’t do that. I don’t want your pity, Ada. I don’t want any of this. And I’m not sorry I told Michael to go to Hell.” Ada smiled at you before pushing passed her brothers and going to your wardrobe.

         You didn’t get the chance to ask what she was doing before Tommy said, “You’re going to stay with Ada for the duration of your pregnancy.” You arched a brow. “The hell I am. I’m not going anywhere he can just show up whenever he feels like.” Tommy’s eyes never left yours as you continued, “I am not Shelby property that you can do with as you wish, Thomas Shelby!”

         To his credit, Tommy didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even show any signs that he was upset other than a slight tick of his jaw. “No, you’re not. But you are one of us. As is the child. You will be taken care of and protected. If you refuse to stay with Ada, then Polly is an alternative. Or you can take up residence with the Lees. We take care of our own, Y/N. Michael will not be allowed to come ‘round without your permission.”

         You looked between the three Shelbys. They were all waiting for your answer. You met Tommy’s gaze again. “Do you swear?” He nodded without hesitation. After a second, you found yourself agreeing. Ada went back to throwing your clothing in a trunk.

*time skip*

         Months passed quickly and before you knew it, you were eight months gone. You’d had no contact with Michael, but knew Ada had. You’d come home from the market one day to smell the mixture of cologne and cigarettes you knew could only be him. Other than that, there was no sign of him, just as Tommy promised.

         However, as the day you were due to deliver drew closer, you found yourself missing him. You knew it was probably the pregnancy messing with your head but you didn’t care. You needed to clear the air before the baby came. So, you picked up the phone and asked the operator to dial Michael’s number. Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t Michael who answered the phone.

         "I need to speak to Michael please,“ you said through gritted teeth when Gina answered the phone. You wanted so badly to tell her exactly what you thought of her, but you didn’t. As she was pregnant as well, you didn’t want to upset her. The baby was innocent after all.

         "He’s out. May I take a message?” You sighed heavily as you ran your hand over your stomach. “Fine. Please tell him Y/N called.” It was silent on the line for a minute, then there was some shuffling, as if she was shifting the phone. “Michael doesn’t want to speak to you, Y/N. He doesn’t care anything for you or that bastard in your belly.” With that, she hung up the phone.

         Anger coursed through your veins like never before. Never before had you truly despised another human being, but you loathed Gina Gray. The front door of Ada’s home burst open, pulling you from your thoughts. Polly frantically ran into the room.

         "What are you doing here, Pol?“ you asked. You were really trying not to take your anger out on her. "Are you alright?” You brows furrowed and you nodded. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I…” you trailed off, meeting her gaze, “Did you have another dream? A vision?” She nodded.

         "Well, don’t worry. I’m fine. Just a little upset.“ No sooner had you finished speaking did you feel a sharp and unexpected pain shoot through your stomach. "No,” you whispered. The pain didn’t lessen despite your refusal to believe what was happening. “Polly?” She gave you a smile as you let out a scream, bringing Ada running.

         "Ada, call Thomas and Arthur. Tell them to get Michael and bring him here. Drag him by the ear or tie him up if they have to.“ Ada nodded and moved for the phone. Polly wrapped an arm around you to help you up to your room. "Ada,” you called back to her. “Yes, love?”

         "Tell Michael to leave his fucking wife at home.“ Ada and Polly both chuckled a little. Polly lead you to your room while Ada placed the calls to her brothers. "I’m not ready, Pol. I’m scared,” you admitted softly. Polly gave your shoulders a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine, love. Let’s bring your darling girl into the world.”

         "A girl?“ She beamed. "I saw her. A beautiful little girl.” You couldn’t help but smile. The door opened and Ada gave Polly a nod. “Doctor’s on his way. Tommy too. He sent Arthur and Finn for Michael.” You nodded and thanked her as another contraction hit you. You gripped Polly’s hand so tightly, you thought you might rip it off. She hardly seemed fazed though. “Good girl. Breathe.”

         You heard voices drifting your way, one you recognized as Tommy’s. The other was probably the doctor. “Take care of her,” Tommy’s accented voice said just outside the doorway, “I will make sure no one disturbs you.” The doctor’s gaze drifted to the bed and he smiled. “You have my word, Mr. Shelby. Ms. Y/L/N is in good hands.” Tommy stared the man down with that intimidating stare of his, the one you’d been on the receiving end of on more than one occasion. After a moment, Tommy left without a word.

         Time passed so slowly and yet so quickly at the same time while you worked endlessly to bring your little girl into the world. At one point, you heard screaming that was not your own, but Ada quickly left the room, slamming the door behind her, to make the ruckus stop. That left you squeezing the life out of Polly’s hand. You were hot and tired and miserable, but you knew you couldn’t give up. Finally, after what felt like hours, you heard the shrill cry of your newborn baby.

         "A girl.“ The doctor placed her on your chest and you felt like you might cry. "Thank you, Doctor. I’ll get them both cleaned up. And perhaps you would be kind enough to send Thomas up in a few minutes?” The doctor’s brow furrowed and his mouth opened as if he was about to ask if Tommy was the father, but thought better of it.

         "She’s beautiful, Pol,“ you whispered. Polly smiled again. "I knew she would be. Now let’s get you both cleaned up.” You nodded and attempted to shift, but your eyelids felt heavy. Polly laughed and helped you, being careful of the little girl.

         When she was done, she opened the door to let Tommy in. “Alright there, Y/N?” You told him your were fine, just tired. “Good. Michael’s here. Do you want to see him?” You frowned for the first time since you laid eyes on your daughter. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him so. If you do, I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Tommy assured you. You contemplated for a moment. “He is her father, Tommy. He-He should see her,” you said softly.

         Michael appeared a couple minutes later, hand in one pocket and an unlit cigarette in the other. “Don’t even think about it, Michael,” you scolded harshly. Michael put the cigarette away as he drew nearer to you and his child. “Girl or boy?”

         "Girl. She looks like you…“ you said, trailing off. He came even closer so he could peer down at her. "She does. A little.” You stayed silent, fighting back tears. What could you say to the man who had broken your heart and rejected your child? What could you say to the one who got another woman he hardly knew pregnant and married her? You thought you were in love. You had been. Apparently Michael hadn’t. Before you could drown in your thoughts, Michael finally spoke again.

         "I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mea-“ You cut him off with a hiss. "Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean it, Michael! You sleeping around wasn’t an accident! You screwed around, knocked her up, and married her, not caring two shits about me in the process. We were happy. We loved each other. At least I thought we did.”

         "We did! I did!“ You shook your head as the tears started to fall. "No you didn’t. If you had, you would have come home to me. You would have come home and married me, just like we talked about.” Michael said nothing and you huffed. Silence once again descended on the room for a few moments. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Michael’s gaze, so you settled for the ceiling or your daughter’s face.

         "What can I do?“ You shook your head. "Nothing. We can’t change it now. Go home to your wife, Michael. I won’t keep you from seeing your daughter, but it will be under my terms. And that b-woman is not allowed anywhere near me or my daughter for the time being. I don’t trust her. Especially not after this afternoon.” Michael looked at you in utter confusion.

         "You don’t know?“ you asked before rolling your eyes. "Nevermind. Go talk to your wife. I need rest.” Michael surprisingly didn’t argue and left. More tears fell from your eyes. How had things gotten so messed up? Other people would have blamed the entire family. “The Shelby’s are bad news.” But you couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault. It was yours and it was Michael’s. Now you had to live with it. Still, as you looked down yet again, you smiled.

         All the messed up situations in the world were worth seeing that little girl’s face. Michael could rot with his wife for all you cared. You didn’t need him and your daughter certainly didn’t need to look up to him. The door opened again to reveal the rest of the Shelby clan. “Is everything alright?” You looked at them and smiled tiredly. “Everything is going to be fine…absolutely fine.”

(a/n: I hope you liked it! I’ve got a Sherlock fic and a Labyrinth fic in the works!)

Tagging: @gilraenpalantir​ @namelesslosers​

[boxboysandotherwhump]

The new boy in town.

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

Chapter 2

CW: body-shaming/ insults, discrimination/ dehumanization of mutants, an insect gets hurt, a nearly fistfight ensues

Heat thrummed through Gideon’s bones and throbbed in unison with his building headache. His patience had shriveled up like dried fruit under the torrid summer sun while this horrible lavender scent clung to his hair,  his skin, his clothes, making him dizzy.

It became stronger on the village outskirts, Gideon realized as he hurried after Director Sahin. The man ascended the crooked stone staircase effortlessly, his moss-green robe billowing behind him. His artfully decorated spear swayed with every step he took, not brushing a single leave. The only thing rustling through the underbrush was the wind and the creatures living there.

A twig caught in Gideon’s black curls, while the Director rambled on about the virtues of disciplinary work. How it encouraged the growth of one’s character, or some shit. The twig broke off with a quiet snap, painfully pulling at his scalp. Gideon’s mood dropped even lower. It was going to be a nightmare to fiddle all those shitty branches and leaves out of his hair later on.

He was seconds away from losing his barely-held composure. 

The only thing keeping him from bursting at the seams was the promise he’d whispered into his brother's grave, a last farewell bedded beside a corpse. 

Gideon had come to this godforsaken village to learn how to fight and survive in the forest, not to become some obedient little soldier boy! But in order to do that, he had to get cleared for training again and out of suspension.

If he had to play the director’s errand boy for a day to achieve that, so be it. He had endured worse.  

“Haaah, here we are.” Director Sahin inhaled deeply, arms falling wide. “Finally. My dear friend’s farm. Tell me, young Gideon, is it not simply beautiful?”

Gideon shrugged. “‘S’ okay.”

Granted, the house did look cozy, resting encircled by giant roots with its warm brick walls, but those gigantic snails everywhere sent a shudder down his spine. If he had to touch those slimy monsters he-

The farm’s sliding doors opened before he could utter a protest, and a fine-boned, middle aged woman emerged, followed by a huge man with a greying beard.  A boy, probably his own age but significantly shorter, held the door open for them.

The older woman’s lips curled into a crooked smile as she caught sight of Director Sahin, whose whole face had lit up. Dark eyes shining. 

“Moira. My darling. Please do not tell me you are about to leave? Not when I looked forward to seeing your beautiful face again.”

Gideon suppressed a gag. Moira crossed her arms, smile growing sharper. Her eyes held a warm twinkle as she spoke. “Eric; charming as ever.”

The man behind her stepped closer and huffed:  “M happy ‘ter see ya too, Eric.”

“Oh Ansgar you flatter me. But I must confess, I am not here solely for tea and a chat-“

The Director rattled on and Gideon’s focus wandered to the girl that had stepped out the door behind a blonde woman. A fancy grey blouse hung off her thin shoulders, nearly covering the  lace trim of blue silk short. A stark contrast to the more practical attire favored by most villagers. But that wasn’t what caught Gideon’s attention, no, he had seen all sorts of fancy getups up in Berlin -in the city's upper ring that is- what drew his eyes to her, was her face.

Its left side was oddly deformed, her pale skin uneven like a creased silk sheet, drawing her left eye down and her full lips up. She mouthed something to the boy, smiling, earning a smile from him in turn.

“Ah yes may I introduce: Gideon, my newest student.”

Having lost most of the adults’ conversation Gideon tuned back in just in time, to give them a curt nod.

“I will send him to collect the salve after the feast, then,” Director Sahin announced, please as can be. 

“Wonderful.” Moira clapped her hands. All back to business brusqueness.  “Sahar will appreciate not having to deliver it for once. Right?”

The other boy snapped to attention, green eyes wide and fingers twitching like the hands of a pianist. A grateful smile rose to his face and he nodded.

Oh great, so Gideon had to take the trip up here twice. 

They descended the stairs, lined up one after another on the narrow path. Sahar right in front of him, following the strange girl. He had avoided Gideon’s eyes as he squeezed past him, careful not to touch, probably scared off by his uniform. The school’s emblem, embroidered on his stainless white shirt, proudly declared him a scout in training. Deadly. Fearless. The little farm boy definitely did better not to mess with an insect slayer like him.

The girl came to an abrupt halt, frozen in the woodland’s shadows before it gave way to the dusty hill road. Gideon nearly collided with Sahar, when he heard it.

A primal, bone chilling hiss tore through the hot afternoon air, rattling through his very core. 

Every hair on his body stood, muscles tensing, on edge just like his fraying nerves. 

He knew that sound. 

Even though he’d heard it only once before. On the crusade from last-stand-berlin to the village, where he had seen the beast it belonged to lurk on the riverside, watching them.

He would never forget a spider’s hiss. 

And there one stood, right in front of him, its eight thorny legs towering high above its ugly head. The spider’s giant yaws worked, rubbed against each other in agitation. Its razor sharp fangs glistened in the sun.

A man sat atop its massive, hairy body, scar-faced and clad in a straw cape that was fastened to a beetle’s shell armoring his left shoulder. Shimmering in iridescent hues of blue and green. The man did not smile as he glanced down at them. A silent challenge was edged in the hard lines of his rugged face.

Tense static filled the air, an almost tangible thing that bit at Gideons fingers. It wormed its way into his bones, crawled over his scalp.  

He almost, almost, flinched when Director Sahin shouldered past him, spear drawn and followed by the other man. Both planted themselves right in front of him and the others.

The intruder’s scar stretched with the rise of his eyebrows, eyes slitting in a lazy half-grin.

 “Hey, there. Hold your horses. Before someone does something he regrets later.”

“That a threat?” Ansgar grunted.

Moira ducked past him, face twisted in a furious scowl as she spit. “Oh, something other than entering our village on a damn wolf-spider you mean?!”

The corded muscle in her boney arm flexed as she shook her fist at the man, unveiling a wrath behind her primly dressed form that no one would have wanted to fall victim to.

He, however, just leaned closer, smile stretching into a shark-tooth grin. “Gutsy, are we? I like that.”

Director Sahim stepped up beside her, spear held in a steady grip. “How could you make it past our InD-Units with this monstrosity?! God show you mercy if you did something to-”

“What do you think I am?!” the intruder drawled, hands raised in mock offense. “A monster?! Only reason I got past your insect defenses was this baby here.”

Gideon had to stand on his tiptoes to catch a glance of the small round device that sat embedded into the spider’s head, partly hidden by the man’s straw cape. A little red light blinked in a steady rhythm above three buttons, which the man was careful not to touch as he rapped his knuckles against it. 

“Renders her absolutely obedient. All natural instinct turned off. See?”

He unsheathed a knife from a holster strapped around his leg and its steel blade shimmered in the sun before he rammed it in one of the spider’s eyes, plopping it out with a nauseating plitch. The spider endured its master’s violation in utter stillness, only its yaws twitched, creating this awful hiss in their never ceasing movement.

 “She’s docile as a lamb.”

“And how exactly is that supposed to work?” the girl inquired, meeting the man’s stare with a calculated cold composure. She ignored the incredulous look the blonde woman gave her, as she mouthed: “Charlotte, what are you doing?”

The intruder's mouth twitched.

“Man, what do I know, Missy?! I’m a mutant hunter not a scientist.” He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, fixed on the girl's deformed face. Venom spiked his words, dripped from his tongue like acid. “My expertise lies in chasing down freaks.”

The condescendingly cruel way in which he spoke, wielding words like a weapon meant to pierce and twist where it hurt most, reminded Gideon oddly of his father. Anger welled up in his chest, buzzed down his legs and made them move. He planted himself right between the girl and the intruder.

How dare he compare someone to mutant scum?!

“Tsk. Mutant hunter?! You’ve ever even seen one? Or are you just talk? Threatening girls?!”

“Gideon.”, Director Sahim hissed, squeezing Gideon’s shoulder in warning as he tried to pull him back. 

The man gave them a wry smile. “No no. Let’s hear him out. Have you ever seen one boy?”

“Yes.” Gideon spat, unable to reign his emotions back in. “They’re hideous monstrosities.  And I’m going to find and kill every single one of them.”

The man burst into violent laughter, shoulders shaking and head thrown back, nearly losing his balance under the force of it.

“You do have guts, I give you that. But also lots to learn. Do you really think a girl can’t be a mutant? Monster’s come in all shapes and sizes, boy.” His eyes wandered back to Charlotte.  “Just ugly, that’s the whole lot of them.`` 

The blonde woman gasped, searching for words to shoot back, but falling silent as she noticed Charlotte’s expression. 

Red blotches burned on her face, rage twisting it into a vicious scowl. The afternoon sun set her copper curls on fire. Ready to spew fury and flames, she opened her mouth but Sahar was faster, his small voice piping up.

“Char- Charlotte is… is no- no mutant and and and she’s neither ugly nor weak. And and and people who talk about, talk about killing others for no- no, no reason are… They’re the- the real monsters.”  

His fingers fiddled with his shorts, tapping and twisting in the dark, worn linen as he stumbled over his words. His big green eyes jumped from the rocky street to the spider’s fangs, lingered on the intruder’s face before landing on Gideon. They narrowed as he all but spat the last words in Gideon’s face.  

“The hell you just said?!” Gideon’s nostrils flared. How dare this little runt run his mouth about things he didn’t know shit about!

Crossing his arms, Sahar forced himself to hold his ground against Gideon’s furious, wide eyed stare.  “You you, you heard me.”

Gideon heart hammered in his throat, pumping liquefied fire through his veins. His hands twitched.

“I give you one chance to take. That. Back.”

The boy’s trembling fingers dug into his forearms, knuckles whitening as he lifted his chin.

 “Never.”

A roar tore from Gideon’s throat as he leapt forward. Rage burned through him like a wildfire, ready to ignite everything his fist would come in contact with.

Beating the selfritousnes out of that stupid stammering farmboy was the only thing that mattered now. Everything else blurred to background noise. Even the stranger on his shitty spider. 

In that frozen second between charge and impact, Sahar’s  feet moved. His body tilted to the side. Dodged Gideon’s blow. Effortlessly. He bounced back. Landed on the first stone step and uncrossed his arms. Ready to defend himself. His fingers had stopped twitching.

That little runt had nerves! 

Gideon broke into a sprint.

“You sure are good at dodging!” He swung his arm back. “Try to handle this!”

Muscles flexing Gideon readied for impact, only for his arm to be janked back. A  large hand had wrapped around his wrist. Stopped him mid punch.  Craning his neck, Gideon stared up into Ansgar’s stern face.

Fuck he’s fast?! 

“Looks like ya still got lots t’ learn about respect ‘n self-discipline, young man.”

Director Sahin sighed, eyes still locked on the intruder, who watched the spectacle with a lazy kind of interest.

Ansgar released Gideon’s hand and turned to Sahar. His grey eyes glistened like ice shards. “Same goes for you. Ya disappointed me, Sahar.”

Sahar blinked up at the man, eyes round and full of disbelief.

“Wh-what- what, what do you, do do do do- what do you  mean?”

“I haven’t trained ya to run off ‘n start mindless fights. I tried to teach ya discipline ‘n how to survive these woods.” Ansgar’s voice did not waver and every word made Sahar shrink into himself. His fingers tapped a hectic distorted rhythm over his leg

The intruder snickered, “someone’s a stuck up,” earning Moira’s venomous glare. 

“But- but I didn’t- he he he he he was, he was the one who-“

“Enough,” Ansgar thundered. “Don’t argue with me. If ya want a beatin’ so bad I’ll give ya one later. And now back t’ the farm. Ya grounded for the week. No fest. No nothin’!”

Sahar crumbled under the man’s anger, head ducked between his shoulders as the first teardrop fell. It trickled down his trembling jaw, painting a glistening path on his warm skin.

Voice reduced to a shaky exhale Sahar nodded,  “yes, sir.”, and stormed up the stairs.

He had just vanished between the thick bushes, when the intruder broke out into a new laughing fit.

[prioritysope]

Cheating

Reader: Female

Character: Oikawa Tooru

Rating: Explicit

Chapter: 13/26

read the prologue first!

"What do you want to see, Kawa?" Gaby asked with a small smile on her lips. She sat down on the couch, quite close to Oikawa. She was only wearing a somewhat transparent robe and Oikawa only had gray sweatpants, with his torso totally exposed.

Tooru grimaced, pretending he was thinking.

"You have long told me to see Boku No Hero Academia with you, I think it's time to please you." He murmured, placing her left arm around Gaby's shoulders so that he was closer to her body.

Everything was very quiet. Oikawa managed to understand the plot of the anime, not that it was so difficult to understand. He played with Gaby's loose hair while he watched television in full concentration. Surprisingly, they were both focused. Less in the parts that Bakugou Katsuki came out. Gaby was a bundle of small cries and sighs of a teenage girl in love.

"Simp." Tooru whispered, laughing at the brunette's reactions to a simple character. He admitted that Bakugou was so well drawn and looked extremely attractive.

Gaby simply ignored him, while continuing to comment on any of the characters.

"Did Deku really hold onto All Might's leg? All for talking to him." Tooru spoke again, letting out another laugh.

"It's quite funny the faces that he does just because he did not close his mouth and eyes." Gaby answered, following his laugh and giving him a couple of hits on his thigh.

----

It's only been an hour and a half since they started watching anime, and they were already on episode five. Gaby was very entertained, and being a total simp. Which made Oikawa desperate, even though he knew he didn't have to get jealous over a stupid 2D character. However, hearing her talk so much about each character and sometimes blurting things out in a double sense, made him want to fill that little mouth with his cock, so that she would shut up for a while.

He didn't wait long to take her by the neck, squeezing it a little to make her look into his eyes.

Tooru didn't wait long to take her by the neck, squeezing it a little to make her look into his eyes. With his other hand, he pulled Gaby up onto his lap. Still her right hand on her neck, he brought her face closer. Her lips inches away. After a few minutes, he planted her lips on hers in a hungry kiss. He loosened her hand from her throat, lowering her to her chest, squeezing one breast. Oikawa left a hard slap on Gaby's ass.

She let out a loud whimper, holding on to Tooru's broad shoulders.

"Please, Kawa." She whispered. Feeling her heart beat slamming against her rib cage. Her whole body falling into some kind of trance of the thicker the veil of arousal clouding her brain becomes.

"Atta girl." Tooru sighed and leans back with a soft sigh falling past those plump limps and for some reason, the way he pulls the soft flesh in between his teeth easily elicits a single whimper from her throat. "Tell me what you want, come on, little cutie." He encourages her and caresses her naked thighs with his thumbs; his delicate touch drives Gaby mad to the point of insanity.

Gaby let her fingers find home in his brown curls.

"Right now, I want to suck your cock." She whispered against his plump lips, giving a short kiss.

"Then, get on your knees." Oikawa demanded, releasing the brunette's body and putting his hands on the sofa.

However, it was kinda crazy how her pussy was clenching around nothing. All because of Oikawa's dominating attitude. She was fascinated by that side of him. Gaby sighed, getting off Tooru's lap. She knelt between his legs. Oikawa opened his legs a little more and she took the elastic of the sweatpants next to the boxers, while Oikawa lifted his pelvis a little, to make it easier for her. His hard cock slammed into his abdomen, swollen and a little pre-cum spilling from the tip.

"Don't drool, pretty one." Tooru teased, placing his right hand on Gaby's cheek, caressing it with his thumb. "I can see how you want me, princess." He removed his hand from her, laying it back on the couch.

Gaby tensed her thighs, rubbing it together in a attempt to alleviate the arousal pooling in her panties.

She took his dick, beginning to slowly masturbating it, without taking her eyes off the brunette. Gaby gave Tooru a flirtatious smile before running her tongue from the base to the tip of it, giving circle movements. Her free hand rested on his thigh as Oikawa hisses with a sharp breath. With a hand against the base, pulling back to work him with a few strokes and stopping only when his cock is sticky and slick with her spit. Tooru rolls his eyes when she pump him shallowly, sliding her toungue over the dripping slit. "Feels good, Daddy?"

Oikawa's face darkens scarily fast, fingers digging into her hair at the new title for him. It sparks something, spreading like wildfire in his brown eyes and Gaby knew she have him right where she wanted. Gaby had never called him like that, but the heat she's feeling at the moments haves her overwhelming.

Tooru's fingers dig loosely into her hair but his other hand guides his cock towards her mouth, slapping it over her lips. "Open up."

A small smile appears on Gaby's lips before she opens her mouth, totally happy to receive his thick cock in her mouth. Shocks of pleasure invaded her body, from head to toe, at the authority dripping from his tone.

Gaby twitch with every thrust, choking on a few gags whenever he strays too deep and nudges the back of her throat. She lowered her hands down Oikawa's thighs, bringing them to her own lap. Over the robe, she pressed against her clit, desperate for friction in that area. "Don't you dare," Oikawa grinds out, fucking in hard, "Put those hands where I can see them."

Tooru drew back, leaving his gentle side for a brutal one, using her throat at his own pleasure, taking some of the air out of her lungs. It was hard to keep her eyes open, especially when he's adamant on rolling to the back of her skull as he keep using her throat.

"There you go, pretty girl." He grunts, burying himself in your mouth. Gaby swallow, choking on a gag as he forces himself deeper, until her lips stretch around the base and your nose brushes in his pelvis.

Gaby tries to hold herself steady– curling her finger toes against the floor at her thighs where he'd told her to keep them. Tooru chuckle her every cry–prying open her jaw with the thick shape of his cock but the moans are what finally send him over the edge.

"That's it. Take it." Oikawa barks, panting. His hands curls around her head, hair tight in his grip when he wrenches it back and he leans his back against the sofa. "Don't you dare spill any of it, do you hear me?"

Gaby's mouth is too full to speak but she go lax in response, looking up at him with teary eyes and a nod. After a few more thrust he spills, burying as deep as possible. He pulses hot over her tongue, deep enough for her to miss the taste but when Oikawa pulls out in rapid succession it's to let the rest splatter over her face.

She keeped her tongue out obediently, eyes falling shut when Tooru finally finishes with a shaky groan. He pulls away a few seconds later, chest heaving lightly as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants, wipping away the mess painted across Gaby's face. "My good girl." He breathes, smiling softly.

"Is that all you got, Daddy?" Gaby whispered, raising an eyebrow. She wanted Oikawa to give his all.

Tooru laughed at her rhetorical question. He took her again by her neck, bringing their faces closer. Their lips totally brushing. "Do you still want me to fuck you?" He said on hers lips, before kissing her roughly, but quickly. "What a cockhungry slut, aren't ya?"

He signals Gaby with his fingers to get up and he do the same. His hands went to rest on her waist, beginning to leave wet kisses down her neck and shoulders. As she could, he helped her to remove her robe, leaving only her panties. One of his hands traveled over the brunette's breasts, ending up in her underwear. Two of his fingers slid down her wet folds, making gentle circles on her clit and then going to her entrance, giving a little bit of pressure. After a couple of seconds, he inserted one of his fingers first, causing Gaby to squirm a bit, feeling Oikawa's bare chest on her back.

"Kawa–" Gaby whimpered softly.

He teases the spot– doesn't stop his slow, coaxing motions. "So wet," he purrs into her ear, huffing out a laugh when her moans reverberates through him, "So tight, too."

"Tooru!" The plea of his name is mindless, wrung free from the overwhelming need that cascades over Gaby. Oikawa holds her steady, even when her entire body trembles and threatens to drop when he finally slips another finger into her dripping cunt, still giving wet kisses down her neck.

"I'm gonna stuff this pretty little cunt of yours to the brim with my cock." He whispered, curling his fingers. Gaby's legs are already shaking, half of the time it would have normally taken and he supposes that's all he needs to know.

"Pretty please, Daddy!" She grinds out, a bitter noise spilling from your clenched teeth. It was embarrassing how quickly he drags her to the edge, pumping his fingers a few more testing times just to feel way her cunt tightens, walls fluttering around them when prods at the spot that makes her eyes sting. "Fuck me senseless."

"So I want you lying on the dining room table, legs spread for me." Tooru ordered, his voice completely husky as he spanked her ass, after removing his fingers from inside her. Those two fingers, he brought them to his mouth, moaning at the taste of her. "You taste so good, pretty one."

Gaby just nodded, to finish removing her panties and go quickly to the dining room table, leaning on it and spread her legs. She could feel the wetness of it on her thighs, which made her feel somewhat embarrassed. Oikawa took off the sweatpants along with the boxers, leaving them next to the other clothes that were on the floor. He walked slowly towards her, a somewhat sadistic smile on his lips.

Tooru took her right leg, resting it on his shoulder. From her place, he could see her entire body. That body that drove him completely crazy. He could have her like this every day and never get tired. It was like an addiction, but a good one. Oikawa with his left hand aligned the tip of her cock at her entrance while his right hand squeezed the thigh of the leg that was raised, burying his fingers a little. With a single thrust, he thrust inside her. The tight walls of her pussy, gently molded to her size. If not because he had self-control, he would bealready thrusting into her instantly without mercy; however, he doesn't want to hurt her either.

"Kawa-" She moaned softly again.

"Don't worry, baby." He leans in to give her kisses all over her face, ending on her lips. "I'll take good care of you." He groans against her ear at the tighness of her dripping cunt.

She cling to him as best as she can, a warbled moan of Oikawa as he begins rolling his hips into her, nipping at her ear. He pushes himself up, pounding into the wet heat with a force that makes her yelp, scrambling and raking nails down his back. The red welts rise immediately, tearing a groan free from him.

"So good, Tooru." She whined, high and heedy. Her head falls back, neck craning when she push up to meet him, rolling her hips as best as she can. Oikawa drops to her shoulder, panting hot into her ear as faint groans slip free and go straight to your core. "So good- I can't."

He loves seeing her become a nonsense babbling mess from his cock. Gaby let out a row of moans and little cries, telling Tooru how much he's stretching her insides.

"You're doing so well, taking my fat cock like a good girl. You got this." He praise her, bringing his left hand to her cunt, to give gentle caresses in circles to her neglected clit.

With every inch, she felt herself growing more and more breathless; the feeling of being stuffed so full completely overwhelming her and while she's trying her best to keep her noises and cries down, Oikawa cannot get himself to look away from the spot where their bodies are connecting.

"I wanna completely destroy this cute cunt of yours, pretty girl." He grunts pulling his cock out a little bit to observe her juices coating his skin in the prettiest shades of white.

Gaby sob at his words, pleasure from the stretch sending her into a haze of pure ecstacy and she found herself struggling to form a proper sentence. It takes him a couple of seconds to bottoming her out again. Both of them groaning and moaning at the feeling of Oikawa's cock grazing the entrance of her womb and Gaby can't help but clench around him even more.

Tooru's thrust are harsh, they're rough and fast; with every single snap of his hips, he elicits a loud moan and makes sure to graze the entrance to her womb all while nudging their noses; a gesture so soft compared to the harshness of his fucking.

"That's it, baby." He smiles and looks at her. "Be a good girl and cum all over my cock, hm? I know you can do it." And by the time those words manage to reach her foggy brain. she's already arching her back as a huge wake of pleasure hits Gaby in the best yet worst way possible.

However, Oikawa is just as close to finish too.

His movemenst have grown sloppier, less controlled; his moans louder, grunts deeper, growls heavier. He's barely talking to her anymore as the pleasure takes over every single one of his nerves and his cock starts throbbing more and more with every single one of his thrust.

"Daddy, please cum inside of me. I need you to breed me." Her words are slurred and barely coherent.

She tries her best to watch the way his cheeks blush even harder as he bites hips lips, spurting his creamy cum inside of her tight walls with a row of soft grunts and heavy breaths.

"You were so good for me, baby." He said, massaging the skin of her thighs in his big hands. Later he pulls out, watching how a little bit of his cum comes out of her cunt.

He starts caressing her tummy softly, his calloused hands giving goosebumps over Gaby's skin and easily fills her chest with that certain warmth.

"What if we take a shower together?" Gaby offered with a tired smile.

Oikawa gave her a soft kiss, nodding after pulling away from her.

[savannahsdrabbles]

Ocean Song - Part 10/11

Rating: PG

notes: 2.9k words. A03 link can be found here. I can’t believe I’m almost done with this fic! <3 Big thanks again to my beta-readers, @starfiretheninja and @rusty-wayfarer. 

ALSO! I posted character references of the boys here, and @bakedbananners over on Twitter drew them! <33 I may or may not have cried. <3 OK! Now on with the fic! :D

***

“Ay-puh-ril, nicetumeetchu Dawn-ee, Cay-see. I Don-ee, Cay-see, Ahpril nicetumeetchu,” the turtle hummed softly under his breath, still rolling the words over and over in his mouth. He squinted, brown eyes straining to focus in the dim light as he used a claw to trace abstract patterns in the dirt. It had been at least thirty minutes since Casey’s departure, and with their main light source being the soft glow from April’s phone, the two unlikely comrades had settled into a quiet reverie beneath the pine trees. “Don Dun Dunntello Don Dondon Dawn-ee… April?”

“Yes, Donnie?” April glanced down at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her teeth working impatiently on her already cracked and sore lower lip. When the screen only blinked back a warning of low battery, she tucked the device into her pocket and drew her knees to her chest. It was getting chilly out – hopefully Casey was doing okay without his hoodie.

“Cay-see go?”

“Mh-hm. Remember? Casey went to rent a boat, and then you’re going to guide us so that we can take you home.” She cast her eyes sideways, watching as Donnie furrowed his brow and bobbed his head to show he was listening. “Right now we’re just waiting until he texts and says that the boat is ready.”

“Tehks?”

“Yup,” April tapped the phone-shaped outlined in her pocket, then bit her lip and mumbled a silent prayer that he didn’t ask for a further explanation of technology and digital communication – she’d had a difficult enough time explaining that to her grandparents. “Until then, we’ve just got to wait here.”

The turtle tilted his head and squinted at her pocket for a long moment, his expression clearly saying that he had more questions, but finally nodded and turned back to his doodles. “Bōto o matsu.”

April blinked.

Bōto o… wait for boat? Okay, so not only had he understood, but he understood enough to respond in another language. Cool, cool, okay.

She brought a hand to the bridge of her nose and squeezed, trying to ignore the migraine that had been building behind her eyes over the past few hours. How in the …? She knew he’d used a few Japanese phrases when they had first spoken in the lab, and logically she knew that living in Japan that would be the language he was most exposed to – but in the same vein, none of this made any logical sense. What kind of person could imagine a multilingual, anthropomorphic mutant turtle, accept that as fact, and then continue about their day?

Before her brain could wander any farther down that trail of thought– what next? Aliens? Superheroes? - April felt her phone buzz and heaved a grateful sigh of relief. “That should be Casey – time to get moving!”

The turtle perked up, his head swiveling like a periscope to search the surrounding shadows. “Where-?”

His question was cut off as April surged to her feet, her hands carefully grasping and guiding him upwards alongside her. The turtle yelped in surprise and grabbed for handfuls of her top once upright, wobbling slightly as he tried to balance himself.  

“Here – Casey’s hoodie is going to help keep you covered, okay?” April reached down to grab the jacket from the ground, bundled it up in her hands and then gestured for the turtle to raise his arms. He did so reluctantly, then yelped once more as she quickly pulled the material over his head and began to guide his arms through the fabric. “There likely won’t be too many people out at the marina on a school night, but we want to make sure we don’t draw any extra attention – plus there’s plenty of security cameras out there and it’ll be impossible to completely avoid those.”

“Mmmf!” Was Donnie’s only response, his arms starting to pinwheel frantically before April caught hold of them. A stretch of the hoodie’s neckline had gotten caught on the turtle’s snout, partially obscuring his eyes and totally covering his mouth. April adjusted the fabric with a chuckle, freeing the creature from his polyester prison, and then took a step back to examine her work.

Even compared to her relatively average five and a half feet, Donatello was short – if she had to guess, he probably wasn’t any taller than four foot ten. Considering that the hoodie he now wore was made to fit Casey’s nearly six foot self, it was hard not to see the turtle as a toddler playing dress up in his parents’ clothing. The way that the fabric hung and draped over his body made him look even smaller, if that were possible; should he sit down, he might get lost amongst the apparel. Were it not for the glinting metal collar around his neck and the look of growing discomfort on his face, April would have thought he looked ready to curl up in bed.

“Hmmm,” Donnie hummed pensively, clearly not feeling the comfort that April was perceiving. The turtle gave his fabric-obscured hands a hard shake, eyes wide and increasingly nervous noises emanating from his mouth as he rapidly rotated his limbs in search of his missing appendages.

April giggled and started to step forward to help him roll up the sleeves, but then held back when a quiet voice in her mind chided. Let’s see if he can figure this out.

Donnie glanced up with a piteous whine, looking as if he had her thoughts and realized she wasn’t coming to his rescue, then hesitated. April could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he stared at her rolled sleeves and free hands, then turned back to his own predicament. After a brief moment of thought and one more comparative look, the turtle raised an arm to his mouth and bit down on the sleeve, then gently tugged until his hand slowly slipped free.

“Hoo-dee!” he chirped triumphantly, holding up his free hand and waving it in delight.

“Right, you’re wearing a hoodie!” April grinned, then reached around the turtle to guide the hood over the back of his head. He didn’t seem to mind now, attention already turning back to the process of freeing his second hand. “We’d better keep the hood up for now, but look at us! Just two normal teens on the beach!”

The turtle’s eyes lit up at her last word. He dropped his sleeve in surprise, then turned to point a claw in the direction Casey had disappeared. “Beach!”

“Yup! Now let’s get you home!”

***

Donnie’s heart pounded as he stumbled along behind April, her warm hand holding him steady as the ground beneath them slowly transitioned from poky greens to the tan, shifting sands he knew so well. He’d been able to hear the ocean for a while now, but the moment they pushed through the last bushes and stepped out onto the beach - suddenly everything felt real. The cool, moist air, the promise of water and food and Home and his family – he was so close!

With every step towards the illuminated Human structures in the distance, he felt the urge building in his system – the desire to break loose from April’s gentle guidance and take off running towards the ocean. A familiar tugging sensation pulled incessantly at the back of his mind, calling out in the voices of Father and his brothers.

“This way, Clever, this way! Almost there! Almost Home!”

Their voices were like a siren’s song, beckoning him closer and closer with promises of healing and reassurances that he would soon be safe in their arms.

A breathless half-sob caught in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before trilling in response, his voice echoing out across the beach. “Wait for me; I’m coming! I’ll be Home soon!”

No sooner had the call left his mouth when April shook his hand gently, calling his attention back to the situation before them. He sighed and slowly drug his eyes away from the shore. As much as he wanted to release April’s hand and take off running… something told him that he needed to wait and stay with the two Humans. They had gotten him this far, and if the danger was imminent enough that he and Brothers were going to have to relocate…

“It looks like there’s a few people out on the marina, but I think we’re good,” April spoke in a low voice as she gestured towards the fast-approaching structures with her free hand. Two rows of buildings stood tall amongst the rolling dunes, serving as a departure from the otherwise untouched beach. Sand made way for a long wooden platform that served as the buildings’ foundations and stretched almost a mile out into the ocean. “My dad brought me down to the pier a few times when we first moved to Osaka - it’s pretty fun during the daytime. There’s a few shops and restaurants out on the board walk, and during the summer they host a carnival.”

Donnie nodded absently, his focus already drifting back out across the ocean. “Casey?”

“We’re almost to him. His text said that he was under the –”

A long, shrill whistle suddenly cut through the air, followed by a loud ‘YO!’ that snapped Donnie back to attention. He startled slightly, the sharp movement shaking the hood from his head and sending it sliding down his shoulders.

April heaved a sigh.

“And that would be the Master of Subtlety himself.” Even without looking, Donnie could imagine the way that the girl’s eyes were rolling and her shoulders slouching. He’d seen that exasperated look – and worn it – whenever his brothers did something foolish. With a sigh and a tug on his hand, April headed towards a shadow-y area tucked under the edge of the pier. “Come on.”

The turtle nodded obediently, his pace quickening and heart fluttering they moved closer towards the shoreline.

***

“You know, the point of texting was supposed to be that we kept quiet,” April called out as they approached the pier. She squinted, searching the shadows until they slowly began to give way to separate, more distinct shapes. “You could have at least waited until we got closer before you let the whole beach know where you were.”

“I wanted to make sure that you guys found me,” Casey replied, his voice already sounding smug– clearly a sign that he was up to something. There was a soft grunt as he pushed against one of the pier’s support beams, and then he and the boat slid out of the shadows.

April opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed her eyes. The headache from earlier was returning. “Casey – what in the world is that?”

“Oh, you mean this beauty?” the teenage boy patted the side of the boat, an impish grin on his face, and then threw out his arms as the tiny, rust-ridden vehicle slowly began to tip towards the right. He flailed wildly for a moment, water splashing as the boat continued to rock from side to side, then finally froze with arms outstretched in a T-pose. “Er – she’ll be much more steady once you guys get in and help distribute the weight.”

“Mh-hm.” April cocked an eyebrow. “I can deal with unsteady; I’m more concerned about getting tetanus, or that thing sinking the second I put one foot in.”

“Yeah, well apparently it’s pretty expensive to rent a nice boat to go ‘somewhere in the ocean’ and come back ‘at some point’,” Casey stuck his tongue out, but kept his arms outstretched. “The shop owner guy looked like he wanted to kick me out more than anything, but I managed to make a deal with him. Apparently they were planning to send this boat to the scrap yard tomorrow morning, so the Jonesman – that’s me - offered to take it off of their hands and save them a trip.” Casey moved to fold his arms across his chest, but then threw them out once more as the boat rolled beneath him. “I was – oh boy, one sec – thinking of naming it the O’Neilmobile, but with that attitude I just might have to reconsider.”

“How will I ever deal with such a loss?”

“I guess Jonesmobile: The Squeakquel will have to do.”

“Casey.”

“It’s Captain Casey now.”

“I’m not calling you that– do you think that thing will stay afloat with all of us? Maybe we should rethink our plans –”

Suddenly and without warning, Donatello dropped April’s hand and surged forward.

“Don-?”

The turtle stumbled heavily as he cleared last few feet of sand, clearly too frantic to think out his steps, but the moment his claws touched foam something seemed to click inside.

“Water – look! Water-water-home!” Breathless words and excited sounds spilled from his lips like a pot bubbling over, coming quick and fast and soon dissolving into a symphony of hums and noises that April could only think to call laughter. He tipped his head back, eyes closed and body shaking with the sounds as he kicked and frolicked through the surf, sending salt water splashing in every direction. “Beach-water-Family-water-water-Home!”

April cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, half afraid that his mirth would attract unwanted attention, but Casey waved the thought off.

“Just… give him a minute,” he smiled, eyes following the turtle as he danced amongst the waves. “I think he needs this.”

April hesitated, but she couldn’t help the smile growing on her face, nor the relieved laugh she gave as Donnie turned towards to them. He grinned widely, eyes shimmering, and then flopped backwards into the water.

“Look! Look water!” His chest heaved as he laughed breathlessly. “Water!”

“I’m happy for you, Bud,” Casey said, nudging the edge of the pier once more so that the boat drifted closer. “We’re so close to getting you home.”

The turtle nodded and laughed again, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. Rivulets of water ran down either side of his face, congregating under his chin and then dripping down to the already soaked hoodie that now hung heavily from his shoulders. He gave a slight shake of his head, sending droplets skittering across the water’s surface, and then lifted a hand to pat his chest. “Donnie.”

Casey cocked his head, eyes sliding to April. “Donnie?”

“It’s short for Donatello,” she smiled and held out her hand towards the turtle. He stood and took it gratefully, eyes gleaming with renewed energy and more life than ever before. With a little tug, she drew him alongside her and stepped closer to the boat. “He needed a special name.”

“Kind of a hard name for someone just learning English,” Casey leaned down to grab a few items from the bottom of the boat and then shifted backwards to give them more room. “I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘Bill’ or ‘Casey Junior’.”

“Pfft - as if,” April held the edge of the boat steady as Donnie scrambled over the side, then plopped himself by Casey’s feet. When the boat didn’t immediately capsize under the weight of a second passenger, she pulled herself in and settled on the bench seat opposite Casey. Now that she was actually in the boat, tucked beside the two guys she was on this adventure with… it suddenly didn’t seem so cruddy. No, this boat was just right for what they needed. “Hey – did you get life vests?”

Casey turned to face the motor and straddled his seat, the movement causing the boat to rock dangerously. “Naw, we’ll be in the boat the whole time, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plus you and Donnie can swim.”

“Wait – can you not?”

“And off we go!”

The engine took a moment to roll over as Casey tugged on the pull cord, but eventually started with a loud roar that sent Donnie scrambling for safety against April’s legs. She reached down and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then they were off! The little boat began to power forward at a steady speed – not as fast as she would have liked, but enough so that April’s hair began to tangle around her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, spitting a strand out of her mouth and suddenly wishing that she’d brought a hair tie.

“Here – take this!” Casey called over the sound of the engine. April opened one eye, then grinned when she saw what Casey offering. “Coach said I’m only allowed to keep my hair long if I pull it back during practice, so I always have extra rubber bands on hand!”

“Thanks!” April took the present gratefully and quickly pulled her hair back into a tight bun. Now that that problem was solved… “By the way – did you end up grabbing food like you mentioned?”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he bent down to grab the objects he’d moved to make room for Donnie. “Oh, yeah! I hit up the McDonald’s on the board walk right before I went to the boat place. I asked the cashier what she suggested for my ‘pet turtle’ and she said suggested a head of lettuce. They were out of that at the moment though, so…” He passed a brown paper sack to April, and then extended a small box to the turtle. “Donnie, can you say ‘chicken nuggets?’”

“Chih nuddets.”

[elisende]

Sharp Teeth

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion Rating: E Words: 2500

Halsin joins Langoth's camp and Astarion isn't thrilled about it. But Halsin and the ranger's mutual fascination is unyielding and undeniable.

There was an energy in the air, the sort of charge that preceded a night of more than mere revelry.  It would be a night of abandon.  Halsin could sense it.  

The young elf, Langoth--he allowed himself the pleasure of saying the name aloud, under his breath, like a cantrip, or a prayer--had chosen a fair site for his camp by the water’s edge.  

The mere fact of it reminded him of the youth, his wounded eyes and battle-hardened hands.  He saw him in the neatly constructed fire at the heart of the camp, and in the fallen beech trunk by the water, where he knew Langoth must sit most nights, at the mercy of his grim thoughts, twisting the ring on his finger and staring sightlessly into the rushing stream.   In many ways, he was not so different from Ketheric, before he was lost to the darkness.

Halsin found a place for himself away from the gathering crowd of anarchic tieflings, who danced and frisked about the camp like so many red flames.

It was not long before the pale elf, Langoth’s vampiric companion, sauntered over.  He wore a slashed velvet doublet and a crooked smile.  Halsin had seen through his facade in the Shattered Sanctum quickly enough, and his hunch had been confirmed when the pale elf had dug his dripping fangs into an acolyte’s throat.  He wouldn’t soon forget that sight.

“Well met,” the vampire spawn said.  “Decided to join us, have you?  I imagine you’ll be quite a favorite in the adventuring party.  For a time, at least.”  

Halsin laughed a laugh which was not a laugh at all, but a species of growl.  “Oh, I’m merely here for advice.  Ketheric Thorm and I have a bit of unfinished business.”

“That is rather your thing, isn’t it?  ‘Unfinished business’?” said the pale elf.  So he knew, or had guessed, about Halsin’s connection with Langoth.  He couldn’t imagine that Langoth had told his companion about their night together, about the ritual, the wild game.  But he did seem the type to sniff these things out.

When he didn’t rise to his bait, the vampire spawn shifted tactics.  “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?  Langoth is an eminently capable ranger, but somewhat lacking in social graces.  Raised by wolves, you know,” he said, showing his teeth.  “I am Astarion.”

“I have a higher opinion of wolves than of most civilized people,” Halsin said.  “At least they’re plain in their intentions.”

Astarion laughed, a silky, practiced sound.  “You’re going to be great fun, I can just tell.”

“‘Fun’ is not a word that’s usually ascribed to me.”  He folded his arms in front of his chest.  The vampire spawn attacked and dodged like a phase spider, impossible to pin down.

“Oh, I have a hard time believing that.  You must join me for a sip of wine this evening.  My ego will be terribly crushed if you decline,” Astarion said.  “Really, you mustn't make me beg.  It would be unseemly.”

“Actually, you seem the sort that might enjoy that,” Halsin said.  

“See, you are fun, even if you are old enough to be my grandsire,” Astarion smirked.  “Well, I’ll see you tonight, then.”  And he swept away on a waft of sweet violet perfume before Halsin could correct him.

Halsin heaved a weary sigh, glancing over as Langoth’s comrades gathered near the fire.  His heart seemed to treble in size as he expectantly looked around for Langoth, who was never far from his companions.  But he was not yet here.  Perhaps still palavering with Zevlor, then.  He tried to quash his disappointment and failed.  Now that he’d found Langoth--now that they had found each other--every moment spent apart felt somehow wasted.  He felt like a lovesick adolescent again, as ridiculous as that was--for as Astarion had so mordantly noted, he was old enough to be the elf’s grandfather.

Night fell and as the chaotic energy built up and the din of the crowd grew with the flames of the bonfire, Halsin’s gaze lifted to the waning moon that ascended over the horizon.  Despite all that had happened, and his many mistakes, he was not often prone to regrets, to dwelling on the past.  Perhaps this too came with his advancing age.  He had never felt so apart before, not just from the others laughing and dancing and drinking and singing by the fire.  Apart from himself.  If he could not end Ketheric’s curse, now and finally, what had his long life amounted to?  What was its purpose?

And then Langoth was beside him, as though summoned by magic.  Firelight danced in his eyes.  A smile on his lips.  Warmth that Halsin could lose himself in, forgetting all doubt and darkness.  This one, he could protect: and that would be enough.  He felt it in his marrow.

Langoth’s lips found his and there was a sudden rush of heat, like dry grass catching flame.  His mouth was sweet; Halsin lost himself in the kiss, running a hand through the younger elf’s chestnut hair, taking in his scent.  Then pulling his hips closer, dangerously close.

When they finally broke away, Langoth asked, “Why are you standing over here alone in the dark?”

He might have lied, to save his pride.  But they were past such things.  “I was waiting for you,” he said.  

The other elf paused, drew his breath.  “You should join the celebration, you know.  This is as much your victory as the tieflings’.  The Emerald Grove is safe now.”

“Nowhere is safe, while the shadow Ketheric unleashed still remains.”  He failed to keep the darkness from his voice.  He didn’t wish to think of Ketheric but felt bound to warn Langoth.  If their path led there--to Moonrise Towers--there was much that was needful to know.  

But not tonight.  “Come to me later,” he said, taking Langoth’s wrist and looking into his eyes.  They shone with starlight.  The young elf leaned closer, lips brushing Halsin’s ear, his warm breath sighing on Halsin’s neck, heating his blood anew.

“I don’t want to wait until later,” Langoth whispered.  The youth’s impatience, his hunger and urgency, reminded him of their stolen moments in the grove the day before.  How Langoth had bitten his arm to keep from crying out and giving them away, even drawing blood when Halsin had taken him with too much force.  The memory of it quickened his breath.

“Where?” Halsin asked, glancing toward the increasingly wild revels, the glowing heart of the camp aroar with gaiety.  Langoth took his hand and pulled him further into the darkness, under the hush of the pines.  His tread was soft; the elf knew his woodcraft.  

They stopped in a small clearing where a stone table stood under a gnarled oak.  A place of sacrifice which he recognized from many years ago.  

“This once was consecrated to Corellon, in the days when our ancestors ruled the Sword Coast,” he said, examining the runes on the table.  Magic had preserved them against the elements, but even the enchantments were now wearing away.  Only a slight tingle of it remained under his fingertips.

“Ancient history,” Langoth teased, leaping onto the table with ease.  Despite all, he was still, at least in part, a heedless youth given to demonstrations of skill.

“That’s blasphemy,” Halsin said with a wry smile.  

“You’ve not seen anything yet.”  And Langoth knelt on the table, dipping his head just slightly to give Halsin a long, sensuous kiss.  His lips trailed down Halsin’s throat, finding the gap at the top of his tunic, where he lapped the base of his neck with lingering, greedy strokes of his tongue.  Halsin groaned.

Frustrated by the druid’s tunic and straps, Langoth impatiently pulled at the buckles, swearing in filthy Baldurian street slang when they defied him.  “Here is a riddle,” Halsin said.  “How does a wood elf of noble bearing learn to curse like a Heapside cutpurse?”

Langoth’s mouth was otherwise occupied, however; he was now unbuckling Halsin’s baldric with his teeth.  He hissed when they caught his skin instead.  “Careful,” he murmured.  But the elf had succeeded and was pulling away his clothes, eager hands gliding over the bare skin beneath.  

Finally, Halsin stood bare-chested and Langoth paused to admire him, his fingers tracing the fading vine tattoos that extended from his face down the length of his torso, coiling just below the line of his breeches.  Halsin shivered under his touch, the rough callus of the elf’s bow finger chastising his flesh.

“So many scars,” Langoth said.  He touched a long-healed wound that ran horizontally across Halsin’s ribs, the slash of a wyvern’s claws.  Now he knelt to kiss along the scar even as his hand wandered down the front of Halsin’s breeches.  Halsin moaned as Langoth palmed his cock through the rough weave of the linen.  He was already so hard.  He reminded himself to take things slower, this time, even as every part of him wanted to pull Langoth from the stone slab and take him against the rough bark of the ancient oak tree.  

Reluctantly, he pulled back from the ranger’s touch and kissed him again on the mouth, slowly but forcefully, insisting.  Now his hands found the front of the youth’s jerkin and began to unlace it--it had to be said, with more deftness, if more slowly.  His skin beneath was hot--nearly feverish, even--and soft, unblemished save by the few silvery scars Halsin had noticed before on his back.  He wondered about those, as he wondered about the Baldurian slang, about the fear that lived in his gaze, and about the strange affliction that the elf and his companions were battling.  

“Most of your scars are invisible, aren’t they?” he whispered into Langoth’s ear.  The youth stilled like a stalked deer; even his breath seemed to stop.  He half-expected Langoth to pull away from him, to slip off into the darkness and leave Halsin for the party, or for another partner without uncomfortable questions about the past, or just for solitude with the ghosts of his past.

But instead, the ranger drew him into another kiss, this one desperate, rough, wild.  He slid forward on the table, hand finding Halsin’s cock again, this time underneath his breeches.  He gripped the base and achingly slowly stroked along his shaft to pause at the tip.  Halsin felt almost weak with desire, leaning forward against the table for support with a moan.

“You want me,” Langoth said.  It was not a question. 

“You know that I do,” Halsin gasped.  The youth was kneeling above him, skin aglow as marble in the moonlight.  He tugged down Langoth’s leather breeches, exposing the top of his pelvis, the angles of his hip bones.  He kissed there roughly, making him sigh.  His hands cupped the elf’s firm round ass and pulled him closer to the edge before unlacing the rest of the breeches to expose his manhood.

Remembering his own admonition to move slowly, Halsin bowed over the youth’s cock and ran his lips over the crown before beginning to tease it with his tongue.  Langoth was salty and tasted so slightly of the leather he wore.  Above him, the elf groaned, taking Halsin’s hair in his fists and pulling involuntarily as the druid took more of him into his mouth.  

Halsin’s self imposed restraint was more than matched by the youth’s eagerness as he arched his hips to force himself deeper and deeper into Halsin’s mouth.  When the youth moaned, a high and helpless sound, the druid knew he was close to coming, that Langoth was pushing himself to the edge and beyond it as hard and fast as he could.  

With a shudder in his lean hips, a sigh, Langoth’s climax overtook them, filling Halsin’s throat with salty nectar.  He coughed, but the youth was beyond noticing.  He’d fallen back from his knees to rest, gasping, on the stone slab, eyes fixed to the stars above.  A tear suspended from the corner of one eye, and while it could have simply been provoked by their exertions the druid knew better.  He wiped it away with his thumb and held the youth’s face in his hand for a time.

Finally, Langoth looked back to him, and his eyes were unreadable.  “Take me here,” he said.  “Don’t be gentle, this time.”  And he slipped off the ceremonial table to bend over it, resting his cheek against the hewn stone.  

His back was long and rippled with muscles and the faint tracery of the silver scars.  In defiance of the elf’s words, Halsin ran his fingers slowly down the length of it, pausing when he came to his buttocks where the creamy tops of his cheeks were barely exposed by his breeches.  He eased them down, hands shaking.  He’d never wanted him more than this moment and he wished to stretch it out as long as he could.  He pressed himself to the elf’s ass, relishing the answering cry, the way he rose to push against Halsin’s cock.  He parted his cheeks and slid his finger inside of him, two, thrusting faster, and when he began to use more force the elf gasped in pleasure.  This was what he wanted.

He could restrain himself no longer.  Langoth cried out as he entered him, even though the first dip of his hips was shallow.  The youth was so tight.  Halsin adjusted the angle of his hips, so as not to hurt him but Langoth leaned forward to take him deeper.  “Harder,” he demanded, his voice thick.  

Halsin gathered himself for a deeper thrust, moving forcefully but still slowly, mindful not to hurt the elf in spite of his demands.  Yet he was fighting his own impulses at the same time.  He wanted to take the youth with the same abandon as in the rite they had performed under the eyes of another, wilder god, those decades ago.  That night imposed itself on the present and his hips seemed to move of their own accord.  Langoth grunted as his tempo increased, as the druid rutted him, heedless as an animal.  

A moan escaped Halsin’s lips as he sank himself up to hilt into the youth writhing and groaning below him.  Distantly, he heard the youth call his name, begging him.  He grasped Langoth’s hips, taking him deeper than ever before even as his climax blindsided him, crashing over him like a wave.  He finished with a muffled cry as he came inside the youth, bowing his head over him and releasing a shuddering breath.

Below him, Langoth was still but for his breathing.  Halsin rested his head on the ranger’s back as he caught his own breath, only to see the power of their joining had activated some of the ancient magic on the stone table, making the runes glow.  This was the moment, he realized--under the stars’ vigil, under the eyes of the gods themselves, by dint of ancient rite--that their bond had been forever sealed.

[themilky-way]

kinship {loki odinson}

gif credit: go-fandom-imagines

pairing: loki odinson x female! reader

summary: loki never thought that he’d defend, let alone protect, a midgardian. but after seeing you, in your most vulnerable states, he made it his mission to look after you. loosely based on this song. 

warnings: some hints of violence (nothing too graphic), blood, and like one bad word. also when the characters say “kid” to you, it’s nothing age wise it’s just something i feel they’d call you yk.

notes: i’m in my loki feels ya’ll know the drill i just miss this man. also ik some of u ladies don’t have long hair i’m sorry! i’m having a little trouble making the words fit and stuff so please give me tips on how to improve!

the first time it happened was when you were sleeping. he never meant to walk in on your frail body, curled up in a ball in the over sized armchair tony had installed in the common room. your feet were tucked in neatly beneath you, with one hand splayed out across your stomach while the other held a book, your thumb keeping it partially open. your head had lolled down so it could rest on the arm rest, and while at first it had been rather uncomfortable, you let your eyes naturally droop so they could rest. 

it had been the middle of the night, roughly around two in the morning, when loki decided to walk around the tower. he did this every so often, finding some sort of comfort from the peace and quiet the darkness held, but he had never encountered anybody else. he walked down the hall and past every avenger’s room, until he reached the living room. originally, his plan was to stand at the wide glass window the room displayed and simply watch the city lights glitter in all sorts of patterns. after that, he would go to the terrace for a bit, just enough for the sun to come up and the sky to change to warmer colors. but he didn’t do that tonight. why? well, he didn’t really know the answer to that himself. 

when he entered the room, he came across your sleeping form. he noticed the way in which you nestled your body further down the fur of the cushion and curled yourself into your body just a little more to stop goosebumps from forming. you were cold, your body heat not enough to cover the sharp temperatures that reached you. loki, taking note of this, took off his cardigan, and walked over to where you were sleeping. he straightened the delicate fabric before he laid the emerald green sweater over your frame. he tucked it in where he felt it might fall over with a random movement, careful to not dig his fingers in too deeply so it would hurt or startle you. next, he took the liberty to carefully retract the open book from your hand to place it on the coffee table, and then grabbed more of his cardigan so it covered your relaxed hand and tummy. he drew back a few steps, to examine his work. he felt it was mediocre, not as good as it might’ve been if steve or wanda had done it, but it was enough for you to rest. 

loki was not a man who grasped the concept of emotional connections very well. he was someone who didn’t have a feel for intimacy, who despised physical touch, who didn’t know anything about feelings other than hatred or malice. but here he was, peering down at your frail body, in one of its most fragile states that could possibly exist, and felt something. he didn’t know what it was, and he knew he didn’t want to find out, but it would reach him. the feeling, along with the desire, to get to know you in more intricate ways. 

he walked over to the couch a couple of feet to the right of where you were and took a seat, folding his left leg onto the soft, plush seat while the other one remained planted on the marbled floor. he had a view of the window, like he originally planned to study, but he found his attention drifting to another sight. he observed how quietly you breathed, the soft exhales that your nose released every few seconds. after a while, he noticed how your lips parted slightly and began to exhale with it instead. the soft breaths turned louder, and your snores were now evident to him. they weren’t loud, barely even there, and only lasted a minute or two before they returned to regular breathing. 

he also noticed how the hair on top of your head was beginning to disperse from its neat place. the soft, baby hairs that adorned the sides of your forehead lost their place and decided to scavenge for another, and the more you adjusted your head, the more they ruffled. he also saw the way your body slightly trembled from the sudden gusts of wind the air conditioner would send, and how you finally embraced his clothing. it sent a thrill through loki, the thought, the image of you breathing in his scent that lingered on his sweater, how you seemed to like it and do it so mindlessly. it empowered him. and so he stayed there until dawn. 

the next time loki encountered you in a similar state was two weeks later. tony had sent him to fetch you for a mission that was risky, and he had felt bad to include you since you had put in some vacation hours. loki, although he would never openly admit to anyone nor himself, had conducted some research on you since he first saw you. he knew you were stressed, deeply longing some time off to unwind and focus on yourself, and he seemed almost hesitant to follow through with stark’s request. nevertheless, he started his way up to your room, following the route to the elevator, and cutting some sharp corners to finally reach your corridor. as he was strolling down it, however, he caught the hints of different patternized beats and melodies coming from the end of it. he kept his ears perked in case he heard someone else, brows furrowed in confusion, but as he kept his pace and finally reached the outside of your door, he discovered the music was comingfrom you. he felt weird, intruding into your personal space like this, but in his defense, stark had sent him. just before he could reach up and properly knock, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. not sufficient enough for you to see him but enough for him to see you. he watched your body, a little too intently for his liking, flow to the rythmn of the upbeat song. your hands reaching up to run them through your hair while your hips swayed from side to side. your right foot would step out and then you’d bring your left one in, and then did the opposite. 

all in all, it was an innocent dance, you were releasing tension that you were holding in for a while, and you were happy. loki saw that, in your face to be more exact. his eyes first reached your own, which were closed and nowhere near recognizing his broad figure in your doorway. he scanned your nose, how your nostrils would flare harder than usual whenever you released a longer breath. he compared it to when he first saw you sleeping in the common room, and he couldn’t decide which event he liked better. he finally reached your lips, and he had to physically fight his newfound urges and stop himself from busting in and connecting them to his own. they were delicate, soft, and slightly chapped. it was evident that you picked at the skin on your bottom one because he noticed a small red patch on one side of your bottom lip. he couldn’t look away, and he felt awful, thinking of you in such intimate ways while you were unbeknownst of his presence. but what made him almost completely lose his mind was the moment in which you tucked that very same lip, the red, almost raw, portion of it between your teeth. he let his eyes run over the action, and felt an all too familiar emotion grow in the pit of his stomach, one that he never imagined you’d be the one to elicit.

he’d had enough. he’d seen enough. without thinking twice on it, loki barged into your bedroom, steel door hitting the wall with a strong bang, and spoke with authority. 

“stark needs you for a mission. he wants you onboard in ten.” you spun around to face him, a sharp gasp escaping your throat and shocked expression washing over your features. he had to mask his worry and regret of scaring you like this with indifference. he needed to do it like this. he couldn’t risk you turning too far and opening your oh so beautiful eyes only to find him creepily concentrating on you. 

“loki, what the hell,” you breathed. “you fucking scared me!” 

he tried to not let the way you had voiced that get to him. you were startled, frightened, and that mixed with the energy you were dancing with was sure to leave you gasping. but loki had seen you, twice now, in some of your purest forms. so the way you softly huffed his name, even for different reasons, made his mind run wild and his heart jump hurdles. he managed to keep his face stilled, though, and rolled his eyes and told you not to be such a wuss and to shut your music off. you walked over and turned the knob of your stereo down, complying. it took almost every cell in his body to keep from muttering out incoherent apologies, pulling you in close and stroking your ruffled hair. but he didn’t do that. 

“yeah yeah. whatever. can you tell tony that i can’t go? i’m taking some days off and i-”

“he made it clear to me that you’re presence is crucial to the outcome of this mission,” he interrupted, his voice low. you rolled your eyes and started to frantically assemble your go bag, thanking loki for the message. he wanted to stay and watch you do this too, but all he did was let out a hum of acceptance and walk out your door. as he walked through the corridors and seemingly endless turns to leave your dormitory, he replayed everything he saw, and a small smile curved its way onto his own lips. and for the entirety of the next week that you were gone, he kept doing it. 

you, with much reluctance, had hopped on the plane with steve, bucky, tony, and natasha. it was a hard mission, but you had been trained by one of the fiercest assassins that the world ever saw. so, alongside natasha, you fought almost effortlessly. but regardless of how effective you and your team performed, the enemy was also calculated. he managed to trick you into believing he was alone, that he was finishing this fight by himself. but when bucky was holding the sinister man down, he got hit with a strong blow to his shoulder. the metal of the bullet would have clashed against the metal of his own arm, but this bullet, according to the dying words of the man, was made especially for bucky. he was wounded, and tony flew to get him off the field as quickly as he could. natasha took hold of the man and held him down one last time, and as more of his soldiers appeared all around you, you and steve attacked them. you gave your everything, landing nasty blows in every direction. steve threw his shield to pin an adversary to the side of a car as he pinned you down on the ground, and you reached over to take it out of the man and shifted so you were able to see behind you. as soon as you did, you connected the blue and red colored metal to the face of another enemy. the last one. the team, from wherever they were standing, relaxed a little and looked around at all the casualties. tony and natasha had managed to take care of the leader, and steve looked over at you from his protective stance and grinned proudly. but his smile abruptly disappeared when he saw you fall back down. he noticed a small pool of blood collecting around your torso and rushed to your aid. 

“tony, (y/n)’s wounded too! get the jet and get her inside. i’ll get bucky,” steve said hurriedly. tony landed shortly after and told friday to bring the jet down to your coordinates. steve looked down at you and let his hand caress the top of your head lightly before speaking again. “hang in there, kid, we’ll take care of you.” 

you tried to make out his figure leave, and eventually run, to where bucky was lying to bring him aboard. you couldn’t really see him, though, because your vision was beginning to blur and your ears had started to ring. you attempted to keep your eyes open to see tony press a tech device to your wound and you winced, eyes squeezing shut tightly. all at once, you stopped hearing tony’s scrambled words, muscles around your face and body going completely numb. then, you succumbed into full darkness and so did everyone and everything around you.

the next time you opened your eyes, it was to a dimly lit operating room. your visual acuity quickly adjusted as your eyes kept bouncing around the different light bulbs, and then you turned your head to the right. you saw bucky peacefully sleeping, a patch adorning the top of his shoulder and an iv scaling up to the actual bag containing the medicine. you then raised your head a little to see that your clothes had been changed to some medical shorts and an oversized t-shirt. you knew then that it had been wanda who had helped, seeing as the band displayed on the shirt was her favorite. next, you turned to the left, and this time, you saw the back of a male figure. after careful study and concentration, you realized it was bruce. 

“bruce?” you voice came out in a hoarse and cracked whisper. but it was loud enough for bruce to turn around and gleam at you. 

“(y/n)! i see you’re awake, can i get you anything?” he took off his glasses and set them down next to some documents and walked over to you. you nodded weakly and shakily asked for some water, making an effort to get up from the bed but stopped after you felt a sharp pain take over the left side of your abdomen. you winced and let out a painful groan, and bruce instantly took a hold of your arm as his other hand reached around your back to steady you.

“careful, you’re hurt.”

“what happened, exactly?” you wondered, voice starting to come back to normal. by now, you were properly seated along the edge of the bed with your feet unsteadily planted on the ground. once bruce saw that you were stable enough to not fall, he allowed himself to pour water from a pitcher into a glass that had both been on your side table. you took the glass into your shaky hands and brought the rim up to your lips, relishing the hydration it brought to your dry mouth. you swigged it rather quickly, and bruce took it back and set it down before answering your question. 

“well, you were on a mission, from what steve tells me. they brought you and bucky to me as soon as they could. you were stabbed, kiddo. i patched you up and took out your iv about an hour ago.”

your lips parted and let your jaw open a little in a surprised motion. you had a knife, at one point in your fight, plunged into you? you didn’t even feel anything. your head started to throb now that you were fully awake, and you could feel the pain more clearly. 

“you’re strong, you know,” his voice brought you back to him. it was reassuring, gentle, just like you knew bruce was. “all of you guys are.” 

you smiled at him and reached out to touch his hand, and squeezing it lightly. he pulled you into a hug, and you accepted it kindly, acknowledging the help and most importantly the presence of one of your best friends. when you pulled back, he saw you grimace as another shot of pain spread across your abdomen. he asked you if you desired to go to your room, and after you said yes, he was quick in his efforts to completely stand you up and off the bed. his hand was holding one of yours, and the other was on your back like before, but just as you were beginning to walk, another voice spoke. 

“i can take you. if you allow me.” 

your eyes diverted in the direction of the voice it came from, and you landed on a pair of sharp blue orbs. stopping dead in your tracks, you found your mouth becoming dry again. his eyes pierced into your own, and you couldn’t find any word combination that would possibly make sense. you looked at bruce, as did he, and you found yourself nodding. you turned back to see loki all stood up and heading over to where you were standing. since bruce was holding you from the right, loki let his hand slip around your waist on the other side, a few goosebumps forming around your body at the contact. the other hand, reached to take yours in his and held it strongly. you started walking again, at first slowly, but once you got the hang of your own legs again, it became much easier for the both of you.

the walk to your room was silent, but not awkward. he grip on your waist was sturdy, but gentle and whenever you let out huffs of pain, he would stop and allow you to rest for a while. eventually, you reached your door, and he let go of your hand to open it. 

“may i?” loki inquired. you simply nodded again, and he led you in. when you saw the arrangement of pillows and blankets that awaited your arrival, it took you aback. you looked at him before asking, “did you do this?”

he stared at you for a few seconds, enough time for you to feel butterflies crawling around, and nodded.

during your entire stay at the tower, you couldn’t really deny the way you saw loki. it wasn’t anything deep, just a simple, growing attraction towards him. when you first arrived, loki was being detained after literally destroying the entire city, so his attitude towards you was hostile. but you found him handsome, despite his rude behavior, and his snappy comments and witty banter made the emotion within you much stronger. over time, you tried your best to be nice to him, to really get to know him unlike the majority of your team. no matter how many times loki shut you out of his life, you didn’t take it personal and continued to be your happy and cheery self when you saw him. 

over time, loki stopped fighting to keep you out, and he switched from being rude to acting annoyed. you viewed this as a win and didn’t delve too much into far more personal problems to keep him from shutting you out again. despite you promptly sticking to this ideology, you couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t speak to you as often as he did these past few weeks. it was strange, but then again, it’s loki, you thought.

god, but now, he does this? watches you for who knows how long while you’re in the middle of a drug-induced trance? offers to take you to your room, which apparently he’s arranged to fit your commodity, and holds you so perfectly? it’s all too much for you, the way he makes you feel, but even though you try to push the thought away, it bombards once more. 

one of your legs gives out, and you almost, almost fall to the ground. his free hand reached over to grab the other side of your hip to hold you, tightly squeezing the soft muscle that was there. he stilled, watching you intently to see if you were alright and looking for any signs of severe pain. you felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up, fully knowing that if you did, you’d give out again. instead, you looked down at your oversized clothes and focused on the design.

“let me get you to bed, so you can rest. can i do that?” his tone was caring, nursing even. his voice was silky, intoxicating your senses more than you liked. you wanted him to talk forever and listen to him rant about endless topics that were running through his mind. but right now your well being prevented you from doing that so you simply muttered, “please.”

he moved so he was behind you, his hands moving along the fabric of your clothes so they didn’t separate from your waist. he pushed you gently and guided you to your side of the bed, eventually letting his hands slide off gradually from your sides as you sat. you missed his touch as soon as it left. and he missed touching you.

as you scooted up so your head could lay on the soft, cushioned pillow, loki removed some other ones that he deemed unnecessary to your comfort. then, he grabbed the folded blanket he placed at the foot of the bed and unfolded it over you. immediately you nuzzled into it and took in the scent that it gave off, and you could’ve sworn that you recognized it. loki noticed it, and he let his mind wander to the night he took care of you sleeping, how you’d done the same exact thing to the smell of his cardigan. it sent him into a frenzy, stomach erupting into fluttering butterflies, hands turning clammy, and pinkish heat coloring his cheeks. how was it possible, he thought, that you made him feel like this. he didn’t notice how long he had observed you for, his eyes raking up your body and wishing nothing more than to embrace it once and for all. to feel the warmth of your hugs, and to ease your pain, even if it would be for a brief moment. his eyes continued traveling up towards you face, and when he finally reached your eyes, he found yours already looking at him. 

“you can take a seat over there if you’d like?” you questioned him. you nudged with your head at a sofa that was behind him, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked back to look at it. he turned back around and asked, “you want me to stay?”

“yeah, i kinda do. you don’t have to obviously,” you stopped mid sentence as a new wave of pain rushed through, grimacing. as it passed, you continued, “but it’d be nice.”

of course he was going to stay. he knew he didn’t have to, but he wanted to. he wanted to take care of you, nurse you in every possible way he could so you could dance animatedly again. so you could fall asleep in the common room, reading your favorite novel and cuddle his sweater. and he wanted you. so without much hesitation this time, he offered you a warm, kind smile and made his way to the sofa and settled in. you, on the other hand, adjusted so your legs were folded but your back was still on the bed to avoid hurting yourself. it was an uncomfortable position, but you weren’t one to complain. you stayed there looking at the ceiling and counted the little glow in the dark stars that tony had glued for you. all the while you could feel a strong gaze look at you, but you were too afraid to say something or even look over. about ten minutes passed with utter silence, the sounds of breaths being exhaled exempt. 

“you could’ve died.” 

“we all could’ve.”

“yes, but you could’ve died.” he regretted enhancing the word as soon as he spoke it. had he said too much? gone too far? he saw you shift your focus from the stars to his face, confusion written all over it. he didn’t look away, though, as embarrassing as it was for him.

“i thought you didn’t like me,” you remarked. loki scoffed and rolled his eyes before returning them toward you. “this has nothing to do with liking you, human.”

you chuckled at this, the rumbling of your chest sending another low shot of pain. “then what does it have to do with?”

he turned away and focused on your tiny bookshelf in the corner of your dorm instead. “taking care of you,” he answered faintly. at this, you’re features relaxed. the smallest smile began to tug at your lips, eyes beginning to sparkle with some sort of affection towards the god.

“ah, so you like me.” 

loki laughed lightly at your reply, but mostly to hide the nervousness his voice might convey if he spoke. he found it stunning; how you effortlessly made him feel worthy of kinship. another, shorter, ripple of silence took over, but you were the one to break it this time. 

“can you take care of me?” the words hit him like a punch in the stomach, and almost instantly his mind started running wild once more. every phrase that appeared to be coherent was not anymore. he looked at you, thinking about how innocently you had voiced your words, how genuine you felt them. 

“loki?”

“hm?” he pretended not to have heard you, pretended to be lost in some other thought that wasn’t you. 

“can you stay here tonight?” 

never in his life did loki imagine he’d be watching over an injured midgardian. he also never imagined for them to be you. “of course, i don’t mind,” he swiftly responded. he mentally scolded himself for answering so fast and at how needy he probably sounded. nevertheless, any thought of embarrassment disappeared from his mind when you wholeheartedly smiled at him. you thanked him, and let your eyes close naturally. your head had relaxed completely against the pillow and your arms were entangled in the fuzzy blanket. you spoke, for one last time that night, and groggily whimpered, “g’night, loki.”

for the third time, loki was studying yet another one of your most vulnerable forms. it left him at ease knowing that nothing could ever harm you as long as he was there. and he was starting to realize in much greater depth, that there was nothing in this broken world that he wouldn’t do for you. to make you happy; to keep you safe. when he finally replied, it was mainly for him to hear it only.

“g’night, (y/n).”

[shannapage]

Stellae: Chapter 1

Author: Shanna Page

Status: Incomplete / Ongoing 

Genre: Fantasy / Sci-Fi

Synopsis: The gods do not exist. Divine intervention is only imagined by those too cowardly to act. No, we only have ourselves in this word. Ourselves, the weapons we wield and the evil we choose to tolerate.

Eline Ritvak is the most renowned thief in all three Kingdoms. Mentored by the infamous criminal, Nightshade, she lives by a strict code of honor seemingly at odds with her chosen profession.When the Prince of Nitenbeir requests Eline steal a sword for him, she is curious enough to accept on his terms. What happens next sends Eline’s world tumbling into chaos, and she finds herself on the run from the most feared man on the continent. All she has is a sword, a know-it-all bookkeeper and the realization that perhaps, they are not alone in this world.      

Word Count: 5,782

Author’s Note:  As part of my fundraising initiative on my other blog for BLM, I stated that if a certain number was reached, I would release the first chapter of my unpublished (non-fanfic) novel. Since this amount was reached, here it is! This is only the first chapter and I do not plan on releasing more on this website. Know that this fight is not over and we still have tons of work to do. If you can still donate, please do so. If you’re living in the US, ensure you’re registered to vote at TurboVote.Org. 

More information about this world / my novel can be found here on my page.

Those who frequented the gambling dens of Kebasa had a saying they told to anyone who would listen; the most fruitful of grounds often bore the most teeth.

The saying was old, stemming from the antewalk, an animal known equally for its migratory patterns as a distinct lack of self-preservation. There was a game amongst children named after the animal in which the smallest of them attempted to cross a field before they could be tagged by the larger, faster children. If they were tagged, they were considered out.

The game was cruel by nature but then again, most things were cruel by nature. Every summer, the antewalk migrated to their northern breeding grounds through the Beir Mountains. If any place could be described as ‘having teeth,’ the Beir range was a natural contender.

Spiders as large as a person’s fist dangled from shoddy webs, draped across caves which housed the fearsome gargantum – a predator as feared as death itself, whose jaws could easily snap a cougar in half. Snakes the size of tree trunks hid in the canopy above before dropping ten feet to feast upon unsuspecting prey. Despite all these horrors, the antewalk continued to make the same journey.

To them, the potential goal of their breeding ground was worth the likely cost.

Much as those who frequented gamblers row viewed the potential for riches to be worth its likely cost – bankruptcy.

It might be worth noting that the antewalk were nearly extinct.

Regardless, the gambling dens of Kebasa drew a multitude of customers, not only its regulars who sought to turn copens to riches. The dens were famous across the vast continent of Prima – and even further than that, drawing attention past the Farephen Sea. Merchants, nobles, and paupers alike were drawn to the gamble and in this way, the dens were amongst the most diverse places on the continent.

Lounged in a seat, one leg crossed over the other, Eline considered the Merryweather laid out before her.

Contrary to its name, the Merryweather was neither a cheerful place, nor was it exposed to the elements. As far as gambling dens went, the interior was much of what Eline had come to expect – crooked tables, crooked people, and an overwhelming stench of spilled ale in between.

At a first glance, she counted seven people in the crowd who did not belong. They were easy enough to spot, once one knew what to look for. Although Eline herself was not Kebasan, she blended in as though she might have been. Her gaze lingered near the bar, assessing a lone, pockmarked youth who glanced longingly at the door. Likely, someone had said this would be the easiest way to escape in case of an emergency.

Utter nonsense. Once a person entered the den, the only way out was further in.

Uncrossing both legs, Eline returned to her game. Casually, she tossed a gold coin on the table.

“Jinn,” she declared.

Murmurs of outrage rippled around the table – to Eline’s right a man growled, not bothering to conceal his state of frustration. The move was a provocative one, to be sure. Scarab was a game designed to confuse its own players, an eclectic combination of dice, cards, and boldfaced lying. It took several years to become proficient but luckily, Eline had learned the game from the best.

Jinn was a give me command. A player could use it only once per game, but once declared, all players were required to increase their bet or exit the table. By using it when she did, Eline had raised the game not by a copen – which was traditional – but by an entire talir. Such riches would have bought the very table they sat at.

“That’s not fair,” grumbled the man to her right. He spoke around the toothpick which dangled precariously from his lip. “Copen’s the norm.”

“It may be the norm, by my move wasn’t illegal.” Eline spoke with great boredom, as though the entire conversation were below her pay grade. “What’s the matter, Revani? Not good for the money?”

The man beside her started, not having expected her to know him by name.

Eline was no fool. She did careful research before deciding to enter any given situation; this was the main way she ensured she only walked into situations she could walk away of. Not everyone was as careful as Eline, but then, not everyone was as successful as her either.

Revani scowled and removed his toothpick. Much to Eline’s utter disgust, he placed this on the table beside her palm.

“I’m in,” he declared, tossing down a gold coin.

The hair beneath his cap could have been either blonde or brown; it was difficult to tell through its matted mess. The clothing he wore gave nothing away either; plain, loose fabric designed to resist the sweltering heat of Kebasa. The only hint of his heritage were his eyes, which were blue. Only certain parts of the southern Kingdom of Sur claimed such a color. 

After much hemming and hawing, another two players tossed their coins down. The rest pushed back their chairs, scraping the floorboards, and casting annoyed glances at Eline.

Beneath her crimson hood, she tried not to smile.

Only four players remained: a more manageable number. A lucky number as well, according to Surnese superstition. Eline was not the type who subscribed to good fortune, but when she did, she found the Surnese gods to be most obliging.

Stretching, Revani extended both arms overhead to reveal a wrist tattoo. Foolish of him to flash his crew’s sign so carelessly since it was not the same colors as those of the Merryweather. Men had gotten killed for less than gambling on other crews’ turfs.

He was not the only player Eline knew at the table. To her left was a man who called himself Lorcin and directly across from them were two called Copper and Jo. Those two seemed to move as a team, one of them shifting when the other went still, and vice versa. Eline wondered if they behaved like this always, or only when they felt they were cornered.

Eline was the only woman at the table, although this was to be expected. Many nations and Kingdoms underestimated womenkind. Eline supposed she could not be perturbed by this fact, since it meant those same people underestimated her, as well.

In her line of work, underestimation was a valuable tool.

Lowering her gaze, Eline looked once more her cards. They were not terrible, but neither were they a winning hand. This fact did not bother her since the prize Eline sought was not a singular card game. No, her quarry was far more valuable than that.

Thumbing the sharp edge of her deck, Eline sighed. “Are you going to take your turn, Jo?” she asked, looking up. “Or will we all die of old age before you realize you’ve lost.”

A low chuckle rose from the other men at the table.

Jo – a man whose mustache was the most defining thing about him – scowled. “Don’t know why you’re trying to rush things, ma’am. Scarab is a game best savored, not swallowed.” He paused, allowing a smirk. “I’d imagine you know a thing or two about that.”

How clever; a reference to Eline’s assumed sexuality. She’d dealt with far worse jibes in her lifetime though and so, she ignored him and awaited his next move.

Copper nearly choked at the remark, forcing Jo to reach over and pound him on the back. Eline tried not roll her eyes at this, although it was hard.

Ko women were not known for being overly revealing and this was Eline’s chosen character for the night. Beneath her bright cloak, she wore simple merchant’s clothing from Ko, a distant Kingdom across the Farephen sea.

It was one of Eline’s preferred disguises; it was infinitely easier to pretend she hailed from Ko than say, one of the northern lands, like Dagmari. Dagmari women all had skin the color of the bone underneath, with copper-colored hair distinctive on every continent. Their accent alone was difficult to emulate, full of clipped consonants and elongated vowels.

At least Ko women had dark hair, even if their eyes were known to be golden, not silver. No Kingdom on any continent was known for silver eyes though, and so in this, Eline remained squarely out of luck.

Whenever someone asked about the unusual color, Eline would brush it aside and claim bastard parentage. Likely this was true, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

Exhaling loudly, Jo reached for the dice.

His resulting throw was not favorable and based on his sour expression, Eline assumed his cards to be no good. Ruling him out as competition, she moved her attention to the other men at the table.

Twisting around in his seat, Revani flagged a passing waitress. “More ale,” he instructed before turning back. Glancing in Eline’s direction, he offered a wicked smile. “What about you, Lady? Care to partake?”

The word Lady was mocking and belied his nation of origin. Although the three Kingdoms of Prima were monarchies, Kebasa was run by wealthy merchants, Nitenbeir was militaristic and only Sur had retained the notion of nobility – in more ways than one.

The use of Lady indicated Revani hailed from the south, although none of their renowned education seemed to have stuck. From where she was sitting, Eline could see his whole cards, and they were not particularly good ones.

“Thank you, but no,” she declined. “I prefer to keep my wits about me when I play.”

Revani’s upper lip curled. “Ah. Womanly concerns.”

“I’d imagine so,” Eline said. “As one must first possess wit in order to be concerned about losing it.”

Revani’s cheeks reddened, his entire expression darkening as Lorcin released a chuckle. He had been the quietest at the table so far and thus, was the only one Eline judged as true competition.

Shooting her a bemused look, Lorcin crossed both his feet at the ankles. Based solely on appearance, Eline assumed him to be from either Nitenbeir or Dagmari. Both were northern Kingdoms, so the complexions were similar, although neither wore their hair in the way Lorcin did – long and unbound, hung nearly to his waist.

He kept one hand beneath the table to conceal his cards from view; the other lay casually beside his untouched wine. Smart, to blend in while keeping his head clear.

Copper laughed, the joke just catching up to him. “A clever tongue,” he said, reaching to pick up his dice. “That’s a shame. Isn’t it a pity when women are clever?”

“It is at that.” Revani accepted the flagon he had ordered. “Clever women always get themselves into trouble.”

Outwardly, Eline betrayed no reaction but inwardly, she burned. What she would not give to have these men know her true wrath; to let them know exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

She knew if these men only knew her other name – if anyone in this establishment so much as whispered the word Umbra – it would make them shake in her boots and yet, here she sat and pretended to smile. To reveal who she was meant losing the upper hand, and in Scarab – as in life – having the upper hand was tantamount to winning.

“Indeed,” Eline said. “Clever women often make men uncomfortable. I imagine those without beauty are often discomforted to find it has a voice.”

Lorcin burst out into laughter as Revani’s scowl deepened.

Eline imagined that under different circumstances, she might have been able to enjoy Lorcin’s presence – a pity then, that her line of work failed to leave time for meaningful connections.

In the corner of her gaze, she saw the door to the Merryweather swing inward, allowing balmy, summer air to escape from the street.

“Shut the door!” someone called from the closest table.

All the gambling dens of Kebasa were housed belowground. This allowed for the coolest environment, since Kebasa was a desert city half as often as it was mountainous. A narrow staircase at the front led to the street; a purposeful decision to restrict entrance or exit.

In Ko, humidity and high waters made underground enclosures impossible. There, gambling dens were tied together like rafts, bobbing in sea at the ends of each dock. Eline disliked these types of places; the small amount of time she had spent in Ko was enough for her to realize she despised the ocean.

With the entrance of Kebasa’s heat came an actual person – several people actually, each one climbing down from the mouth of the alley. This was not unusual; men rarely chose to gamble alone. What was unusual was the way they all gripped the balustrade, as though uncertain whether the stairs could support all their weight.

Eline hid her smile. Make that ten men in the Merryweather who did not belong.

At least the first two men tried to blend in. They wore breathable fabric paired with the colorful vests preferred by Kebasa’s working class. Of course, most Kebasans wouldn’t wear such attire to a gambling den. Bright clothing was how one got noticed; it ensured one’s memorability and most who visited the dens preferred to remain anonymous.

The last man through the door didn’t even bother with a vest, though. His back stayed straight as he entered, steadily scanning the premises with an air of disgust. His distinguished sideburns marked him as a high-ranking citizen of Nitenbeir, as did the thin sword he had buckled around his waist. A rapier, much preferred amongst the dueling sort of men. Eline had always found the weapon rather silly, preferring instead the flexibility of her short sword.

It was the scar though, burnt into the side of his neck, which revealed who he was.

As far as legends went, General Marksam was known across the whole continent. He had been captured in his youth by Dagmari forces, held for twenty days and twenty nights until he escaped by fashioning a knife from his spoon to kill two guards through the door of his cell. That had been years ago, but the man’s name remained feared across Prima.

Nitenbeir nobility was strange; they dressed in severe cuts and sharp lines, as though to emulate their method of thinking. It was surprising to see one Nitenbeiran in a gambling den, let alone two, but Eline had been certain Marksam would appear tonight.

It was rumored the General had a fondness for gambling, which was something his Kingdom frowned upon – at least they did in theory. It was the Nitenbeir way to present no external weakness, but to privately indulge if they wished. Whenever Marksam traveled, he was known to clean out a tavern or two.

The Merryweather had a reputation as the highest of stakes, the most varied clientele, and a mostly discrete owner – for the right price, of course. Travelers had recently swelled Kebasa’s town limits for the summer solstice festival; Marksam was merely one amongst the many. It was the perfect opportunity for him to slip away, get his gambling fix and return before he was noticed missing.

Their group were stopped just inside the entrance, searched, and ordered to hand over their weapons. Marksam looked as though he argued with the bouncer, pointing at something on his chest which might have been a medal. He should have saved his breath for how much he succeeded. Eventually, Marksam handed over his sword, as Eline knew he would.

The rules of the Merryweather were simple – disarm, or don’t play.

Of course, the bouncers did need to find your weapons in order to remove them.

This was something of a game to the locals but people like Marksam were obviously unaware of the rules. It was proper in Nitenbeir for a General to wear their sword at their waist. The gesture was intended to show discipline, decorum and had absolutely no place on gambler’s row.

Swords around here came for their target in night, cloaked with darkness and ill-intent. It didn’t matter if a person showed their sword when one couldn’t be certain what they hid behind their opponent’s vest.

Shifting her weight, Eline stretched her toes against the worn pad of her boot. There were several knives concealed on her frame, since Eline had been forced to leave her short sword at home. One knife was hidden in the sole of her boot, another in its lining and a third strapped to the inside of her thigh.

The key to remaining armed in the Merryweather was to look unimportant. Marksam was obviously unaware of this lesson.

Flapping his coat out behind him, Marksam gingerly sat upon a rounded stool in the corner. His table was closer to the front than Eline’s – which meant the stakes of his table were lower and his game was considered easier. Eline assumed he would move further back over the course of the night; men like him were rarely satisfied with a cheap thrill.

His back faced the door – again, not what Eline would have done. His two comrades seemed to be smarter; they faced the only entrance, keeping careful watch on whoever walked through the door. Eline could only assume Marksam had hired them because they were more familiar with the gambling dens than he was.

Smart of him to seek out their guidance. Stupid of him not to listen.

Returning her attention to her own game, Eline scanned the table before her. While she had been distracted, Jo had backed himself into a corner. Only she, Lorcin, Revani and Copper remained as contenders.

Scowling, Jo threw his cards down to stand. “I’m out,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “May your pockets stay strong.”

Another idiom; this one easier to discern, if no longer applicable. Back when Kebasa was barely a town, trade was exchanged using gemstones as currency. The stones were so ubiquitous to its natives, legends stated they didn’t know their true value until neighbors from Nitenbeir and Sur reached them across the Imir desert. That was when Kebasa began to blossom as a Kingdom and eventually, coins came to replace gemstones as currency.

While in use though, the gemstones had been heavy and to have sturdy pockets meant you had been blessed with good fortune.

Downing the rest of his ale, Jo slammed his glass on the table and stalked towards the bar. The same pockmarked youth Eline had noticed remained slouched in its corner; Jo squeezed in beside him to order another round.

Revani added a second gold coin to the pile. “And what of that, Lady?” he asked, leaning back. “Are you good for it?”

He mimicked her words from earlier. Eyes narrowed, Eline moved to respond but before she could speak, there came a shout from the bar.

“Thief!” The pockmarked boy pointed, wide-eyed, at the door. “THIEF!”

The response around the room was instantaneous.

Jumping up from their table in the corner, both bouncers rushed towards the rickety stairs. Alertness swept through the crowd, jumping from table to table as players craned their necks to look. Many did not seem to care – they had already bet their livelihoods on the games – but many more flinched and scrambled for their purses.

Including Marksam, who instinctively clutched his right pocket – after patting it once, he exhaled and let go.

Hiding her smile, Eline returned to her cards. Fool.

“In,” she declared and added a coin.

Lorcin increased the pile without comment, throwing his dice and losing his next turn. Copper took up the dice and shook, glancing up at the ceiling before rolling a sixteen.

His smile broadened. “Reveal.”

Groaning out loud, Revani slouched in his seat.

The rules of Scarab were complicated, but the final player in any increase round had the opportunity to roll to end the game if they desired. Copper had rolled high enough to do just that, which meant the rest of the table was forced to lay down their cards.

Eline kept her face casual as Lorcin revealed his hand to be better than hers – better than anyone else at the table, including Copper, who looked a bit green as he stared.

Placing her cards down, Eline revealed her hand to be slightly lower than Lorcin’s. Revani’s was worst, but Eline had already known that before he revealed them. His cards held no coherent order, almost as though he had never played the game before, nor learned what it was. Eline idly wondered how he had gotten a seat at their table. Probably money.

“I need another drink,” declared Copper, standing up from his chair.

He wandered over to Jo, who still stood at the bar. The youth who had yelled thief was nowhere to be found, likely scared off by the events of the night.

Undisturbed by his loss, Revani spread his legs wider. “Care to play again, Lorcin? Or you, Lady?” he added, shooting Eline a smirk. “I would have the chance to redeem myself.”

Eline pushed her chair back. “Unfortunately,” she said, gathering her coins. “Redemption is not something I’m in the habit of giving.”

Scanning the den, she drew her cloak tight and wondered where to go next. There was no purpose to her cloak’s color other than to be remembered. At the end of the night, she wanted her face to be paired with this cloak in the den’s memory.

“I agree with the lady,” Lorcin said, also standing. “Best to quit while ahead.”

“Nitenbeirans.” Revani sighed and rolled his neck. “All of them the same. So meticulously practical. Very well,” he said, glancing past them to where multiple players had lined up on the wall. “Which of you wants to try their hand?”

Several rushed forward, eager to take their departed seats and Eline slipped past them, unnoticed.

The den was more crowded than when she had first entered, the dense scent of sweat and alcohol hanging low overhead. Elin scanned the room as she walked, coming to a stop beside the wooden bar. Drinks stained its surface, blending into the varnish until it seemed part of its décor.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Marksam stand from his seat. One hand splayed to the table, he questioned his players and glanced away from the entrance.

There were several halls which led from the back of the Merryweather. One of them ended in a stairwell which climbed to other floors of the building. As it was with the rest of gambler’s row, the Merryweather was not only a place in which to take bets. Its owner, Ren Drago, dabbled in various illicit activities throughout Kebasa; the main floor was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Marksam nodded at whatever his table said, turning around to disappear into the crowd. Eline’s gaze followed him to the back where he entered a hallway marked with a green arrow. Its interior was dimly lit, she could barely see his cloak whipping around the cramped corner.

Eline waited a moment, then slipped behind a group of players to remove her cloak and pull it on inside-out. The other side was dark, a coarser material not unlike that of the other gambling patrons. Lowering the hood, she moved out from the men who hid her from view.

Anyone who saw her would fail to place her as the gambler in red. Another trick from the thieves’ manual – create a memorable character, then become someone else. No one followed Eline as she moved towards the same back hall, which meant no one would remember her as the person Marksam encountered.

He was not difficult to spot once Eline reached the hall. He stood out even amongst the shadows, glancing about him with a puzzled look on his face. It seemed not even the advice of his table had been enough to locate the washroom.

Eline paused before entering, reaching out to puck a flagon of ale from a table. Adopting an intoxicated swagger, she raised the cup to her lips as she pretended to drink.

The light from a singular gas lamp dimmed when she passed, the hood of her cloak blocking out most illumination. Said lamp swung from above her, attached to the weathered ceiling; all sconces in the hall had been pilfered, their metal likely stolen and sold to melt down into wares.

Hearing Eline’s approach, Marksam turned his head. Giving her a swift once-over, he apparently decided she was harmless and lifted a hand.

“You there!” he called out. “Madam.”

As though surprised by the address, Eline stumbled for some of her ale to slosh towards the ground.

Nose wrinkled, Marksam drew back as though he could smell the imaginary alcohol on her breath. Eline noticed he didn’t seem to be drunk – at least one of the Nitenbeiran principles had rubbed off on him. It meant he would be more aware though, which made this transaction dangerous.

“Are you familiar with this establishment?” Marksam’s other palm rested upon the hilt of his rapier. “Do you happen to know where one might relieve oneself?”

“Establishment?” Laying the Ko accent on thick, Eline came to a stop. “You’re out of your depths, soldier,” she laughed, ending the word with a hiccup. “This here’s no establishment, it’s a right pigsty.”

Marksam’s eyes narrowed at the title she gave him.

Nitenbeir social hierarchy was based upon military rank. Their system was complicated – overly so, in Eline’s opinion – but based on his attire, Marksam could be identified as at least a General. Calling him a soldier was an insult; one strong enough that in Nitenbeir he wouldn’t have been remotely out of line in challenging her to a duel.

And they had the nerve to call other Kingdoms savages.

“Regardless of where you think I belong,” he said stiffly. “I would hear your response.”

Lifting her drink, Eline’s hand trembled, more ale sloshing over the rim. “You would hear my response?” she mocked, mimicking his imperious tone. “Most people just piss down that hall to the left, I guess. That’s if they even bother to – ah!” she blurted, spilling the flagon down his front.

Marksam swore and jumped back, but the damage had been done. Brownish-gold liquid dribbled down his front of his shirt, seeping to stain the white silk underneath.

“S-sorry,” Eline stuttered, blinking at him in horror.

Marksam froze for a moment, staring stunned at his shirt. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. “You… vermin,” he hissed and lunged forward.

Eline cowered away from him, her right shoulder hitting the wall as she tripped on the end of her cloak. She cut a pitiful figure in the dark of the hall, both hands lifted as Marksam reached for his sword. Here he hesitated, chest heaving while he considered the pathetic figure before him. Eline worked to make herself seem smaller, hunching both shoulders as she stared at the ground.

At last the image seemed to work, since Marksam slowly exhaled and slid his sword in its sheath.

“Bah,” he grumbled, shoving past. “Filthy urchin. Not worth my trouble.”

Eline let herself be pushed, briefly gripping his cloak to steady herself – and then he was gone, disappeared around the corner. He left not in the direction of the gambling floor, but to the left, deeper into the den in search of a washroom.

As soon as he was gone, Eline straightened.

Trying not to smile, she slipped her hand into her pocket and ran the tip of her finger along the edge of a key. Here, at last, was her true prize for the evening. The entirety of the wealth played in the front room barely held a candle to the key inside her pocket.

It was one of twenty keys distributed by King Tulen himself, the ruler and monarch of the Kingdom of Kebasa. Each key granted entrance to the most exclusive level of the summer solstice festival; the highborn, an ongoing celebration to which only twenty people could enter at one time.

Eline had a buyer who wanted a key.

What her buyer needed it for, she did not dare ask, nor did she care. Eline had a job to do and that was all that mattered. After all, she more than anyone understood people often did desperate things in desperate situations.

Marksam was one of twenty individuals who had been granted a key. Each Kingdom on the continent usually received two or three to distribute. Marksam was considered important enough in Nitenbeir that the King had sent him in his place.

While Marksam had been distracted by the drink she spilled, Eline had dipped a hand in his pocket and pilfered his key – the very same pocket he had patted when the pockmarked youth at the bar had yelled thief earlier.

Yet another thief’s trick, and a widely effective one.

When a reasonable person heard the word thief, they immediately reached to protect their valuables. Of course, if another person – say, Eline – were also watching, said person would give away where they were keeping their valuables. All it took was a little distraction to ensure Eline stole the key out from under his nose.

She made a mental note to pay Jaspin, the pockmarked youth, double tomorrow for a job well-done.

Turning around, she strode down the corridor. At the crossway she turned in the opposite direction of Marksam. It would be a while before he returned from that particular hallway. Eline had purposefully sent him in that direction, since the corridor housed the back rooms where private games were held.

If no one stabbed Marksam as soon as he entered, it would take him a while to explain his mistake. Once he did, Eline would be long gone.

Paused at what seemed like a dead end, Eline came to a stop and lowered her hood.

Glancing above, she scanned the long grate in the ceiling – another common design on gambler’s row. Although there was only one way inside the den from the street, there existed another way out from the back.

It would be inconvenient for a den’s owner to barricade themselves in, along with anyone else they wished to trap. As a precautionary measure, most buildings housed a special exit: a crawl space between the first and second floors, just large enough for a person to move through while escaping to the next alley.

Glancing over her shoulder, Eline ensured no one was watching and backed up a few steps.

Bending both legs, she leapt to grab hold of a stone jutting out from the wall. Using the smaller crevices as handholds, she swiftly climbed to reach the ceiling above. Positioning her weight evenly on all limbs, Eline reached above to loosen the grate and push.

It clattered off to one side – frozen, Eline waited, but no one seemed to have heard. Re-gripping the grate, Eline swung her legs upwards and launched herself into the hole. Once inside the crawlspace, she carefully repositioned the grate in the floor.

Crouched to the ground, Eline examined her surroundings.

The space around her was dusty, as though no one had used the corridor in quite some time. Eline suspected this was the case; Ren Drago, the owner of the Merryweather, was amongst the most feared men in Kebasa. To break a rule in his establishment usually meant you’d break something else. There were not many a man like Ren would feel the need to escape from.

Not wasting any time, Eline began to move, carefully positioning her weight so she failed to make noise. It was unlikely anyone would think to look for her here, since the actual entrance to the crawl space was on the second floor, but it was better to be careful than dead.

At the end of the tunnel, Eline pulled a knife from her boot and went to work on the grate. Twisting the screws one by one, she calculated how much time had passed since she left Marksam alone. It wouldn’t be long before he returned – if she were lucky, he wouldn’t notice the missing key until he returned to his lodgings.

Removing the final screw from the grate, Eline jiggled it free from the wall. She hesitated a moment, listening to the sounds of the alley below.

Nothing unusual.

Setting the steel grate aside, Eline leaned out of the opening to glance at the ground. Nose wrinkled, she sighed. The grate emptied into an alleyway behind a butcher shop. Scraps of days-old meat were piled below, their blood trickling slowly to join through the cobblestones.

At least the meat would offer her a soft landing. Swinging both legs aloft, Eline held her breath as she dropped down from the ledge. For most people, this would have been a difficult task, but these kinds of feats had always come easily for Eline.

Straightening from her crouch, Eline immediately strode in the opposite direction of gambler’s row. Her footsteps were muffled, thanks to special boots Eline had designed herself.

Even if the alleyway was quiet, the city around her was not – each distant yell of laughter sounded at once too far and too loud. The dense, squatted buildings forced Eline to imagine she saw shapes in the shadows.

One hand drifted towards her belt as she walked; a pointless reflex, since her short sword remained at her lodgings, but she still found it comforting.

It would have been suspicious for her to run from gambler’s row, so Eline forced herself to calmly walk on. Each muscle in her body strained against instinct, yearning to be free now that the job was complete. All that was left was dropping key in its preassigned destination, collecting her money, and washing her mind of the memory.

Eline was good at that.

She was good at forgetting what she needed to forget, unseeing what she needed to unsee. It was why she made such a good thief, as her mentor once said. Eline could compartmentalize her soul in ways few even dreamed of and even while distracted, her senses remained intact.

It was how Eline heard the moment someone turned down the alley, their footsteps echoing hers around the sound of leaking pipes. Tilting her head, she listened as she walked, her stride never breaking as she pretended not to hear.

When the footsteps were barely a pace away, she exhaled and turned, yanking a knife from her belt.

Her blade was met with another, aimed directly at her heart.

The man on the other end of the sword smiled, his face hidden by shadow. “The famous Umbra,” he said, inclining his head. “I’ve been searching for you.”

  © Shanna Page, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[august-anon]

The Tickle Monster Always Wins

Hey hey, a very happy birthday to @phantomtickles! I hope you have a great day, the prompt you sent me was so fun to write. I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): Platonic Royality

Characters (lee/ler): Ler!Patton, Lee!Roman, background Virgil and Logan

Word Count: 3,217 words

Summary: Roman really shouldn't have doubted Patton's skills as a ruthless tickle monster. He was really in for it, now.

[ao3 link]

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Patton was soft. Patton was gentle. Patton was squishy. Patton was kind.

Really, Patton was anything except adjacent with what Roman had been doing all day, which just so happened to be destroying every other side in the mind palace with tickles. Every other side, except for Patton, that was.

Which is why he was going to be the next victim.

He wanted to lure Patton into a false sense of security, so he waited until the four of them had gathered in the commons for some post-lunch quality time together, spent watching some Netflix.

“You’ve been on quite the spree today, kiddo,” Patton remarked, settling back into the cushions next to Roman, while Virgil and Logan settled on Patton’s other side. “It sounds like a lot of fun!”

Roman grinned, sensing the perfect opportunity to strike.

“Indeed,” Logan commented, “you’ve been almost as successful at destroying us as Patton is.”

Wait. What?!

Roman laughed out loud. “Patton,” he said, wheezing the name out through chuckles. “An evil tickle monster?” A fresh wave of laughter washed over him as he settled a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “Sorry, Padre, I love you, you know that, but you are no ruthless tickle monster.”

Patton raised an eyebrow in his direction as one corner of his mouth ticked up in a smirk. “Keep telling yourself that, kiddo,” he joked. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

Roman scoffed. “Is that a challenge? Sorry, Popstar, but I’m not all that scared.”

He heard Virgil snort from Patton’s other side and mutter, “Your funeral.”

Roman barely had time to furrow his brow before he was pushed onto the couch, back hitting the cushions and shirt getting pushed up as far as it could go. Patton settled his entire body weight over his legs, laying along them like it was the most comfortable thing ever (which must’ve been a weird angle for him seeing as they’d gotten tossed over Virgil and Logan’s laps), and grinning up at Roman from his position, cocking his head to the side.

“I bet,” he chirped excitedly, “that I don’t even have to really tickle you to destroy you. I bet I can have you begging for me to actually tickle you.”

Roman smirked. He doubted Patton could keep that up for long. “Still not sacred, Patty-Cake, do your worst.”

Patton’s cheerful grin shifted until it was almost predatory, shocking Roman to his core (he didn’t even know Patton could make that face!), as he said, “Oh, Ro, sweetheart, I don’t think you could handle me at my worst. Sorry, jellybean.”

Roman scoffed again, but this time it was a little less sure. “Please,” he said. “How bad could it be? You’re just a puffball of preciousness, there’s no way you could destroy a prince such as I. Perhaps Logan and Virgil are just weaker than I am.”

Patton hummed, leaning down and brushing a soft kiss against Roman’s waistline, making the muscles and skin underneath him twitch. The smirk returned. “I think I better just give you a fraction of my worst this time, how does that sound? I mean, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with my preciousness.”

Patton’s lips dragged, barely-touching, to the other side of his waist. They left a maddening tingling in their wake that left Roman holding in a gasp. He could not show weakness.

That all flew out the window when Patton pressed three more feather-light kisses against his waistline as a mirror of the other one, right on his side, a mini-sweet-spot. He couldn’t help the sharp breath he drew in through his nose. Patton’s sharp gaze immediately found his, locking him in eye contact he for some reason couldn’t escape, but made his face burn.

“Oh, Ro~,” he sang softly. “Am I winning yet?”

“Absolutely not,” Roman said haughtily, though his voice wavered slightly. “I was just… sighing. Because I was bored.”

Virgil snorted and Roman almost jumped. He’d forgotten the others were there. He didn’t dignify Virgil with a response.

“Bit of a backwards sigh there, kiddo. Anything… bothering you? Something making you a little… nervous, maybe?”

Roman cleared his throat. “Nope. Nothing.”

Patton hummed a disbelieving hum and went back to barely trailing his mouth against Roman’s skin. He pursed his lips and blew out a cool stream of air near the bottom of Roman’s ribcage, making Roman flinch. He didn’t even bother speaking to Roman that time, he just moved on while making eye contact again and chuckling lowly.

The sound sent shivers up his spine.

Roman could quickly feel his desire to tickle others beginning to fade into something a little… different. He fought to hold onto his ler mood, unwilling to be defeated. He desperately wracked his brain for teases he could use against Patton, both to throw him off his game and to keep himself in the lead.

He came up blank when Patton cut his train of thought short by giving a quick nibble to the rim of his belly button. Roman squeaked and had to hold his breath to keep to squeak from turning into a full-on squeal.

“See, Roman?” Patton cooed. “It’s really not that hard, when you get down to it. Really, it’s cute that you think you can hold out. Virgil and Logan thought so, too.”

He paused in the middle of speaking to quickly dip his tongue into Roman’s belly button and pull it back out, causing Roman to squeal out a, “Gross!” that was bordering on a giggle.

“You’ll give in soon enough, little giggle bug. They always do. Why not make it a little easier on yourself and just give in now? I might have mercy, if you do.”

Roman took a second to steady his breathing, still determined to win this thing. “You’d never get me good enough for me to need mercy anyway.”

“Your tone of voice at the beginning of this situation started out so strong,” Logan called teasingly from the other end of the couch. “I wonder what could have happened to make it sound so small and flustered.”

Roman scowled as his face burned once more, (gently) kicking at Logan. “Stay out of this, you nerd, it’s not your fight.”

“Even your skill with nicknames is starting to fail you,” Virgil mused, smirking down at him. “What ever could be causing it?”

Roman resisted the urge to squirm, as even teasing was sending tingles through his body, now. “This doesn’t concern you, Virgil.”

Patton pressed another feather-kiss on the patch of skin below Roman’s belly button before speaking, letting his lips brush against Roman’s skin with every word. “Now now, sweet tarts, there’s nothing wrong with getting a little revenge. After all the tickling you put those boys through. Targeting all of their worst tickle spots to make them wail.”

Roman couldn’t stop the whine that escaped his throat. He squirmed lightly.

Patton stopped in the middle of his tease to give him that toothy, predatory grin again. “Oh? What was that, candy button?”

“Nothing,” Roman ground out, though he wanted nothing more than to wail, stop saying that word already!

Patton’s mouth moved so his teeth could lightly nip at the tip of one of Roman’s hipbones, causing another small gasp. He shifted down and let his lips brush against the divot as he spoke, “So it had nothing to do with anything I was saying? Not even that one extra special word? Maybe I should say it again, just for you, hm?”

Roman resisted the urge to shake his head frantically, trying to push away the butterflies in his stomach by thinking about ler things. It wasn’t working. All he could think about was how ticklish Patton’s mouth felt against his skin, even when it was hardly even touching.

“Ah-tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle! Hm? Does that make you all tingly, tootsie roll? Does it make all those cute little butterflies tickle you from the inside? I bet it does!” He nipped at and around Roman’s hipbone for a few moments. “You know, you could make this all end by just asking me to tickle you real nicely. Though, since you didn’t take my offer earlier, I can’t promise that I’ll be nice while doing so.”

Roman shook his head and brought his hands up to hide his tomato-red face. He whined once more, again out of his control.

“Aww, is Ro-Ro a little flustered?” Patton fake-gasped against his pantline, sending ticklish shockwaves through his skin. “Is Ro-Ro losing his own challenge? Oh, poor sugarbean, I tried to warn you! I wonder how long you’ll last before all those begs and pleas come spilling out.~”

“They won’t,” he ground out, flinching as Patton mouthed across his pantline to nip around his other hipbone.

“I think they will,” Patton murmured between teasing touches. “Sorry, sweetpea, but no one can face me and win. After all, the tickle monster always wins.”

“I’m the tickle monster!”

“Sorry, jolly rancher, not anymore. I think you’re a little too keyed up for that now, hm? Come on, royal smiles! Can you really deny how much you’re starting to ache to be tickled? Based on your squirmy little torso and that adorably flushed face of yours, you can’t honestly deny that I’m not winning.”

Roman was barely aware of Logan and Virgil slipping out from under their bodies. They wiggled their fingers at him as they walked past to leave the room, devilish smirks and smiles overtaking their expressions. Roman squeezed his eyes shut and made a tortured noise deep in his throat.

“Gonna stop being so proud, kitkat? It’s just us now, you don’t have to save face. Just give in. You know you want to.~”

Roman didn’t even know if he could speak anymore. His body was covered in maddening tingles, desperate for a ticklish touch. His face was more vibrantly red than even his sash. He was more flustered than he thought he had ever been in his life.

But Roman was nothing if not stubborn. So he went against every self-preservation instinct he had and shook his head once more.

Patton let out a heavy breath through his nose, sending the air across his skin and making him squeal. “You know, sweet skittle, I’ve given you plenty of opportunities to give in. I think I’ve been very nice about it, actually. But you, tsk, you have been very difficult. Really, it’s rather rude.”

Oh no, Roman thought. 

Patton mouthed across his waist again before sitting up fully, and Roman had to hold in yet another whine. “Really, now, sour patch, it’s been quite a long time. Maybe I should just let you stew awhile, let you think about this. Truly, if you haven’t broken now, I wonder if you will.” Patton’s voice was light, airy, unconcerned.

He started to stand. Roman realized he was just going to leave him there, now far too deep in a lee mood for anything to save him from it. He reached out and snatched Patton’s wrist.

“Please,” he murmured.

Patton huffed at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, though Roman could see a secret smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Please what, Roman. Truly, I’ve given up, you’ve won.”

Roman threw his head back, making some sound between a groan and a whine, and forced out a, “Please, tickle me.”

Patton settled his weight down, straddling Roman’s legs again. “I see. Well, it looks like I win, then, huh, sugar snap? But allow me to remind you, I only said I could get you asking for it. I never said it would end with me tickling you.”

Roman covered his face again and whined, long and drawn out and embarrassed.

“And you’ve been so rude, should I really reward you with what you want? You’ll have to ask really nicely for me to even consider giving you any tickles, now, gigglemunch.”

Roman cursed himself for being so prideful. He knew Patton was just toying with him, just trying to key him up even more before he truly swooped in to destroy him, but he couldn’t help the desperate little thought that whispered what if he just left you like this to torture you, left you in this lee mood to suffer and tease you until you would do anything for even the smallest tickle.

He couldn’t deny that this deep in, the thought was almost appealing. But he couldn’t be that patient, today.

“Please, Patton,” he begged. “Please tickle me, I’m sorry for being so difficult, please just wreck me already, I need it. You were right, you’re the biggest tickle monster, you win, please.”

The predatory grin stretched across his face once more. “One more time for me, starburst?”

“Please tickle me, Pat, please, I’m begging you.”

Patton smirked and spidered his fingernails down the fleshy parts of Roman’s sides with barely-there touches. Roman made some sound that was a mix between a whine and a giggle.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll have a little mercy on you.”

Oh, Roman thought. This is what he meant by mercy earlier. Not going easy on the tickling, but actually tickling me. He should’ve given in sooner.

Roman, hoping to entice Patton to tickle him more, looked away and lifted his arms up, gripping onto the armrest above his head.

“Oh, how sweet of you to cooperate. Maybe you deserve a little reward for that.”

His touch got a little firmer and he wiggled his fingers around Roman’s stomach. It was finally enough to drive Roman into light giggles and he squirmed a little at the maddeningly soft touch.

“What do I have to do to get you to wreck me?” Roman cried out through his giggles.

Patton cocked his head, toying his fingers gently around Roman’s sensitive hips. “Hmmm. Say that I’m the best tickle monster that has ever and will ever exist--”

“You’re the best--”

“And,” Patton cut him off with an evil smirk, starting to skitter his nails up Roman’s ribs, “you have to tell me your absolute worst spots in the whole wide world.”

Roman clamped his mouth shut and squeezed up his face in consideration. He hated admitting weak points and, even though he wanted nothing more than for Patton to target those exact places and make him scream, it was extremely difficult for him to talk himself into actually saying it. He took a deep breath. 

“Patton, you’re the best tickle monster in the world, the best there ever has been or ever will be. Your skills are unparalleled.” He hesitated.

“Aww, you flatterer!” Patton cooed. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Roman took another deep breath, practically throwing the words up. “MyWorstSpotsAreMyArmpitsAndThighsPleaseTickleMeThere!”

Patton left one hand still slowly moving up his ribcage, while the other came up to cup his ear. “Hm? What was that? I didn’t quite catch that?”

“Armpits and thighs,” Roman ground out.

“What about them, snickers?” Patton asked cheekily.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut again and dug his nails further into the couch’s plush armrest. “They’re my… worst spots.”

“And which is absolutely worst?”

“A-armpits.”

“Thanks, kiddo! How nice of you to tell me!”

And Patton’s hand immediately redirected back down his ribs, much to Roman’s disappointment. “We’ll save that for later, hm?”

And suddenly there was squeezing at his sides and Roman finally broke into laughter, the titters left behind in the dust. Then, Patton leaned down and started kissing and nibbling playfully at his neck and ears, making nomming noises. Roman squealed through his laughter and tried to scrunch up like a turtle, but Patton’s head prevented him from any sort of protection.

“P-Pat!” He shrieked.

“Ro-Ro!” Patton mocked. “What’s wrong, I thought you wanted this?”

Roman didn’t answer, just let himself laugh. His laughter kicked up a notch when Patton started switching between kneading the slight pudge on his stomach and pinching at his hips, all while blowing tiny raspberries around his neck.

Eventually, Patton pulled back slightly and smiled down at him. “How badly do you wanna be wrecked, laffy taffy?”

Roman whine-giggled and buried his face in his arm, still not lowering them even to cover his face better. “Really bad.”

Patton scooted back on his legs so he was straddling near Roman’s knees, leaving him unable to bend them for protection. Roman gasped, both regretting and rejoicing that he’d worn shorts that day for maximum flexibility when wrecking everyone. Patton tweaked the tops of his thighs and Roman bucked with a loud shriek.

“Ooh, this is a good spot,” Patton chirped, smirking up at Roman.

He held his wiggling fingers up for Roman to see and started slowly lowering them towards his thighs. Roman tried to bounce them in anticipation, but with Patton sitting around his knees, he couldn’t make his legs budge.

“Here come the wiggly, tickly claws,~” Patton sang. “They’re coming for you, tickle bug.~”

Roman squealed even though they weren’t even touching him yet and started giggling hysterically.

“These little claws are gonna…. Getcha-getcha-getcha!”

“Pat!” Roman shrieked, watching the descending hands as they got slower and slower.

“Yes, sweetums?”

Roman made a sound akin to an audible keysmash, at which Patton actually had to pause and laugh.

“You’re too cute, sweet cheeks.”

Roman pouted at him.

“Oh, alright,” Patton teased, and his hands touched down.

Roman shrieked and immediately started cackling as Patton’s hands vibrated and squeezed and kneaded and wiggled all across and in-between his sensitive thighs. It took all of his willpower and concentration to keep his hold on the armrest and not bolt up and try to stop Patton’s hands.

Out of nowhere, Patton scooted up and buried his hands into Roman’s underarms. Roman’s eyes bulged out and he laughed harder than he can remember laughing in his whole life. He didn’t remember normal tickling ever, well, tickling this much. He was barely keeping his arms up, at this point.

It was awesome.

After tormenting his armpits for a while, Patton switched it up again. One hand reached back to torment a thigh, one hand stayed torturing his armpits, and Patton’s mouth went back to nibbling, kissing, and blowing raspberries all over his stomach, sides, and hips.

Roman was laughing so hard, there were tears of mirth streaming down his burning cheeks. His laughter went from frantic, to hysterical, to silent, and his arms came crashing down, gluing themselves to his sides.

Patton stopped. Roman panted, giggling still.

“Whaddya say, kiddo?” Patton asked cheerfully, ruthless tickle monster persona dropping instantly.

Roman giggled a little hysterically at the change. “I’d say you all were definitely right. No one beats the tickle monster that is Patton Sanders.”

Patton giggled, helping him sit up and grabbing a water bottle off the coffee table for him. “You doing alright?”

Roman grinned. “I’m doing spectacularly,” he said, before gulping down the water greedily.

“Cuddles?” Patton offered, arms open wide.

Roman’s smile softened and he snuggled down into Patton’s chest. “Cuddles,” he agreed tiredly, energy suddenly sapping out of him as soon as he connected with Patton’s warm body.

“Take a nap, almond joy, you earned it.”

Roman didn’t have to be told twice. He was out like a light within minutes, soothed quickly by Patton’s breathing and heartbeat, and the TV droning on uselessly in the background.

[bipabrena]

Because We‘re Family (Kenny-Levi centred Eruri fic) CH 11

A fic where Kenny regrets abandoning Levi and steps-up as a parent. Main characters are Levi, Kenny and Erwin. Current arc: Kenny and Levi join the Survey Corps. Read the whole thing here:

Levi vs the Survey Corps

Levi continued flying, and the soldiers didn’t give up the chase.

When he turned back to look, he realised that the blondie that seemed to be the leader wasn’t following him anymore.

… Huh? His brows creased.

He then gasped, and a second later Erwin, who came from above, slammed into his back, and sent Levi flying through a pile of crates.

Levi slid through the ground, but managed to quickly get up with a backwards roll.

Erwin closed in on him with his blades drawn.

“Get out of my way!” Levi screamed gutturally, his deranged eyes piercing Erwin as he drew his knife. Erwin tried to slash him, but Levi easily dodged back, and he knocked the blade off Erwin’s hands.

Levi swung this time. Erwin dodged back, but his cloak and the collar of his jacket had been ripped in the process.

Erwin’s eyes widened immensely as he took in his surroundings upside down. His mouth opened at the realisation that, if he had dodged back half a second too late, his throat would’ve been slit.

He upright himself and lunged at Levi again.

Two soldiers came from behind, and Levi kicked Erwin away before he could get too close, which knocked the air out of him.

Erwin gasped and doubled over. The blow was strong enough to make his legs quiver, and he fell to his knees.

Levi dodged one of the soldiers that had closed in, and managed to grab the other by the scruff and slammed him face-first to the ground.

I can’t kill these guys, he thought. Kenny said—

He groaned when feeling that all-too-familiar feeling, and instinctually dodged when a red-headed soldier threw a roundhouse kick towards his head. Levi caught his leg, then grabbed his thigh and lifted him into the air.

The soldier had been sent flying, but was quick enough to use his gear to roll and maintain his balance without falling.

Levi growled and tried to fly away again, but Erwin grabbed his arm and used it to throw Levi into the ground.

Fuck! Levi grit his teeth as he was pulled. Let me get to him, you fucking pest!

He tried to twist his arm behind his back, but despite his size, his raw strength was immense, and Erwin’s arms shook as he tried to use every ounce of his strength to subdue him.

Levi easily escaped his hold.

He kicked him away again, and fended off the other soldiers that tried to fight him. He evaded them, and clicked his tongue in irritation.

He was having a hard time trying to measure his strength, and subduing them in a way that didn’t hurt them too badly.

If it were up to him, he would’ve filled their bodies with sharp cuts and left them to bleed out, but Kenny was clear on his statement of not killing.

Besides, if it was the Survey Corps, this meant the military was involved.

He had to be careful to not overdo it.

If he just cut them in vital but non-threatening areas, like behind the knees so they couldn’t move, would that be alright?

His brows creased in a surprised groan when even more soldiers arrived.

Fuck! At this rate, I won’t be able to make it! Kenny, what the fuck have you done!?

Three soldiers rushed to him. One from above, one from the right and another from the left. Egon, the one from above, spun his body expertly as he rushed to Levi in immense speed, both blades drawn.

Levi jumped right side towards a building before he could close in. His foot landed against the wall, and he supported himself with a hand on a small window sill. He then tensed his leg and pushed himself towards the surprised soldier on the right. He wasn’t flying due to the gear, but because of the sheer strength of his leg alone.

The soldier felt a hand on his hair, and he was twisted as Levi spun his body to avoid Egon, and grabbed the hair of the soldier on the left as well. Levi flew towards the ground, and slammed both of their heads against the concrete.

Erwin’s eyes widened immensely.

Levi swiftly landed on one knee, and held Egon’s ankle when he flew past him. He gripped it tightly, and Egon screamed in pain, feeling the bone close to snapping.

Levi pulled Egon towards him, and clocked him in the nose with his elbow.

He was now out of the fight.

Levi drew his knife again, and spun it. He brought his arm to his face, showing the special engraving on the large and unusually sharp, double-edged knife.

The remaining soldiers were too terrified to move.

All of this happened too quickly—far too quickly for them to even react. It seemed that for every time they blinked, one of their comrades was forced out of the action.

Despite the incredible display of strength, the fear in his eyes was not missed by Erwin.

Levi took to flight again, and the soldiers didn’t follow.

“Move!” Erwin said as he chased. “We are soldiers, we face titans on a daily basis! We are not going to give up now!”

Some soldiers quivered and hesitated, but when they saw the remaining of their comrades move, they did so, too.

It was then that Levi gasped, and his blood ran cold when he instinctually swung his body right, and a bullet flew past him and plummeted into the building wall.

His mouth hung wide, and Erwin shared his surprise.

He looked back to find one of the previously unconscious Military Police soldiers on the rooftops with a rifle.

Levi’s heart should be racing, thumping hard against his ears.

But his instincts kicked in.

His heartrate slowed down dramatically, honing his senses and concentration. His heartbeat was so quiet one could be convinced it wasn’t beating. He blocked out the noise around him, and he heard the clicking of a hammer.

That’s when he flew towards the ground, avoiding another bullet that came from behind.

“Cease fire!” Erwin screamed. “Cease fire!”

The Military Police soldiers ignored him, and reloaded their rifles to fire again.

All Levi was trying to do was get to his dad. These people were the ones that attacked first. They wanted to take them away from their home, and now they were fighting them.

They’d done nothing wrong. The soldiers did.

All Levi wanted was to get to his dad, and they were getting in the way of that.

They wanted to kill him for it.

The fear quickly turned to seething anger.

He clenched his fists with such strength his veins popped, and pronounced wrinkles formed around his darkened eyes and brow as a furious scowl contorted on his expression.

Erwin found it highly unsettling, but he kept his cool.

He then gasped. “Wait!” he reached out to Levi, but in one second he felt a violent breeze rush past him.

One of the Military Police officers cried out as he dropped the rifle.

Levi had spun around the soldier, and in a clear, quick move he sliced the back of his knees.

The other soldier tried aiming at him again with a terrified scream, and the scream went from terrified to painful in only a second.

He fell onto the roof, unable to sustain himself with his legs.

“S-shit!” Flagon yelped.

He knew he should, but Flagon recognised he wasn’t insane enough to try to stop him.

Now they’d pissed him off.

On the other end of the Underground, Kenny had been calmly collecting the bodies of the unconscious soldiers, and piled them up on the ground. Mike was in a state of hypnagogia. He was too weak to move, but he knew he was being carried by Kenny. Not like a person, but like he were a dog, or some toy.

He carried him from the back of his shirt, and Mike’s upper body dangled, but his feet touched and dragged through the ground.

He was then thrown into the pile.

He looked up at Kenny, and found he was looking at one of the flares.

Kenny took a good look at it. Because of the flare that had been fired off in the forest, he understood this was the Survey Corps’ unique language.

Since he didn’t know where Levi was, he decided firing off a flare would be the best way to lure the soldiers to him, and with them, possibly Levi as well.

He trusted Levi’s strength implicitly. He was not worried.

But everything changed when he heard it.

He grunted in surprise, and looked in the distance when he heard a gunshot. He then gasped as his eyes widened, turning his body when hearing another.

His pupils quivered as he wondered what had transpired.

“Y… you should give up…” Mike said hoarsely and weakly.

Kenny looked down at him.

“That means… force… had to be used on your friend.”

The enjoyment of the fight ceased at once.

They were silent for an entire minute.

Kenny then took two steps forward and stiffened when three more gunshots went off in the distance. He frowned in unease.

“That… is a red flare…” Mike muttered. “That one…” he pointed to the flare gun on the ground, “is green… Green means…”

The Military Police back-up had ignored Erwin’s orders.

They said they did not answer to him, and that Levi had attacked their comrades. They’d bring him in, dead or alive.

Levi had been swiftly avoiding the soldiers’ shots. He slammed into windows and ran inside the buildings, and the soldiers had to be careful to not hurt any civilians inside. He’d throw himself in alleyways and ran through the walls instead of the concrete. And with every passing minute, Erwin grew more and more fascinated by his movements and how quick he was at reading situations and adapting accordingly.

Despite how tiny and young he seemed, this guy was truly something else.

He ordered the Military Police officers to stop shooting, that they could incapacitate him somehow else, and more importantly, to prevent hurting civilians. He kept up with Levi and observed him as best as he could. He analysed his movements and the trajectory he was choosing, until he found his opening. He shot his pistons with a heavy use of gas to catch up to Levi.

“Kit! Soren!” He looked at them.

“Yes, sir!”

The two of them spun and flew towards the Military Police officers. In an instant, they disarmed them and threw them on the ground.

While Flagon helped keep them in place, Kit grabbed two of the shackles they’d brought along, and shackled them in place.

“Sorry,” Flagon apologised sincerely, “but you weren’t listening!”

They then looked up at the flying Erwin, to see what he had up his sleeve.

He was close to Levi’s tail.

Suddenly, Levi wobbled in the air, and looked back to find Erwin behind him.

He shot Levi a small smile, and Levi’s eyes widened when he realised one of his wires had been cut off.

“Shit!” he plummeted to the ground, and shot his pistons again, trying to regain his balance.

He was trying, but with only one wire, it was difficult.

But he remembered what Kenny said about playing around with bodyweight, how to stay in-air without having your hooks attached.

Erwin at once noticed he managed to regain his balance, and grew even more amazed.

This kid was annoying, tedious and more trouble than he was worth.

But he was amazing.

He risked injuring him and drew another blade, and threw it forward. His intention was to try to sever the wire, but he failed. However, it was enough to make the wire tangle, and Levi wobbled again.

“Shiiit!” he cursed again as he plummeted, this time with no way to upright himself, and gasped in pain when he felt Erwin’s knee dig into his back. His gear clanked against Levi’s.

He wrapped an arm around Levi to hold him against him and decreased his gas usage to get lower on the ground, and when they were at a safe distance, Erwin let go of him and dug his knee into his back again, and Levi had the air knocked out of him as he landed on the ground.

“Now!” Erwin shouted, and the other soldiers quickly surrounded him and tried restraining him.

Levi writhed and growled like a wild animal. His violent writhing helped them undo his gear.

Now they had to restrain him. One of the soldiers couldn’t find the metal cuffs, so they tried to wrap a rope around his body, but they couldn’t manage to hold down Levi.

“What’s with this fucking animal!?” Soren’s voice broke.

Erwin blankly observed as five of them tried restraining him, then began kicking him repeatedly to somehow incapacitate him.

Kit tried to land a punch on Levi’s face, but Levi used his arm to protect it.

Kit cursed and held his wrist.

That hurt. It was like punching a brick.

Erwin’s eyes widened, and his expression began wavering to one of bafflement when time continued passing and they still couldn’t restrain him.

Soren sat on Levi’s back, using his full-strength to keep Levi’s arms behind his back. Kit lay on the ground, hugging Levi’s legs as tightly as he could, while Flagon slammed Levi’s head against the concrete.

Even then, he continued growling and writhing violently—it was like seeing a wild animal.

A frightened, wild animal trying to evade capture.

The image was uncanny.

Levi managed to get loose and stood up, but tripped as the soldiers pulled down his clothes until he fell again.

“What is wrong with this guy!?” Kit’s voice broke. “Stop resisting, you piece of filth! You’re just making thing harder on yourself!”

At this point, Erwin began to find humour in the situation despite his stoic expression.

He knew he shouldn’t.

But he did.

“I got it!” Soren’s voice broke as he managed to tie Levi’s legs together. “Get his torso!”

Levi was desperate. He didn’t know where Kenny was right now or what they were doing to him.

 Kenny… I can’t…

He whimpered, scared out of his mind at the possibilities.

 I won’t let you die… you swore we’d always be….

When Kit’s arm was in front of his face as he tried tying his torso, Levi recalled the first scare he had on the Underground.

When Levi was outside Silas’ clinic kicking rocks as he waited for Kenny, and that man across the street had called him.

Levi remembered the fear he felt back then as a small four-year old when the man grabbed him and wouldn’t let go of him.

He remembered his primitive response, and he didn’t give a shit about anything else.

He needed to get to Kenny now.

He opened his mouth and bit Kit’s arm as hard as he could.

Kit let out a savage scream as Levi’s jaw dug deeper into him, and the taste of iron soon spread across Levi’s mouth.

“Fuck!” Kit cried.

“What the fuck!?” Soren shrieked.

He tried pulling his arm back, but Levi wouldn’t let go. If he continued pulling back, he’d tear the flesh. His other hand let go of the rope and he tried hitting Levi. Kit whimpered in fear when Levi turned his head to the left. He could immediately tell what he was going to do.

This motherfucker was going to abruptly snap his head to the right to bite off his skin.

He gripped Levi’s hair tightly, trying his best to prevent him from moving. “Get him off me!” his voice broke. “Get him off me!”

Soren let go of Levi’s legs to rush to Kit’s aid, and that’s when Levi let go of his arm. The situation shocked everyone plenty, and they froze as Soren desperately tended to Kit’s bloodied arm.

Trails of blood ran down Levi’s mouth, and he undid the knot on his legs.

He didn’t have his gear on, but he had his legs, and that was enough for him to escape.

Levi looked to his right and found a house. He’ll smash through the window and run through the alleyway.

He still had enough energy—he could definitely climb the buildings.

An arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck.

“Stop,” Erwin said. He sucked in a breath when he felt his wrist being crushed. If Levi added a little more pressure, he was certain his ulna would snap in two. “There’s no point in resisting,” Erwin spoke hurriedly. He grimaced in pain when Levi head-butt him square in the nose, and punched him harder anyone had ever punched him in his life.

He endured the pain and held Levi’s wrist as he got away, and pulled him in. He hugged him from behind, tightening the hold to keep him in place. “We fully intend—“

Levi had enough. He took in a sharp inhale, and felt he was losing the sliver of reason he had left. He escaped the hold with a scream.

Erwin’s head snapped to the side and blood spurted in the air as Levi’s fist met his face.

“You fucking pest…” Levi growled, “Get out of my way!” he screamed like an animal as he lunged to the falling Erwin.

It felt like someone had struck his jaw with a brick. He fell back and hit his head against the concrete, and looked forward when feeling weight on top of him. Levi sat on him, and wrapped his hands around Erwin’s throat. His deranged eyes were frightening.

Erwin could feel his larynx being crushed, and he took wheezing, broken breaths. His face was cherry red, and his eyes welled up with tears.

Flagon and Timo ran to help him.

“You bastard!” Flagon screamed, rifle in hand.

He did not intend to shoot him. He simply intended to use it as a blunt weapon. Safer than a blade, he thought.

Flagon swung the butt of the rifle, and Levi let go of Erwin and leaned back, arching his back. In the second he took his surroundings upside down, he brought his arms back and turned over in a backwards roll.

On his knee, he stopped a swinging Timo behind him. He gripped his wrist and brought him close, and elbowed his stomach until he was lifted off his feet, and sprawled back.

Levi yanked at Flagon’s hair, and crushed his wrist until he let go of the rifle.

He head-butt him, and Flagon fell to the ground. He eased his knees over Flagon’s waist, and started pummelling him.

Cuts began opening across his face, until one of his eyes was swollen shut.

The murderous look in Levi’s eye was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

It wasn’t like with titans.

It brought him a different kind of terror.

Flagon’s eyes wavered when he saw a lunging Erwin, and Levi rolled away, narrowly avoiding his foot.

Levi stood up and rushed to Erwin, and yanked him by the hair. “I’m going to kill you,” he growled, a guttural growl he wouldn’t expect from a kid his size, “scum.”

He wrapped his arm around Erwin’s throat, and choked him. As he did so, he walked to Flagon, dragging Erwin’s feet with him. He kicked Flagon in the stomach until he spurted blood, and when Timo gathered enough strength to get up, he was kicked across the face, and two molars were sent flying.

With them out of the way, the only threat remaining was Erwin.

He yanked him harder by the hair and lifted him, then slammed him into the pavement. He eased his knees over his waist. He wrapped his hands around Erwin’s throat again, and began squeezing as hard as he could.

“S-stop!” Erwin squeaked hoarsely. “Just listen to me! We fully intend to take you to your friend!” he tried to yell, but all that came out was a wheeze.

The whites of Erwin’s eyes turned bloodshot.

“E… Erwin…” Flagon wheezed with blood trickling down his mouth, crawling to the rifle.

To hell with capturing him. Flagon would kill him.

It was then that a flare was fired off in the distance.

Levi loosened his grip, and he turned look.

The relief that came over Erwin was beyond what words could convey. The timing couldn’t have been better.

He took a large breath, and held the collar of Levi’s shirt. He head-butt him square in the nose, and Levi sprawled back. Immediately, Erwin turned over and wrapped his legs around Levi. Levi was now stomach-down, and Erwin held him firmly from behind. He squeezed, and brought his forearm to his neck. He began choking him, and applied as much force as he could.

Levi tried wiggling out his hold.

“Just listen!” Erwin pleaded hoarsely, holding back a cough. “Did you see that flare? That green flare means your friend has surrendered! He’s alive and well! So, stop fighting! From the start, we fully intended to take you to him!”

When Levi suddenly stopped moving, Erwin let go of him.

With a deep sigh, Erwin fell back on his ass, hands against the ground. He panted, and wheezed from his coughing fit.

Levi got on his knees, and turned to look at him. “… Huh?” he frowned in confusion, and that seemingly broke his reverie.

Erwin was helped up by Timo, and he cleared his throat. “We intended to take you to your friend,” he repeated hoarsely. “There was no need for you to lose control. We don’t want to hurt you, or him. We want to restrain you and question you to resolve things peacefully. That’s all.”

“But… they said they’d open fire,” Levi said.

“May have,” Erwin corrected. “And our intention is not to kill, only to incapacitate at worst. We want to resolve things peacefully.”

The sincerity in his voice was enough to snap Levi out of his frenzy.

Levi slumped and sat on his knees.

“Will you cooperate now?” Erwin asked, relieved when seeing Flagon stood up and was well. Hazy, but well. “Truly, we do not wish to fight, but if you continue this, we’ll be forced to kill you, and your reckless actions may get your friend killed as well.”

Levi’s eyes widened at Erwin, but he didn’t look menacing this time.

He looked like a child who had been scolded; a child that realised he’d done something wrong, and felt bad about it.

Erwin was fascinated, but everyone else thought he was insane and needed to be killed.

“… Yeah,” Levi said.

Read the rest of the chapter here.