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mooswords · 4 years ago

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Pairing: kuroo tetsuro x reader

Word count: 3k

Tags: red string of fate au, historical au

Ramblings: part of the lost collab, all based on the prompt ‘only when you are lost does the red string of fate appear’ organised by the lovely @yacoka who is a wonderful writer and an even better friend 😚 also a big thank you to remy for beta-ing <3

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You stare in exasperation as the red string fades into sight, the familiar warmth wrapping back into existence around your finger. It was only visible when one of you was feeling lost, and you certainly knew where you were. Tetsuro was only meant to be coming home from town - how did he get lost?

You pluck at the string.

Seriously?

An answering pull against your pinky.

Shut up.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the horse in front of you.

“That man, eh?” You scrub the brush along a thick-boned leg, scrunching your face away from the cloud of dust that puffs out. “Probably one of the smartest people this side of the island, knows the stars like the back of his hand, but can’t even find his way across his own fields.” You huff, watching as the string disappears again. “The cows know their way home better than he does, honestly…”

Bess rattles her head, mane flying, and you sigh. “Ahh, you’re right, I guess we love him anyway.”

“You guess?”

You start, twisting at his sudden presence.

“Stop! Doing that!” You huck the brush at him and he ducks, grinning.

“Hear that Bess?” he sings, sidling up to the horse and scratching her forehead as she noses at his pockets. “She loves me.”

“And I married him too,” you lament. “What was I thinking?”

“Something I ask myself every day,” he says softly, eyes alight. You mellow, as you always do for him, and wonder if you will ever get sick of that look.

“How’s town?” You ask instead, snagging a new brush.

“Good. Got offered a job.”

“Oh, who with?”

“Nekomata.”

You hum. “Down at the docks?”

“Not... exactly." You flick a look up when he doesn't elaborate, only to find him determinedly pulling Bess' forelock into a crude braid.

"And?" you prompt.

"He wants me as the navigator." He swallows, fingers still twisting in the coarse hair. "For an expedition.”

“Really?” You scrub at a particularly stubborn splatter of dried mud. "I thought he had given up on all that. What’s he planning?”

He doesn’t reply for another long moment.

"Depends on how quick the ice melts."

You tear your eyes away from your work; he looks wary. "But with what he mentioned to me, we’d be away… a year? Maybe longer?"

“Oh,” you breathe. Really, for a sailing expedition, that’s short. But it’s still a year. You're thinking of money, and supplies, and who will take over teaching his students while he’s gone, and he’ll definitely need a new coat, and oh that's such a long time-

“I don’t have to decide immediately.” You pull your gaze back into focus. He still looks nervous, but you know him - he might not always be the most expressive person, but he wears his passions with pride. And there are few things your Tetsuro loves more than the stars.

“You should go."

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You bite your tongue and start sweeping the brush along Bess’ broad back again. It’s not till he gently pulls your hands to a stop you notice how they shake.

“I don’t have to go,” he offers softly.

You sigh, not quite able to focus any higher than the hollow of his neck. “No. You should.”

His fingers are light under your chin, and you reluctantly let him draw your gaze up.

“Are you sure?”

And you are. Despite your reticence, you are; because at heart, he’s always longed to explore the world. You remember sitting with him in the summer, feet dangling in the creek and listening to his rambling dreams of travelling to the far corners of the world. He loves teaching - weaving stories from geography homework, gently coaching the younger kids through their sums - but you’ve caught him many a time just staring out at the sea, eyes unfocused and longing.

"I’m sure," you tell him with a genuine smile. "It just means I'm going to have to do all your chores while you're away."

He tsks, but there's already excitement building under the mock-glare. Giving Bess a final pat, he meanders back to the house. You listen to his cheery whistling and tell the pang in your heart he'll be fine.

He always comes home.

“Have fun. Don’t kick Yaku overboard, OK?”

“What’s this, huh?” The string hums as he twirls a finger through it, his voice low and amused. He twists it into a bow around a lock of your hair, an achingly familiar action that has the string glowing brighter against your skin. “You can’t be lost without me if I haven’t left yet, sweetheart."

He frowns, and you etch the image into your memory - it will be months till you see that pout again.

“Oh, hush you.”

Eyes bright and fond, he grins down and pulls you into his chest. For once, you stop thinking about tomorrow and just enjoy this final moment with him; the gulls’ cries tearing across the sky, the winter sun across your back and stiff breeze sweeping through your skirts. He is constant and unshakable, heartbeat steady in your ear, his chin pressed against your hair.

You draw back and poke him in the cheek.

“You come home, you hear me?”

The string continues to flutter between you, dancing in the seaward breeze as he presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Always.”

The second plate stares back at you.

Right. Of course.

You press your lips together and return the other plate to the shelf for the third time this week. Your lonely plate looks pitifully small on the uneven table, and the red string that sinks down to drape across it only adds to the ache in your heart.

You grip the string tight and try not to cry.

The drumming rain is muffled as you duck under the barn’s eaves. Shaking the water from your eyes, you peel off your now sodden coat. In the flickering lantern light, you can see how the heifer is huffing, swollen belly already heaving.

Crooning to her, you run a tired hand over the heifer’s rough hide and crouch down.

You shove wet hair off your face and sigh. The late nights and bad weather were only exacerbating an already stressful time of year, and of course this had to be the year your entire herd was calving. You wearily draw a pail of water and tsk as you grab the last towel off the side of the stall - it seems tomorrow will have to be a washing day too.

There’s a wet nose. There’s also a tail.

“That’s… not right.” you mutter, stumped.

It hits you a moment later - twins. She’s having twins.

“Ohh… uhh…” You know you can’t panic, but your thoughts just continue to speed up, desperately flicking through your memories because you know how to deal with a breech birth, but twins? Where do you even begin? There are two calves in there, and that's twice the number of things that could go wrong. Think. It’s only a few minutes over the hill to the Kagayama’s, maybe they-

The gentle tug at your hand startles you. The string is there, looped around one of the cow’s ears and floating out into the pouring night. Another tug comes, a little firmer this time.

You suck in a breath.

You send him a grateful tug back and get to work.

It’s messy and stressful, and the deep ache in your arms will definitely be worse tomorrow, but there's a pile of knobby legs and liquid eyes in your lap that more than makes up for the pain. You snag the old towel off the straw and gently wipe the nose of the first calf before helping it struggle to its feet. The cow blinks around and lowes softly. You grin and quickly swipe at the other calf, blowing gently on its nose till it snorts.

Your eyes are heavy, and you are already compiling a list of the thousands of things to do tomorrow. But with pride singing through your tired bones, you are content to sit, half-wishing he was here with you to listen to the rain beat down on the tin roof and proudly watch the calves take their first, wobbling steps.

“Endeavor."

“E-N-D...” Natsu scrunches her nose and you nod encouragingly, “E…”

The string appears. It’s sudden; not the usual fade-in of realization, but a tidal wave of colour that has it crashing into existence all at once.

“-A-V-O-R. Endeavor.”

You clear your throat, pushing past the lump. “Correct. Let’s have an early lunch everyone.”

The clatter of chairs is immediate, and you wait for all the kids to race out the door before sinking shakily back against the desk. You rub the string between your fingers - it’s hot and trembling, swaying drunkenly as if buffeted about by the wind.

You pull at it, questioning.

You pull at it again.

Again.

There is no reply but it stays, curling in the corners of your vision for the rest of the day.

The next morning it is still there. You bite your lip and bundle his old coat around you to go collect more firewood.

Day four. You stare into reflected, apprehensive eyes for too long before shakily wrapping the everpresent string into a bow around your hair. For some reason, it doesn’t feel the same as when he does it.

Yachi reads you off your total and you freeze, hand clutched around the small bag of flour. She looks at you oddly as your hair falls free around your shoulders.

There is a soft tug against your finger, faded by distance and ringing with reassurance, as the string finally, finally disappears from sight after the longest eight days of your life.

“Is everything OK?” she asks, mystified.

You dash the tears and drop the coins into her hand with a smile.

“Everything is perfect.”

The string fades in for the third time today and you snort. You’d like to imagine you can feel his annoyance even halfway across the world.

You give it a sharp tug for good measure.

Lost again, huh?

He pulls grumpily back, and you bite back a giggle.

“How’s that pain-in-the-ass husband of yours doing?” Ukai Jr. asks from behind the bar.

The string bleeds away.

You think of a ship navigating the perilous ice, of unknowable depths and old sailor's tales, of the maps you watched him plot that stretch into expanses of blank parchment.

You think of jokes thrown across candle stubs and empty plates, of a crew that have become more of a family than either of you have ever had.

You think of the furrow he gets between his brows when he’s puzzling something over, his poorly hidden glee at the sight of the open sea.

The string fades in again, and there’s a pull from his end before you can do anything.

Don’t.

You grin. “He’s doing just fine.”

You wake to birdsongs. The sun is just peeking over the hills, the red string curled quietly on his pillow. You send three tugs, watch the string ripple out the window and imagine it stretching out, out, out across the seas to him.

Today was usually a day just for the two of you; no chores, no work. Just sunshine and bad jokes and the simple enjoyment of being together. One time he had pulled you along to the neighbouring town's county fair. Last year, you had taken him to the waterfall for lunch.

It was meant to be his choice this year.

You twine the string around your fingers as you wait. It glows softly in the morning light, a physical manifestation of how deeply lost you feel on this special day. He's not gone; he's still here in the scuffed shoes tucked under the bed, in his notes piled high on the desk, but they're not quite the same as hearing his hisses from the kitchen, or being able to sink into warm arms at the end of a rough day.

His returning tugs are delayed, aching and soft - one, two, three.

Sighing, you force yourself out of bed - the cows aren’t going to feed themselves.

Happy anniversary, love.

Most days the string isn't visible at all. And that's fine. Really, it is. It means he's not lost, and no news is good news, right?

Anyway, you’ve become quite content in your own company. He’s been gone long enough that you’ve found your solo rhythm and it's by no means easy, but you manage to keep busy enough.

And yet, the string is a double-edged sword - a reassuring and tangible connection between the two of you, but one that fills you with longing heartache all the same. There are days when you so keenly feel his absence; days of no special importance, but days where his company would just make the monotony more interesting. The mundane days, where you find yourself wanting a hug and instead having to settle for imagining the blur of red in your periphery.

You can lose minutes simply staring at your hand, trying to will the string back into colour. Wishful thinking isn’t something you can afford to indulge too often, but some days, if you focus hard enough, you think you can feel the invisible string pressing around your finger.

Some days, wishful thinking is all that keeps you going.

“Hello, sorry.” You ignore the cheeky pull of the red string. He knows how you hate admitting you need help. “I’m a bit lost. Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

The man points up the road, explaining you need to go up past the post office and take a - twitch goes the string - and then follow the path that - another pull - and you should be there. Oh, but don’t - tug - because that will take you out of town.

You bite your tongue and thank the man, fond exasperation simmering in your chest. You might desperately miss him and his stupid antics, but you had almost forgotten how relentless his needling could be.

As you lead Bess away, you pull sharply on the string. Much to your dismay, it doesn’t deter him in the slightest - an incessant barrage of tugs pull against your pinky, singing with his amusement from half a world away. Huffing out a sigh, you carefully flip the string around your hand. It’s smooth in your grip as you wind it around your palm and close your fingers over it-

And yank the string sideways.

Silence.

A single, pouting yank back.

Pushing down the smile tugging at your lips, you stop infront of the woman sweeping the front step of the post office.

“Hello, sorry. I’m a bit lost. Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

A laugh is pulled from you, glee ringing through the air. Hinata’s hand is sweaty in yours, and you grip it tighter as you swing round and round to the music echoing across the field. The wedding party is still holding strong, even this late into the night, and the chatter and music is rvight at home in tonight’s warm summer breeze.

The song ends to cheers and you yell with them, high, unfiltered joy singing through your body. You drop into a chair, watching Hinata pull a giggling Natsu off the sidelines and head back out as the band striking up another well-loved tune.

The ever-present twinge of sea salt mixes with the sweet scent of the apple blossoms floating over from the orchard and you are content. The food was fresh and plentiful, Kiyoko looked gorgeous. And, you think smugly, Suga had cried before Tanaka did, so now Kinoshita owed you a beer.

The music slows, and your finger aches at the sight of everyone else partnering up. You had promised yourself you weren’t going to let memories overshadow your fun tonight. There’s too much love around for you to fully feel his absence anyway, but you still catch yourself missing him above the crowd, searching for the wink he’d send across the room before returning to his own conversations.

Someone clears their throat. The string curls and sways between bodies as Takeda smiles down at you, eyes crinkled in understanding.

“May I have this dance?”

You push hurriedly through the crowd, ducking between market stalls and wagons. There’s no string to follow, but you don’t need it to find him today. Asahi scrambles for the bolts of cloth you knock into and Suga yells something that gets stolen by the wind as you continue to run heedlessly towards the docks.

Lev is on the dock already, only just visible through the small crowd gathering. Yaku yells directions from the ship, and you can see Shibayama sitting up on the boom, Kai pulling the jib down, so where is-

There.

He’s talking with Nekomata, gesturing up at the mast. You know it’s probably important, that there are things to be done on the ship before the crew can leave, but he’s been gone 402 days and you’re calling his name before you can stop yourself.

He twists around, and for the first time in over a year you watch his face split wide. The crowd parts for you as you’re darting forward and he vaults over the side of the ship.

There are yells and whistles behind him but you couldn’t care less as you are swept into a tight spin, stumbling with him as you laugh. His salt-crusted shirt is coarse under your fingers, and when he kisses you he tastes like the sea; like salt-spray and dry rations and freedom.

As soon as your hands find his cheeks you pull back sharply. There's a scar, a puckered pink line that cuts across his cheek and up into his hairline. He watches you carefully as you trace it with a feather-light touch.

“I thought I told you to have fun,” you admonish gently.

“Who said I didn’t?”

You tsk. “What am I going to do with you?”

He grins, wilder than you remember, twisted a little by the scar, but full of familiar trouble. “Kiss me again, hopefully.”

(How you’ve missed that grin.)

“Can’t imagine why I’d do a silly thing like that,” you say, even as you press your own grin to his.

Maybe he’s still a little wobbly on his feet, and he’s definitely thinner than when he left, but when he twines your hands together - no string in sight - your heart settles.

He’s home, and you can’t really ask for anything more.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #this is queued btw

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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Don’t Treat My Love Like A Habit Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing; a pinch of fluff followed by a smidge of angst Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Also there’s a song that comes up later and it doesn’t like come up but the song that I imagined for said scene is this one. Take it or leave it, I trust you. Summary: Pope had come back in such an odd mood - but then he always got a little like that when anyone tried to answer for you or tell you what to do. He didn’t take well to anyone else thinking or acting like they were your boss.

He wasn’t usually here when you did this, is the thing. Typically, Pope sent you footage and went back to his place to crash while you combed through whatever it was, dug up anything valuable, if there was anything valuable. By the time all of that was done, Pope was usually conscious again, breezed into the office with coffee from the good place around the corner, and the two talked over the footage. But he was there this time, pacing behind your chair, leaning over you every few seconds, breath ruffling your hair. The first few times, it was kinda cute. You’d missed him, the scent of his cologne, his grumbling. But after the tenth time, you hadn’t been able to discern any pattern. It was like trying to predict a jump-scare in a horror film, and it was starting to wear on you. So before he could even lean over you again, you raised a hand to stop him. “Santi, seriously, you’re making me jumpy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” He mumbled. You felt him rest his hands on the back of your chair, steadying himself. Okay. Better. At least he wasn’t thudding behind you... And then his nail was tapping at the side of your chair, and you groaned, tipping your head back. It rested against his chest as you peered up at him. “Go home, get some rest,” You urged, “This is gonna take a while, okay?” Santiago’s mouth twisted in displeasure before he ducked down, dropping a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Be back later,” He mumbled, stepping away from your chair so fast that your head fell back the rest of the way. You blinked up at the ceiling a few times as you heard him call back, “Text me if something comes up!” And then the door closed. You lifted your head, glancing over at the door. You didn’t know why you were looking at it - he wasn’t going to come back, right? After waiting for a few beats, you shook your head. No, definitely not coming right back. You raised your finger to the tip of your nose, poking it. Where the hell had that come from? No matter where, you sure as hell weren’t telling Frankie. -- When the door opened again, you found yourself perking up. And then you found yourself leaning back when you saw Alex stroll in. “Well don’t everyone rush me at once,” He teased. You rolled your eyes, turning back to your screen. “Whaddaya want, ‘Brano?” “Diego says your boss has some intel,” He said, rounding to lean against your desk, “I’m trying to get in on that action.” “Yeah, well, get in line, because this thing is buffering like a motherfucker.” “Maybe it’s because you’re staring at it. A watched file...Always buffers.” “That sounded better in your head, didn’t it.” “Way better,” Alex conceded, turning and leaning over your shoulder like Pope had a few hours before. Unlike Pope, however, he was able to hold still for more than a few seconds. He even managed to keep quiet for a few minutes before he turned his head, murmuring in your ear, “What are you doing for dinner?” “Something else.” “Something else than what?” “Than whatever you were about to suggest,” You retorted, glancing back at him and finding his face very, very close to yours. He smiled. “Well, it just so happens that I was going to suggest that you stay here and eat alone, so it’s nice to hear that you’re planning on switching it up.” You laughed, unable to help it. “You were going to suggest that I eat alone?” You repeated. Alex didn’t answer; instead, he just let his gaze drift down. “... ‘Brano,” You warned quietly. “Mm?” “What are you doing?” Before he could answer, your attention was drawn by the sound of the door closing. Pope was lingering in the doorway, frowning. “Hey,” You greeted, turning back to the screen. “...Anything?” Pope asked, coming deeper into office. “Not a thing,” Alex answered. “Not sure I was asking you, Zambrano.” Your brows shot up at the tightness in Pope’s tone. Where the hell had that come from? You gave him a look, and he just arched a brow and asked, “Well?” “Just what Alex said. Not a thing.” “You know what?” Alex cleared his throat, “This one,” He lightly pushed at the back of your head, “Has probably been here all day-- That program gonna run without you?” “Yeah, but--” You started. Alex shook his head. “Let’s go get something to eat. All of us,” He added, smiling at Pope, “Come on, I’ve barely been out since I got down here. And if we play our cards right, Garcia, we might find another hitman for you to punch.” -- The meal had started off as the most awkward, stilted experience, but by its end, ‘Brano and Pope had fallen into a more steady rapport. You just leaned back and let it happen. It was preferable to whatever bickering had been going on back at the office. Pope had come back in such an odd mood - but then he always got a little like that when anyone tried to answer for you or tell you what to do. He didn’t take well to anyone else thinking or acting like they were your boss. “Tequila shot, Q?” Alex asked as he flagged the waiter down. “Nu-uh, she hates tequila,” Santiago shook the idea off. Alex turned back to you, surprised. “Really? You had tequila shots when we were back home.” You felt Santi’s eyes on you and you waved off the fact. “I took it ‘cause they were given to us for free. If you’re gonna order me anything, get me a vodka shot-- but also don’t, because one of us is going back to the office after this and it’s clearly not gonna be either one of you.” “Jesus,” Alex muttered as Santiago snorted a laugh. “So what do you think, would Reina have been as good in Fugitive Recovery as she is down here?” Pope asked, eyes fixed on you. “Well what you two are doing down here is kinda like fugitive recovery,” Alex pointed out, “Little more involved, though, my job is very tracking based, what you all do-- this one comparing lab reports and all.” He reached up, yanking a piece of your hair as he said ‘this one’, and your hand came up, smacking him in the shoulder on instinct. He chuckled. “She would’ve been fine,” He added, turning back to Pope. “I would’ve been fine?” You repeated, turning back to Alex, “Jeez, what a ringing endorsement-- Dear diary!” “I’m never paying you a compliment again--” “My ears are burning.” You and Alex stared each other down for a few seconds before Alex turned away to reach for his beer. You felt the weight of Santiago’s gaze on you and you turned to meet his eye to find that he had turned away. You frowned a little. You must’ve been mistaken. “I should be getting back,” You sighed, rolling your neck, “The footage has gotta be done by now.” “Come on, you promised me a dance,” Alex whined, nudging your arm with his. You glanced back at the small, semi-crowded dance floor in the restaurant. “I was kidding,” You shrugged. “Reina doesn’t dance,” Pope mumbled. “She has before.” “You’re a shithead, ‘Brano,” You said, pulling out your wallet. “I’ve got it,” Pope said, shaking his head. “Come on,” You groaned. “Nope. Besides, I pay you, so that’s technically my money anyway, put your wallet away.” “You know I hate that argument.” “Which is why I only use it when I absolutely have to. Put your wallet away, Reina.” “One dance,” Alex pressed. “‘Brano--” “We’ll flip a coin.” You looked at him for a long moment before sighing, “Fine.” Alex fished into his pocket, pulling out a coin. “Heads or tails?” “Heads.” He flipped; you watched the light glint off of the coin before he caught it and flipped it over onto the back of his other hand. He lifted his palm from it, then grinned. Tails. Motherfucker. “Come on-- Come on, deal’s a deal,” He added, standing. You rolled your eyes, taking Alex’s hand as it was offering you and mouthing, ‘Be right back,’ to Pope before Alex pulled you onto the dance floor. Alex wasn’t expecting any fancy footwork, which was smart - you didn’t do this often. The song that was playing was a slower tempo, too, and didn’t require anything more than for you to sway in Alex’s arms as he guided you among the other couples. “Why are you like this?” You asked as the two of you moved. He arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “We were having a good time, the three of us.” “We’re still having a good time.” “Alex.” “I wanted to kiss you, you know? If he hadn’t come in. I was thinking about it. I’m still thinking about it.” This maybe shouldn’t have been the shock it was; you’d seen the way Alex had been looking at your mouth, you knew how straightforward he could be. “I could kinda tell,” You said after a few moments. “What would happen if I did it now?” “I’d taste like vodka and cholula.” “Sexy.” “Jesus, ‘Brano,” You laughed, shaking your head and looking down at your feet. You felt him turn his head, nuzzling into your hair as he murmured, “...Tell me what you want.” You considered. It had been a while. You knew Alex. You were comfortable with Alex, you liked him; you just weren’t sure you liked him the same way he liked you. So you lifted your head, met his eye, and said, “I want to go back to work.” He didn’t frown or push you away; he didn’t stomp off. Alex just nodded. “Can we at least wait for the song to finish?” You nodded before resting your head on his shoulder. You swayed on in silence. “I’m sorry,” You said as it ended. “Don’t be, Q,” He gave you a light squeeze before steering back to the table. The check had been paid, and Pope was gone. Tag list: @justanotherblonde23 ; @revolution-starter ; @emurlemur ; @badbitxhbuckybarnes

#Don't Treat My Love Like a Habit #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Santiago Garcia/Reader #Santiago Garcia x You #Santiago Garcia/You #Santiago Pope Garcia x You #Santiago Pope Garcia Imagine #Santiago Pope Garcia/Reader

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leapyearkisses · 3 years ago

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For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. ��Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

#lyk writes #snz #llewellyn mistwalker #gerrit truestride #gerwellyn #director's cut commentary exercise

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shardminds · 4 years ago

Text

silver for monsters (1/?)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: e for extra (in later chapters) wc: almost 5k ish

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow.

also available on ao3! ♠

it's my cssns submission!

firstly, a thank you to the wonderful mods for organising and facilitating the event! where would we be without you? and also the cssns discord — you lovely humans are just fantastic.

secondly, i owe my wonderful partner-in-crime, beta and artist (this fic has art, people! coming soon!) my life. she deserves more than i could ever give her. love you, salem! give killy a cuddle from me!

now, a note about the fic. this is a witcher au, using inspiration from the witcher games, books and TV show. i have pulled inspiration from all 3. just a fair warning, considering the nature of the witcher universe, there will be gratuitous violence in some scenes. i will be adding characters and tags as they appear in the work to abstain from spoilers but i will let you know in advance that there is no major character death.

happy reading!

“Fuck!”

The cockatrice rears up, flapping its enormous wings and lunging straight for him, talons poised for attack. At full height, it’s almost three times his size—an intimidating sight, but not an unfamiliar one. Killian dodges at the last second, rolling beneath the dirt-encrusted claws and narrowly avoiding the beak that follows to impale him. If he hadn’t thrown out his palm to cast Quen in time, he’d have been thrown across the sewer, probably landing in one of the many questionable pools littering the place. The beast rights itself, elongating its sinuous throat to prepare for its next attack but Killian is faster, springing to action in its short reprieve. His blade strikes true, the sharpened silver slicing from neck to navel through leathery flesh. A choked shriek pierces the cavernous echo around them but it does nothing to hinder his attack. Killian twists his weapon deeper, severing the thick sinew in its throat with a precision only gained from decades of practice.

The draconid oil he’d prepared had done well to weaken the monster, each touch of his sword against tough hide was met with a harrowing screech, each one emanating from its maw with a sickening gurgle as Killian’s coated sword seared its innards. Good. At least the ergot seeds used in its creation hadn’t gone to waste. The common weeds don’t grow this far east of Misthaven.

One final twist is all it takes, tearing out the creature’s windpipe in all its bloody glory, falling to the filth below, darkening the murk beneath its claws. It shudders, struggling for breath, but continues to advance. The guttural gurgle of its demise falling hollow in the dank expanse. Power simmers in Killian’s fingertips as he throws out his palm to cast Aard, shunting the beast backwards and knocking it off balance.

With a heavy thud, the cockatrice falls—

Right into a puddle of shit.

“Oh, that’s bloody lovely.” He grits out, wiping the sludge from where it splattered on his trousers. He’d been planning to start the ride back west, to the familiar place he was reluctant to call anything but that. He’d been planning to take rest between contracts, among the hamlets of Velen, stopping only to deliver the head of the beast and collect his bounty before taking to the path at full speed.

Now he’d have to fork out for an inn.

And a stable.

And a drink.

Bloody lovely, indeed.

Slipping the dagger from his boot to take his trophy—evidence of a job well done—Killian kneels next to the beast’s shredded neck and begins to cut. It takes a couple of minutes, the toughened hide of the beast proving more difficult than expected, but Killian manages to decapitate the thing without too much protest. Despite being smothered in excrement, both human and ornithosaur in origin, Killian wraps up the head in a linen sheet he’d acquired from the last inn he’d visited, slinging the thing over his shoulder to attach to Smee’s saddlebag for the ride into town. It’s hefty, already seeping dark ichor through the fabric, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Nothing he hasn’t handled a thousand times before.

Shit-stained or not, there’s little people love more than dead monsters.

In his periphery, there’s a shimmer of something long and thin and sharp beneath the ooze of the dead heap.

Feathers. Golden Feathers.

They’d sell for a fair price at any market but, with a wry smile, someone else comes to Killian’s mind. He plucks the protruding tail feathers with a delicate hand and slides them in his scabbard for later. Robin will be pleased.

Smee lingers by the sewer’s decaying entrance, chomping on the greenery of a shallow blackberry thicket without care. Seeing him brings ease to Killian’s bones. The walk to Camelot would be a lot more arduous without him. The dimming sunlight brings out the russet in his hide and he snorts as if to acknowledge the presence of his master. Smee has seen him through so much, his steed for over a decade now, and even as a colt he had stayed true to his commands. He rears his head, giving a soft huff in greeting as Killian reaches out to rub his muscular neck.

“Hello to you too, lad.” He soothes, securing the trophy with thick leather straps to Smee’s saddlebags. It thuds against his hind leg as he shifts to accommodate for the extra weight but Killian talks him through it. “You can rest tonight. We deserve it.”

Smee, ever the conversationalist, responds with a snort. Something Killian would translate as about damn time.

The hunt for the cockatrice had taken longer than he'd anticipated, the cursed beast leading them astray for days before finally returning to roost in the sewers of all places. The sorcerer in these parts—Merlin, he’d said his name was—had informed him it would. They’d sent hunters, knights, even mages to deal with their pest, but none had returned; either fleeing from the beast or succumbing to it.

With the head of the monster firmly attached, Killian steps up into the stirrup and mounts his steed, heels tapping against his belly to spur him forward, back towards the city. With a reluctant snort and a slow start, Smee carries both the Witcher and his cargo to their destination.

It’s long past nightfall by the time they reach the oaken gates and marble paved roads leading to Camelot. It’s a damn sight better than the gravel paths back in Misthaven. The approach to the city is announced with sconces attached to grand flags bearing the sigil of the king, inlaid with gold detailing. A gaudy display of wealth if ever there was one.

Up ahead, before the city entrance, Killian can just about make out the silhouette of a man in robes of purple and gold. Power radiates off him and it trembles in the wolf head pendant resting atop Killian’s chest, even from over 100 yards away. Smee trots closer, almost lazy in his approach. He doesn’t halt until they’re stood before the man who greets them warmly, with a kind face and a gentle smile. Merlin, the sorcerer.

Killian doesn’t trust it.

“I see you’ve dealt with the beast, my friend.” Merlin starts.

“I see you don’t intend to let me in.”

The sorcerer nods at the assumption, as if reluctant to do so and holds out the pouch of coin. Killian lets it thud into his palm. It weighs about right so he doesn’t bother to question it before tucking the payment into Smee’s saddlebag. It’s more than any common contract would afford him.

“The King has requested—”

“The King can go fuck himself.” With a flick of his knife, Killian cuts free his cargo, letting the head of the beast slip to the floor. It cracks on impact, spilling the crimson gore inside, smelling only of death and decay. Iron and rot. Merlin doesn’t recoil, instead choosing to step around and inspect the shattered mass. Mages like him, in positions of power beside volatile Kings, tend to be more accustomed to such displays.

If the stories of King Arthur’s conquests are true, it’s no surprise.

“With your reputation, Witcher,” He starts, prodding the bloodied heap with his foot. It lols to the side, mottled beak clacking against the path. “Do you really think Arthur would take such a risk?”

Killian could not give less of a shit about the opinion of Kings. Especially not ones of lands that dictated their monarchy based on whoever could yank a sword from the sodden shit coated earth. If that were the universal basis for royalty, he’d be King three times over. Merlin waves his hand over the mess of brains and bone, vanishing the mound into nothing and leaving only pristine stone behind. Smee stiffens, sensing the otherness of the man so close to his rear.

With unnatural grace, Merlin steps back to his place between them and the gate, unwavering in his resolution.

“Rumours of the Golden Bride have spread further than you think.”

Of course. Ravens travel faster than horses these days. What happened back in Kovir—

People tend to trust Kings over Mutants, no matter the truth. Killian grunts, the only sign of the tension in his bones in the way he grips the worn leather reins, knuckles taught and surely white beneath his gloves.

“Next time,” He grunts, not flinching at the mention of his past. “Pay upfront. Spare me the journey back.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but it’s too late. With probably more force than necessary, Killian kicks Smee into action, turning him to ride away from the white brick barrier that separates him from a good night's sleep before the sorcerer can protest. His work here is done. His contract ended. If they won’t let him into the city, he has no reason to stay. Bath and a bed be damned.

There’s nothing for him here.

They ride onwards.

Killian slows his steed to a gentle trot as soon as they cross the border into Temeria, a silent apology in the calm stroke of his palm behind Smee’s ears.

Moonlight bathes the vast fields of wheat in an ethereal glow. Nekkers peer through the tall sheaves to watch him pass, following him as far as they dare. His medallion thrums with their proximity, the pendant rattling against his mail. If it were any other day, he’d have torn through the harvest, taking down the bastards with broad swoops of his blade. Not today, though. The cockatrice had drained more from him than he initially thought. There’d been no time to brew potions to remedy his weariness, and his supply of dwarven spirit was alarmingly low. The next apothecary along the path would take a beating from his coin purse, that much is certain.

Midnight comes and goes before the path widens into the well trodden roads of more populated areas and more hours pass before they even stumble across an inn shrouded in forest. It’s decrepit and musky, but an inn all the same. It’ll have to do. Killian can tell by the bray of his travelling companion that he won’t last until the next one. There’s water and hay in the mossy overhang out front, its ancient wood almost rotted through but still secure enough to attach Smee’s reins to the post. An old silver mare secured closest to the inn takes one sniff at Killian and sneezes.

“That bad?”

Smee nudges him in response. That bad.

The inside of the inn is as ancient and forgotten as the exterior; thick stone walls, cobwebbed beams, a bar made of mottled oak with ring stains of old ale covering its surface. Upon Killian’s entry, the landlord nods, his pallid skin as thin as paper. The sickness he holds will kill him, it lingers in the shadows beneath his eyes and the pale flesh of his gums as he smiles, with too much joviality.

“Room for the night, is it?”

He will not see the summer.

Killian drops fifteen crowns on the bar, watching the old man’s eyes widen at their shine. “Along with a bath and a bottle of your strongest.”

“Right away, my friend!” He shuffles along, reaching for a slender greying glass bottle that he places on the bar top, before disappearing altogether. The other bar patrons stay quiet, lulled to the edge of listless sleep by the fire crackling in the hearth and the ale in their bellies—gwent games unfinished, tankards half full. Not wanting to follow their lead in sleeping on the hard benches, Killian waits at the bar. He takes a swig, letting the liquid coat his throat in its familiar fire. There are better ways to cope. There are better ways to fend off the dark that threatens to swallow him whole but nothing works quite as well as the burn alcohol leaves behind. Well, usually that’s the case.

Minutes pass and his thoughts, however reluctantly, stray back to Merlin’s earlier words.

The Golden Bride.

Killian had killed her. Killed her, raped her, tortured her, ate her liver, stole the unborn child from her stomach as a payment to the eternally damned gods of old, used her blood for his mutations—the stories change depending on where you are. Nilfgaardians prefer the gory stuff whereas, up in Kovir, they favour the lighter tales. She was their Queen, after all.

The one he couldn’t save.

Each burning gulp helps less and less.

When the dying barkeep waves him over, brandishing a rusted key and an armful of tattered blankets, the burn has gone and only Killian’s thoughts remain.

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow.

The room is barely bigger than a broom closet and the old man has the courtesy to look ashamed of his meagre offerings. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, a bed is a bed. Along the way, Killian has learnt not to make attachments to the materialistic.

In the centre of the narrow room, manoeuvred between the end of the dusty four-poster bed and the fireplace, stands a solid wooden bath. The water, lukewarm to the touch and stagnant, comes to life with a flick of his palm and a whisper of “Igni”. Killian doesn’t even bother to be neat, letting his weapons, armour, potions, and coin fall to what little floor space there is available before letting himself sink naked into the warmth. The agitated boil helps to shift the stubborn muck customary of weeks on the path.

How long had it been since his last? A few days, maybe? A week? He’d taken a brief dip in the river just outside Camelot before embarking on his quest— had it really been that long? No wonder the mare had turned her nose up. No wonder Merlin had regarded him with such polite distance.

He’d been wandering around smelling like a Necrophage’s anal gland and no one had bothered to tell him. Not that anyone could tell him. That’s the thing with always being on the path—the only things to talk to are your horse or your hunt.

Monsters aren’t always the best conversationalists.

The waters lap away the aches set deep in his bones, settling each worn muscle with its tender embrace. It’s a luxury he can nary afford, but it’s worth it when he can. When he exits, smelling of old soap and lavender, there is only black silt left behind. A dark mirror on the liquid’s surface. He won’t be able to use it again. He takes his underclothes to the small basin by the bedside to soak instead, too tired to even consider spending any more time away from the clutches of sleep.

For the first time in a long time, he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. The exhaustion of the weeks passed weighing his bones like lead, as if they’d sink straight through the mattress and into the nether below. He wishes they would.

“Killian.”

He jerks awake—no, not awake. Further into the embrace of a dream. Oppressive darkness and silence surround him, his keenest senses rendered useless in their wake. Beneath him, a plush leather armchair. It’s painfully familiar. Precious, somewhat. Worn and comfortable and moulded to him as if he’d spent a century sat only here. This dreamscape. This void.

Oneiromancy. Perfect.

“Killian.”

A woman’s voice— her voice.

“Emma.”

“And I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She smiles, suddenly appearing in his lap, hips straddling his thighs as if it hadn’t been almost five years since they’d last parted. Five long, arduous years.

“Impossible, love. You’re not so easy to forget.” Killian can feel the steady beat of her heart as his hands take her waist. Soft, so soft.

And centuries old.

“You never thought to stop by on your travels then?”

“The path is—”

“Don’t lecture me. I know,” Pouting, she brings her arms around Killian’s neck. The thin swath of lace she’s wearing does nothing to hide her figure but its intricacies marr the details he wants very much to focus on; the blush of her breasts, the swell of her arse, what lies between those slender legs. Each time he tries to take her in, see past the veil of fabric, it shifts, obscuring his gaze once more. Fucking magic. “But I have missed you terribly.”

“Emma Swan, legendary sorceress and advisor to the throne of Misthaven, missing but a lowly Witcher?” The pale expanse of her neck calls for his kiss, so close and yet so far. “People will talk.”

With a violet flash, Emma winks. “Noise complaints, hopefully.”

His eyes slip shut, trying to maintain what little composure he has left. As disconcerting as dream magic is, he doesn’t want the spell to end. The feel of her so close is maddening. Waking to an empty bed will be torture.

Words he can’t possibly say nor mean jump to his throat, aching to be whispered against her mouth, passed to her tongue by his own as they had longed to so many times in the past. They burn.

“Come see me.”

“Emma—”

“I need you. I can’t tell you why—not here—but I need you.” There’s a silent plea hidden in her words, behind the typical bravado she always favours. He almost doesn’t catch it. She adjusts herself slightly, sitting back on his knees and letting her hands reverently trace the scars across his shoulders and chest. Ones she’s seen before and ones she hasn’t, long healed but still raw to her touch. It’s been too long. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it takes every modicum of restraint he has not to kiss her there and then. “Come to King David’s court in Misthaven. There’s a tourney one week from now.”

“I’m sensing I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. It’s in your best interests to make the right one.”

Killian sighs, letting his palms slide from her middle to her thighs, taking in the phantom warmth he’s missed so greatly. Emma Swan is an enigma. She’s centuries of power wrapped in mystery and untold sorrows and it lingers beneath her skin. She’s the first kiss of morning sun, the dark chill of winter, the wild lilacs that grow along the dirt roads of Misthaven. She’s true love’s first kiss and the denial of destiny. She’s nothing and everything, the beginning and the end.

And, occasionally, his.

“One week?” He muses, hyper focused on the way her nails feel against his skin, as if she were there, as if it were real. Her eyes, green as woodland moss, captivate him in the way they always used to, but they’re not the same. A mere mimicry. Beneath his fingers, the dream begins to fall away.

There’s no depth, just a glimmer of magic below the surface.

Everything’s hollow and when he finally presses his lips to her fading visage, all he tastes is ash, dirt and the absence of all things.

“One week.”

It echoes around the cramped room, a whisper in the darkness not yet reached by morning’s soft first touches. A reminder.

Killian almost missed it. Misthaven. It’s rolling hills and wildflower meadows, deep green forests free of ill fated fiends. Well, mostly free—wraiths and rotfiends are everywhere these days, especially after the war. If they weren’t, he’d be out of a job.

In the five days on the path, across the forgotten poppy-filled battlefields and open plains of Temeria, Killian didn’t encounter much trouble. The first two days were monotonous, non-stop riding through the day and night, brief pauses for food, water and rest.

The day after that saw a kikimora rear its ugly maw as Smee cantered past its roadside hovel, swiping out with its blade-like limbs in an attempt to take out the horse’s legs — it took three swipes of his blade to take it down, the starving queen letting out a defeated whine as glinting silver pierced through her armour and into her brain. Killian left a bomb in his wake, making sure none of her spawn would see the light of day.

Day four drove him closer to the ruins of Vizima, it’s grand stone walls now bleak and crumbled. Killian had been around when it fell, only a few years beneath his belt on the path as the Nilfgaardians withdrew their tyranny. They razed the city, with fire and blood, so that the North would remember what the clutches of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The self-proclaimed white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies sputtered and faded just like everyone else on this mortal coil. The flames had kept him warm one night, decades ago, as the fallen city smouldered.

Misthaven greets the horizon on day five. It’s unperturbed woodland gracing his path with an archway formed of two entwined enchanted oaks, their magic forms the base of the wards that surround the city and the sheer power of it is a familiar thrum of energy that has his medallion singing as Smee trots over the border. In the thick bramble bushes beside the sheltered road, fairies shield themselves from view, their sugar plum scent hangs on the air as heavy as horse shit. There’s something he hasn’t missed. After half a mile or so, the rattle of his medallion becomes barely noticeable, a gentle simmer rather than a raucous boil.

Instead of taking the northern road at Lake Nostos towards the bustling city and the castle of King David, they turn to the east, along a too familiar, although far less trodden, path.

Smee huffs at his choices, resisting the tug of his reins.

Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

The Rabbit Hole is, in Killian’s eyes, better than most. Being just outside the city, tucked up against the eastern entrance’s vine smothered portcullis, not many people stumble through its doors by accident. However, with its vast stone hearth, sturdy oak beams and a half decent cellar, the place could weather the harshest Skellige storm with nary but a draught. Ale, food, music and good company. It’s… nice, for lack of a better word.

And, despite the nature of his work, it’s somewhere Killian keeps coming back to. Regardless of the years between his visits.

Smee, ever the dramatic, saunters over to the water-filled trough cemented to the tavern's stable, eagerly eyeing up the hay-filled feedbag beside it. At least, he’ll get a chance to rest as Killian gets his own fill. Haphazardly, he knots Smee’s reins to the hitching post, leaving just enough slack for him to be able to reach his amenities and socialise with the unsaddled gelding tied up on the other side of the post.

Killian pulls his coin purse from his steed’s saddlebags, knowing full well he’ll spend it one way or another. The door swings open before he can even tap the shit off his boots.

“You took your time, Captain.” Will Scarlet, with his signature troublesome smirk, is upon him in an instant, arms thrown around Killian’s shoulders, squeezing tightly as his skinny arms allow. He’d never been one for heavy lifting, more interested in wielding a lyre than a sword, and it shows in the way he greets his old friend as if it hasn’t been almost five years since Killian left him in Toussaint in the bed of a baroness whose husband had not been best pleased to find him there. The stench of Mahakaman mead on the bard’s breath permeates the air. The half-decade has barely touched him.

It hasn’t touched Killian either but, then again, mutations will do that to a man.

“Is that what they’re calling me now?”

Will peels himself away, stumbling back into the oak door frame that knocks the air right out of him with an oof. His brow furrows ever so slightly and someone from the other side of the dimly lit pub chortles at his discomfort. Will throws an obscene gesture his way before coming to Killian’s side instead.

“Just roll with it mate, you wouldn’t like the alternative.”

Killian shrugs. Murderer, Mutant, Devil— “I have been called worse.”

The bard nods in agreement, letting Killian step over the threshold and into the dark innards of the inn. They both have. Back when they travelled together, there was nary a day that insults weren’t hurled their way. Killian never had the chance to apologise back then, and it doesn’t seem right to bring it up now.

Will looks… happy.

“Anyway,” He starts, falling back on his chipper tone and catching Killian off guard as he hops over the bar top with ease, grabbing a tankard on his way. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

“I’m not too sure of that myself.”

Will places the tankard before him, full of a sweet smelling dark ale. “No contract?”

Killian knocks back the mug in one, letting the slightly soured brew flavour his tongue. It’s better than the pig swill he’s settled for along the Path. Then again, Will always was one with good taste; always the finest inns, the grandest company, lining his pockets with the gold of diplomats and dukes alike. Despite all that, The Rabbit Hole suits him, dust and dirt be damned. He hum’s, considering how to answer, before settling for the simplest one. “No.”

“No valiant quest?”

Killian shrugs.

“Ah,” Eyeing him knowingly while taking a sip from his own cup with a smug smile, Will hums. They’ve known each other long enough now for him to be able to read between the lines. “A summons then.”

“Can’t I just stop by and visit an old friend?”

“Theoretically, yes. But that’s not in your nature is it, mate.” There’s a pause. Someone laughs from the other side of the room, lit only by a handful of candles to fend off the dark even in the daylight. Will doesn’t even blink, drumming out a rhythm on the countertop, wearing an ever present smile. “Especially knowing that there’s a certain sorceress within the city walls.”

Killian had no idea what he was here for, not really. One dream and he’d come running like a well trained dog, a pet. He can’t even feel shame about it. Emma could’ve asked him to pick daisies in the grand gardens of King David and he’d have come running, a prisoner to his emotions. His mutations should have rid him of them decades ago and yet—

He lets himself be seen, letting his posture slip to a slouch. The ride was harder on him than he’d anticipated and his limbs call for sleep, the ache of it weighing him down. Will is, above all else, his oldest friend. If he can trust anyone, it's him.

“What’s going on, Killian?”

Lilac and gooseberries, touched with cinnamon and the undeniable scar of power. It singes the air with its grace and sets Killian’s medallion ablaze with activity before he can even register the draught behind him hadn’t come from the door. Will looks up, eyes rapidly widening in a mix of familiarity and surprise, but Killian doesn’t have to. He knows. She must have sensed him when he passed the kingdom's wards, followed the sing of his own power to find him, greet him.

Killian turns and lets a smirk tug at his lips as silence hangs like a criminal, the whole inn rendered mute by her entrance. In awe. In fear.

Emma.

Time hasn’t dared touch her. It hasn’t in aeons. In the years Killian has known her, she has always looked this radiant. Hair curled loosely over her shoulders and a dress of lace laid over silk, bright and beautiful and absolutely incredible. An aura of light surrounds her, bringing illumination to the dim room. From her very core, she is beautiful.

Killian has missed her.

She smiles, knowingly.

"I haven't told him yet."

#cs fic #cs au #ficminds #captain swan #ouat fic #silver for monsters #FINALLY #I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT

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paradisobound · 5 years ago

Text

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 10

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

Returning back from the Isle of Man almost felt as if the entire trip never happened. Dan didn’t figure that it would warrant such a dramatic change in his life but he really felt like sleeping with Phil might have been a turning point. Except, it definitely wasn’t.

He goes back to Onyx for his shift the following day and naturally, he’s not shocked to see a mound of paperwork at his desk that was either faxed to him or given to him from the printers or sales department.

Dan finds two new manuscripts, both for different authors, a form for the second printing of his book, and a few other miscellaneous forms and papers that he has no idea what they are from first glance. He lets out a sigh and plops down in his seat, rubbing his hands in his hair.

They always say going back to work after a vacation was difficult, and Dan is definitely not in disagreement with that at all.

He fishes his laptop out of his bag and opens it up to begin working on unread emails and other various things now that he has a ton of work to do. He buckles down and focuses in, trying to get as much done as possible.

It’s only an hour into his shift when his cell phone begins to ring out of his coat that’s draped over his chair. He reaches behind him and goes to grab it to see who it is. Maybe it’s an author of his? That’s got to be it.

But when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, the name “Annie” appears on his screen with a picture of her and he feels a bit sick.

Should he answer it or should he leave it? He looks around the room quickly as if he’s looking for an out for the situation. But the sound of his ringtone is annoying him and surely everyone else so he quickly hits answer and puts the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer my call the other day.”

The airiness of her voice still catches Dan off guard.

He quickly stands up from his chair and rushes out of the office towards the breakroom. He steps inside and is glad to see no one else is in there. He takes a seat on one of the couches.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ever call again,” Dan says truthfully.

“I’m back from Italy,” Annie says. “I want to see you again.”

There is a pause because Dan doesn’t know what to tell her anymore. Back when they were together, he could have any conversation with her without an issue. But she left for Italy when they were on bad terms and Dan considered the relationship ended at that point, he figured she did too.

But something is nagging in the back of his head that she was still thinking otherwise.

“I stopped by your dad’s company but they said that you left and were working somewhere else,” Annie says, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. I switched companies a few months ago,” Dan says, his words a bit clipped, a bit short.

“Where do you work now?” Annie says, a bit out of breath and that’s when Dan can hear the sound of the busy London streets in the background.

“Are...are you walking?” Dan asks.

“Yeah, I’m going to come and see you, is that an issue?”

“Yes!” Dan cries out. “You can’t come and visit me at my job, Annie.”

He can almost hear her stop in her tracks as she processes what he just said. She huffs and then lets out a sigh.

“Do you still live in the same flat at least?” She asks, sounding exasperated.

“No.”

“So you’ve literally like...left everything behind then.”

Dan leans back on the couch and rubs his hand over his face.

“So you’re not even going to give me your new address then?” Annie asks. “Dan, you’re my fiance, I need to know where you are.”

“Annie…”

“Look, okay. I know the details got a bit stretched as time passed between us but we can meet up later and talk about this all.”

Dan sighs because he knows that she is right. He agrees eventually and then ends the call just as the door to the breakroom opens and Phil walks inside, a couple pound coins in his hand. He walks over to the vending machine and without making eye-contact with Dan, says, “There is a strict company policy that we use our cell phones for work related conversations when we’re on the clock. So no more private calls during your shift or else we’re both going to get into trouble.”

“How did you know it wasn’t work related?” Dan asks, because he doesn’t particularly like the idea of Phil eavesdropping on his conversation. No matter how many lines or boundaries they may have crossed.

“If it was work related, you wouldn’t have rushed out of the office so no one else could hear you,” Phil says, grabbing whatever he got out of the machine and walking back out of the room.

Dan has no idea what any of that was, but it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

***

Phil gets on the tube right after Dan has a seat on one of the empty benches. He rushes on and Dan sees the sigh of relief that comes out of Phil’s chest when the doors close narrowly behind him and the train starts and barrels forward. He walks forward and takes the empty seat next to Dan.

“Didn’t think I was going to make the last train,” Phil says, completely out of breath.

“They normally hold the final train for a bit longer.”

Phil stares at him and laughs and shakes his head. Dan’s not sure why.

Then he sees the bag Phil is holding in his hands and notices there is something in it. Phil picks it up and holds it up to Dan, “Come over to mine for a few drinks to unwind after the long day.”

“I can’t tonight,” Dan says, because he knows Annie is waiting for him at his flat. Even though he told her not to wait for him, he knows that she is.

“Why not?” Phil asks.

“I...I’m tired.”

“Exactly why we should unwind,” Phil presses, scooting closer to Dan.

The train suddenly slows to a hard stop and the passengers get thrown around as the lights flicker off and murmurs begin to be whispered between everyone. Dan feels his heartbeat pick up speed and he turns to Phil.

Phil looks at him and just as Dan opens his mouth to ask what Phil thinks happened, but Phil leans forward and presses their lips together. Dan has half a mind to protest and push back because they’re on a public train but Phil pulls away not long after initiating it.

Dan just stares at him and then the lights flicker back on and Dan feels a sense of comfort in his chest. He finds himself leaning over and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting it go through his nose.

It’s just a few more stops until their own and when they get off, they walk together down the street. It’s so late that most of the area is void of people except for a few stragglers. Their shoulders are bumping against each other and Dan doesn’t think Phil’s ever walked this close to him before. There is something cozy about it.

Just as he thinks that, Phil’s hand comes into contact with his own and they connect, palm to palm. Dan can feel how warm Phil’s hand is against his own and he blushes as he looks down and sees their hands swinging, intertwined.

He knows that they shouldn’t be holding hands in public, but it’s night and no one is around so he figures that it really can’t hurt them.

They walk all the way to their apartment building like that, and just as soon as they reach the door, Dan sees her, standing outside with a cigarette in between her fingers, the smoke coiling through the night air.

He drops Phil’s hand like it just hurt him and he stops in his tracks, “Annie?”

He knows that she was supposed to be meeting up with him here but the shock still sets in seeing her. It’s been nearly a year since they last saw each other. He hates to admit it, but he actually had forgotten mostly what she looked like.

So to see her standing there, her shoulder length hair sitting behind her ears and her button down shirt tucked into her black jeans with a long peacoat covering her arms, Dan feels like he’s seeing a stranger in his view.

“Where have you been? Thought you said you got out of work around 9?” She says.

Dan is well aware that it’s past nine, but he couldn’t help that. Some days he has to stay later to get his work done and today is definitely one of those days since it was the day back from holiday.

“I do but I had to stay later,” He says, walking up to her, leaving Phil standing behind him.

Phil follows him and is suddenly standing behind him. Annie motions to Phil and Dan turns and quickly introduces him, “Oh, Annie, this is Phil. Phil, this is Annie.”

Phil reaches his hand out to shake it and says a quick nice to meet you before he turns to Dan and says that he’s heading inside.

Dan doesn’t say anything else, he just smiles and nods and watches as Phil walks away. He turns back to Annie and she’s staring at him, tapping off the ash from the end of her cigarette.

“Who is that?” She asks.

“I already introduced you,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

She lifts the cigarette to her mouth and Dan notices that she’s wearing the thin band that he gave her. His heart sinks a bit further down into his stomach.

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t get cheeky with me, Howell. That’s not what I asked. Why were you holding hands with him?”

Dan doesn’t know what to say to her because he doesn’t fully have an answer. He and Phil haven’t spoken to each other about what their relationship actually was.

Annie shakes her head, “Nevermind. I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

Annie nods and then throws her cigarette on the ground and stomps it out with her foot. She digs into the bag on her shoulder and pulls out a small box and hands it to him.

“New Year's gift,” She says with a smile.

Dan thanks her and then it goes silent between them again. He’s not sure what else he can say. He honestly thought he was never going to see her again.

“You know,” Dan says, deciding to rip the plaster off. “We’re not engaged anymore.”

Annie looks at him and gives him a sad smile, “I know, Howell. But a girl can dream that she didn’t fuck everything up, right?” She lets out a cough and straightens herself up a bit. “I know you’re in love with someone else,” She says. “It’s okay, mate. Didn’t expect you to take me back after all of this...just...kind of hoped maybe you would.”

“It’s not...I’m sorry, Annie.”

She nods her head and flashes him another smile before she says, “I need to go. I’ve called a cab and they’re probably wondering where I am.”

She barreled past him and he watched as she walked away. He felt a weight lift from his chest, but then another one settled. He looked up towards the top of the building and saw the light of Phil’s flat glow through the curtains. He takes a deep breath and steps into the building, making his way up.

He knocks on Phil’s door, waiting for Phil to open it up. But no one comes. Dan stands puzzled on the other side, waiting longer for someone to come but it’s clear no one is. Did Phil fall asleep?

He knocks again and this time, he hears footsteps coming and the door opens. Phil stands on the other side, staring at him.

“Hi,” Dan says. “Still open for some drinking?”

Phil lets out a small breath and then says, “I don’t know, Dan…”

Dan swallows down the lump in his throat and bites his lip, “Then let me at least explain who she is.”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Phil says with no hesitation. “I get why you were so hesitant about doing anything with me now.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dan says. “Please, let me explain.”

Phil steps aside and opens the door wider and Dan walks in, leaving his shoes behind next to Phil’s on the rug beside the door. They make their way into Phil’s living room and they sit down.

“She was my fiance,” Dan says, needing to just get everything all out into the open now. “We met when we were in America. She was in the same class as me and we hit it off. When I moved back to the UK, she moved here too to go to university in Scotland. We decided to date because I thought why not. I was still getting over you and everyone told me that I needed to get myself out there again, so I went for it.”

Dan looks up from his hands to see Phil staring at him, stone faced. Dan can’t read how he’s feeling but he can see that he’s listening and that’s enough for him to continue.

“We were never the most compatible couple. She was way more outgoing than me and so we found the balance to be really hard and we separated for a long time,” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “We reconnected a few years later and got back together and for some reason, my mind told me that she was going to be the only person I could potentially love again...after you. So I proposed and she accepted.”

“Why did you propose to someone if you didn’t want to be with them?” Phil asks and Dan looks at him.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “Truthfully, I really do not know.”

“That’s a bit daft, don’t you think?”

Dan shakes his head and ignores Phil to get the rest of his story out.

“One day, we got into an argument and I called off the engagement. But she didn’t think I was actually calling it off but I was. We argued more and then I woke up one morning and she was gone. All I had was a text telling me she was leaving to go and find herself. I found out two weeks later she was in Capri...in Italy.”

Phil crosses his arms over his chest and sits quiet for a moment and so Dan adds, “This was the first time I’ve seen her since she’s left.”

Phil lets out a scoff and Dan feels his cheeks heat up in anger.

“Wha--”

“You’re so dense you don’t even see the irony in this entire situation,” Phil says. “Who does she sound like, Dan?”

Dan sits in silence, collecting his thoughts as he realizes...Annie was exactly like him. He did the exact same thing...but to Phil. He looks up and opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Phil just shakes his head and stands up, walking away from the couch. Dan finds himself going after him, he pushes off, and bounds forward, grabbing Phil’s arm, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see Damien.”

The color drains from Dan’s face as he lets go of Phil’s arm, “Why?”

“Because Damien asked me to come over for drinks and I am.”

Phil walks further towards the door and Dan chases after him again. When Phil begins to slip his foot into his shoe, Dan reaches for his arm again, “Don’t…” Phil spins around and comes face to face with Dan and Dan finds himself pleading, “Don’t go to Damien. Please, Phil…”

“Dan...you had a fiance and I never even knew about it.”

“I didn’t love her,” Dan says, and he knows the words hurt. He shouldn’t be saying them but they slip out. “I didn’t love her because I’ve only loved one person in my life.”

Their eyes meet and Dan feels his eyesight blur as tears come to the waterline and he struggles to hold them back. Phil reaches up and puts his hand on Dan’s cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb.

Phil leans in and connects their lips and Dan reaches up, putting his arms around Phil’s neck for stability. He melts into the kiss, letting himself cling to Phil as he struggles to hold back his emotions.

Phil pulls back and looks Dan in the eyes as Dan sinks into seas of blue, “I want to know everything about you from the last ten years,” He says, his voice soft. “Don’t leave anything out. I want to know everything.”

Dan nods and connects their lips again as he whispers, “okay.”

As they make their way into the bedroom, and fall onto Phil’s bed, Dan lays beneath him. He keeps his hands as steady as they can be on Phil’s jaw, holding them both grounded. Their kisses are fevered and Dan can feel Phil undoing the button of his pants, opening them up to the cool air of the room.

Phil breaks the kiss, leaning down to kiss and suck at Dan’s neck. Dan closes his eyes and lets out a moan. No one will ever have this effect on him, only Phil.

And one day, he might even admit that to Phil.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #angst #fluff #first love fic #princesslexi763fics

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caps-lockdown · 5 years ago

Text

Sweet on You Part 4

Hey everyone I just want to say thank you SO much for all of the love for the past few parts. We are nearing the end of this fluffy piece and I’m so happy everyone has liked it so far!

I own no characters but the MC I created. Also no beta so the errors are all mine!

Words: 3,064

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Part 4 of my story where everyone has some well hidden secrets. Also a bet.

Warnings: Language and Alcohol consumption. Also some mentions of sexual situations. Otherwise fluff and some tension.

Part 4: Birthday Cake Confessions.

“Another round of shots!”

Sam called as you, Bucky, Nat and Tony all gathered around the bar an hour later, the dancing and alcohol warming your bodies as they celebrated your birthday. You had no idea what you had done to deserve these amazing people but you weren’t letting them go. They were going to be stuck with you.

“Yea! Shots and then cake! And then more shots!” Bucky added, causing a giggle to escape you as you threw back your shot glass. The tequila burned down your throat and you quickly reached for a lime wedge, Nat following suit.

“Where’s Thor and Steve?” Pepper asked, watching everyone and drinking from her water glass.

“Went to get more of Thor’s booze I’d wager.” Bucky stated, smiling at you.

“Well I want cake!” Sam made a point to stamp his foot down on the floor like a five year old and you couldn’t help but chuckle. Bucky only rolled his eyes in response.

“It’s not your birthday sweetheart. On that day you get to decided what to do, okay?” Bucky’s patronizing tone had all of you laughing while the bartender handed you another drink. Bucky patted Sam’s cheek for effect and turned his attention back to you. They were like an old married couple sometimes.

“We have returned!” Thor exclaimed as he, Bruce, and Steve returned to the exhibit room, each holding a glass and smiling at you as they rejoined your party.

“Ladies you don’t need to all go to the bathroom together.” Sam chided and you sputtered into your glass at the joke.

“You’re just mad you weren’t invited.” Bruce shot back and Sam put a hand on his chest.

“Please. Going to the bathroom with a literal god, giant green dude and a super soldier? I’m perfectly capable of feeling sexually threatened all by myself thanks.”

“Can we please have cake now that everyone is back? Sam is getting grouchy.” You asked, everyone agreeing with both statements and you made your way towards the cake. It was a beautiful four tiered cake in your favorite color, stunning sugar flowers adorning it. Simple, but perfect.

Of course there were two giant gold candles in the shape of a three and a zero, but you were pretending not to see them. That dream died the minute Tony lit them, laughing at your blank expression.

“Please don’t sing again, I don’t think my ears can take another helping of that.” You tried, Bucky shaking his head at you and holding up his fingers in a countdown.

“One…two…three. HAPPY BIIIIIRRRTHDAAAY TOOO YOOOU.”

You rolled your eyes although you kept smiling as the team, along with everyone else started singing to you. You didn’t have a pillow this time but it actually didn’t sound that bad for the second time. You guessed it was probably all the extra singers helping drown out Tony’s terrible wailing, Pepper laughing at him as he over exaggerated his voice and hand movements. You shook your head. What a dork.

“And many more…”

“Man I just had major déjà vu.” Your statement had everyone chuckling. You took in a breath and went to blow out your candles, their cheers erupting once you had successfully extinguished them.

“What did you wish for?” Pepper asked while the servers began cutting cake and handing it out to guests. You rejoined your group and looked pointedly at Wanda, more than aware she had read your mind. She pretended to zip her mouth shut and you just smiled at Pepper.

“If I tell it to you it won’t come true.”

“But we all know Steve would gladly let you jump him if you just asked. “

You were quick to slap Bucky hard upside the head, eyes darting around to make sure the Captain in question wasn’t around to hear him. That would have been absolutely mortifying.

“Steve couldn’t and most importantly does not feel that way. Now cool it.”

“How about a wager then?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows at you and in response you tilted your head to the side.

“Such as?”

“If and when I can get good ol’ Stevie to confess his feelings to you, the minute it happens you have to tell this whole party that I am the best at everything and everyone should worship me like the god I am.” You scoffed as he placed his hand out.

“And WHEN he doesn’t, you have to announce to the whole party that you are the world’s biggest idiot who needs to learn to keep his nose out of other people’s affairs. You have until one am. ”

“Deal.” You shook hands and quickly adverted your gaze when Steve came to stand next to you, handing you a plate with a piece of cake.

“Vanilla my favorite! Thanks for remembering Steve.”

“Don’t mention it Doll.”

You smiled at him before digging into your cake, giving a soft moan as you stuffed your face with the heavenly confection. It was probably the best cake you had ever eaten. It wasn’t dry, and it felt lighter than air on your tongue.

“I still think yours is the best.” Tony conceded, the rest of the team agreeing and making you blush.

“You guys are too good to me. I don’t know how to thank you enough for being in my life. Truly.”

“You can start by playing paranoia with us!” Sam piped up, coming into view with Bruce, both of them holding trays of shots and drinks. You groaned but nodded.

“I guess I don’t have a choice do I? Who’s all in?”

“We’re game!” Wanda motioned for her and Nat, Thor holding up his finger as he continued to eat cake. Tony nodded while Pepper shook her head, kissing her husband before walking away to find other things to do. Bucky made you nervous as he rubbed his hands together. Shit this could not be good.

“Well if it’s what the birthday girl wants. Shall we find somewhere comfortable?” Steve agreed, making you blush as he offered you an arm.

Taking it, you allowed him to lead you to an area where large round tables were set up. You took a seat as Nat and Wanda took the seats at your sides, forcing the men to shuffle around each other and squabbling about who got to sit where. Bruce and Sam placed the trays of drinks and shots down, passing them out to everyone so that you each had three shots in front of you.

“Alright everyone it’s an easy enough game, so I’m only going to explain it once.” Sam clapped his hands as you all stared at him. You were beginning to think this was not such a good idea after all.

“When it’s your turn, you get to pick one person on either side of you and ask them a question. But you only get to whisper it to them. For example, I might ask Bruce here who he thinks has the prettiest eyes, but you all won’t know that. Now Bruce knows the question, but can only give the answer out loud to all of us. Next we flip a coin, and if it’s heads he doesn’t have to say what the question was. However if it’s tails he has to say the question out loud, not just the answer. Your chicken shit shots are there to take if you don’t want to say what the question was. But you only get three, after that you’re out of the game. Make sense?”

“And we can ask anything?” Wanda asked, earning a nod from Sam.

“Yep. The weirder the better. Just try to limit it to those here in the group. Being the fact it’s Y/N birthday, she gets to go first.”

“Ooh. Ok. “Clearing your throat and thinking about your question you leaned in to speak into Nat’s ear, cupping your hand around your mouth.

“Out of everyone in the group who have you had a wet dream about?” Her eyes widened as you leaned back, a large smile on your face.

She glared at you before looking down at the table. “Bucky.”

You flipped the coin and it landed on heads, Nat letting out a sigh in relief before taking a moment to think about her question. She leaned to her left and whispered into Sam’s ear, his laughter ringing out and causing the table to jump.

“Aww hell Nat. You know I’d pick Y/N.” You choked on your drink as his coin landed on tails. He just smiled brightly at you.

“The question was who I would ask to help bury a body. Y/N you have everyone’s back in here, no questions asked. You’re also quiet and know how to keep a secret. That was a no brainer.” You laughed and shook your head, the game moving along the circle.

“Thor.” Bruce said with a stoic expression, smiling when it landed on heads.

“Wanda and Y/N.” Bucky continued to shake his head as he downed a shot, the two of you in question looking to each other. Guess you would never know.

You found out Thor would trade bodies with Steve for a day if he could.

“What? He’s in fantastic shape, look at his arms!” Thor motioned to him, Steve rolling his eyes and bringing up an arm to flex. Sam and Bucky made girlish noises and pretended to swoon as Bruce pretended to fan himself.

“You lot are ridiculous.” Steve winked at your comment while you drank from your glass. They weren’t wrong. But they were ridiculous.

“Nat” Steve answered his question sheepishly, smiling wide when getting to remain silent.

Later on about forty five minutes into the game you looked at all the competition left. Tony, Wanda, and Bruce were all out and just watching, having taken all of their chicken shots to evade questions. So were Sam and Thor. Nat and Steve each only had one shot left. You and Bucky all still had two shots a piece.

Everyone had decided to switch seats around so you were all sitting next to someone new. It also helped weed out the non players who took to sitting around the outside of the table. You were already regretting sitting between Sam and Bucky. Nat took her seat next to Sam on your left putting Steve on Bucky’s right, finishing the table.

“Alright Stevie,” Bucky clapped his friend on his shoulder, motioning him in closer to him as he whispered his question. Steve quickly shot back in his chair and repeatedly shook his head.

“Come on you gotta answer. Those are the rules, right Sammy?”

“Don’t call me that man.” Sam grimaced and you giggled, Steve looking considerably more and more uncomfortable at his predicament.

“It’s ok Steve it can’t be that bad.” Nat tried reassuring him who only shot her an icy look.

“Shit maybe it is then. Sorry.”

Steve looked up to the ceiling for a few moments, gaining his composure and setting his jaw into a poker face of sorts. Leaning forward into his chair he locked eyes with you before sighing.

“Y/N.”

“Alright time for the coin of truth!” Thor announced, Bucky flipping it into the air.

The world seemed to stop as you and Steve continued to look at each other, his eyes boring into yours as you waited to hear the result. He looked like a mixture of angry and…hurt? Like something was eating away at him.

“Tails! Fess up buddy!” Sam pointed his finger at Steve, who didn’t break your staring contest. You stopped breathing when he went to open his mouth, anticipation killing you to know what the question was.

Instead he remained silent, his gaze turning into a pained expression as he brought his last shot up to his lips and downed it. Everyone but you groaned in exasperation as he stood up from the table and left, your eyes lingering on his back until he vanished from view.

“Awh Hell now I don’t want to even play anymore.” Sam whined, Nat nodding and Bucky looking at you with a sly grin.

“Perhaps we shall get back to the merriment? It is Y/N’s birthday after all!” Thor exclaimed, the rest of your friends cheering before downing the rest of their shots and standing up to rejoin the party.

“You coming?” Nat asked as she reached a hand out to you, which you took to stand up.

“No thanks. I’m gonna go find Rogers. He didn’t look alright just now and I’m worried.”

Downing your two shots back to back you squared your shoulders and headed into the sea of people looking for Steve. Thankfully some of the guests had left the party after cake, so there weren’t as many to stop you along the way.

It didn’t take you long to find out from a server that he got a drink and had began to wander about the museum. Thanking the woman you grabbed two fresh drinks and headed out of the exhibit, making sure to tell Tony on your way out. You had a feeling you knew exactly where he had gone.

You found him shortly after rounding a corner in the Avenger’s exhibit, smiling to yourself as he stared at his first suit. His back was to you but he knew someone had been coming up behind him because he stiffened as you neared him. Your eyes wandered down to the now empty glass on the floor as you made your way closer to him. You said nothing as you stood next to him, looking up at his suit in quiet admiration. What a long journey he had gone through.

“I’m sorry I took off like that. It was rude.” His voice was hoarse and you offered a small smile.

“Don’t apologize Steve. Thirsty?” You offered him the other glass you had brought, Steve chucking as his fingers grazed yours to take the drink.

“Thanks. You know me pretty well don’t you?”

“Not as well as I’d like to.” You muttered before taking a sip of your own drink, Steve raising an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You want to walk around with me?” You quickly deflected, staring up at him.

“I’d be honored sweetheart.” You smiled, heart melting as you took his arm and began to stroll around the pretty much empty museum. You talked about random things. Steve made you laugh with stories from the past, before he was Captain America. You both talked about how Pepper was driving everyone crazy. You agreed you wanted them to have a girl.

“You and Bucky go way back huh?” You questioned while you both gazed up at the T-Rex.

“Yea. He was there for me when no one else was growing up. He may be a pain in the ass, but for a long time he was all I had. I’m still stuck with the bastard.”

“Language Captain, geesh.” You joked, lightly pushing him as he laughed.

“Peggy would have loved you I think.” His comment made your blood run cold, your laughter stopping as you tried to regain your composure.

“Oh. The way you talk about her she must have been pretty incredible.”

You began to fumble with your necklace, the conversation going to a place you didn’t like. Since your feelings for Steve had developed you always found yourself feeling a tinge a jealousy whenever he brought her up. That usually got you to either leave the room or change the subject. You knew it wasn’t right to feel that way, and you knew she was gone from his life and wasn’t coming back. But still you sometimes compared yourself to her and knew that in the end you couldn’t possibly be someone he would want.

“She was. I never thought anyone could make me feel the way she did, that is until recently.” He turned to look at you, blue eyes focused so hard as if he was looking at you for the first time. You tilted your head to the side, trying to understand what he was saying.

“Steve?”

“Do you ever wonder how much we miss out on because we never take our shot? I mean our whole lives we’re told that we have to seize the day but the more comfortable we become with our lives the less we chase after what we want. It’s like we fear change so much we’re willing to stay miserable.”

“Fear is the enemy of progress.” You stated, not noticing how he was moving closer to you.

“But I’m no coward Y/N. And I’m tired of acting like one.”

Startled at how close he had gotten since he began talking to you, your eyes shot to his blue ones in panic. In one swift movement his arm darted out to wrap around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. Your heart was racing as he carefully brought his hand up to brush his fingers against your cheek, so gentle as if he was afraid he would break you.

Instinctively you found yourself leaning into his touch, your face inching closer to his. His hand slid to sit against the back of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat and you let your eyes begin to flutter shut; your lips hovering over one another’s. You were hoping and pleading this wasn’t another one of your dreams.

“Steve I…”

His lips were on yours before you could finish your statement, a wistful sigh leaving your mouth as you pulled him closer. Steve’s grasp tightened around your waist as he kissed you tenderly, pushing all of his emotions into it. You returned the kiss and let your hands fall to his broad shoulders, seeing stars on the other side of your eyelids. This was the most perfect moment of your life thus far.

You deepened the kiss and heard him groan when you took his bottom lip between your teeth. The electricity between you continued to spark as your mouths got bolder with one another’s. Tongues and lips clashed as you stood engulfed in his embrace, his one hand burying into your hair. He was kissing you as if he was starving and you were the only thing that would satisfy him. You didn’t mind one bit.

Too bad it was cut short by a bunch of vulgar shouting and cheering.

Tag list: @kaytizzle @cuffski

#steve rodgers x reader #fanfic #the avengers #captain america

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

Text

come home with me (chapter 5)

This fic isn’t dead! Just took a brief break for Widomauk Week but now we’re back with a horribly angsty chapter. Thanks as always to my amazing beta readers, @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short who I adore.

Ways to thank your humble writer:

Leave a comment on Ao3 / Donate to my ko-fi

~~~~~

Even as he ventured further into the wide world, into towns and cities he’d only ever read about in letters and books, Caleb realised that people really were mostly the same wherever you went.

They showed the same measured apprehension whenever the troupe would roll into view over the nearest hill, tucking their children behind wary arms and pushing their purses deeper into their pockets. Their suspicion quickly dissolved into excitement when they saw the name proudly painted on the lead wagons, if the carnival had passed this way before, and if not, when Molly placed their writ of performance somewhere nice and obvious by their camp. Whatever convinced them that these were legitimate performers, working under the respectable name of the Baron de Rolo, and not a gaggle of the wandering criminals who distracted more gullible townsfolk than could be found in these parts with flashes and bangs while their cutpurses did their work.

Caleb knew Molly sucked his teeth and lashed his tail at that initial assumption, wondering bitterly if any of the people cared to wonder what had driven such supposed criminals into those desperate situations. Not that he’d pried too much, but Caleb saw the thin scars that littered his lover’s skin like fallen snow and wondered privately if they’d been earned under similar desperate situations. Maybe he’d ask one time. Maybe he would.

Either way, the audience seats would be full of people with the same air of anticipation. They would gasp and laugh and applaud at the exact same moment in the script. They would weep at Mollymauk’s song, finding something in their own lives to help them connect with the longing and desire that flavoured his words and made them sting so much.

And they would leave with the same satisfaction on their faces, the same lightness of people who’d been allowed to forget their cares for an evening, forget how the harvest was coming on and the stalks weren’t as high as they could be and how the roads were getting dangerous and whether the next round of taxes would prove crippling or simply damaging.

Caleb took a lot of comfort from that. Wherever you went, people were the same.

They all loved stories.

The summer was as long and golden as anyone could ever wish, though there was still that regretful pang when the evenings started to gather in quicker and the sun began to lose some of its heat. As the troupe rolled through the countryside, they passed more fields that were shorn right down, only broken, bristly stalks and empty husks left behind.

There was some sadness to it, for certain, but it was a relief as well. Harvest time meant festivals and festivals meant plenty of people looking for a troupe to sing, dance, act out the traditional plays and provide a colourful, sequin backdrop for them to celebrate the season against. Molly anticipated a string of very busy, very profitable weeks, finishing up in Port Damali just in time for the city’s grand Summer’s End Celebration, a time that Molly spoke of as debauched, delightful and hilarious in fond, nostalgic tones, describing it as the perfect place to earn an awful lot of gold and blow it all on incredibly fun activities in less than a night.

But before all that came a string of smaller, far more modest villages in the borders, with their own celebrations to facilitate. Not the whole tent and fireworks and noise business for these folk, just a simple stage in the middle of town and a selection of good, honest, ribald plays with the odd flash and bang here or there. Simple stories with a clear moral and hidden dirty jokes and songs to sing along with, something a professional troupe such as Molly’s could really sink their teeth into and make into something special. Perhaps a party afterwards to welcome the autumn with a large bonfire and more music, which the humble performers would of course be delighted to provide.

Caleb couldn’t help but think he liked these events more than he’d like Port Damali. These were sweet and provincial and familiar in a way that tugged at a place deep inside of him. The decorations were all made of home grown flowers, the cider was from farms less than a stone’s throw away, rich and earthy as anything Caleb had ever drank. The plays poked fun at lords and law masters, the songs were simple and silly and full of innuendos that made him laugh, made to be clapped along to and danced to in fields lit by lanterns and the rich light of a late summer moon.

A few times, he and Molly had found themselves in the midst of one of those dances, twirling around each other, forgetting everything else around them aside from each other’s faces, everything holding its breath for the sweet kiss when the music hit its last note.

Those weeks would have been near perfect for Caleb, if it weren’t for the nightmares.

They came without fail every single night, made worse by just how different they were from the warm, happy days, how Caleb would forget about them until he closed his eyes and another one found him. They were insidious, implacable, formless. All he could remember when he woke up was a terrible brightness that hurt his eyes, screams that he couldn’t place as even human and a terrible, gnawing sense of being utterly and totally alone.

But then of course there would always be Molly, sleeping beside him, not minding if Caleb needed to jostle or nudge him as he moved into his arms and hid from the lingering fingers of the nightmares. How could be believe he was alone, when he had the tiefling’s warmth surrounding him, his chest rising and falling against his own? And before long, once the glow of the sunrise bled underneath the curtains, the shadowy shapes and the screams would be forgotten.

Until the next night.

The next village to be graced by the Fletching and Moondrop Carnival was a lot smaller than the others, and even they’d been nothing to shout about. The whole place could probably be walked across from end to end in less than ten minutes. A simple markerstone named it Blumenthal.

Stranger than that, the fields were still full of wheat, browning in the morning sun. Caleb watched it from his perch on the top of his and Molly’s caravan and noted that they’d have to start bringing it in soon or it would start to wilt into uselessness.

Then he wondered how he knew that.

Once the wagons parked up a respectable distance away, Molly put on his top hat and marched off to the townhouse so he could announce their arrival and show off their writ, given that they hadn’t been here before. Such a thing might be necessary, if these were a nervous sort of folk.

But as Caleb hopped down from the caravan and wandered into the little square, he noticed the people looked a lot more busy than suspicious, anxious eyed women and puffing elderly men going this way and that, carrying rusty looking scythes and bundles of twine, calling to one another in stressed, thin voices. And no wonder, with their food and income for the winter turning brown in the fields around them. The harried panic practically gave their air a taste.

Caleb was lost in his own thoughts when one of the women collided with him, clearly he’d meandered right into her path.

“Gods above, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, diving down and gathering up the shears she’d dropped, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, looking a little dazed, clearly just eager to get on with her task, “No harm done.” There was clearly some elf blood in her family, if her pointed ears and bright eyes were anything to go by.

“If you don’t mind my asking, is everything alright?” Caleb blurted out, as if showing concern would make up for nearly knocking her down in his obliviousness. The woman sighed, forehead wrinkling with more worry than she really looked old enough to bear, “Harvest time and we’re short handed. Most people with the strength to swing a scythe are off in the cities, taking the crown’s coin. All well and good for them but who does that leave to bring the crop in? Old folks who should be enjoying a quiet life, mothers with children too young to be out there in the heat all day…” She sucked in a breath, as if she’d said more than she’d meant to, at least to a stranger with an odd accent and an inability to look where he was going.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of able hands,” Caleb blinked, waving his hand in the direction of the wagon train, “We’d be happy to help out.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, as if such a generous offer was a cause for concern, “You aren’t from around here. We have little enough to offer as payment, why would you help?”

Caleb didn’t have an answer for her, he could only stand there and open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. “I guess...it's just the right thing to do, isn’t it?” The woman eyed him like a lifeline she desperately wanted to believe was real but common sense told her to be wary of grasping, “Most folk wouldn’t see that as a good enough reason these days.”

Caleb set his jaw, realising the truth of her words and not liking it.

“Not folk like us, ma’am.”

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened but somehow, when Molly returned from the townhouse, he found his shy, bookish wizard stood on top of an upturned costume chest, the whole carnival troupe gathered around him with a singular bemused expression, listening as he broke them up into teams, gave them tasks and equipment and sent them out into the fields. In less than five minutes, everyone had a job to do and the right kit to do it with, whether that be magic, a borrowed piece of rusty farm equipment or a re-purposed piece of kit from the carnival. In less than five minutes, total order out of complete chaos.

Trying not to look as shocked as he felt to see Caleb speaking authoritatively in front of a crowd, Molly cleared his throat and put a boot on the edge of the chest, “Darling, where are my troupe, who have a show to put on tonight, off to?”

The spell broken in an instant, Caleb jumped guiltily and flushed crimson as he faced Mollymauk.

“I...I’m sorry, they were just saying how they don’t have enough people to bring in the harvest and it’s all going to be lost if they don’t do it soon and I-I just thought if we help they can get it done and we can put our show on...later...maybe?” he twisted his fingers together anxiously, “I should have asked, I’m sorry…”

Molly shushed him gently and put a hand on his arm, soothing his babbling, “I got a similar story from the mayor. This was a good idea you had, Caleb, we can do more for them like this. And they’ll probably let us put a little something on after the day’s work.”

Relief flooded his wizard’s face and his shoulders relaxed, “Oh. Thank you, Molly.”

The tiefling chuckled and kissed his cheek lightly, “Leave every place better than when we found it. That’s the rule, right?”

The kiss made Caleb blush and grin, winding their fingers together comfortably, “True. Grab a pitchfork then, we need to do our part. Can’t have the ringmaster sitting back and letting his troupe do all the work.”

Molly groaned theatrically but he let Caleb lead him out towards the fields, where people in colourful costumes and humble roughspun alike were already hard at work.

“How do you know all this stuff anyhow?” he asked, still holding Caleb’s hand, tone light and joking, “You’re practically an expert and there sure aren’t any fields back in Rexxantrum. Did you read a book about it one day or something?”

For a moment, a troubled look crossed Caleb’s face, one that Molly couldn’t fail to notice and knocked him a little bit, as sudden and deep as it was. “I don’t really know…”

By the time the sun was almost half gone beyond the horizon, the work was done. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh grass and turned earth, nearly everyone had dirt under their fingernails and tingling in their palms, along with the sense of complete satisfaction that came with a well done job. As Mollymauk predicted, the townspeople were more than happy for the troupers to provide a little entertainment, throwing open the doors of Blumenthal’s only tavern and refusing payment from anyone wearing the colours of Whitestone.

Everyone in the carnival who played an instrument fetched it and tuned it, the lot of them somehow making their patchwork assortment of guitars, flutes, drums and strings from all corners of the world sound like they had always meant to sing in harmony. Jester and Nott brought out their puppets, making them dance and cavort across the bar in an impromptu show.

Though the ringmaster himself was rather late to it all. He turned up a little after sunset, apparently coming from the direction of the barn, flecks of hay stuck in his rumpled hair and face pleasantly flushed, hand in hand with their equally disheveled arcanist who winced when he finally took his seat at one of the tables, much to the amusement of his companion, who was the only one who noticed.

Merriment, music and a less than sensible amount of alcohol seemed to be the only things that were on the table for the rest of the night. Caleb wanted to enjoy it, the way he’d been able to do ever since he found his family amongst the members of the carnival. But now the comfortable, repetitive work of the day was finished, a sense of disquiet was chewing away at his chest, the same one that had sent the cloud across his face when Mollymauk had asked how he seemed to know so much about farming, about life in a small village. He tried to chase it off with drinking, laughing a little too loudly at Jester and Nott, dancing with every one of his friends who asked him. And they’d work, for a time, but as soon as he returned to his seat it would be there again, that sensation of a foot put wrong, like assuming there would be another step at the bottom of a flight of stairs but finding yourself swaying in mid air, lurching forward with no support. His hands in front of him didn’t feel quite real, even as he deliberately sent them through the motions for each and every spell he knew, something that had always helped him keep calm in the past. When he spoke, his own voice struck his ears as wrong somehow, echoing like it was coming from far away.

He wanted to run. He just couldn’t work out why.

“There’s always one,” Molly grunted, dropping into the seat across from him.

“One what?” Caleb looked up, grateful for the distraction.

Molly flicked his tail in the direction of the furthest corner of the taproom. Hunched into it like he was trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the troupers, was an old man, clearly older than most others. He bent over his tankard of dark ale, eyes heavy lidded but gleaming with suspicion and disgust, clearly aimed in their direction. Caleb felt a twist in his stomach just looking at him, like he’d committed some awful crime.

“No matter what we do for them,” Molly rapped his fingernails on the table top, a sure sign he was agitated, “No matter how much we try, some people will always look down on us.”

Caleb moved to take his hand, offer him some comfort, maybe suggest another quite literal roll in the hay to distract him but he realised something. The man wasn’t looking at the carnival as a whole. He was looking at him.

Less than a second after this realisation sank into Caleb’s mind with a cold shudder, the old man muttered something, the tail end of which reached them at the other end of the bar.

“...used to burn such folk, those who meddled in the dark arts...”

The atmosphere in the bar room changed in the time it took for Caleb’s heart to beat. Molly’s chair scraped back with a hard, splitting sound, effectively silencing the musicians. He drew himself up to his full height, moving between Caleb and the old man. For the first time Caleb saw how much danger could be held in the depths of those red eyes.

“You got something to say, friend?” he demanded flatly. The full force of his theatrics training was behind his voice, making it boom resolutely through the small space, bringing everything around him to a screeching halt. All eyes turned to them, carnival eyes wary and hesitant, village eyes shocked, startled out of their celebrations.

The man’s eyes hardened. Molly’s tail lashed harshly.

Caleb reached out and tugged anxiously on the sleeve of the tiefling’s coat, “Molly, its okay…”

Finally the tension broke when the dwarven woman who kept the tavern cleared her throat with a note of warning and set down the tankard she’d been cleaning with a solid bang. “Gentlemen,” was all she said.

The tension unwound like a coiled snake darting for the safety of the grass. Certain things couldn’t be argued with and one of those was a pointed remark from a barmaid. The old man rose to his feet and stalked off, Mollymauk sank back down into his chair, following Caleb’s pleading grasp. The musicians picked back up, playing louder and with an extra flair of brightness, trying to mask the sour note of unpleasantness left in the room. Not a fight in the true sense, barely even an altercation, just a few exchanged words and looks that allowed both men to keep their dignity.

Still, Caleb was shaking.

The barmaid appeared, setting down their latest round of drinks, her face apologetic, “Pay Arlen no mind. A lot of folk round here have reason to be a little suspicious of those who are magically inclined. Meaning no offence of course, it's just...well, those who are old enough to remember.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, still a little defensive. His tail gave him away, it was still bucking and writhing behind him in a fit of anger.

The barmaid cleared her throat, clearly building up for a story, “Well...a good few years back, coming up on a score or would it be more now? Anyway, we had a shifty character come through. Hood up, didn’t speak, had the smell of magic on him if you take my meaning. Took rooms at this very tavern back when my old mother ran it. Stayed a week or so then disappeared one night without paying.”

“That’s why he was threatening my workers?” Molly demanded incredulously, eyes flaring again, “Because a wizard stiffed on a bill once?”

The barmaid gave him a look, admonishing him a little, her voice getting harder, “Well, given that the very night he disappeared one of the farmhouses went up in flames out of nowhere. Killed a pair of newlyweds, nicer folk you could never hope to meet, and their little boy, only five years old. All of them, dead in one night. And the stranger was seen fleeing the blaze, cloak and all. So no, sir, it was a little more than a stiffed bar tab.”

It was as if the floor of the tavern had fallen away for no one but Caleb. Everyone else continued around him, voices and movement but it was all a blur to him. He was falling.

“What were their names?” he made himself ask, cutting across Molly’s apologies, his voice flat and cold, “The family, what were their names?”

The barmaid blinked, his tone startling her, as it startled everyone else around the table. Molly looked at him, mouth open a little, confused.

“Well...it was a little before my time but I think…” she said haltingly, “Ermendrud. That was it. Leo and Una, I can’t speak to what their poor little lad was called. You can see the ruins of their farm still out there, the constabulary never sent anyone to clear it away after their so called thorough investigation…”

Caleb had stopped listening long before that but it was only then that he could force his legs to move, jolting up as if he’d been electrocuted. His chair hit the floor, his tankard hit the tiles below and cracked. And then he ran.

He got the briefest glimpse of Mollymauk’s stricken expression, felt his fingertips brush his arm but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop him. Nothing would have been. He ran along the lane, everything around him lurching sickeningly like he was running on the deck of a ship, tilting on its axis, no sense of up or down, right or left. But his legs knew exactly where to go, muscles remembering movements, turns through streets his brain had buried a long time ago. He was vaguely aware of people staring, of Fjord calling his name as he passed, of Yasha reaching for him. But their faces, their voices meant nothing, not now.

He could smell burning.

Soon the main cluster of houses was behind him and he was out in the fields, staggering through freshly shorn stalks, what was left of them crunching and cracking like dry bones under his feet. His foot hit a rock buried somewhere in the dirt and he sprawled, skinning his palms and tearing the left knee from his trousers but he just leapt up and ploughed on.

And then he was there. Home, something inside him whispered, and that was what broke him, what sent the tears running down his cheeks and ripped a low moan of agony from his chest. He was home.

There was only a shadow of the foundations left, indentations in the ground. Half a left side wall was all that actually stood, stones blackened and cracked. The fire had consumed nearly all of it, the wooden door and the thatched roof, the blankets and curtains, all the furnishings, the pots and pans, the small array of possessions held dear to the Ermendrud family.

Twenty years of rain, sun and snow, along with the encroaching grass and wildflowers all around it, had healed the land, blowing away the ash, rotting the burnt timbers, covering the scars in the earth. Caleb’s mind had done something similar, healing over the memories too painful and old to remain, wearing down the sharp edges like sea glass until it was small enough to hold. Ikithon’s magic and lies had done the rest, turning it into nearly nothing. Caleb hadn’t even noticed the absence, the loose threads in his own story that hadn’t quite joined up. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to notice, in his new, happier life as Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk’s companion, arcanist for the Fletchling and Moondrop circus.

But it was Bren who fell to his knees in front of the burned skeleton of his family’s home, sobbing so hard he was nearly sick. And Bren remembered a night so long ago if felt more like a dream. He remembered a biting fear trying to claw its way out of him, far too much to be held in such a small body. He remembered flames licking up under the door, an orange so bright they hurt his eyes. He remembered a desperate need to escape, to run, to get out.

And then a hand had reached out to him. Not his father’s, roughened by field work, calloused but so strong and so sure. Not his mother’s, gentle, always apt to comb through his hair reassuringly.

But it was a hand. It was life. Rescue, escape. He’d seized it and felt cool, soothing air rush into his little lungs, going like frantic bellows. The relief had been so palpable, he’d never felt such relief to feel dirt under his hands.

And then he’d heard his mother screaming.

That was where the memory ended, where Ikithon’s memory cleansing spell took hold again. But of course it had made sure not to spare him that sound, his mother screaming. He knew he’d carry that sound in the very iron of his blood until the day he died.

“Caleb?”

He didn’t recognise the name at first, as lost in the memory as he was, the memory where he was Bren, he’d only learned how to write it just last week, tracing it in the dirt floor of their home, Mama had been so proud of him. As proud as the stranger had seemed when he’d come upon Bren making the river stones float. Mama and Papa told him never to talk to strangers but Bren had never been able to show his tricks to anyone before and the stranger had seemed so excited, asking him what else he could do, telling him he could be a powerful wizard one day, filling Bren’s head with fantastic ideas…

“Caleb, it’s okay,” Molly’s voice shook, knowing full well that nothing was okay and might never be okay again.

“He told me he found me on the streets,” Caleb said, his voice a limp, dead thing, “He said I should be grateful he took me in. He made me thank him.”

Molly put his hands on Caleb’s shoulders, helping him to his feet. Nothing in Caleb’s body fought against it.

“Oh, your hands,” Molly groaned, seeing the torn flesh from where the stones and sharp wheat stalks had scraped at him. This was an easier, smaller piece of it all to worry about, something far simpler to heal, and Caleb could see why he fixated on it, not knowing how to deal with everything else just yet.

“I’m going to kill him,” Caleb croaked, some life creeping back into his voice but the only thing in it was anger, a cold and iron anger, “I’m going back to Rexxantrum and I’m going to kill him.”

Molly looked fearful, his grip on Caleb’s wrists tightening, “Love, you’re just upset right now, that’s understandable. Let’s not do anything rash right now.”

Caleb snatched his hands back, voice flaring and swallowing up whatever Molly was about to say, “How...how can you say that? He messed with my mind, he lied to me for years, he killed my family. I’m going to kill him, I’m going to burn him where he stands and he’s going to fucking deserve it.”

The tiefling bit his lip, hands still hovering in the air where they’d been tenderly tracing Caleb’s palms, reaching for something that was no longer there, “He would deserve it, I know that, Caleb…”

“Then what the hell is the problem-”

“The problem is you sound like him,” Molly raised his voice, echoing in the empty field, stopping Caleb dead, “I...I didn’t know your parents Caleb, but is this what they’d want? Would they want you to become a killer, to just let your anger run you for the rest of your life? Get yourself hurt, maybe even get yourself killed, becoming exactly what that asshole was trying to turn you into? Or would they want you to live your life? I think the best way you can say fuck you to Ikithon is just to...be happy. Mourn your parents, mourn what he took from you and just move on. Show him that, even with everything he did, he didn’t win.”

Caleb couldn’t say anything for a long, slow moment, mouth working helplessly. But eventually he managed to whisper, “Didn’t he?”

Mollymauk’s face softened and he moved to take his hands again. Caleb let him, clinging to him even as his cuts stung painfully.

“He didn’t win, Caleb. Look at you, look at what you’ve build since you escaped him. You’re content, you have friends, you...you have me. You have a life, your own life, and you’ve turned it into something so beautiful. I bet your parents are so, so proud of you.”

At those words, Caleb began to sob, falling against Molly’s shoulder. But his lover was there to catch him, murmuring softly even as his own tears thickened his voice, never letting him fall. They weren’t the helpless, sick tears of before, opening the wound further. As they hit the grass below him, falling thick and fast as rainfall, Caleb felt clean.

They stayed out there a long time, until night had well and truly fallen. Caleb did most of the talking, telling Mollymauk everything he remembered of his parents and his short, hard but simple life in Blumenthal. The more he spoke, the more memories came to him, the infallible memory that had served him so well when he learnt spells or studied bringing him these small gifts, glimpses of his old life. He told Molly how he would watch his papa work at harvest time, instructing other folk, his son sitting in the shade of the cottage walls and feeling proud that people listened to his papa, that he was seen as a leader. He remembered going down to the brook with his mama, sitting with his feet in the water, listening to her singing as she worked, trying to join in but getting lost in the lines, shouting the last rhyming word as loudly as he could to make up for it and making Mama giggle.

Each new memory brought a fresh wave of pain and loss but Caleb bore it. He owed his parents that much.

Leaving was hard, Caleb knowing in some deep part of him that he would never come back. But Molly held his hand the whole way down the verge, reminding him that it wouldn’t be gone forever. He had the stories now and that was the most important thing.

That night, lying in bed and listening to the patter of rain on the roof of the wagon, the first proper rain in a good long while, Caleb searched his heart for anger and found none. A deep and profound sadness, the kind that would never really go away, but no anger. He could cope with that.

As he was half asleep, caught between his mind being his own and being given over to his dreams, Caleb found himself looking at Mollymauk. The tiefling always looked young when he slept, with his face relaxed and with none of the facade or spiel he put on for his work. It was when he slept that Caleb would realise he was only as old as himself, maybe even a little younger. Molly had never given an exact age.

Caleb couldn’t count the nights they’d spent together. He couldn’t count the things Molly had taught him, the myriad ways he’d made him feel good, in their bed and out of it. He tried to think how many people would chase someone out into a field, would hold them and let them cry and rage and sob, when ostensibly they were nothing more than a one night stand that had become extended by pure circumstance.

Caleb tried to imagine a night sometime in the future when he didn’t share Mollymauk’s bed. When he didn’t hold his hand around the campfire, sit with his head in his lap, trade sweet words back and forth with him. He couldn’t. His mind recoiled back at the thought. Molly was as much a part of his future as his new job, his new comfort in his own mind.

But still, whenever he tried to extrapolate the thought, take it further, imagine saying certain words, making certain promises, he felt the same helpless sense of impossibility. He just couldn’t be okay with being so vulnerable with another person, not even someone he’d shared so much with already. It was the same as imagining himself as impossibly rich, imagining himself as king of the world. He just couldn’t. It was nonsensical.

Feeling a little ill, Caleb tried to imagine a day where Molly came and told him that he’d found another person to spend his nights with. That what they had, whatever it was called, was over.

He pushed the thought away, like snatching his hand back from a pot that turned out to be scalding hot. Frustration bubbled up inside him and he shoved his face into his pillow, bunching his fists in the blanket. Couldn’t love Molly. Couldn’t let Molly go. Round and round in circles on the same endless track. He wanted to scream.

After a few deep breaths, another trick that Molly had taught him to get him through times when his brain became too loud, Caleb relaxed, exhausted. He didn’t want to chase these thoughts around any more. Today had been far too much already, he didn’t need this on top of everything.

He cleared his mind of them, swatting them away like irritating bees, shuffling closer to Mollymauk and burying his face against his chest. With a sleepy murmur, the tiefling wrapped his arms around him, sighing and sinking back into his dream.

Caleb prayed it was a good one.

#widomauk #rothfuss au #circus au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #critical role fic #cr: campaign 2 #cr: mollymauk #angst #please reblog!#cr: caleb

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emeraldwaves · 6 years ago

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Title: Tee Time Pairing: KuroTsuki Rating: G Word Count: 3,572 Read on Ao3 Summary: When Kuroo and Tsukishima fight about trivial things, there is only one way to solve their problems.

For @its-love-u-asshole because she’s the best and deserves all the fluffy Kurotsuki!!! Thanks to @liziscribbles for betaing this!

The tension was palpable, angry sparks zapping through the air.

"I'm telling you," Kuroo insisted.

"You can tell me all your want, doesn't mean I'll listen," Tsukishima was quick to retort.

Kuroo wished he could remember exactly how they had gotten to this place. It was rare for Kuroo to find himself fighting with his boyfriend.

He couldn't pinpoint when it got so intense, but it most likely started when Tsukishima pulled out The Good Dinosaur and declared it to be the best Pixar movie.

"The... Good Dinosaur..." Kuroo sputtered. Did anyone else even remember that film existed? "Babe... I think your bias is showing..."

Look, it was on brand for Tsukishima, Kuroo could agree with that for sure. But...

"No, it has nothing to do with my... appreciation for dinosaurs."

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, clearly finding that difficult to believe. Tsukishima simply clicked his tongue. "Okay, that is a small part of it... " He rolled his eyes. "Okay then, what is the best Pixar movie in your opinion? I swear if you tell me Cars, we're getting a divorce."

"Pfft! No, not that! It's Toy Story. The trilogy is amazing and wraps up nicely!" Kuroo nodded sagely. It was the obvious right answer, even with the uncertainty of Toy Story 4 looming on the horizon. "Plus, there's a dinosaur in it, so that can satisfy your dino needs."

Tsukishima's face fell. "Eh, Toy Story? It's okay, I guess."

"Okay?! Just okay?!"

Kuroo decided that response was far worse than anyone saying Cars was their favorite Pixar movie.

And so now, here they were, arguing.

"Babe," Kuroo urged. "It's okay to be wrong."

"Are you giving yourself a pep talk?" Tsukishima snorted, folding his arms over his chest.

Kuroo sighed, tilting his head back and forth. "Well... it seems we've come to an impasse."

"Mmm..." Tsukishima nodded, turning towards the window to check the weather. It was a nice enough day for it...

Yes, it was rare that Kuroo found himself fighting with his boyfriend, but when they did fight, there was only one good way to solve their problems...

"Two for a round of mini-golf please," Kuroo smirked, slamming his money on the kiosk desk and looking up at Terushima Yuuji.

The idiot had been working at the mini-golf course for the past few months, but not because he wanted or needed a job. Currently, he was being punished for diving into the mini-golf pond when he missed a hole-in-one on the final hole. It had been funny at the time, but Terushima certainly wasn't laughing now. Not when he was forced to dress in the stuffy Putt-Putt Castle green polo shirt, and deal with dumbasses like Kuroo and Tsukishima.

However, he still regretted not finishing first in that epic game. He would beat Futakuchi one of these days. He swore on the ugly green polo shirt, or so he declared passionately to Kuroo when he was drunk one night.

Currently however Terushima was trapped in the kiosk, staring at the two guys in front of him. He raised his eyebrow. "So, what did you two dorkwads fight about this time?"

Terushima was more than familiar with how Kuroo and Tsukishima worked. They would fight about something fairly inconsequential (because when did they ever fight about something real), and then they would show up to play a round of mini-golf to determine who was correct in the fight.

It wasn't a very sound solution and usually resulted in one them being disgruntled for the rest of the night, until they started making out and all would eventually be forgotten. The road to the make out session was long, yes, but hey, they had fun along the way.

"This beautiful idiot seems to think The Good Dinosaur is the best Pixar movie of all time." Kuroo snorted, gesturing to his less than happy boyfriend.

Terushima folded his arms. "Wait... what movie is that? I don't think I even saw it."

"'Course you didn't," Tsukishima clicked his tongue. He sighed heavily, as if explaining this movie to Terushima was the biggest burden the blond ever faced. "It's the movie about the dinosaur-"

"I mean, I assumed! Is he good too?" Terushima smirked, leaning over the counter of the kiosk.

"You know what-"

"Okay, okay, I'll try and check it out! What did Kuroo say his favorite was?"

"Toy Story. The correct answer," Kuroo insisted.

"Okay, so, you're both wrong. Up is obviously the best Pixar movie-"

Kuroo rolled his eyes. "Wrong."

"Basic," Tsukishima clicked his tongue.

Of course, Terushima would like Up. In fact, he probably cried like a baby in Futakuchi's arms at the beginning of the movie, and Terushima probably quoted Dug's 'I have just met you and I love you' line to Futakuchi on a regular basis.

"Hey, at least I didn't say Cars," Terushima muttered.

"Fair enough," Tsukishima nodded. It was good they could all agree about one thing at least. What self-respecting person over the age of ten would actually say Cars is their favorite Pixar movie?

"Can you just give us the clubs man?" Kuroo asked, leaning against the kiosk.

"I mean, you are holding up the line," Terushima said, glancing to the empty spots behind Kuroo and Tsukishima. He reached behind him and pulled out the tallest golf clubs they had (which were still pretty short). "Here you go. What color balls you want?"

"Heh," Kuroo smirked but Tsukishima nudged him.

"Orange," he said.

"Red for me!" Kuroo reached forward to grab the red ball off the counter and they started on the path.

"Good luck!" Terushima called out. "I hope you have fun watching The Good Dinosaur later!"

"Hey! I have the power of god and Toy Story on my side! To infinity and beyond!" Kuroo called out, zooming towards the first hole. He didn't need to look at his boyfriend to know his face was probably bright red.

Putt-Putt Castle was what one would expect from a mini-golf course. It was medieval themed, so of course, one hole had a castle, one had a windmill, there were scattered decorations of knights, horses, and princesses, and one hole even had what was now a deformed wizard after someone threw their golf club right through the dude's head. Kuroo was happy he missed witnessing that.

There was a large pond in the middle and the course looped around it. It led up to a tall waterfall and there was one hole that hooked around the water and led them back down to the beginning of the course.

They both knew the course by heart.

In fact, they shared their first kiss up by the waterfall. There was a small lookout point on at the top hole. It overlooked the small pond and water fountain. During one of their spats, Kuroo took Tsukishima over there and kissed him. He couldn't really remember why they were arguing at the time (that was usually how these mini-golf challenges went) but he did remember how beautiful Tsukishima pale skin looked in the moonlight that night, the glowing lights on the waterfall reflecting off his skin.

Even now, with his angry, furrowed brow, Tsukishima looked beautiful. Unfair.

"Should we flip to see who goes first?" Kuroo asked and Tsukishima nodded, pulling a coin from his pocket.

"I call tails," he said, and flipped it up, letting the coin land on the ground. Heads.

"Oh, ho, ho look who's off to a good start!" Kuroo smirked, leaning forward on his golf club.

"You say that every time and then you end up losing," Tsukishima scoffed.

"Listen, sometimes, I can't stand looking at your beautiful face pouting all the time, so I let you win." He wiggled his butt and placed his red ball on the green, getting ready to aim.

"Sure. I'm sure that's what it is," the blond snorted, looking at him in disbelief.

The first hole was simple. Probably to help little kids think they could handle this course no problem. It wasn't exactly challenging, but there were a few evil holes.

"You ready for this expert putt?" Kuroo asked.

"Please, go ahead," Tsukishima said, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"There's a way to putt perfectly, Kei," he smirked, tapping the putter against the ground.

"Enlighten me," he muttered, voice falling flat.

"First, you gotta really line everything up." Kuroo held the putter up and aimed the handle directly towards the hole. "Then you gotta imagine the curve of the ball from where you hit it. It's all geometry babe."

"Right," Tsukishima snorted.

"Here goes," he said. He drew back the putter and tapped it forward, so the ball curved slightly to the right. The landed towards the back of the hole, pressed against one of the bricks. Of course, he missed the hole completely, but Kuroo shrugged his shoulders back. "Tada."

"What is 'tada'?" Tsukishima asked, raising his eyebrow.

"This is exactly what I planned!" Kuroo said, walking down the course to stand by the ball.

"It is? You planned to have it close to the wall?" he asked, a playful lilt in his voice.

"Uh huh! This spot is optimal for putting!"

"Yes, next to the wall," Tsukishima nodded, his eyebrow quirked. He leaned down, placing down the orange ball on the green. Tsukishima glanced at the hole and gently moved the putter back, tapping the ball down the course. It rolled mostly straight, though it curved, ending just a few inches away from the hole.

"Nice try," Kuroo smirked, shooting finger guns at him.

Tsukishima walked up to his ball and stared flatly at Kuroo while he gently tapped it in. "At least I'm not next to the wall."

In the end, Kuroo got a three while Tsukishima walked away with a two.

The first few holes were mostly simple, and Kuroo and Tsukishima stayed close in score. On hole two, Kuroo scored a two and Tsukishima scored a three, but later on they both scored two and then Tsukishima pulled ahead when Kuroo accidentally hit his ball into a tiny sand trap.

Though Kuroo noticed Tsukishima did seem quieter than normal. Even when they fought, mini-golf always cheered them up. However, Tsukishima didn't even seem to care about Kuroo's competitive quips.

Then came hole number seven, the three-hole hole. It was famous for being cursed, since the three holes which ultimately led to the final hole were unpredictable. For awhile, everyone believed if one were to hit it down the left hole, it would guarantee an automatic hole-in-one. However, that theory was quickly debunked a few games later when hitting it to the left actually got the ball the furthest away from the final hole.

Kuroo was convinced it changed on a daily basis, but it was probably more about the angle and velocity at which he hit his ball. Why ruin magic with math?

"I wonder which one is special today..." Kuroo tapped his chin.

"Who knows," Tsukishima shrugged. "But you're going first, so test one out for me."

"What!?" Kuroo blinked. "Maybe I won't tell you where the ball lands," he snorted.

"I'll go look myself then."

Kuroo twisted his lips, frowning at his boyfriend. If Tsukishima won this, it meant he would have to sit and actually watch The Good Dinosaur again. Of course, getting to see Tsukishima looking all cute and happy while they watched the movie would probably make it worth it, but Kuroo's pride was also on the line.

He placed the ball down and decided to aim towards the right. With Kuroo's horrid luck, the ball bounced against a tiny pebble he must not have seen and awkwardly swerved towards the middle hole. It went down the tube and eventually spit back out on the other side.

Kuroo dashed towards the other side side of the green, watching as his ball rolled out of the middle hole and down towards the main hole. Kuroo's eyes widened as the ball stopped right before the hole, just an inch away. "Dammit!" he yelled and suddenly Tsukishima was peering over his shoulder.

"Seems the middle is good today."

"Oi!" Kuroo snorted. "If you knock my ball away... we will get that divorce."

"Sure," Tsukishima shrugged at the very empty threat.

Gently he tapped his ball forward, watching as it rolled down the middle slot. He walked casually forward, watching as it pressed against Kuroo's ball.

"Aw babe," Kuroo said, leaning towards Tsukishima. "Our balls are kissing-"

Tsukishima immediately pushed Kuroo's face out of the way as he tapped his ball in, not touching Kuroo's.

"Well," Kuroo frowned, hitting his own in immediately afterwards. "At least you didn't ruin my shot."

Tsukishima scoffed. "Of course not. I'm playing fair," he smirked, "and winning." He grabbed the score card from Kuroo to enter their numbers.

"For now," Kuroo smirked, climbing up the stairs towards the next hole.

They began to climb the stairs to head up to the tall waterfall hole. Hole number thirteen. Though Kuroo honestly considered it to be a lucky hole, since he usually got to steal a kiss or two up there, especially if the place wasn't busy.

At the top, Kuroo immediately bounded over to the lookout point. "C'mon Kei! C'mere!" he smiled and held his hand out to him.

Tsukishima frowned. "I'm winning. I want to keep winning. Stop trying to distract me."

"Eh!?" Kuroo pouted. Normally Tsukishima would always let Kuroo kiss him here, but today he didn't seem to be in the mood.

Maybe he was more upset than Kuroo realized.

"It's your turn," Tsukishima said, and Kuroo blinked, nodding as he stepped over to the course. He placed his ball down and smirked as he tapped it, letting it roll down the long hill. If anyone got a hole-in-one on this course, they won 5 bucks and a free game of mini-golf. It was rare that it ever happened, though once Kuroo's uncle had won. He gave it to Kuroo instead.

He turned towards Tsukishima, a playful glint in his eye. He wanted him to have fun, even if this had all come about because of a silly fight.

Dashing down the hill, he ran down the green instead of taking the stairs. As a kid, he always did this, but as an adult, well... he still usually did. He laughed when he got the to bottom, looking at how both of their balls seemed to be far from the hole.

"Neither of us were close. I really could've used that free game!" Kuroo said, he said, snapping his fingers.

"I think you can afford mini-golf," Tsukishima said, walking down the steps.

Something didn't feel right, and Kuroo was determined to get to the bottom of it. "Hey... Kei... are you okay? You seem... I dunno... actually mad?"

"Hm..." Tsukishima muttered, tapping his putter against the ground. "I'm not mad."

"Yeah, right," Kuroo snorted. He slowly stepped forward, taking Tsukishima's hands in his own. "Look, I think I know you well enough by now to know something isn't right. I mean even when we have these silly fights, we both have fun doing this. This is the best part of our 'arguments!'"

A small smiled appeared on Tsukishima's face. "Yeah... it is the best part. Especially when you're losing like this."

"Hey! Shut up! Don't change the subject! Are you really upset that I teased you about The Good Dinosaur?"

Tsukishima immediately looked down, shrugged his shoulder, and retreated into himself, like when he was dealing with something too painful to admit. He'd gotten much better at speaking his mind, but sometimes...

"Kei..." Kuroo whispered, cupping his cheeks. He turned the blond's face to meet his, staring into his golden eyes. "I love you... and no matter what you say, I'm not going to actually judge you or anything. I'm never serious about teasing you when it comes to things that are important to you."

"The more I thought about you hating it the more... frustrated I got," he admitted finally.

"First off, I don't hate it, and second off, why? You never care when I don't like something. I mean we have these... joke arguments but..."

"I know but..." he trailed off. Tsukishima's cheeks flushed, his face bright red. He bit down on his lip and sighed. "In... The Good Dinosaur... the two main characters, Arlo and Spot don't have to talk to connect. They find comfort in each other, despite being... so different. And that's how... I feel about you. You make me feel comfortable... you remind me of... family."

Kuroo immediately pressed his lips against Tsukishima's; he couldn't help it. Of course Tsukishima would feel upset about Kuroo not realizing how this movie could relate to Tsukishima's own feelings! It was personal; it held more depth than other movies they had fought about.

Kuroo brushed his thumbs over Tsukishima's pale cheeks, and held him so close, not caring they were practically making out on the mini-golf course.

"Also..." Tsukishima breathed. "I really do like dinosaurs."

Kuroo chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to Tsukishima's. "I know you do, Kei."

Kuroo didn't want to pull back, but they did have a mini-golf game to finish. "How about no matter who wins, we go home and watch The Good Dinosaur?"

Tsukishima smirked. "Maybe we could watch Toy Story after it."

"I sure as hell wouldn't mind that! But first, I gotta kick your ass," he smirked.

"In your dreams," Tsukishima said, moving away from him to tap the ball in one more time.

Things began to feel normal as they made their way through the back nine. Kuroo was happy to see Tsukishima cheering up, back to his competitively playful self. Of course the final, eighteenth hole, loomed on the horizon.

The spinning arms of the windmill slowly rotated. It was next to impossible to get a hole-in-one on the final hole, since the spinning arms usually hit the ball back, blocking it from getting it in on the first try.

Kuroo and Tsukishima were tied now, and Kuroo supposed ending things on a tie would make sense, since they already agreed to watch both movies.

"Alright, time to meet my end," Kuroo muttered, letting the ball drop on the course. It bounced once and he stopped it with his foot. His technique of holding the putter up and aiming carefully had now been replaced by a much faster technique of whacking the ball and hoping it went somewhere.

He slammed his putter against the red ball, watching as it hit the windmill, rolling immediately back to him. "Dammit!" he cursed and behind him he heard Tsukishima snicker. "Don't laugh! You're gonna have to do this in a minute!"

"Mhm..." Tsukishima snorted again.

Kuroo hit at the ball a few more times before he finally slipped by one of the arms, hearing the red ball clatter as it returned to the main kiosk. "Hah! Only took 4 tries! Good luck," he smirked.

Tsukishima slowly leaned down to place his ball at the edge of the green. (Kuroo would've been lying if he said he didn't check out Tsukishima's ass every time). He adjusted his stance and watched as the windmill moved around and around, very intent on watching the rotation.

Finally he nodded his head and swung, his ball passing by and down into the slot. A hole-in-one! "I beat you," he smirked, leaning on his club.

Kuroo's eyes were wide. "Absolute... mad lad!" he breathed, cheering as he ran over to Tsukishima. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed his cheek. "I can't even be mad because you just defeated the 18th hole windmill and holy shit, I... am so proud!" he said, pretending to wipe a tear away.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, a smile pulling across his lips. "C'mon... let's get out of here," he chuckled, tugging his overly-excited boyfriend back to where Terushima looked bored out of his mind in the kiosk.

"So... who won?" he asked.

"Kei!" Kuroo said, slinging his arm around Tsukishima's neck. "But... we decided to watch both movies anyway." He kissed Tsukishima's cheek.

"And you're both disgusting again," Terushima snorted, taking the golf clubs back from them. "I'm supposed to tell you it's half-off if you play a second round, but I have a feeling you're just gonna go home."

"Yeah," Tsukishima said, a small smile on his lips. "I think we're good. See you."

"You're just saying that cause you won!" Kuroo snorted, waving goodbye to Terushima as they walked back towards the parking. Really he was happy to go home. Mini-golf was always fun, but spending quality time snuggled up to Tsukishima on their couch was his favorite thing.

"You didn't actually think you were going to win?" Tsukishima asked.

Kuroo could only shrug. "I dunno, maybe this was gonna be my time to shine."

"I'll let you believe that," Tsukishima said.

"Aren't I lucky?" Kuroo chuckled, nuzzling his cheek.

"You're embarrassing, that's for sure," Tsukishima snorted, pushing his face away. "But... I guess that's what happens when you're family..." he muttered, lacing their hands together, holding them behind his back.

"I love you, Kei. And I'm ready to watch dinosaur movies all night."

Tsukishima's eyes widened. "Does this mean we can watch The Land Before Time too?"

"Hell yes!" Kuroo smirked.

Honestly, if it meant something to Tsukishima and made him smile, Kuroo would've watched any movie he wanted.

#kuroo tetsurou #Tsukishima kei #haikyuu!!#kurotsuki #kurotsukki #hq fanfcition #HQ!!#fluff #RIDICULOUS FICS #this is a meme #but it's for adriana #cause she's perfect #also terushima is there

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honeywithblueberries · 6 years ago

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Idol Chp 4The Heir and the Idol

A/N: A special thanks, as always, to kt_valmiri and ScaraMedn for not only editing and beta reading, but also lending me their Zoosonas, Luna, Lucian, and Liam.

*********

Not a single cloud hung in the sky, so there was nothing to obscure the stars shining brilliant against the inky blackness of the night.

There was no moon to light the way. Paired with eyes not meant to traverse through the dark, it made every hoof step a challenge and added fear to the lone ewe as she rushed as far as she could away from the Burrows. The more distance she put between herself and the war crazed rabbits the better. ***

Luke’s question had gone unanswered as another guard had called for him. The scout was conscious again, prompting the buck to leave. Though not without the cold promise of continuing their conversation at a later time. The air was saturated with hostility as he turned to the entrance, Dawn keeping her back to his departure.

She had wasted no time leaving. Not bothering to even turn back to the royal burrow. As soon as the steps died away, she ran… and she did not stop running. Muscle memory helped her navigate the kingdom. Having spent the better part of her life trailing after the king and his heir around their land she quite familiar with it.

A large distance was covered before she paused long enough for exhaustion to sink in.

Still, she refused to stop. Pushing herself as hard as she could, allowing her clothing to become torn and thin with wear until it began to fall off. Only the slightest bit of the fabric was salvaged as a bundle for edible greens that she collected as she fled. She carried on along the same route she had given to the princess, knowing the king would not send mere scouts after her.

But she needed to reach the Sahara. She needed to warn them of what was coming. There was no doubt the scout was speaking true, meaning King Hopps would send his army marching. Many a time she had played dumb for the king and his council, their crazed egos ready to destroy any that challenged them, but

Dawn knew the Burrows would not stand long in a fight.

King Hopps and his army would fall, leaving the Burrows defenseless and at the mercy of three powerful kingdoms.

A weary hoof rose half-heartedly, the tip catching upon the uneven crags. She was sent flying, her tired body barely able to reach out and grasp at anything to halt her fall. The ewe landed hard with the air leaving her lungs in a cry that echoed across the barren land. Panting in pain and exhaustion, she struggled to sit up and refocus her eyesight to get her bearings once more.

Only to find a large paw held out to her.

With a startled gasp, she pushed herself back, not minding the stinging pain shooting up and down her back.

“There, there now…” The voice was tinged with amusement, as a paw shot out to grasp her, coming from what she could now see was a lioness. Her other paw followed, pulling Dawn from the harsh and painful rock she’d landed on and setting her upon more even ground.

“You are near dead upon your hooves, little one!” Dawn tried to protest as she was firmly guided away, small squeaks accompanied by hooves digging into the ground. “Come along,” she cajoled. “Come, come! You may fight all you like but you shall never make it to civilization in this state. Lucian! Anaka! Tea, please, and fresh bread. Our guest must rest.”

“No, please!” Dawn gasped. “I must continue on! I must go to the Sahara! I must-”

Exhausted, ewe stumbled once more as her consciousness slipped away. Big brown eyes filled with pity as the lioness scooped her up and carried her back to her camp.

“Uh, Luna?” A grey squirrel crept up, his own eyes on the small figure in her arms. “What did we decide about dragging in strays?”

“Always ask first?” came the gruff reply of their other comrade by the fire. The squirrel sighed and rolled his eyes, fingers going to his temples as though nursing a headache.

“Stick with tea making, Anaka, it’ll be less strain on your head.” Lucian turned his attention back to Luna as she laid the ewe down upon her sleeping roll.

“She smells of sea air,” she whispered, taking in the torn clothing and dirty wool. “And fresh soil. But, also blood. Not fresh as if from her wounds. More like death.”

Three pairs of brown eyes exchanged glances. Lucian and Anaka scrambled over to get a better look, the badger cradling a clay cup.

“This pin…” One claw traced the wrought brass of the ornament securing the ewe’s makeshift sack. “I’ve seen this before… But where?”

“It’s a Warren Pin.”

Luna and Lucian looked in surprise at the badger. His jovial face beamed vacantly at nothing in particular as he took a long drink from the tea he had made. But their stares of incredulity had his smile fading as he blinked at them.

“What?” he asked.

“A Warren Pin?” asked Luna as she tugged the trinket free from its owner.

“Anaka, how do you know about Warren Pins?” Lucian jumped up and tugged it from her paw to give it his own examination.

“Remember that Arctic hare who tied those branches onto his head and demanded he be called a jackalope?”

“Ugg! That guy!” said the squirrel, shuddering at the memory.

“A jackalope?” laughed Luna, accepting the pin back and re-securing it onto Dawn’s meager supplies.

“Very crazy,” stated Anaka with sage like nod. “He was waving a pin like that around. Said it was his key into the afterlife. Claimed only those who had one were the true voices of the gods. He called it a Warren Pin. It’s design marks where it came from.”

“You got all of that from that nutter?”

The trio left the sheep for the campfire, were skewers of food were being roasted as a pot of aromatic tea simmered.

“Read between the lines, Lucian. That amount of crazy usually has help achieving it.” Anaka smiled towards the lightening horizon, oblivious to his impatiently waiting friends.

“Well…?” prompted Luna.

“Hmm?” The badger looked up at her, brow wrinkled in confusion. “Well what?”

“Aye, geeze!” Lucian swatted his paw in frustration. “Where’s the pin from?”

“It had a blossom on it. Probably from somewhere South.”

Luna and Lucian rolled their eyes again.

“We are south,” said Luna.

“It’s not from this South.” The badger pulled a skewer from the fire, examining it closely before biting into a beetle. “It’s from the other South.”

“Anaka, there’s only one South.”

“But there are many places that make up the South.” He took another big bite and jerked his head towards the resting ewe. “And she’s from there.”

“But she’s an ewe.” Luna looked over at the resting figure and shook her head. “Why would an ewe have a Warren Pin? Aren’t warrens made up of rabbits?”

“They are. She most likely would have worked with a king or other members of a royal council. Same reason you have a pendent with King Bogo’s crest.” And with that, the badger belched before standing. “Now, I’m going to sleep before we start walking again.”

Lucian and Luna watched him walk away, both staring in amazing at their friends retreating back.

“You think you know a guy,” muttered Lucian. He pulled his own skewer, this filled with root vegetables, from the flames, juggling it in his paws. “So, what do you think her story is?”

“I don’t know.” Luna laid back to look at the sky and listened to her companion chew his food. “Nothing good if she came this far without any gear. She won’t make it any further if she really is bound for the Sahara.”

“Anything we should worry about, boss lady?”

The lioness shook her head. “We can travel with her. We’re bound to meet Pack Wolford at some point, we can ask Liam if he knows anything.”

A scoff from the squirrel had her angling her head down to frown at him.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re counting the minutes till that moment.”

The lioness blushed at the insinuation. “Shut up and rest, you fool. I want to be traveling before the sun gets too high. We’ll rest for an hour, then get ready to move out.”

“And the ewe?”

“I’ll carry her on my back. Let her rest up and heal. Once we get to the Sahara, she can see a doctor.”

The squirrel tossed his stick away and laid back, slipping a broad leaf over his eyes. “Aye, aye cap’n. Move out in an hour.”

Luna watched the sky lighten as she stretched out under the fading stars. A hint of worry nibbled at the corners of her mind that she couldn’t place. But she knew Liam would have answers for her questions. Though she wasn’t sure if she would like them. ***

“Fine day for a celebration.”

That soft statement sweetened the air as Sama lifted her nose to the sky to breath deep. The sensation of his mate’s tail wrapping itself around his ankles sent pleasant chills down his spine. With a smile, Jak stepped closer to her, relishing the feeling of her fur against his arm.

“That is because you are present, my beloved,” came his response, stirring a pleased purr from the vixen. He sighed contentedly as she gave him a kiss on top of his head and finished her descent down the palace’s front steps.

Jak waited patiently at the top, enjoying the view of his fox’s backside, her white fur shining even brighter thanks to the red silk wrap hugging her trim frame.

He wore his best tunic and trousers with his fur immaculately groomed. Sharp blue eyes watched the progress of the caravans that had traveled great distances to celebrate the prince’s birthday. The open gates showed an excited crowd of Saharan mammals, each eagerly waiting for the parade to pass them so they could give their thanks and blessings.

King Adrian Bogo’s carts lead the procession. Exotic spices and barrels of fine wine, beers, and spirits jostled with the motion of the cape buffaloes who pulled them closer with each stride. With his kingdom hosting the Zootopian market, King Adrian was unable to attend.

Many matters regarding those who traded within it required much attention from the neighboring king. Though his majordomo, Leodore Lionheart and his assistant Benjamin, were a welcomed sight. They and their entourage tossed coins towards their well-wishers and passed bits of candied fruit to the children running beside them.

Behind them came Emperor Nicholas Big, the prince’s namesake. They had traveled from the freezing expanse of the Tundra Empire, the Sahara royal family’s ancestral home. When they came to rule the Sahara, an alliance had been struck, old enemies became new allies.

The polar bears that carried his litter also carried another, filled with richly colored tapestries and fine textiles. If one squinted one could see the curtain of the emperor’s litter parted to reveal a little shrew maid happily beaming towards the impressive palace.

They were closely followed by Pack Wolford.

The wolf pack pulled their own cart, as was tradition. It was just the one as they only needed a single transport to deliver the most of precious cargo: a delicate, grey rabbit who was swathed in ropes of fresh flowers, braided by their stems. More and more had been thrown upon her at every pause of the cart. Her violet eyes were wide as they moved quickly through the crowd that cried out their blessings and praise to her. Rabbits and foxes, jackals and camels, predator and prey of all kinds came together to view the small creature.

The cart and the wolves that pulled it were coated in colorful powders. Citizens they had passed, rejoicing at the sight of their luck being renewed within the kingdom, had doused them with it as a sign of good fortune. Fruits and nuts, along with flagons of wine and precious water, were tossed to the weary pack members. Beautiful females gifted some with kisses and sashes baring their scents as thanks for their journey back through the desert.

Jak had never seen a coming of age, he himself only being a year older than the prince. But the temples had educated him on what to expect. The three kingdoms making up the Zootopian Market would feast and celebrate, political alliances would be made or reestablished, and any tension within the three would be set aside.

He had also been informed of the clouds that would come.

Already moving swiftly over the horizon, they were dark and heavy, ready to gift the dry lands with rain. Offering jars had been set out by Jak and Sama to catch the holy water, which would be used for the prince’s first bath after receiving his rabbit. The air became heavy as the sky grew darker, laced with a charge that promised a truly spectacular storm. Jak pulled his gaze from coming rains back towards the approaching parade, suppressing a shudder as distant lightning made a promise of thunder soon to follow.

His mate stepped forward as the pack’s cart came to a halt. The palace gates closed to the crowds, whose cheers were effectively muffled by the thick wood. Theo strode to greet the vixen while Dorian and Rena stood to the side. The she wolf gave a short bow in greeting before turning back to their cart. The pretty, grey bunny flinched slightly as she was lifted from her spot and placed on the ground in front of Sama.

Jak smiled at the sight of her.

Even lovelier than he had imagined, she backed up against the wolf, obviously terrified of her new surroundings. Her expression became thunder struck as the vixen sank to the ground in front of her. The striped buck had no doubt that she would be over whelmed by the long journey and commotion. He wasn’t even the subject of the jubilation and he still felt like he was drowning in noise and activity.

Rising, Sama reached out a paw to grasp hers and gently pulled her towards the palace steps. Dorian started forward with them, a protective look on his face, only to be halted by Rena. The guards that lined their way turned their heads in unison towards the bunny, before dropping onto their knees.

“Oh,” came the doe’s startled voice. Sama gave her an amused smile and guided her up the steps towards Jak. “Why do you bow?”

Her curiosity obviously overcoming her fear of her guide, she turned to glance back at the vixen.

“Because,” answered Jak, stepping forward with a kind smile, before he sank into his own obeisance. “Our Idol has come home.” ***

Nick wandered the halls of his father’s palace.

He had been up since before dawn broke over the horizon, the image of Serendipity boring into his skull. She had taunted him all night, it seemed. Dreams that had always been fragmented and easily forgotten now blared back at him with overwhelming clarity.

And all he had dreamt about was strolling through the gardens with her and resting upon a sunny green hill overlooking a vast sea. Yet her silent presence had set his nerves off. His head was swimming with from close proximity and he woke more exhausted than when he had gone to sleep. He was confused and slightly troubled about the dream’s meaning, causing him to forget his surroundings.

In his distracted state, he nearly stumbled into the last mammal he ever wished to see.

“Beg your pardon, Rose.”

The bitterness he always felt when he saw her managed to stay out of his voice, allowing him to give a sincere, yet shallow bow before the current Idol.

“My prince.” A small paw rested upon his head, a sign of her blessing. “I share the fault of our near collision. I was paying attention, yet still managed to upset your walk.”

“No harm done.” With a strained smile, Nick straightened and began to continue on his way.

“Nicholas,” Rose halted his attempts with her quiet evocation. “I wish to speak with you about your rabbit.”

“Jealous that you shall lose the affections of the kingdom?” The snide question caused a dangerous flash of anger to flare in the blue eyes of the doe.

“As long as I hold the affections of your father, I need naught much else,” came the biting reply. Nick couldn’t stop his face from scowling. Her head rose further as her back straightened, her gaze meeting his head on. “I come to you as Omar came to your father, as Sarah came to your grandmother, as every Idol of the past came to the Heir of the future.

“Your rabbit has arrived and is being tended to. Make no mistake, the fact that I am not present for her welcoming and cleansing, and the meaning behind it, is not lost on me. Thankfully, Jak is well trained and Sama will care for her better than even her own mother.

“But, to the point. Your rabbit is terrified.” Nick’s focus had been waning up until that point. Green eyes narrowed upon the doe’s face and his ears flattened on his head. “I was, when I was captured and brought here. Whether she loved her home, or hated it, her thoughts are there. She will be regretting every move she made that led her to this point and will be wondering how she can best escape.”

Alarm rung up in the todd’s chest at her words. The kingdom would be in ruin if she left!

“Which is why, when she is presented to you, she will be moderately drugged.”

“Drugged?” Alarm was replaced with anger and outrage at the idea of his Idol being tainted.

“Yes,” Rose looked amused at the prince’s response and continued. “Drugged. She will be told her role in the kingdom, be allowed to express her feelings about her old life, and then presented with a cup of tea. If she should choose to drink it, it will relax her and keep her anxiety from marring the occasion.”

“What if she refuses?” Nick wasn’t sure what upset him more; the idea of his Idol, the fortune of the Sahara Kingdom, running away or the idea of her being drugged to submit to the will of the royal family.

Smiling a bit more kindly, Rose shook her head. “She will not refuse.” Nick’s expression turned puzzled at that. “Rabbits are notorious for staying within their groups, Nicholas. It is rare that you find one of us on our own. Even rarer still, on our own, out in the open. We’re too skittish for that.

“Pack Wolford chooses us rabbits well. They find those who wish not to return to their warrens. Those who are brave enough to risk being on their own. Rabbits who live by the phrase ‘Fortune favors the bold’.”

Nick allowed Rose to place a cautious paw upon his own. “It is my duty to ensure her transition is peaceful and calm. To ease any worries and doubts and fears. In both her and you.”

The todd studied her expression, silent as the weight of her words sunk in. Like those before him, he was fully prepared to embrace the new Idol as part of his life. Any relief he may have felt at the idea of being given fish instead was replaced by the excitement of having a companion. A friend he could look to for constant support. Naturally, he assumed his rabbit would be honored at position she was in.

He was not prepared for her possible fear and resentment.

“After the feast, escort the Idol to my suite. Take Jak with you. Be sure she is comfortable and has what she needs.”

Rose’s eyes widened as she looked at the young prince in surprise. Surprise that only deepened as he sank into a proper bow in front of her. Her paw rested upon his head once more before she took her leave.

In the last twenty years of her knowing his highness, never once was she ever met with more than the barest hints of curtesy. He never openly scorned her, more out of fear for the gods’ retribution than anything else. But she was kept at an arms-length.

Progress, she though with satisfaction. It is slight, but I’ll take it. *****

Upon entering the cool interior of the palace, the striped buck and vixen had introduced themselves and guided her to the hall off the side of the entrance. Ears remained drooped and eyes cast down, though they flickered up to the other rabbit in curiosity.

“Are you a slave, too?” She asked in a worn voice. His laughter and the vixen’s snort caused her ears to twitch and perk slightly.

“No,” came the amused reply. “There are no slave rabbits within the Sahara Kingdom.”

“So, you serve foxes by choice?”

“Yes,” his bright blue eyes twinkled over towards the vixen beside them. She returned his smile, laced with what Judy could have sworn was desire. “And no.”

Before she could ask, he continued.

“I am a temple rabbit, as was my mother before I and her parents before her. It is said that I am a direct descent of Amber, the first rabbit to be a living Idol in the Sahara. And as I was born within an Idol lineage, it is my duty to help prepare the heir for the responsibilities of caring for you.

“We are the bringers of fortune for the Kingdom. To care for a rabbit within your home is to harvest luck for you and yours. It is a crime to insult or cause harm to one of us and the penalties are severe.” The striped buck spoke without turning to her nor breaking his stride.

“You make it sound as though we’re gods.” Judy gave a nervous chuckle which died at the smile forming on Jak’s face.

“In a way we are. We are afforded a great deal of influence and respect within the kingdom. It’s common for even the poorest mammal to offer to wash the feet of a rabbit, with hope of their fortune changing. And you, my dear, will be the most revered.” He paused and turned first to the vixen, a paw reaching out to grasp hers, before smiling at Judy. “This is where I leave you. Sama will care for you until it is time for the feast. So please, relax and make yourself comfortable.”

They had reached the threshold of the bathing room, Jak opening the door to allow her through first. The room’s beautiful turquoise and white tiled walls and floors were unlike any she had ever seen, stealing her breath away. A pool filled with steaming water lay sunken into the floor in the center of the room. The space itself was not overly large, just enough to trap the heat of the bath water, with an arched entryway into another chamber across from where they stood.

Jak gave another bow before allowing the door to close as he took his leave. Sama continued on, stooping before an ornamental jar and pouring its contents into the water. The scent of roses filled the air, the fragrant steam wrapping around her and calming her frazzled nerves. The vixen dipped her paw in the water and nodded in satisfaction. With a smile she rose and turned, jar held to her side, and beckoned Judy forward.

“I will not harm you, my dear.” Her soft voice was filled with affection. “Come.”

Judy slowly walked towards her, her arms wrapped around her torso and ears flat down her back. When she stood before the tall vixen, the jar was set down and her clothing gently removed. The makeshift skirt released a small cloud of dust as it was unbuttoned; her flower necklaces were pulled off, the white petals stained with the colorful powder that had been tossed at her cart. Embarrassment flooded her face when she was stripped bare by a perfect stranger once more, her clothing set aside.

“This bath will cleanse the journey from you.” Sama pulled another jar towards them, the small crystals within it poured into the fragrant water. “It represents the new life that you’ll build here and the good fortune you will bring to the Kingdom.”

“What if I wish to build a life elsewhere?” Tears filled her eyes as she stared blankly into the water. “What if I wish not to be an… an… Idol? Wh-what if Pack Wolford chose poorly?”

Two large paws rested lightly upon her shoulders, the doe tensing at the feel of them.

“They haven’t been wrong in nearly four hundred years.” She gave a gentle sigh and removed her paws from the frightened bunny.

Large purple eyes followed Sama as she crossed to a small grate with red coals burning under it. A kettle was set upon them, before she turned to the table next to it. Tea leaves were measured out and set aside before Sama focused back on her.

“Please. Bathe and tell me about your home.”

Taking in a deep breath, Judy cautiously stepped down the pool’s steps into the hot water. Closing her eyes against the heat and steam, her body sank into the bath, the dirt and grime that accumulated lifting off her fur.

Home….

Rolling green hills as far as the eye could see sprawling in one direction and giving way to finely sanded beaches in the other, stirred in her mind as she submerged herself. Dunking her head briefly, she resurfaced with a sigh.

“It’s very green and warm,” she said, her eyes still closed. “The land is good for farming and my country produces the best fruits and vegetables. Some of them even make their way to the Savanna. And there is the sea close by. My brothers and I used to swim and sail in the summer and build campfires at night in the sand.”

A cool, odd liquid like substance was poured upon her head, the vixen’s paws following to massage it in. Its light, floral scent caused an ache of longing to fill her heart.

“Go on. Tell me about your family.”

“They’re a loud bunch. The bucks are at least. Most of my sisters have been married off and most of my brothers are warriors.” She opened her eyes and stared down at the decorative tile at the bottom of the tub. “I longed to be one as well.”

Sama paused her ministrations and looked at her curiously.

“I wanted to be a warrior,” she explained, prompted by the vixen’s pause. “I wanted to fight for my country, to uphold peace and honor for my family. But my father said I could not. As a… doe… my duty was to either our gods or a husband. And he chose husband.”

“You were betrothed?”

Judy nodded. “To a horrible buck, decades older than I. Already buried three young brides. Had hordes of kits, all from multiple does… not just his wives.”

“So, you left.” The first jug was filled with water from the tub and poured over the bunny’s ears to rinse the soap from them. “You find yourself in a position of honor, you know.”

Pushing water from her eyes, she looked up at the vixen.

“You are in a land that honors, not only females, but rabbits especially. They are afforded more opportunities and freedom than any other mammal. Any mammal who can wield a sword may join the army and any that wish to learn to fight may do so.

“Should you stay, you will learn the art of our combat, along with how to serve Serendipity, Karma, and the Bactrian God. You may wed another, should you choose to do so, and the decision will be yours and yours alone. And your voice shall be the deciding factor for nearly all of the issues the future king will face.” Now clean and smelling of roses, Sama guided the doe from the water, back up the steps of the tub. A soft towel was wrapped around her before she was lead to the archway.

“Have a seat on the cushions. I shall attend you in a moment.”

With a nod, feeling less anxious than she had been, Judy did as she was told. Holding the towel tightly around her naked shoulders, the buck she thought she loved crossed her mind again.

Luke. A bold, strong male, always looking for a fight and always wanting a tumble with her. Not that he ever got the chance. He made her laugh on occasion and there were times she wished for nothing more than to kiss him. But when she brought up her desire to be a fighter, he had scorned her. Made her feel foolish for wishing to do so. She thought it was heartbreak, realizing her love only loved her body.

But, as she waited for Sama to return, it came to her. She wasn’t heartbroken. Just disappointed. Judy never loved Luke, never wanted him, she just enjoyed the closeness of another. Otherwise, she would have ran off with him, not without him.

The sound of a cup being placed before her brought her back to reality. Sama smiled kindly at her before filling it with tea. Its scent was unlike any she had ever known. While the bath had calmed her, this made her body melt as she inhaled deeply. With a dazed smile, one small grey paw reached for it, only to have Sama halt her.

“Before you drink, you must listen.” Judy’s ears stood straight and swiveled towards her. “The feast will be loud and filled with activity. You may find it overwhelming. This tea will keep you relaxed when you are presented to the prince. By drinking this, you accept your role as the Idol. It is not something you may go back on.”

Purple eyes went to the amber liquid as she thought over her words.

“You are given a choice, Judy. Refuse to drink and you will be allowed to leave the Sahara, and build whatever life you choose. However, if you drink, you will be the right paw of the throne, allowed to voice thoughts and opinions on every matter within the Kingdom. Drink, and you will have the power to change the world.”

I won’t have my freedom I stay, she thought.

You won’t be taken seriously anywhere else, her mind argued. You may lose your freedom to another, much more violently, if you leave.

I shall be a slave.

You already were a slave. Leave here and you may become a slave again. Drink, and you will have more than you ever dreamed you could possess. You will be able to change the world, make it better. Drink and you will be a GODDESS.

Purple met blue. Sama felt her heart drop for a moment as the beautiful bunny’s ears did the same. The short silence stretched through eternity.

Judy picked up her cup and drank. *****

Nick sat impatiently at his spot at the table. King Taiem and Rose conversed with Jamila and her husband while Tame and his wife cooed and nuzzled the twins. The infants were delighted by the music and bright colors, trying their hardest to crawl away for a closer look whenever possible. Only to be snatched back, much to their amusement.

Tame had requested dancers to be present for the celebration, which Taiem agreed with. Several of the most talented females performed for the prince, each leaving a faint kiss mark upon the fur of his cheek. Nick could only sit and bear through, wishing for the moment Pack Wolford would arrive and present his rabbit to him.

The visitors from the Tundra lands and the Savanna laughed and drank with the members of Taiem’s court. Emperor Big’s young daughter, Princess Francesca, danced with any and all who asked. Her small form twirled around her table, much to the amusement of those around her. Even Nick smiled at the sight.

But all fell silent as the doors leading into the great hall opened. *****

Judy had never felt more at peace.

She was pure relaxation and every ounce of worry had melted upon drinking the warm, surprisingly delicious tea she was given. Its lightly sweet, floral flavor had coursed through her body, waltzed along her nerves, and helped calm her worried mind.

It made her cheerfully passive as her towel was removed and her fur brushed and smoothed to perfection. And slightly clumsy as she tried to help Sama and another vixen servant redress her in a new outfit for the feast. The light white silk skirt was split up either side, covering her front and backside, but revealing her legs when she walked.

Her belly was exposed again, though this time gold paint had been applied to her fur in delicate designs. The matching white top covered her modest breasts, cap sleeves hugging just off her shoulders. Gold bands were placed on her forearms and more paint decorated her feet, paws, and ears.

Sama brought her to the entrance hall, where Pack Wolford stood in waiting. Each wolf had been washed and groomed, before dressing in their best clothing. Dorian and Rena stood on either side of a ruby red litter, a soft cushion waiting for Judy to be placed upon it. It was then the doe realized just how unsteady she was on her feet, thanks to the tea.

Jak came forward and, with Sama’s assistance, guided her upon it. Liam and Theo stood tall and faced the doors to the banquet hall. Behind them were two others followed by Judy and her litter. Dorian and Rena raised it to their shoulders while rest of the pack fell in line behind them. Jak and Sama stood at the doors next to the alpha and beta, waiting for their cue to open them.

“Judy...” Dorian’s voice cut through the nerves of those who waited, most of whom had never been to the Sahara, let alone for a coming of age feast. “I-“

Judy reached over to place a paw upon his. “You have been forgiven, my friend.”

Dorian looked at her sadly and nodded before once more facing forward, just as the buck and vixen pushed the banquet doors open. *****

The females who had been dancing gracefully moved to line one side of the hall before dropping to the floor as the familiar leader of Pack Wolford strode forward. Guests within the hall reassembled themselves, falling silent in respect as he and Theo passed them.

Liam’s amber eyes were full of delight as they rested on Taiem. The king himself grinned broadly at his old friends, standing in welcome at the sight of them. Nick, his brother and sister followed suit, as did their spouses, each of the vixens holding a kit.

“My King!” boomed the alpha. “The years have greyed my fur, yet you remain untouched! Thank you for the generous welcome into your fair kingdom.” Taiem laughed loudly, one paw going out to pull Rose to his side.

“It is you I should thank,” he responded, eyes twinkling down at the bunny in his arms. “I feel the years will never catch up with me, thanks to the best gift I have ever received.”

“Your Majesty is far too kind,” said Rose with a delighted grin.

Nick withheld his scoff at the display. Jamila and Tame both merely smiled and turned their focus on the alpha and beta, dying for a glimpse of the rabbit hidden behind them. Liam moved his attention to the prince.

“And his highness, Prince Nicholas. It seems only yesterday, you were a tiny little thing upon your mother’s lap.” Nick’s ears quivered at the mention of his mother.

“Now, I stand before a grown todd. Come forth, your highness. We of Pack Wolford have a gift for you.”

Nick glanced at his father, who met his gaze with a patient look. Taiem nudged him from his spot and the prince stepped from his chair to walk the length of the head table. His feet felt heavy as he made his way toward the pack, but all too soon, he was staring up at the tall wolf alpha, his mouth going dry.

“Prince Nicholas of the Sahara Kingdom. Heir to the Wilde Throne. You will, all too soon, be tasked with running this great land of yours, it’s fate and place in the world resting upon your shoulders.

“But, you shall not be alone in this.” Liam smiled at Theo who stepped to the side. Nick’s eyes went to the litter raised over his head, held there by Dorian and Rena. Both wolves lowered their heads first, their bodies following gradually so as not to upset their burden.

“We gift to you, Judy of the Southern Burrows. Happy birthday to you, your highness. May the gods bless this land for the rest of its days.”

How many years had the prince known about his father’s affection for Rose? And the whole time, he had felt scorn for it. A fox loving a rabbit. His father trading the perfection of his mother for a bunny, whether or not said bunny was the Idol. It was something he never understood.

Attraction was something he never understood.

Purple met green.

Nick took in the delicate form of the grey bunny blinking at him with eyes that were slightly glassy from the tea. She stood from the cushion, Dorian guiding her from her seat, and stepped onto the polished marble floor. Head and ears were held high as she strode towards him, eyes never leaving his face. Recognition bloomed as he watched her move carefully.

Green met purple.

Anxiety that was not anxiety filled his belly as his eyes traveled her small form. Emotions he had never experienced before raced through him like the sweetest fire he had ever felt. The goddess who had kept him company throughout the night had joined him. And Jak had been right. She was a vision he wanted within his sights at all times.

I will die for her, he thought as he sank into a bow. *****

Judy blinked at the array of mammals surrounding her. The wolves held her litter high enough for everyone to view the decorated bunny, if only for the brief moments before their deep bows. Such an act still surprised her.

As a lower princess, it was not customary to bow before her. With as many brothers and sisters as she, bowing before every royal would take up most of the day. So, it was the custom to do so only for the king, queen, and first-born litter. She had never had another soul show such reverence before.

Not even Luke had gazed upon her the way those in the banquet hall did; as though she was the only thing worth looking at.

She kept herself still on her cushion, head, ears, and eyes swiveling around the great banquet hall. They landed briefly upon the Emperor and his daughter. Francesca lifted her head cautiously and made eye contact with doe, a shy smile forming on her little face. Judy smiled back and gave a short wave.

The halting of the litter drew her attention forward. Two tall wolves in front of her blocked the view of the main table. Liam’s loud greeting to the king had her shaking her head to refocus on the present. The tea was doing wondrous things for her. Except for feeling a bit fuzzy headed, she had never felt better.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she took a moment to examine the designs painted upon her feet. Each curve of gold meant luck and prosperity, Sama had told her. Every dot a blessing from each Idol of the past, asking her to carry their luck with her into the future. There was a slight sensation of vertigo as the litter was lowered and her ears perked in curiosity as she tried to stop herself from leaning over the edge.

“We gift to you, Judy of the Southern Burrows. Happy birthday to you, your highness. May the gods bless this land until the end of its days.”

Good bye, she thought as images of her old life came to and faded from her memory. Her father, her siblings, her disgusting betrothed, and Luke. Raising her eyes and rising from the cushion as the litter hit the floor, she held in her gasp as she was met with familiar emerald green.

Barely aware of being lead from her spot, she stopped before the figure that had made himself at home in her dreams. His eyes were wide in surprise, like her own. They held their gazes as he sunk to his knees before her. She took a step back in uncertainty, only to be halted by the paw of another bunny.

A harlequin with bright blue eyes, the doe took Judy’s paw and placed it on the fox’s head.

“He asks for your blessing,” she explained with a smile. “This is how you give it.”

Her paw was still upon his head when he rose. It trailed down his muzzle before she pulled it back. With a smile, Prince Nick extended his arm to her.

“It is a pleasure, Judy,” the voice was pleasant and send a comfortable shiver down her spine when it reached her ears. “Welcome to the Sahara. It is honor to have you here.”

She allowed him to lead her to the main table, the wolves smiling after them as they took their places amongst the other guests. Approaching her seat, a camel servant stepped forward to fill her glass, her plate already set with a selection of vegetables. She settled into the chair the camel pulled out for her, the prince taking his place by her side.

Throughout the meal, her eyes wandered over to the fox beside her. She had never seen one before, her ancestors having run them out of the Burrows serval centuries before her birth. Every story she had been told, all the fables passed around the campfire, tales of warning for little bunnies who even thought of disobeying their parents…

Were wrong.

Granted, she had been within the presence of one for less than an hour. But the murals were nothing like this graceful creature beside her. His gold adornments did not take away from the fiery red of his fur, nor did they mute the lush, cream colored fur of his chest. The crown he wore complimented his dark, pointed ears, though the thing looked heavy with its turquoise embellishments.

And then there were the eyes. Emerald eyes that shone brighter than anything she had ever known. Combined with his angular face, she felt they had spent the last three days chasing each other. The dreams she had been having were returning to her full force.

Judging by his reaction to her, it was not at all one sided. Her ears grew hot whenever she chanced a glance at him, only to find his eyes on her. They looked away to their plates or wine, both trying to resist another glance.

She was incredibly thrown by the events that had so changed her fortune. *****

King Taiem had caught the eye of his old friend and nodded in understanding as Liam jerked his head towards the exit. Rising from his spot, with Rose being bade to stay and a gentle squeeze to Nick’s shoulder followed by a smile to the new Idol, he obliged.

The sun had been hidden since mid-morning. A glance out the large windows lining the corridor saw the heavy clouds gently release their burden. Liam stood towering beside him, also observing the way the light rain jostled the trees and leaves.

“You never pull me from a meal unless it’s important, Liam.” The king smiled up at the alpha. “What have you to say, old friend.”

“It’s about your son’s rabbit,” he replied, eyes still focused outside. “You heard the rumors about Nick being presented with fish for his birthday?”

With a chuckle, Taiem nodded. “Indeed. I was quite worried there was fact in that. Happy to see that is not the case.”

“There was fact in it.” Taiem’s ears and head snapped up to him. “Dorian made a very impassioned speech against us bringing one. I humored him. Let him go off on his own to bring back the best catch he could find for the prince.”

“And how did that work out?”

With a smile, Liam shook his head. “The idiot got caught in a storm. Says the bunny saved his life. After she was brought to the village, I learned a very interesting tid-bit…”

Annoyance filled the king as he waited for him to continue. Confusion replaced it as Liam’s face darkened.

“She’s a lower daughter of King Hopps, Taiem.” The todd’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “A run away. I have reason to believe that the Burrows think her dead, but you know King Hopps. Should he become aware of her presence in the Sahara, he may send his army marching.”

Breathing deep, Taiem turned back to the window as the rain became stronger. It was a good sign. Nick’s rabbit was their true Idol, a creature to be defended and fought for. She, like those before her, had brought rain after long drought. There would be no giving her back.

Not to mention the look Nick had when he gazed upon her. The way his scent had deepened when he settled beside her and how he could not seem to stop himself from staring at her. Adding to that, Taiem had seen his son’s paw twitch, obviously trying to keep himself from reaching for her.

Nick had mirrored his own reactions when he was first presented with Rose.

“You and your pack have truly out done yourself,” he stated lowly. “Such a rabbit chosen as the Idol cannot be mere coincidence.”

The red fox inhaled deeply before turning back to his friend.

“She will go nowhere.”

Liam was not surprised by the statement. Foxes were quite superstitious, especially those in the Sahara.

“Stay alert,” the king said as he strode back towards the banquet hall doors at a leisurely pace. “I shall consult Jak and see if I can find a few hares or rabbits willing to relocate for a time. Should you receive word King Hopps marches towards my kingdom, alert them. They will bring us the message and we shall meet them in battle.” *****

Judy trailed behind Jak and Rose, her eyes roving the rich colored marble and tile decorating the corridors. Like the bathing room, the designs were breathtaking. Added to that were the spectacular arching windows showcasing the view of the windswept, rainy desert. The young doe felt she could see this place as home.

She nearly ran into the backs of her guides when they came to a stop in front of a pair of ornate doors. Both turned to smile at her before the portals were pushed open.

“You and the prince will be sharing living spaces, as per custom and his request.” Jak continued to smile as she cautiously tip toed into the suite. “He has asked to that you make yourself at home. You are welcomed to explore this and the adjoining rooms. The left is his sleeping quarters, to the right are yours. Lavatory is through here, bathing pool there.”

Rose turned from her spot at the door to tug a cart inside that Judy had not noticed. Pushing it to the center of the room, where a collection of cushions lay within a sunken space, she unloaded a selection of fresh fruit and a decanter of wine, paired with glasses.

“Please,” she said turning to Judy and gazing at her affectionately. “Follow me.”

She left the cart for the room that had been designated to Judy. Its entrance, mirroring the prince’s own, was covered by curtains which were parted to reveal a bed large enough for several bunnies. Gossamer hung from the ceiling surrounding the large expanse which was covered in numerous pillows and luxuriously colorful blankets. The window just beyond it was dark, the land it revealed being lit up with the occasional bolt of lightning.

Rose strode to a chest in the corner. Lifting the lid and rifling through it, a deep red robe was pulled free. After she placed it upon the bed, Rose turned to leave.

“That will be more comfortable than what you wear now,” she explained as she walked. “You will receive a bath in the morning. It is custom to leave the gold on through the night. Change and enjoy the refreshments. Prince Nicholas will be joining you soon.”

The older doe turned to give her a final smile, only to have it fade at the despondent expression.

“Are you alright, your holiness?” She stepped towards her.

“I’m fine,” Judy whispered. “It’s just… been a trying day.”

With a nod of understanding, Rose went to her and placed a comforting arm lightly across her shoulders.

“This I know.” Judy gave a small huff at the statement. “I, too, was captured unaware by Pack Wolford. I, too, was bound and brought the many miles from my home to this land. But you will find, it is a good life here.”

Judy looked at the older doe, remembering that she had only just relinquished the title of Idol.

“Dress now. And try the wine. King Adrian’s lands are famed for their wines. You shall find them quite agreeable.”

Jak appeared, his head poking through the curtain. With a nod to Judy, he gave Rose a meaningful look, before vanishing. She smiled to herself before turning back to the new Idol.

“I shall see you in the morning.”

And with that, Rose left. Now alone for the first time since meeting Dorian, the young bunny strode towards a bed. She sank to the floor beside it, her paws pulling her top free of her body as tears filled her eyes.

The tea had long since started to wear off, the emotional toll the day had taken catching up with her. And surprisingly, she was not sad about the loss of her old life. More so, she was relieved that she never had to return to it.

The fine robe was pulled from the bed and slipped on, fitting her form to perfection. It buttoned in the front, spaced just enough to preserve her modesty, yet still allowed for free movement. Though, had anyone from her kingdom seen it they would have thought it scandalous. Rising, she wandered back into main room of the suit, taking a seat upon the cushions to await the prince. *****

Nick paused in front of the doors of his suite. He could smell her presence, its sweetness making his heart pound in his ears. Coupled with the sound of the rain pattering around the palace grounds, the young todd felt conflicting calm and nervous tension.

Adding to the cocktail of emotions was his father’s request for an audience with him before retiring for the evening with his own bunny. The king had had little to say, stating he wished only to walk with his eldest son. He had given Nick a slightly sad look when he obliged.

“Seems like yesterday, you were taking your first steps,” he remarked. The prince gave him a thoughtful smile. “Now you’re of age, preparing to care for the kingdom, with your rabbit by your side.”

“Getting sentimental on me, Father?” Nick smirked at the older todd, before Taiem stopped to pull his son into his arms.

“You are more than your mother or I could have ever hoped for,” he whispered. “And Judy will be the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”

His words had concluded as Rose came into view with Jak, the buck bowing to the king and prince. Taiem had pulled away from his son, his paw reaching to tug Jak towards him. He leaned down to murmur something into his ear, something that caused the buck to frown. Jak gave a nod to the king before excusing himself to find his mate, a clap of thunder adding an undignified hop to his step as he hurried away. The three who had all watched his retreat gave low laughs, though the doe was a bit more sympathetic.

Taiem released his son from his presence as Rose stepped forward, the two drinking in the sight of the other. Offering his paw to his lover, she gave a short bow to the prince before allowing Taiem to lead her away. Nick had stared after them, the resentment he normally felt not rising as it had in the past. Not even when his father pulled the bunny closer to his side as they walked, his tail wrapping protectively around her waist.

Drawing himself into the present, Nick pushed the doors open. His eyes immediately fell upon the bunny seated in the center of the room. Her body was craned towards the balcony doors as rain and wind rattled them. Ears held high, dropping slightly as the thunder crashed again, only to pick back up as it faded away.

His breath caught as her eyes turned to him. She scrambled to her feet, paws clasped in front of her and ears falling back. The robe she wore made the gold decorating her glow, making her appear like the goddess she was supposed to represent.

They stood in awkward silence for a beat before Nick cleared his throat and rushed to the small table filled with wine. Judy kept still, her eyes not leaving his face, until a clap of thunder drew her attention back to the balcony. He smiled as her ears straightened at the sight of the lightening dancing across the sky.

“It’s magnificent isn’t it?” he whispered, coming to stand beside her.

She turned her gaze to him, accepting the glass of wine he held out to her. “On the other side of the palace, the view of the desert is the best. You can see the lightening illuminate the whole of the Sahara when it flashes.” They both turned to the balcony again.

“It’s beautiful,” she agreed. “I always heard this land was ugly, barren and unsavory.” The prince scoffed at that. Judy turned to smile at him. “I disagree. I found there are a great many things worth looking at.”

His ears burned and his breath caught in his chest. Eyes softening as he continued to gaze at her, his brain tried to operate through her alluring scent. The illumination of the balcony doors drew her attention away from him again, this time causing her to move towards them. Her expression of enchantment at the powerful flashes of lightning brought a chuckle from the prince.

“You enjoy storms?”

“Very much so,” she breathed out in wonderment as the sky became alive again. “Back home, we would have hurricanes. Everyone else would hide, yet I always found myself drawn to the sky light. Watching the heavens in all their glory and beauty… Oh, it just took my breath away.”

I know the feeling, he thought as her small form was illuminated against the glass of the doors.

Nick took a long drink from his wine, stepping towards the bunny as he did.

“Judy?” Her ears quirked towards him before tearing her gaze away from the storm. Raising what was left in his glass, she smiled and mimicked the gesture. “I pray you find happiness here… With me…”

Lightening moved across the sky in a grace that no dancer could match.

The easy rain filled the rivers and hydrated the fields. Bit by bit, the Sahara Kingdom became renewed in life and bounty as the fox and bunny stood together, side by side. Cool winds carried a sweetness within them as lavender eyes savored their view.

With her anxiety gone for the moment, thanks to the wine and residual tea, Judy smiled at the temporarily darkened view.

“Thank you, Prince Nicholas.”

“Please,” he whispered. “Call me Nick.” *****

Exhaustion.

It wrapped itself around her and rendered her useless to the world. Everything that mattered was forgotten as she sank into a blissful oblivion that dulled the pain of her fall and lulled her road-weary body to rest. The fear she'd felt throughout her long journey was pushed from her mind and the reasons for her breakneck flight vanished.

At that moment all she knew was comfort.

For now she was safe and snug with no one and nothing to worry over. For now she could forget about the dire warning she carried and the war she was compelled to prevent.

Dawn Bellwether was in good paws.

For now.

#zootopia #wildehopps #judy hopps #nick wilde #thesaharadistrict #godsandgoddesses

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jadegreenworks · 7 years ago

Text

Good Boy

Rolling in late to the #babybullfest like a dumbass! Heed the WARNINGS:

A/B/O, Alpha Elias, Omega Adam, light D/s, Mommy kink, fishnets, corsets, knotting dildos, a little knot spanking, sloppy sex, anal sex, anal tonguing, nipple fetish, sex work, porn without plot, probably gratuitous use of the word pussy (god, I’ve lost track, just... just read at your own risk!

Elias has a problem, the House has just the Omega to help him solve it.

Adam tapped his toes restlessly on the floor, finished reading the file, and flipped it closed with a definitive, “No.”

“You can’t veto this, Adam, it’s too much money,” Bea said, her arguments already in order because she knew him too well to think he’d take this case without argument.

“You’re right, it is too much money,” Adam said, reminding her, “There’s no way he can afford my rate for the night! And I can’t clear my schedule—”

“The Mistress cleared it for you and, actually, he can afford your rate,” Bea said, frazzled and weary. “He’s part owner of some kind of cloning patent. He can afford you all night every night until you’re too old to do this shit anymore.”

“Part owner of a cloning patent?” Adam hissed, incensed. “And that’s made him nouveau riche, has it? You know, that’s part of what’s wrong with today’s medical field, Bea, it’s all—”

“Write an article,” Bea said, interrupting his tirade. “I don’t give a shit how he gets his pay, Adam, as long as the House gets its cut.”

Adam flipped the file back open, snorting at the name the House had given his potential patron.

“Elias the Bull, honestly,” he said, skimming the contents again. “This is insane, Bea! All of this?”

“All of it.”

“He’s checked nearly every box!” Adam said, turning it to show her as if she hadn’t conducted the entry interview. “Look at this!”

“That’s why it has to be you, Adam,” Bea said, taking the folder from him and tucking it under her arm. “You’re the only Omega we have who will suit him.”

Adam glowered but didn’t deny it. He’d been headstrong from the moment of his birth, bossy, sassy, take-charge, oftentimes mistaken for a Beta male or, even better, an Alpha at times. His particular personality had developed particular tastes in sex partners, which had led him to the House. Here, a bossy, domineering Omega had plenty of Alphas lining up at his door, and they paid for the pleasure of his company, to boot.

It certainly beat scraping coins from the couch to buy a pack of cigarettes.

“Are we done?” Bea asked, knowing damned well they were. “He’s waiting for you.”

“I’m not happy about this,” Adam informed her, surging to his feet and dragging his scarf off.

“He’ll tip, and you’ll be plenty happy about that,” Bea reminded him. “Go get ‘em.”

“The Bull,” Adam said, snorting softly. “How creative! Did he name himself?”

“Nope, the preppers named him,” Bea said, shooing him out of her office. “Hurry up! Time is money, Adam.”

He left her office in a huff and went to his room, one of many in the vast and busy House. His Patron area attached to his private suite, along with the prepping room and Patron washroom, making each entertaining area a little wonderland all its own without interruption from outside parties.

“The Bull,” Adam breathed, showering quickly and getting ready, the details of his Patron’s particulars lodged in his mind. It guided the way he dressed, as he always aimed to please, and he enjoyed the change that overtook him with the clothing he donned, as if an entire new person lay within him just waiting for those tacky fishnet stockings, for the cinched grip of a corset, for the little scrap of panties that almost didn’t hold him, for the wickedly-high heels he took particular pride in wearing so gracefully and so well.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, turning to catch a glimpse of his backside in the mirror, round and firm, cheeks bared, the garter straps stark against his skin. He tapped his toe, admiring the flex of his muscular calves, and winked at himself. “Whatever happens, Adam, you know you’ll have fun. You always do.”

He pulled a silky robe on and belted it at his waist, finger-combed his loose hair, and knocked sharply on the door to announce himself.

He heard a muffled, grunting groan and let himself in to his playroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

The preppers had done a thorough job, Adam was pleased to see. His Patron was bare as birth, hunkered down on his knees and bowed over, wriggling and whining, wrists secured behind his back.

He heard the mechanical whine of the milking machine as he moved closer and his brows rose a little seeing what they’d already gotten out of him, his Bull.

Adam stopped in front of him and nudged him under his chin with the toe of his stiletto, taking in his flushed, sweaty face, the bushy mustache that didn’t quite hide his harelip, the brows pulled together in concentration, eyes squeezed closed.

“Sit up,” Adam told him, examining him closely. “I won’t tell you twice.”

He did so cautiously, teeth clenching on his gag.

The milking machine was on its highest setting, popping soundly against Elias’ swollen knot as its suction pulled it up and down the most monstrously lovely cock Adam had ever seen in his life.

“I understand you’ve been named the Bull, Elias,” he said, noting his oversized, heavy sac between his taut thighs. “I can see why.”

He walked around him, inspecting him to be sure the little red ball was in his left hand, where it would remain as long as the gag was in, a blatant signal to stop when words weren’t available.

“Oh, my, what a touch,” Adam chuckled, spying the cow-tail plug they’d placed in Elias’ ass. He tested it, wriggling to feel how well he was holding it, and smiled when Elias squirmed. “There’s a good darling. I understand you have a problem you need help with.”

He moved back around him, trailing his fingers up Elias’ bowed spine and over his damp, curly hair, then down beneath his chin.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and Elias did so, the haze of pleasure from that milking machine dwindling to bewilderment. “You look surprised. I’m going to take this off of you. Don’t move.”

He reached down and stopped the machine, carefully breaking the seal it had formed. Elias twitched and groaned, shuddering, and Adam slapped his knot, warning, “I won’t tell you twice.”

It came off with a wet, slurping suck and his heavy cock slapped down between his thighs, a string of cum drawing tight and breaking.

Adam put the milking machine aside, retrieved the red ball, and unbuckled the gag.

“You aren’t what I asked for!” Elias said, wriggling now in consternation. “No! No, this is all wrong! I said I wanted an Omega—”

“I am an Omega,” Adam said, straightening to look down at him.

“No! I wanted one with breasts! You’re a man! You don’t have breasts! You don’t understand, I—”

Adam untied his robe with one hand and shrugged it off, pleased when Elias abruptly shut up, mouth agape.

“I don’t have breasts,” Adam said, brushing his hands over his bare chest to cup his nipples, large and turgid against the slight plumpness of his chest, that residual fat he could never shed no matter the pec-work he did. “But that wasn’t really what you needed, was it, Elias?”

Elias licked his lips, eyelids fluttering, tracking the motion of Adam’s thumb when he pinched one nipple softly and tugged.

Adam smiled when Elias’ cock gave a twitch, betraying his interest.

“I understand what you’ve come here for,” Adam said, crouching in front of him, deliberately brushing against his face as he did so, shifting just so to keep those eager lips away from his enticing nipples. “I understand what you need, and I will give it to you.”

Elias blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, torn between desire and confoundment.

Desire won.

Desire always won.

“I’m going to free your hands,” Adam murmured, sliding his arms around Elias to reach the cuffs, pressing close to let him feel the contrast of soft skin and bone-hard stays, the pressure of his own fat sex against his sticky lower belly.

Elias’ breath pulsed against his mouth, quick and hot, but he behaved himself and didn’t try to steal a kiss.

The cuffs gave with a soft click, parting, and Adam pulled away to gain his feet, telling him, “I expect you will behave. If you don’t behave, you’ll be punished. I don’t give instructions twice, Elias. Failure to follow instructions will cost you. Do you understand?”

He stared down at him and Elias nodded emphatically.

“I cannot hear your head rattle, darling,” Adam pressed. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, I understand,” Elias said, nostrils flaring and cock stirring.

“Yes, I understand what?” Adam asked, standing with his hands on his curved hips, expectant and impatient.

“Yes... Mother,” Elias said, a hesitant, unsure offering.

Adam reached out and caressed his face, purring, “Yes, darling, that’s right. Mother will take very, very good care of you.”

On the heels of that soft caress, he bent over just slightly and tumbled Elias backwards on the floor, half on his side to keep his “tail” clear of harm.

Elias landed with a grunt but rolled onto his back, eyes wide and shimmering with a wild kind of excitement that Adam had rarely seen before in a man his age.

“You have a problem with restraint, Elias, isn’t that right?” Adam asked, using his foot to lift Elias’ thick cock and slap it up on his furry belly. His knot was still fat, but not tight, and hung in a half-slack bulge over his heavy balls. “Constantly touching yourself, unable to resist?”

“Yes,” Elias said, and panted harshly when Adam pressed his shod foot against his knot. “Mother!”

“That’s right,” Adam cooed, crouching to give his knot a squeeze, milking it in both palms until it started to swell again. “You aren’t permitted to come until I say so, Elias.”

Elias squirmed, a soft, keening whine escaping him, his cock swelling rigid against his belly.

“No matter what I do,” Adam purred, kneading and kneading, dropping one hand to cup his balls and roll them in his hot palm, wet and heavy and musky. “No matter what you want, unless I give you permission, you are not to come—”

He did, a harsh shout escaping him as his cock spurted, quivering against his heaving belly.

Adam smirked. He pinched just beneath the swollen head of Elias’ cock and pulled the fat length of him taut, baring more of his knot.

“That,” he said, and cracked his free palm sharply against his exposed knot. “Was. Very. Bad!”

He spanked his knot until it was cherry red and ruddy, until Elias howled and heaved and bucked and fought the pinch on his cock that kept him from tipping too far into enjoying it. He spanked him until his palm stung, and then he stood to plant his foot firmly on Elias’ cock, toe pressing just beneath his head, sharp heel light against his base.

“That was a very bad boy, Elias,” he said, slightly breathless with effort, rocking his foot to make him groan. He felt Elias cant his hips, trying to press up against him, and gave him a little more pressure, marking the way he shuddered and sobbed. “That was a very bad boy, indeed. What is Mother to do about that, hm? How should I punish such a bad little boy?”

He slid his hand into his panties and tugged, the flimsy strings breaking away, the slippery material slithering down one leg to be impatiently kicked off as he moved his foot. He moved to straddle Elias’ chest, one foot on either side of him, and stared down the length of his own slender body to catch his eye.

“Omegas are wondrous, aren’t we?” he purred, fondling himself, fingers sliding around his swelling cock and under his balls to lift as he squatted, legs spreading as he lowered himself almost to Elias’ face, so close he could feel his breath against his thighs. “Beautiful boy parts up front,” he sighed, sweeping himself up tight to expose the slit of his pussy behind. “A tight little asshole you can only dream about, and an even tighter pussy right in between.”

Elias panted, chest heaving but hands flat against the floor.

“I’ll let you taste it, hm?” Adam asked, trailing one fingernail down Elias’ nose to catch on his trembling lower lip. “Let you stick your tongue where you want your cock to be.”

He shifted, straddling Elias’ face backwards on his knees. He lowered himself until he felt wet lips against his sac and he pressed, sighing with satisfaction when Elias began to suck softly at his balls.

“Good boy,” he breathed, shifting up and shivering when his hot tongue plunged into his slick slit. “Very good boy, Elias.”

Elias slurped and lapped at him, groaning against his flesh, eagerly accepting when Adam admonished, “The back as well, darling, Mother loves a good ass fucking.”

It was delightful the way he was so enthusiastic, working at Adam’s tight asshole and tight pussy in succession, and the longer he ate at the feast he was offered, the more his huge cock strained and quivered.

“Such a good boy,” Adam praised, and leaned forward, stretching along Elias’ body to tease his head, grinning at the way Elias offered a stifled squeal and writhed away from his touch. Adam stroked his head and flicked it, over and over, warning, “Be a good boy for Mother, darling. Don’t you come until Mother tells you. There’s my good boy, Elias. Mother is so proud of you.”

Elias’ tongue plunged deep, laving and probing, and slid in a slick trail from Adam’s wet pussy to his loosening asshole, fighting the clench of muscle to push in deep.

“Oh, that’s what Mother likes,” Adam breathed, lightly polishing his head, knowing the teasing pressure must be virtually unbearable. “Look at this huge cock of yours, Elias. I’m so proud of what a big boy you are. Look at how hard your are, how big your knot is. Mother can’t wait to get that knot, Elias, to squeeze it and squeeze it until you give me your little boy milk—”

Elias bucked and spurted, smearing a mess of come all over his belly and Adam’s hand.

“Oh, darling, you’ve been such a bad boy,” Adam breathed, levering himself up off of Elias’ face. “So bad, Elias, coming without permission. I won’t tell you again.”

Slick saliva slid down his thighs when Adam stood, testament to Elias’ eager ministrations.

Elias’ flushed face was wet and he wiped at it nervously, but the excitement in his amber eyes never died. If anything, it seemed more frantic than before, eager and wanting.

“Bad, bad little boy,” Adam sighed, moving between Elias’s thighs. He caught him under his knees and bent them up, pressing them towards his chest. “You hold onto these lovely legs of yours, now, Elias, and don’t you dare move.”

Elias did as he was told, trembling with excitement. It opened him up enough that the cow-tail butt plug slid out easily in a gush of slick lube.

“Wasting all that milk,” Adam said, testing him with a gentle finger and satisfied by the job the preppers had managed. “Giving it to Mother when she hasn’t asked. Such a proud little boy you are, hm?”

He caressed Elias’ softened cock and slackening knot, fondled the admirable heft of his sack. He was lighter than he looked, and it took little effort to get him canted just right for Adam to press his hard cock to Elias’ winking ass.

“Oh, tightening up are we?” Adam asked, amused. He pressed in, just until his head could feel the clench of muscle. “What a bad boy you are, Elias! Mother wants to feel you all the way inside...”

He eased deeper, shivering as he was drawn into heated, tight muscle, enjoying the spasm that passed through Elias and the throaty groan that followed the first deep thrust.

He slid his hands around Elias’ thighs and set a slow, deep pace that had him writhing and cursing, red-faced and tight with tension as he fought orgasm.

Adam was almost relieved it didn’t take long to get him up again, because he was more than ready to feel a little relief. He snapped his hips up hard, plunging deep with each thrust. He heard Elias’ start the sharp, harsh little grunts that heralded his orgasm and dropped his thighs to fist Elias’ straining cock, gasping with pleasure and driving deep to come when Elias’ surged in his hands and spurted over his fingers.

Elias huffed and panted and writhed, almost too sensitive from so much friction, even slick as he was. Adam gave him another tug just to feel the way he tightened, and slid out of him with a sigh, admiring the way his pearly cum welled out of Elias’ reddened ass.

“You haven’t behaved,” Adam said, catching his breath as he went to his cabinet. He pulled out a knotting dildo and slicked it, little though he needed it after Elias’ clever tongue. “But what kind of Mother would I be if I gave up on you now?”

He turned back to Elias and set the dildo down before nuzzling Elias, stroking his face and his throat, calming him some. He kissed down his neck, kissed the dome of his come-slick belly, teased his tight little nipples and reared up over him, his chest enticingly near.

Elias hesitated when Adam brushed one rosy nipple against his lips, gasping softly at the bristling touch of his moustache.

“No teeth,” Adam warned, rubbing the tight nub against Elias’ pouty lower lip. “Use your tongue.”

Elias tentatively flicked his tongue across the offered nipple and Adam purred, pressing against him.

“Suck,” he said, and when Elias did so, he warned, “Gently.”

The pressure softened. He made a satisfied, purring sound around Adam’s nipple, his fingers clenched against the floor as if he fought not to touch. Adam reached out and urged Elias’ fingers against his other nipple, eyes fluttering when he teased it.

A glance over his shoulder showed him Elias was hard again, and Adam was impressed despite himself.

“You can’t keep this up much longer,” he said, easing away to settle over Elias’ hips, right atop his hard cock. Elias bucked, rutting against his plump ass. “I think it’s time you get inside of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Elias moaned, and exhaled on a moan, “Mother!”

“That’s my little boy,” Adam said, pulling the knotting dildo over. He held himself up on his knees, steadied, Elias’ come-slick cock, and fed it cautiously into his ass, sighing.

Elias strained against him, and when he realized he was in Adam’s ass, he snarled in frustration.

Adam laughed softly, settling fully onto Elias’ cock, enjoying how full he felt and knowing when he got the dildo into him, it would be even better. He slapped down hard, using his body to spank Elias’ knot, and tipped backwards to feed the knotting dildo into his pussy.

“Ah, that’s so good,” he moaned, feeling Elias swell and twitch inside of him as the dildo settled into place. He saw that Elias’ eyes were glued to the knot, wide and watching as it vanished inside of Adam’s pussy, glimpsed as he milked it inside of him. “Do you see that, Elias? That’s where good boys go, hm?”

He leaned back, legs spread wide, arms braced, and fucked himself silly on Elias’ cock, milking the knotting dildo in his pussy so Elias could see it, could feel it.

“It should be you in here, Elias,” he moaned, licking his fingers and sliding them down his slit to push the dildo back in as it slid out. He clenched, drawing it back inside of himself, and Elias sobbed in desperation, hips pumping against Adam’s ass, knot slapping up against him and cock bucking in his tight heat. He starting jerking himself off, fist sliding over his ready cock as Elias fucked up into him. “Imagine how it feels, being squeezed inside of me, tighter and tighter until you beg me to let you come. Imagine how it feels to come inside me while I’m squeezing your knot...”

They came together, Adam half-laughing with delight it felt so good. He rocked against Elias’ body, working dildo and cock inside of him, rolling Elias’ knot as hard as he could.

“Next time,” he said, panting hard as the pleasure eased. “I want your knot in me, Elias, and your fingers in my ass.”

Elias tried twice to answer, still gasping for breath, and finally managed, “Yes, Mother.”

“That’s right,” Adam said, satisfied by his response. He pulled up and let Elias slide out of him, and let the dildo slide out in a rush of slick wetness. He flung it aside, stepped over Elias, and moved to the small couch off to one side.

“Come here, Elias,” he said, and urged the man to lay down with his head in Adam’s lap. He stroked Elias’ hair, both of them catching their breath, and said, “Now, here’s what I want. You can only masturbate nine times a day.”

“N-nine?”

“Nine,” Adam said, firm with him. “And I’ll know if you lie to me. Nine times. And after a week, you’ll only be allowed eight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You need to save this up, Elias,” Adam said, addressing the main reason why his patron was here in the first place. “If you want to have me all night, you need to save it all up for me. Can you do that for me, Elias? Can you do that for Mother?”

“Yes, Mother,” Elias said, nodding vigorously.

“Good,” Adam said, and gathered him close, cradling his head to guide Elias’ mouth to his nipple, tugging him up close in his lap as his lips latched on. “There’s a good boy, Elias. There’s Mother’s good boy.”

Elias grunted and suckled like a greedy little piglet, curling against Adam’s hand when he reached down and gently stroked him, telling him, “Now, give Mother that little boy milk of yours, darling. Show Mother how much you love her.”

Elias suckled and moaned and shuddered, rocking in a long, slow orgasm that spilled languid ropes of cum over Adam’s relentless hand.

“That’s a good boy,” Adam purred, eyes closing in bliss as Elias suckled him, a slight, content smile on his lips as he looked forward to the rest of his evening. “There’s a good boy for Mother.”

Also on Ao3

THERE’S MOAR

#babybullfest #basic chickens #elias #adam towers #men and chicken #eliasfest #my fic

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captainlenfan · 5 years ago

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marinette-buginette · 8 years ago

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Turn Loose the Mermaids(Part 31)

AU belongs to Taulun

Welp, this is probably my worst chapter yet. I apologize in advance. You will want me dead after next chapter anyway, so let’s enjoy the little victories lol. Thanks to @miracujess for being my beta and dealing with my shit

First | Next

Tortuga was like no other place Marinette had ever seen. Albeit, she had only been in two ports so far, of which the second hadn’t been the most… pleasing experience, not with strange women trying to take her Chat away from her or with lecherous stinky drunks who ended up with cut tongues. But besides those incidents, it had been welcoming and enjoyable and, dare she say, comfortable. But this place, Tortuga, was giving her shivers. The port was well lighted, but it still felt as if lingering shadows were ready to jump you any moment. And while the joy in the air and the relaxed and euphoric state of people might have been enjoyable any other day, Marinette didn’t feel right in that atmosphere right now. And the streets were stinking! What was up with this port and poor cleaning? Hell knows what diseases will appear because of it. Chat didn’t seem to fare any better. As they were walking along the streets, keeping close to each other and holding hands, Marinette could have sworn she heard him cursing and saying something about how he hated Tortuga. With all the dirt on the ground, Marinette decided she had been inspired to pick a dress that reached above her ankles. She glanced around, noticing all the oddities that were sold at the stands of the merchants. Fish, alcohol, a variety of tools, weapons, but she also saw poisons and some rather weird looking animal limbs. Instinctively, she pulled herself closer to Chat. Her husband wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder, comforting her. Stopping suddenly, Chat moved aside to free the path for other walkers while pulling her along. Raising her hands, he kissed her knuckles and looked down at her.

“Marinette,” he sighed, “have you thought about… ?”

“My answer is still no,” she stated firmly. As he gave her an exasperated look, Marinette shook her head. “Forget it Chat. I said before, I’m saying it again. I’m not running.”

“But it is your only chance to survive, if this goes badly. I don’t want you to die.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but as she spoke her voice was soft. “I lived for almost 161 years now. 160 without you. We just found each other. What do you want me to do, Chat? Let you die and go and lurk in the depths of the sea for another century hoping I will meet you again? I’d be damned if I leave you.“ She gripped his hands tightly and looked straight into his eyes as she promised “If we go, we go together.”

Chat looked at her, obviously not satisfied with the idea, but at the same time, his heart began beating faster at her words. He truly didn’t deserve her. Placing a long kiss on her forehead, Chat squeezed her hands. They were in this together.

-----------------

The Shark’s Fang was one of the best taverns in Tortuga, and there was a general knowledge that it was the tavern the Black Cat of the Seven Seas and his crew frequented. So it wasn’t a surprise for anyone that the only people in there were the workers and the pirates. The chatter was lively and everybody seemed happy to get a drink, Nino most of them all. Everybody went silent as Chat Noir himself appeared.

“Leave me and my crew alone,” he ordered, and the workers immediately scattered through the back door. A group of women who had been lurking around gathered in a corner and exchanged looks, not really eager to leave when they hadn’t got any proper business that night. Max took out a little bag of coins and threw it their way, then motioned for them to get out. The captain wasn’t looking very patient right now.

Chat wasn’t surprised in the slightest when all he had to do was say something to get people to listen. His reputation as the most blood thirsty pirate certainly helped. Redirecting his attention to the crowd in the pub, he simply stated: ”I’ve got news for you. It is about Ma—the mermaid.” The word didn’t sit well with him, but as far as he was concerned, only he and Nino knew Marinette’s name, and he wasn’t about to give it to everybody without her permission.

“Did you find a buyer?” It was Max who broke the silence, and judging by his tone, Chat figured he was disappointed. He did make a habit of talking with Marinette about the life under the sea and mermaids in general. He was one of the ones who, dare he say, befriended Marinette quite fast.

“No.” Chat shook his head. “There is a problem. She isn’t entirely a mermaid.” The whispers of surprise and chatter among the crew turned to silence as Chat extended his hand. Marinette entered through the door holding her husband’s hand and giving a small wave at the crew. “And frankly, no one is selling her as long as I am alive.”

There was a dead silence for a few very tense moments. And then the whole room burst in shouts of all kinds.

“She has legs!”

“What the actual fuck, she has legs?”

“Lahiffe, did you spike my drink again?”

“Well, I prefer it that way, ya know, she is a nice lass and a great singer though.”

“The stories are real! I knew it, take that Max.”

For his part Max was up on the table. “You have to tell me more about this phenomenon!”

“So this is how you’ve been fucking! I can’t believe we all lost the bets.”

Chat raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to see your priorities are in order, Le Chien.”

“Hold up a second.” Chat’s piercing green eyes settled on the person who spoke. If he remembered correctly, his name was Claude.

“I assume you have something to say,” Chat said nonchalantly, his eyes looking over the others’ faces. At a first glance, this man seemed the only one truly bothered.

“Are you telling us that we ain’t going to sell our biggest catch ever so you can satisfy your dick?” Marinette heard Chat growl. “I’d be damned if I don’t get any coin off that sea wench’s tail.

A chorus of other voices began disagreeing. A sudden wave of tension seemed to pass through the crowd. There were little details, Marinette’s noticed. The way Kim’s back muscles tensed, the way Max reached for his pocket tentatively, Nino settling his bottle on the table, his fingers latching dangerously onto it. Marinette’s grip tightened around Chat’s hand. He squeezed back, but his eyes focused on his crew. Then his lips curled into a grin, but it wasn’t anything Marinette had seen before. It wasn’t playful, or fond or amused. It was rather lethal looking with just a tiny hint of mocking. Marinette admired how well he could hide his inner turmoil and feelings.

“Gentlemen, let’s settle, shall we?” his eyes slid over to Alix who already reached for her gun. “Don’t pull that up Kubdel, there isn’t need for it. I certainly hope my crew isn’t barbaric enough to fill this lovely tavern with blood. We all know how hard is to get the stains out.”

He took a couple of steps forward, in a nonchalant manner, but Marinette noticed he positioned his body in front of her. Her eyes moved from his form to the crew of pirates in front of her. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

“Claude, it seems like you have something more to say about this. And given our diverging opinions, I’m sure we can take this outside and solve it properly, through a duel.” his right hand tapped the hilt of his sword, challenging. “With you and everybody else who wants to settle this matter.”

The pirate paled considerably, while other’s exchanged looks. No one had ever gotten alive out of a sword fight with Captain Chat Noir. This was the man who killed a royal navy admiral when he was 14. And three others during his piracy years. Claude’s shoulders dropped, considering his options. This might not have been such a good idea.

“You know, “ Max’s voice broke the silence. “Ironically enough, since she is with us our success against trade ships increased, not to mention the fact that we had some of our best catches during this period of time. If coin, is your main concern, I’d say it is better to keep her with us, given she seems to bring us good luck.”

Marinette smiled at Max over Chat’s shoulder. She will make sure to thank him later. Maybe tell him more about the marine life.

“Kante, I appreciate the notes, but please, if Claude wants to fight his way over this argument he is more than welcome to do so.” Chat looked at his crew member expectantly.

The other pirate gulped. “It’s alright, Captain. I’ll just sit down.” because he wasn’t insane enough to get in a sword fight with the man who dueled the most frightening pirate of the Seven Seas at 19 and won. He had one bit of preservation instinct left.

“So be it then. Anybody else?” he looked around expectantly through the crowd. The opposing voices simply avoided his glance. “We are settled then. Does anybody have anything to add?”

“Yes.” to everybody’s surprise Nino climbed on the table taking a big gulp out of his bottle. “Finally you all assholes will share my pain of dealing with their romantic bullshit! You will all have to hear them fucking too, from now on, and lose sleep. Fucking finally, I’m not alone to deal with this anymore.”

The chorus of laughter filled the room at Nino’s antics, whatever surprise of him knowing already being set aside fastly.

“Bring more rum!” Nino shouted again, hoping one of the tavern workers could hear him. Then he waved his hand towards Marinette. “Come here sister, I’m in the mood for a song.”

Marinette laughed happily. Giving her husband a fast kiss, she rushed in the middle of the crowd and began singing with Nino. Chat looked at the whole scene and sighed in relief. This, turned out better than he could ever hope for. Seeing Marinette gesture for him to come over, he joined the celebration.

Maybe luck was upon him, at least.

#lol you think #miraculous ladybug #TML #my writing #turn loose the mermaids

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sake-and-whiskey · 8 years ago

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Siren’s Gold Chapter 2

The adventure continues! Thank you all so much for the support and love, I’m so glad you love this AU as much as I do. Let’s get the ball rolling, shall we? The other side of a chance encounter, and the first moments of a new beginning.

Read on AO3 HERE Rated:M McHanzo, Pirate McCree MerHanzo AU

The Dragon awakened.

It was the vibrations that woke him, the subtle shaking of the cave walls and the water, steady thuds that made his domain shake. Subtle, small vibrations, but enough to wake the Dragon. He was a light sleeper as it was, a trait born out of necessity rather than choice. Only the strong survived in the Dragon’s world, and he had not lived as long as he had by being hazardous. So the minor shaking of the cave walls, the ripples in the clear waters of his lagoon, woke him at once.

His brown eyes shot open, ready and fully alert, and he listened. Heavy ‘boom’s shook through the sea. The sound of human’s battling, waging war on one another as they rocked across the ocean. The sound of cannon fire, and the thrashing of men struggling in the water.

The sound of prey.

The Dragon grinned, running his tongue across his long feral teeth, stomach growling with anticipation. He sat up from his sleeping place, a large outcropping of rock in the center of his lair, and paused only a moment to feel the vibrations once more. Best to be cautious, to fully understand the situation before diving in for an attack. The lesser ones would be there first to devour the unfortunate souls that hit the water. He had no need for business like that. The Dragon could hunt any time he wanted. He could afford cautiousness, to wait and make sure it was not a fishing boat trying to trick his kind into a frenzy so they could be scooped up and sold. Or that it simply was a freighter ship being overrun by pirates, a small affair that was not worth his time. Yes, the Dragon could wait. And indeed, the longer he waited, the more cannon fire he heard, until he was convinced that it was worth his time. Battles did not last this long unless there was a worth to the ships that waged these wars, not unless there was gold to be had within them.

That was worthy of the Dragon’s time.

In a flash, he pushed off the rocky outcropping and into the water, not another second to waste, with the sea welcoming him as he tore through it. His long hair streamed behind him as he shot down, past his scores of treasure and into the deep cave that connected his lair to the open ocean. His long tail whipped behind him, powerful and precise. Not a movement was wasted as he torpedoed through the thin cave and out into the sea, the moonlight filling the waves with a cool white light that filtered down in radiant beams. The smell of blood in the water was strong, intoxicating. He could sense the sharks that were following behind him, attracted equally by the scent of blood, but intelligent enough not to cut him off. They knew whatever he did not take would be theirs, and they were not foolish enough to challenge the Dragon. They knew better.

He swam with purpose, distance falling behind him as he shot through the water. He could sense the others near by, hear them screeching and whispering to themselves, voices high and warbled through the water. They knew better than to challenge him, too. He was the oldest in these lands, and had won his share of battles to claim his territory and earn his rank. There were very few who dared challenge him or taunt him, all knowing what happened to those that stood in his way.

Very few, indeed, but still an odd some of those who did. One of which he felt coming up on him now, and he scoffed as the other dragon fell at his side. The other dragon was a blur of green out of the corner of his eye, but he knew his brother well. He could smell him and sense him from miles away, and always had an idea of where the younger dragon was. It was their family bond.

He didn’t spare him a glance, which only made the other dragon chuckle with delight, consciously bumping into him. The older dragon let out a warning snarl, but it was all for show. He would not hurt his brother, not again. And he knew it. Their roles as Alpha and Beta were set already, so there was no need to quarrel over who would better rule their lands. The older dragon had already earned his place as the king of these waters long ago. Even still, the younger dragon would test his patience.

“Did you hear, Hanzo?” He whispered through the water, voice carrying in a way that only creatures of the sea could understand. “Some of the younger ones said that there was a fire, and that a ship has been sunk. They’ve already begun to feed, but there must be some things within the boat itself worth scavenging.”

Hanzo smirked, shooting his brother a look. “No Genji, I didn’t hear, tell me more.”

The green dragon grinned at him, meeting his eyes with a challenging smirk on his face, a wide row of needle like teeth glinting in the moonlight. “I simply thought it would be best to test your senses, brother. You ARE getting old after all.”

The older dragon let out a roaring laugh, shoving into his brother playfully, the two tangling over each other in the waves before splitting apart once more, still all smiles. Genji had a way of uplifting Hanzo in a way no one else could, while also challenging him and urging him to grow. The two were the only of their kind in these waters, so they stuck together and ruled as two sides of the same coin. The sly green Sea Dragon, covered in scars from battles with pieces of his tail ripped out, healed over in a strange patchwork of scar tissue and missing scale. His hair was cut short, dark as his brother’s, and his green finned ears were tattered and torn in many places. Nonetheless, he was powerful, tail pounding through the water despite the missing pieces. While his brother ruled the lands, Genji was a powerful second in command, cocky and confident in a way that was completely justified by his ability and intelligence. Where Hanzo was precision and force, Genji was cunning and trickery. They were a perfect- and deadly- combination.

The two continued their break neck speed through the water until they could see the glow of the ship from above the surface. So there really had been a fire, Hanzo noted, slowing as they drew nearer. He could see the majority of the hull already sloping down past him into the dark depths, only a small portion remaining out of the water as it continued to sink. Whoever had sunk the ship had clearly intended for there to be no survivors. Burning the ship would guarantee that. Surely, he reasoned, there must have been something of value on board, though whether or not the treasure was still there was unlikely. The victor in this battle would have no doubt searched the vessel before setting it aflame.

An irritating development. That meant there would likely be nothing to salvage, nothing to add to his horde. Hanzo watched as the ship continued to slowly slide into the water, brow furrowed with consideration. Genji also watched silently, glancing at his brother and back at the ship. “Would you like me to check it regardless?” He offered, cocking his head. “It hurts nothing to be sure.”

Hanzo growled in frustration, but flicked his wrist dismissively. “That seems wise,” He muttered. Genji nodded once, giving a powerful flick of his tail before he was off, shooting towards the sinking boat. As he left, Hanzo turned, his attention switching to the warbled screams and shrieks of the others that fought near by. They were similar creatures to he and his brother, but not the same. Their race was a complex one, with many branches and subsects. He was of their kind, but very different. Still, they knew him, and respected his power within their home. He started towards them, radiating confidence and power.

The other sea folk were struggling with one another, bickering and quarreling amongst themselves. They came in flocks, probably thirty of different sizes and breeds. Some were beautiful, with the faces and bodies of women that spoke in song. Others had eyes that were pale and hollow, needle teeth hanging over their lips while they argued in voices that were painfully high and distorted. Others still looked like a combination, bodies completely covered in scales, like anthropomorphic fish, combinations of humanoid beings and sharks or eels. Yet they all turned when the Sea Dragon came upon them, reactions mixed. Some bowed their heads, others scowled and hissed, a few smiling brightly and giving him warm eyes of seduction. Their welcomes did not matter to Hanzo. He had come for information.

“What goes on here?” He asked, voice commanding and strong. A siren, one of the beautiful women of the sea, pushed forward, biting her lip and looking him over as she spoke.

“My sisters and I came because of the noise, looking for food. But the hags beat us to it,” She scowled at the wrinkled sea creature nearest to her, who had been gnawing on a human arm. “They tore nearly all of them to shreds, mangled them and didn’t even eat some, just ruined them for the rest of us.”

Hanzo shot the deep sea maid a dark look. “Is this so?”

“NO!” the creature wailed, clutching at the arm in its taloned fingers. “They reached the water in pieces, my lord. There is black magic in the air, we would not be wasteful, we know better, we know!”

“So she CLAIMS,” The siren growled back, face losing its beauty as rage distorted her features. “But she hides the survivor for herself! She won’t even eat him, she just keeps him from the rest of us!”

“Survivor?” Hanzo rebuffed, and the sea hag nodded profusely. “Yes my lord! I saved him for you! Come, Come!” she cried, releasing the arm to take a hold of Hanzo, tiny pruned fingers clutching at his wrist. “He still lives!”

They all followed after her, swimming slowly through the dark seas with caution. A survivor was a dangerous thing, a threat and a treasure all at once. The sirens would want him to breed, to steal him of his manhood and seed in order to increase their clan. The scavengers would want him to play with, to teach their young to slaughter. The deep sea maids had no purpose for him really other than to feed, to survive. All had their own right to the survivor, and would no doubt tear each other apart for that right if Hanzo had not been there. Because they all knew he had the right to choose what became of the human before any other.

And there he was. Floating amidst the waves, Hanzo could see his legs barely moving as he struggled to stay afloat. His hands tread the water only barely, the fight clearly gone from the man. They swam around him slowly beneath the waves, taking in every inch of his lower body, his head still barely floating above the surface. Hanzo felt a pang of possessiveness flair through his being when he saw the jewelry that glittered on his fingers, shining gold even in pale light of the moon. He had jewelry all over him, a belt buckle that shined brightly, a sword and gun at his hip that all glinted in the water. Hanzo knew the other’s saw it too, and wanted those treasures as badly as he did, but none spoke. None moved. Had he been younger, much younger, and foolish, he would have probably tried to eat him on the spot, strip his of his possessions and leave his remains for the scavengers. But the Sea Dragon was ancient, and wise. He knew better.

And all of the sea folk could feel the energy on him. The magic that covered his body and clung to him in ways nothing else could. Dark magic that whispered to any tuned in to hear it. A warning, a message that scarred his skin with no physical mark, but radiated from him. All the sea folk knew exactly what that meant.

“He is cursed,” The sirens whispered to one another quietly, sing-song voices marred by the evil word. The sea hag hissed, laughing with a sound of only dry air.

“Do you still wish to have him?” She shrieked, and the siren leader only gave her a warning look in response.

Hanzo said nothing, eyes on the stranger, curious. What could this man have done to be cursed in such a way? It had been a long time since he had seen magic such as this, magic permanent and bound to the soul with nothing but evil intent. Who could this human have angered so to reap this punishment? He eyed the man once more, waiting until his legs stopped moving altogether, before slowly breaking away from the circling group, up towards the surface.

He broke through the water silently, only his eyes poking out, cautious. A clear eyelid glossed over his pupils, pushing the water away as his eyes adjusted to the oxygen above. And there he was, head bobbing in the water before him. His face was weathered and worn, dark skin glowing in the pale moonlight. One of his eyes was hidden by a dark eyepatch, and a scruffy beard, much longer than Hanzo’s well kept facial hair was matted and unruly. A hat was slipping off his head, and dark shaggy hair clung to the high plains of his cheekbones, covering part of his face. He was unconscious, mouth open slightly, the sea water slipping past his lips.

He was absolutely beautiful.

That same possessiveness clawed at his chest, gnawed at his bones. What an interesting human this was, beautiful unlike any Hanzo had ever seen before, yet cursed and left in the sea to die. What had he done to put him here? He was a pirate, surely, and one with wealth enough to adorn himself in ornaments as he did. In all his years, Hanzo had never encountered a sailor with a curse like this. How unique, how rare. The same need to own, to collect, that drove Hanzo on in search of gold and treasure spoke to him now. He would never again find a man like this. And what was he to do, leave him here? With a curse like this, no one would eat him, no one would go near him. He would be left to the scavengers, to the sharks. No, he could not leave him, and he did not want to. The Dragon was the ruler of these waters, and he could have whatever he wanted. And he wanted the man.

He sunk back into the water, a chorus of whispers suddenly coming to a halt. Without a word, he swam up to the sailor, taking a fistfull of his long coat in his arms, and dragged him beneath the surface. The voices started up again in an instant, questions and shrieks he paid no mind to as he left the sea folk behind, throwing the human over his shoulder as he snapped his tail and tore through the water once more. He cut through the water quickly, ignoring the commotion he had created behind him. Hanzo did not want to think on his decision, did not want to reflect on why it was a bad idea to add a cursed human to his collection. He did not need to justify his choices. He was the Dragon. He saw what he wanted and claimed it. That was his right.

Hanzo heard his brother coming up behind him, felt the pounding of his tail through the water before he heard him speak. The younger dragon had an edge to his voice as he sped along next to his brother, confusion evident. “Hanzo,” He began, cautiously. “What are you doing with the human?” “Is it not obvious?” He snapped back, which made Genji chuckle.

“It is,” He began again, grinning slyly. “But I was more so asking why you have suddenly taken an interest?”

Hanzo shot his brother a look, before giving him a grin of his own. “Look at him, brother. Tell me you do not see the cause of my sudden interest.”

Genji outright guffawed, cackling in a sound that was breathy and bubbled from his lips. “I see,” He grinned, licking his razor sharp teeth. “I can’t say I disagree with you.”

Hanzo smirked triumphantly, turning his attention away from his brother and back towards where he swam. They tore through a graveyard of ship pieces and rocky fixtures, until the entrance to Hanzo’s lair came into view. Genji slipped behind his brother, following him into the narrow sea cave, eyeing up the man that was unconscious over his shoulder. His hat flew off as Hanzo darted around a corner, and Genji grabbed it quickly, clutching it to his chest as they broke from the cave into the glittering expanse of Hanzo’s cave.

The two shot to the surface, and Hanzo quickly threw the human onto the rocky island in the center of his lagoon. He lifted himself onto the rocks beside him, with Genji following close behind, shimmying his way up onto the edge to watch with intense interest. Hanzo dragged himself close to the man, looking him over once more.

Now that he had more time, he could see so much about the man he had not been able to before. A few wrinkles cornered his exposed eye, warm laugh lines that illustrated age and experience. He had multiple faint scars on his cheeks and down his neck, too light to see without being extremely close. Beneath his large coat, he wore a tunic with a long collar, dark chest hair peeking from under the dingy fabric. Hanzo reached out a hand but hesitated a moment, before finally letting his clawed fingers drag across the human’s skin.

It was cold, but not as cold as his own. No, he could feel the warmth beneath his skin, the faint beating of his heart and the weak pumping of his veins. His skin gave under the pressure of Hanzo’s claws, soft and tender to the touch. ‘Remarkable,’ he thought. How long had it been since he had touched a human that he had not been eating? He could not remember. He leaned in close, his face inches from the man’s, breathing in his scent. He smelled of blood, of sweat, of tobacco, and of other spices Hanzo had not smelled in centuries.

“Is he breathing?” Genji’s voice startled him, and he turned to look at his brother. The young dragon was laying on his side, half his tail hanging in the water, propped up on one arm to watch. On his head, he wore the ridiculous hat the human had been wearing before. When had he even gotten that? Hanzo had no idea, but he scoffed at the image of his brother, which only made Genji grin before remembering his words and reiterating them. “Humans need to breathe air, yes? Is he breathing?”

An important question that Hanzo had overlooked. He turned back to the man, pressing his ear to his chest, and listened. A faint heartbeat, but his chest did not rise and fall. He knew how human’s breathed; he had to as a hunting skill in order to properly drown them. So he knew that this was a dangerous sign if he intended to keep the human alive. He flipped the man over, rolling him onto his stomach, and shoved down on his back, trying to figure out the best way to get the water out of his body. He pushed a few times, hard and fast, until the human coughed, water flying from his mouth and onto the rock.

Hanzo sat back, impressed with himself, as the human continued to gag and wheeze, water pouring from his lips, until he collapsed back onto himself. Crawling over to him once more, Hanzo laid his head on his back, listening intently. The heartbeat was still there, and now he could feel the rise and fall of the man’s labored breathing. He laid there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the man’s skin and the sway of his body. He had never experienced anything like this before. Never in his years had he ever felt the heat of another’s body. Any creature beneath the waves was as cold as he was, so this warmth was entirely foreign. It was…. pleasing.

He pulled away to roll the man onto his back again, laying his head on his chest. He was a beautiful one, he thought. More beautiful than any of the statues or figures he had in his collection. ‘And cursed’, he remembered, feeling that same sickly energy pouring from his skin, which made him only that much more collectable. He was by far the most exotic of Hanzo’s possessions.

Genji flicked his tail in the water restlessly, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to him. “I have to say, brother,” He smirked, licking his lips. “I am a bit jealous. He’s a very attractive addition to your horde. Are you sure I can’t have him?”

Hanzo scoffed, sitting up to look at the other. “You can if you are willing to fight me for it,” He challenged, flashing his fangs in cocky smile.

The younger dragon laughed, shaking his head. “It is probably best if we don’t do that. I’m not looking to get beaten again. I’ll leave you to your new toy then,” He sneered, sliding off the rock and into the water, hat still on his head. “I’m going to go hunt. I’ll bring you something back.” Hanzo nodded his thanks, attention already falling back on the human, and Genji sunk back into the sea.

He looked him over once more, cocking his head as he turned his attention to the jewelry that had initially caught his eye. Hanzo lifted his hand, eyeing up the heavy gold rings encrusted with gems that glittered on every finger, eyes narrowing in delight. He slid them off individually, letting them stack in his palms, noting how large and calloused the man’s hand was. The hands of a sailor, most certainly. He let the hand drop, eyeing up the prizes in his hands, and eagerly reached for the other, only to stop once he had it in his grasp, drawing back. Where the first hand had been warm, this one was icy cold, and had been an unwelcome shock. He eyed it cautiously before picking it up again, turning it in his hand. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized the entire thing was metal. Metal fingers, metal palm, metal hand. He had never seen anything like it before. Each metal finger had a heavy ring just like the human hand, but they were wedged on tight, and much harder for Hanzo to pry off without damaging the metal. Yet he eventually did, a stack of ten gold rings glittering in his palms.

He shuffled away from the human for a moment, sliding back into the water and down to the sea floor where his collection laid. It was an outstanding horde, built up over centuries with countless riches. Everything was organized and had a place. There was a section of statues, a section of chests, gold coins covering the entirety of the sea floor. Wedged between two large chests was a mirror, cracked and tarnished in places, but still well maintained. A marble bust of a woman sat perched next to it, necklaces of pearl and gold hanging from her neck. Laid out beside her was a whale tooth comb, crowns, tiaras, and a collection of jewelry and rings. Hanzo carefully laid the rings out on the top, folding his arms proudly as he glanced at himself in the mirror, nodding with content.

The Dragon was beautiful in his own regard. His hair flowed around his head in a dark cloud, framing his regal cheekbones and strong jaw. Dark eyes stared back at him, and he flashed a smile, fanged teeth glinting back at him. A well maintained beard covered his jaw, and aside from his face, his body was hair free. His body reflected that of the statues carved from marble that stood proudly around him; Pale and perfect, all hard edges and chiseled muscle. A powerful warrior. A king.

It was then he heard him stirring, felt the vibrations of his movements on the rocks. Hanzo’s heart jumped in anticipation, and he hesitated, wondering what to do. His human would be confused, he reasoned as he slowly floated up to the surface, staying just beneath it and gazing up through the distorted glassy surface. He steadied himself, building up his courage, before slowly rising from the water, crawling up ever so slightly on the bank, observing.

The man was curled around himself, coughing and whispering to himself, coughing and gagging every now and again. The words he spoke were foreign, but Hanzo listened and recognized the language as English, a tongue he had not spoken in a long time but knew well enough. He had been alive too long to not learn the languages of man, and could adjust quickly. He strained to make out what was being said, but couldn’t, the words barely more than a breath. So instead Hanzo waited, watching silently as the human laid there, shaking and holding himself, pain and sorrow radiating from him. Hanzo wondered what had happened, but recalling how the ship had been destroyed, assumed that the human had gone through much. He would wait.

Eventually the human sat up, looking about before slowly rising to his feet. Hanzo pursed his lips as he looked at his back, wanting to see more of him, but waiting patiently. He watched the man check for his hat and nearly laughed, remembering how Genji had swam off with it, and then look at his ringless fingers. Then he watched him step over to the water’s edge, only to gasp and take a stumbling step back. Hanzo felt his heart swell with pride. This was a pirate, of course he would appreciate Hanzo’s vast collection! He had every right to after all. Hanzo had spent hundreds of years building it to be absolutely perfect, and the way the human gaped in awe made him shudder with pleasure, tail flicking in the water with delight.

A mistake.

The moment the human heard the sound of the water, Hanzo shoved off the rocks and into the sea, right as the man spun around, weapon in the air. The resounding ‘clack’ of the gun was one Hanzo had heard many times, when his prey tried to fight back but couldn’t, weapons waterlogged from sea water. The Dragon peered up from the water, only the top of his head up to his eyes peering out from the surface, tensed, waiting. The human stared back at him, mouth agape, eyes darting around as he took in the sight of Hanzo. Their eyes locked on one another, and Hanzo saw for the first time that the human’s were as dark as his, a shining brown. They sat there for a moment, frozen in time and space, locked in their silent assessment of the other. Hanzo saw the realization in the human’s eyes, watched him understand exactly what he was. And Hanzo in return stared at the man before him, gun drawn and chest heaving, and realized he had made the perfect decision in claiming him as his own.

There were no words. What was there to say? Hanzo could wait forever. He would not be the one to make the first move. He was patient. Slowly he watched the man lower his weapon, arm hanging at his side, face still painted with shock. “Now,” he told himself, slowly drawing nearer to the bank of the rocks, slow and cautious, testing the air between them. The human took a step back, and he stopped once more, waiting, until slowly he started to move again. This time the human stayed, and he took that as an encouragement, floating through the water until he hit the bank and slowly reached up, grabbing hold of the rock. He heard the man take a sharp breath, but he paid it no mind, pushing himself out of the water and onto the rocks.

That was all he did, stopping once he could sit on the edge of the rock, the lower half of his tail disappearing into the water. He sat poised, a safe distance from the man, but continued to stare at him, eyes never wavering. The human whispered something to himself, a prayer again, but this time in another language. Spanish perhaps, Hanzo couldn’t be sure. He stared at the human across the rocks, waiting. Water rolled from his long hair that painted his back and shoulders, down onto the contours of his chest, shining in the moonlight. He could hear the man’s breathing, shallow and shaking, and could faintly hear the thudding of his heart. He was nervous. Good. Let him be.

On the other side of the rock, McCree stared at the siren with wide eyes. He had only ever heard legends of these creatures, heard how they stole sailors from the sea and used them as fuck dolls before tearing them apart, but of course he’d never seen one. He’d only ever heard of them as gorgeous naked women who wanted nothing more than to rip men to shreds. Yet here he was, staring down a man with fins in place of ears and a tail where his legs ought to be. And what a man, he noted, taking in the sight of him. He had never heard tales of sirens being men, but the legends were definitely right in saying they were gorgeous. An adaptation, he had heard, to make men weak in their presence and more easily wooed. Well, this siren was making McCree weak alright. It was hypnotic, the power he held in his gaze, the air of raw strength and masculinity laced with an air of pure beauty.

He tried to speak but words failed him, fighting to find his tongue. The creature didn’t budge, still staring him down. Jesse coughed, clearing his throat before finally words worked their way up his throat and into the air.

“He-Hello,” he stuttered, reaching to take his hat off and hold it to his chest but grasping at air, quickly running his fingers through his hair to play it off, hand resting on the back of his neck. “Did you bring me here? Did you save me, beautiful?” He took a step closer, slow and cautious, and the siren did not move. “Aw, hell, you can’t understand me.” He muttered, looking away.

“I understand you,” the man answered, voice strong and commanding. Jesse turned back instantly, mouth opened in shock.

If his eyes had been hypnotic, his voice was a dream. It was powerful and low, and hung in the air like a whisper in the dark. There was meaning and grace behind each word, melodic in a strange way. Jesse felt his heart skip a beat, unable to hide the excited smile that crossed his face. “O-Oh! That’s right as rain, that is. I’m lucky. Did you bring me here, angel? Did you save me?”

The dragon cocked his head, a sly smile playing his lips that lit a fire in McCree’s core. This was siren magic, it must have been, but damned if he cared. Reyes had already taken everything from him, why not get one last hurrah at the hands of a siren before it killed him? What a way to die. When he spoke again, McCree felt a shudder run through his spine.

“What makes you confident you have been saved?” He crooned, flashing that smile of razor teeth.

McCree swallowed hard, eyes landing on the siren’s lips, trying to find a response before the siren laughed, brassy and rich like the ringing of bells, too much.

“Well I…. I supposed I ain’t so confident now,” He conceded, which was apparently the right answer, because the siren gave him another grin, eyes narrowing. Jesse was sure he would have been terrified were it not for the beauty of the man before him, and the way his eyes seemed to reach out to him, inviting.

“That is probably a wise choice,” The siren chuckled, batting his eyes.

“If that’s the case,” Jesse began, shuffling slightly. “Why even bother bringing me here? What’s the point of keepin’ me alive?”

Hanzo paused for a moment, considering, before tilting his head with a grin, lifting a clawed hand and gesturing the man forward. There was only a moment’s pause before he obeyed, slowly making his way towards the siren that was perched on the rocky shore. He stopped as he stood before him, heart pounding wildly in his chest. The siren looked up at him, grinning darkly, before he spoke.

“Because,” He growled. “I saved your life. It belongs to me now.”

#Samatura writes #pirate au #Mer Hanzo pirate Jesse #pirate jesse #merhanzo #sake and whiskey #sirens gold #mchanzo

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