#absolute fucking beast of a chapter

[tortoisebore]

last (unedited) sneaky peek of chapter 6 🤲

[tmnt-obsessed-ace]

Lost But Never Found: Chapter 1, A Clashing Of Titans

How will the world end?

A grim question to be sure. Will it end in flames? A giant inferno consuming everything in its path.

Perhaps a flood will be the cause. Drowning all life before the titans of the sea consume the remains.

Maybe the world will freeze, a giant lifeless ball of ice floating through space.

Of course there's a more terrifying option. When the world crumbles due to something else. Something not natural.

Something that's indestructible.

Even the strongest weapons known to man cannot even graze it.

It's too powerful, stronger than the wildest hurricane, the biggest volcano, the deadliest earthquake.

How would you even fight something like that? Answer: you can't.

You can't fight it.

Can't hide from it.

Can't escape.

Its raw unrestrained power, strangled into a body made of metal. Metal that has been infused with nothing but pure evil.

Begging for mercy is out of the question. It wont grant it.

It doesn't even seem to understand the concept of "mercy." Destruction is all it knows.

It is a wild feral animal, attacking anything and everything that moves.

But what exactly is this terrifying creature that could bring about the end of the world as people know it?

It is known by one name.

The Shredder.

Once a kind man turned a monster by the armor his soul now haunts. The armor had been destroyed, the pieces scattered across the globe. It was the only way to ensure that the Shredder would never return to the earth.

The key word being had. The horrible dark armor had been destroyed.

It had been reconstructed, piece by piece by the Foot clan. The Foot Clan was a cult devoted to the Shredder, their ultimate goal was to unleash their lord and together they would take over the world.

Of course that scenario did not exactly play out as they had hoped. The Shredder attacked them instantly, because it was not the Shredder they expected. Instead of a conquering evil warlord they got a feral wild animal.

Serves them right honestly.

However those cowards had fled as soon as things went south. Leaving their enemies, the remains of the Hamato clan to deal with the fallout.

The aforementioned fallout being the Shredder attacking everything in sight before zapping to a new location to trash, rinse and repeat every fifteen minutes.

It was exhausting.

Fighting this unstoppable bundle of rage, barely staying alive until it zaps to another location.

So a plan had been made, to go get help from one of the top crime bosses of the yokai-populated Hidden City beneath New York.

Her name is Big Mama, she is as deceptive as she is entrancing.

Now outside of her beloved Nexus Hotel a blue glow appeared in the air, swirling brightly as it formed a massive circle. A portal.

Two figures landed crouched down in front of the massive hotel. The taller of the two slung an ōdachi over his shoulder, looking down at the shorter with a slightly anxious gaze.

"So you knew Big Mama back in the day?" The taller figure, a mutant red eared slider asked curiously. The shorter, a portly mutant rat flushed nervously.

"We were just friends!" He replied all too quickly to be convincing. "I mean, it will all be fine!" The rat finished with a horribly nervous laugh. The slider rolled his eyes gazing up at the massive hotel.

It will be fine! He'll go right in there, crank up the charm, and face-man Big Mama so hard she'll be on her hands and knees begging to help them! Easy! He's got this!

The dozens of cuts and scrapes that littered his body stung as a painful reminder that he had to do this. Everyone was counting on him. If he didn't get Big Mama's help, his family and the entire world were fucking screwed.

But he's got this!

He turned to the rat, time to face the music, or in this case the manipulative spider yokai that would most definitely try to kill them given the chance.

The rat had turned around and was muttering under his breath while clutching his head in his hands. "Just rat up and see her. How bad could it be? Okay, super awful, but come on! Tuck in your tail and let's go!"

Okay…

They entered the hotel. The slider spotted one of the bellhops, a fox yokai, standing in front of the elevator. First get past this guy and then deal with Big Mama.

The slider, Leo, cleared his throat as they approached the bellhop.

"Two to see Big Mama. We're totally on her schedule." He said, piling on the charm. The fox's expression didn't change, better throw in a compliment to sweeten the deal. "Sweet whisker mustache, BTW. Makes you look young. Or old, whichever you're going for."

The bellhop rolled his eyes in annoyance before pulling a walkie talkie out of his pocket, score.

Leo glanced down at the rat, who is his beloved father Splinter. Splinter grimaced, nervously fidgeting with his tattered Lou Jitsu costume.

"Two chatted-up mutants here for ya, mum. A rat and one of them bleedin' turtles." Leo resisted the urge to scoff. Now that was just plain rude. He held his tongue, can't screw up now.

Big Mama's voice crackled through the walkie talkie "Tell them to shove off" The bellhop repeated it, much to Leo's annoyance. But that's fine! Plan B he portals them straight to that stupid spider lady's office!

Before the witty response could leave his mouth Splinter spoke up.

"Fine. Tell her her snuggle muffin beefcake is here." An embarrassed blush coated Splinter's face while Leo felt his stomach churn.

"Uh," He started, cringing down to his soul. "How do you know Big Mama again?" The slider yelped when his shorter father pulled him down to eye level. After a short glance at the bellhop to be sure he wasn't listening, Splinter sighed before turning back to his son.

The rat began to whisper "In addition to being a crime boss, Big Mama is also kind of…my ex."

Leo sat there, frozen as the words rooted himself deep into his skull.

Then he screamed in horror, his body cringing so hard it felt like he was being out through a meat grinder. Dear god why? Why?

Splinter began talking about how they met, a story of love, an inseparable pair. Those two were practically soulmates! Then the story grew dark when Big Mama rejected his proposal, revealing her true form and kidnapping him to the Battle Nexus to become her champion.

The boy was struggling not to throw up, the thought of his dad dating Big Mama! Yeah no he would rather stick his head into raw sewage. His father sighed as he finished his tale

"I do miss her pre-kidnapping times. I mean, how could anyone stay mad at those eyes? That smile. And those-" Leo covered his ears, if he heard more of his father's dating life he would scream.

"No, no, no, no more lovey and or dovey talk!" The bellhop made a noise of annoyance, gaining the duo's attention. A sinister smirk was one his muzzle.

"Hey, rat! Big Mama's got a message for you two." Splinter muttered something about a long overdue apology while Leo huffed. Showtime. Before they could blink, two dark blue coins were thrown at their heads.

The coins swirled into a pink and orange portal, sucking both rat and turtle into the vortex. Screams tore through their lungs as they zipped around through the blue vortex before crashing face first into unforgiving concrete.

When they sat up they were behind a glass railing, looming over the arena below.

Far below was a massive kraken, tentacles waving around the arena while some poor sap with a flimsy battle ax cowered nervously before the beast. Even from high above it was obvious the poor guy was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

In the blink of an eye the poor fool was flung into the stone wall hard enough to leave a massive crater. That had to hurt.

The crowd erupted like a volcano, blood red petals falling from the ceiling into the arena.

Splinter visibly shuddered next to Leo, but the slider pretended not to be phased. Fake it till you make it as the saying goes.

"The Battle Nexus? Okay, no biggie. We've got this. Trust me." His father scoffed, grabbing the poor boy's face.

"I do not!" Splinter scolded. "You don't know Big Mama like I do. She's ruthless!" The elevator dinged, speak of the mother fucking devil. Out came the jorōgumo herself.

Perfect timing, the slider was beginning to let the mask slip. It was slapped back on, glued down and hopefully the cracks couldnt be seen.

"Snuggle muffin beefcake?" She began, not even sparing Leo a glance, which he was grateful for because he once again felt like he was going to puke."Where did you hear that naughty little nickname, rat man?"

The rat's cheeks darkened once more, before he steeled himself. Before Leo could gag his father spun Big Mama around, gazing up at her six glowing red eyes.

"From you, as we tangoed the night away, my sassy sugar badger" Ok that's it Leo couldn't take it anymore. He noped right out of that conversation and gazed down at the arena below.

The kraken was gone, the poor idiot's bloody remains being cleaned off the arena floor. Poor guy didn't stand a chance. The turtle grimaced, even from here it didn't look pretty.

He looked up at one of the mystic monitors, which was displaying the next upcoming fight.

"The Sunset Serpent vs the Akuma Kappa"

On the left was a huge red and orange constrictor snake yokai with way too many eyes for a danger noodle to have.

But the fighter on the right truly got Leo's attention.

The fighter on the right was much smaller than the snake. Despite the short stature this guy was nonetheless menacing.

Most of the guy's body was covered by a black cloak obscuring it from view. He was holding twin katanas, blood from a previous battle dripping from the blades. The guy's hands appeared to be massive spider claws just Big Mamas.

The only part visible was the face under the shadow of the hood.

Glowing blood red streaks under the eyes, mouth covered by a black mask with a truly vicious glowing demon fang decal. It was…sinister to say the least. Like a monster underneath the bed.

Eesh, wouldn't want to piss that guy off.

Big Mama's voice cut through Leo's thoughts.

"I do have a splendiferous mystic bauble that you can have. For a price." Her masked assistant held up a projection of a mystic looking collar. Leo smirked.

Bingo.

"And there it is. Always has to be something in it for her." Splinter retorted, time to crank up the Leo.

"Prickly Petey losing his charm?"

He got between the two old lovebirds, slinging an arm around Big Mama's shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey, water under the bridge. Big Mama, Bubby, let's talk Shredder. He's bad for us, bad for New York, bad for your Yokai business in New York. So, if you got a solution, let's make a deal." He cooed sweetly, watching her like a hawk.

He caught her expression shift subtly from annoyed to confused to understanding. He could vaguely hear his father's protests, how "no one outsmarts Big Mama."

Well that may be true but Big Mama never met the only and only Neon Leon Hamato! He's got this!

"You know, I don't hear a lot of cheering." He began, and it was true there was a lot less cheering than the last time the turtles were here.

"Business is not booming. What you need is a headliner. Someone to put butts in seats. Someone to take on your new champ. Someone like your old champ in new form: Ratjitzu!" Splinter squawked in protest, which Leo swiftly ignored.

Before Big Mama could even open her mouth Leo kept going "Okay fine, let me sweeten the deal!"

"But she didn't even say no to your first deal yet!"

"And Ratjitzu is going to be fighting with no weapons." Big Mama looked excited, seriously considering such a proposition.

"But that beast has rat-crushing tentacles!" Once again Splinter's protests went ignored.

"We have a deal!" Big Mama said, whether from genuine excitement over the supposed battle of the ages or perhaps sadistic pleasure at watching her old ex most likely get pummeled. Who really cares about the specifics.

Splinter all but screamed in the background. Leo however smiled brightly at Big Mama.

"Yes! Ah, I'm not sure how this works. Which hand do I shake?" After a brief handshake he pulled the rat close to his side. "Trust me pops. You got this."

"I knew I should’ve bought purple." Leo rolled his eyes as they were escorted to a dressing room. Big Mama was watching them with a sinister smirk. She thinks she was playing them, gaining their trust to betray them soon after.

But what big spooky spider lady didn't know is that Leo was playing her right back.

And he plays to win.

The plan was in place, and Leo couldn't be more giddy.

Everything worked out perfectly, he already knows exactly how they will take down Kraken Tom. And Big Mama still thinks she's the one in control!

Ha!

Yeah right!

He can already picture her shocked face when she gets outplayed by a teenager!

There's just one last detail needed to make this plan a success.

A portal coin.

He'll stuff it into his brand new totally awesome Lou Jitsu costume and when Big Mama betrays them, because she will betray them, Wham! He'll steal his Ōdachi and they'll be home free!

The hard part is getting the portal coin without anyone noticing.

Big Mama and her creepy ass assistant were in her office, organizing the event while Splinter was still being fitted for his new costume. Only three more battles until its showtime.

So Leo was wandering around the halls of the Nexus, sneakily avoiding the gaze of the bellhops and guards. He should be able to snatch a portal coin from one of them.

But which one? Which one has the lowest attention span so they won't notice turtle fingers in their pockets?

Then he heard a noise.

The slider stopped dead in his tracks, not even daring to breathe. If he's caught now the world's done for!

A few seconds pass before he hears it again.

The noise was a faint whimper. You had to strain to hear it.

Leo glanced down the hall, following the sound. As he got closer to the sound it sounded like someone was in pain. Soon he stood in front of a wall, the noises could be heard on the other side.

A wall making noises?

There was a small indent on the floor, a button from the looks of it. Hidden just out of sight to anyone not paying attention.

Leo gently kicked the button with his foot, a soft click could be heard as the wall opened a bit. He smirked, pushing his way into the wall. There was a small back room hidden behind the wall.

The wall clicked shut behind him, leaving the only light source being some dim glowing crystals here and there.

There were boxes, some old weapons, bones… yeesh this place was creepy.

A pained grunt caught Leo's attention.

Sitting on one of the boxes was another turtle.

A turtle with a badly dislocated left shoulder.

The left hand was planted firmly to the wall while he was trying to move the joint back in place with his right hand. His arms and legs were wrapped in thick layers of dirty fabric similar to boxing tape up to his biceps and upper thighs.

"Uh boy that looks bad." Leo couldn't help but blurt out. The turtle yelped, and in a split second the blade of a katana was pointed at his throat.

"Who are you?" The turtle gasped, the sword shaking like a leaf. Leo gulped, taking several steps back. There were incredibly dark bags under the turtle's eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Woah woah woah there pal!" Leo hastily backtracked, waving his hands in surrender.

"Shut up! Who sent you? W-was it Big Mama?" The turtle stuttered out, nearly dropping the katana from how hard he was shaking.

"No! No, I just heard you whimpering and wanted to check it out! Honest!"

"Well everything is fine! So leave! Before anyone finds us!" Leo frowned, gazing at the dislocated shoulder. That straight up looked painful. The medic in him was screaming to fix it, set the joint or else it would heal badly.

There were several dozen cuts all over the turtle's body all in various stages of healing. From deep gashes to thin scrapes. Some even looked infected.

Leo reached for his fanny packs under the thick jumpsuit, causing the turtle to straight up flinch.

"Easy! Look let me patch up your wounds and fix your shoulder then I'll get out of your hair! Ok?"

"It's not your job to fix me up. It was my fault I got hurt so I got it!"

"Uh clearly you don't got it pal."

"Save your energy for your own battle."

"What?"

The katana blade was pointed at Leo's sick ass outfit.

"You're dressed like a fighter, albeit a really dumb looking one, so your turn in the arena is coming up soon."

Leo rolled his eyes, crouching down to be eye level with the turtle. "First of all dude this outfit is the iconic jumpsuit of the famed Lou Jitsu! And second, I'm not an official fighter."

"Who's Lou Jitsu?"

The slider gasped, a hand over his heart.

"You don't know who Lou Jitsu is?" The other turtle shook his head, a curious glint in his eyes.

Leo sighed, clapping his hands. "Let me patch you up and I'll tell you all about him! Deal?" The turtle looked at him questioningly.

The blade was lowered, set down on one of the boxes. "Fine, do your worst." Leo smirked, gently grabbing the dislocated shoulder. The turtle winced, already gritting his teeth.

"Ok so Lou Jitsu is one of the best action fighters of all time!" Leo began, keeping his voice to a quiet whisper as he worked on easing the joint back into the socket.

In two minutes there was a loud pop, the turtle biting his lip to keep from screaming. He slumped against the wall, breathing like he ran a marathon.

"Feels better?" The turtle nodded, moving his arm around. "Hey buddy you gotta rest that arm or it won't heal!"

The turtle huffed out a tired laugh.

"Tell that to Big Mama!"

"I'm sure the look on her face will be worth it!" Leo boasted, pulling out some disinfectant spray and bandages. Time to deal with the smaller injuries.

"What do you mean?" The turtle asked, suddenly afraid. Leo smirked, leaning close to him.

"I'm gonna outplay Big Mama!" He whispered with an excited giggle.

The turtle gave him a horrified and or baffled look.

"Are you insane?" Leo smirked harder, ignoring the soft hiss from the turtle as he sprayed a cut on his thigh. "That's full on suicide!"

"Is it?" The turtle smacked Leo on the head, hard enough to make him yelp.

"Of course it is! Big Mama is crazy manipulative! She sees through any plan you could make and stops you from making a move. Then she will kill you!"

"We got a deal!" The turtle scoffed, flicking Leo in the forehead. He got his payback by tightly tying a bandage over the cut, far tighter than necessary. The turtle squeaked before the bandages were loosened a tad.

"It doesn't matter what 'deal' you have! She will betray you!"

"Exactly!" Leo countered before moving on to a gash on the turtle's stomach. "In fact I'm counting on it!" The turtle shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"We both know your little plan is going to flop!"

"Do we?"

"Uh yes! It's Big Mama, you can't win against her. Believe me I tried." The turtle took off the boxer tape on his right arm, revealing three massive dark scars extending from the wrist to the elbow.

Marks from Big Mama's claws.

Dread pooled in Leo's stomach.

"I almost bled out because of these. She said this was the first and last warning. Defy her again and…" The turtle made a cut throat motion with his finger. "Only reason she kept me is because I'm a good fighter."

Leo gently ran his fingers down the dark scars, heart drumming in his chest. The boxer tape was back on the turtle's arm a few seconds later, wrapped in a practiced mechanical motion. Leo continued patching the rest of the turtle's injuries before finally sighing.

"Everyone's depending on me to win this. Win against Big Mama. I got this!" The turtle rolled his eyes.

"And how exactly are you going to pull this grand scheme off huh?" Leo glanced back at the wall he came in from. No one can hear about this.

"You promise not to tell anyone?"

The turtle nodded, scooting closer to Leo. The slider pulled out a small notebook and pen from his shell, sketching out the plan and how he and his dad were going to whoop ass.

"You're going up against Kraken Tom and the Evil Six? Well if Big Mama doesn't kill you they certainly will."

Leo sketched out the pointy helmets, scribbling some portals onto the paper.

"All I gotta do is snatch a portal coin and we're good to go!"

"And how are you going to do that genius?"

Leo deflated, shrugging nervously.

"I was figuring that out when I heard you."

The turtle frowned, gesturing at Leo to fork over the pen and paper. He started scribbling something before handing the notepad back.

There was a poorly drawn picture of…something. A goat…no maybe a bear…or a narwhal?

"Uh what am I looking at here pal?" The turtle groaned, standing up on unsteady legs.

"I'll show you, follow me!" He limped over to the wall, immediately getting Leo concerned.

"Dude why didn't you mention your leg! Sit back down!"

The turtle just stared at Leo, a weary gaze that made him shudder.

"It's been like that for as long as I can remember. There's nothing you can do. Now hurry up!" Leo frowned but obliged, following the turtle to the wall.

It was then that he realized that the turtle is much shorter than him, maybe three or four inches.

There was a click and the wall opened, the duo peering out into the hallway. There was an elephant seal bellhop passing by in the far distance.

"See that guy?"

"Dude you gotta learn how to draw better holy shit." The turtle ignored that comment and continued.

"His nap break is coming up in about two minutes. Once his head hits the table he's dead to the world."

"And you know this, how exactly?"

"Because I steal knives from him all the time and he never notices."

Leo snickered at that, watching the bellhop go down the stairs.

"Ok cool but how will I find him?"

"He snores like a freight train, it's pretty hard to miss." Leo smirked menacingly, all those years of stealing money from dad's pockets is about to pay off.

"Thanks bud! Wait…" Leo trailed off as the turtle went to grab his katanas. "Why are you helping me? You literally said that my plan is suicide!"

The turtle shrugged at him, in the light from the open wall Leo could see his eyes more clearly.

They were a dark bluish-purple color. An Indigo color framed by a thin rim of electric yellow on the outer part of the iris.

Those eyes were so tired. So utterly drained.

"You helped me so I helped you, now we're even." There was more to it though.

"Is that all buddy boy?"

With a sigh the katanas were picked up, slung over both shoulders like an x.

"I really hope your plan works out, someone's gotta take Big Mama down a peg or two." The two left the backroom, time to go separate ways.

"Hey wait!" Leo grabbed the turtle's right shoulder, stopping him from leaving. "What's your name?"

The turtle's face shifted from stunned back to neutral.

"I don't have one." He said calmly, like he was talking about the weather.

"You don't have a name?" Leo echoed, eyes wide.

The turtle nodded, albeit a bit solemnly.

"I've been in the Battle Nexus for as long as I can remember. I don't know anything else."

"What about Indigo?" At the turtle's confused look Leo pointed to his eyes. "Like your eyes! They're a weird bluish purple color so it fits!"

The turtle chuckled a bit half-heartedly. "I don't really look in the mirror that much but I'll take your word for it…"

"You, my friend, can call me Leo! Or Leon! Whichever makes me sound cooler!"

Indigo smiled a bit. "Sure thing Leon. Hope you don't end up here, your scrawny ass won't last a week!" Indigo said as he left, leaving Leo alone.

Maybe once this whole Shredder nightmare is over they can stage a rescue mission for his new friend Indigo…

Showtime.

The Battle Nexus was absolutely packed with yokai. Some were even fighting over seats just to watch the incoming battle.

You could almost smell the excitement in the air as the entire crowd was screaming. From high above the fuss and the fray sat Big Mama, clapping her hands excitedly.

"The arena has never been this woozy fuddled!" Big Mama cheered, absolutely delighted. Leo smirked, sipping on a cup of fancy tea. In a matter of minutes Big Mama will be as good as got.

What the announcer said shocked Leo to his very core.

"Yokai of all ages, tonight marks a once in a lifetime event! For the first time in Battle Nexus history it's a three way championship knockout to the death! The three biggest titans of the Battle Nexus will go head to head, only one will survive!"

You know what? That's fine no biggie the announcer means that those six big guys are the third person. It's fine! Totally fine! Right?

"In the first corner of the arena are six horrifyingly familiar faces we love to hate and love to root for. You know them! You fear them! The Evil Six!" Those six pinkish looking yokai stepped into the arena. All of them were wearing the pointy helmets.

Leo's heart slowed down, so far so good.

"Joining them in the most unlikely team up of the millenia, with his powerful tentacles he can crush any opponent in seconds! The very beloved current Battle Nexus Champion, Kraken Tom!"

The Kraken slithered out into the arena, bellowing a horrible screech that made everyone go absolutely bonkers! Wait a team-up? But it's a three way battle! Who's…

"And now entering the arena after thirteen years of absence, the biggest former Battle Nexus champion is ready to reclaim his glory, back and even hairier Rat Jitsu!"

Splinter stood trembling in the arena as the crowd roared. Leo smiled, standing behind the glass rail. He looked awesome as hell in his custom Lou Jitsu uniform.

"Dad! Daddy Up here!" He yelled, waving his arms excitedly. Splinter glanced up at him, eyes filled with barely contained anger.

"Can someone tell my son I am not talking to him!" Splinter shouted, Leo ignored the comment. Everything is going to plan, they'll be fine.

"You got this pops! I love you!" The slider blew his father a kiss, which he swatted away like a fly. The boy slumped back onto the couch, glancing at Big Mama. Time to put the plan in motion.

"Remember a deal’s a deal." Big Mama chuckled deviously. Bingo.

"Of course Big Mama never goes back on a deal. She does, however, alter the terms at the very last second." Yeah he saw that one coming, exactly as he wanted. But this has to be believable.

"I’m sorry?" He asked in faux surprise before he was tackled to the ground by guards, his tea cup slapped out of his hands. One of the guards took his ōdachi. "Not my ōdachi!" He whined as Big Mama turned into her spider form.

"One last wrinkly doo. You’ll be fighting alongside your papa. But you still get my bauble if you win." The spider lady said in a singsong voice even having the fucking audacity to boop Leo on the nose.

"An out of nowhere betrayal! NOO!" He screamed as a green trapdoor opened underneath him, sending him into the arena. It wasn't an out of nowhere betrayal, all according to plan.

Splinter looked at his son, who was brushing dust off his own jumpsuit.

"Oh, the old last second trap door betrayal?" He wasn't even trying to hide the sarcasm.

"Please this was my plan all along-" Leo was cut off by the announcer.

"And to complete this unholy trifecta with the third challenger!" The father son duo turned to another set of massive doors, where a fearsome silhouette stood. The figure stepped forward, body covered by a thick black cloak. He lifted his head, Leo's blood turning to ice.

The glowing red streaks under the eyes, the mask with the glowing demon maw.

Indigo eyes framed with a band of electric yellow.

No fucking way-

"What started as a plain old nobody now becomes one of the deadliest fighters in over a century, with his blades he can slice even the biggest of giants down to ribbons. He may be small but he grants no mercy. Everyone give it up for the Oni of the Battle Nexus, the Akuma Kappa!"

What? Oh god this wasn't part of the plan.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Just admit it already son. You were played!" Splinter's voice cut through Leo's thoughts like a knife. Leo shook his head, this was unexpected but that's fine he can still salvage this plan and save everyone!

But his father's words still hurt.

"How come nobody trusts me? None of you guys have any faith in me. Why?" The black cloak shrouding the last fighter was ripped off, causing Leo to flinch.

The spider claws were actually custom made gauntlets, with matching black metal boots on his feet. The boxer tape from before was still there and at the same length, though now it was a blood red color.

There was a thick chest plate covering Indigo's plastron. It was diamond shaped with a massive demonic skull design. The fabric from the mask over his mouth extended down to the chest plate, completely covering his neck.

Two blood red shoulder pauldrons were connected to the chest plate. They looked nearly identical to Big Mama's shoulder pauldrons except smaller.

Then there was something on his neck, sitting on top of the fabric from the mask.

It looked silver, with a red spider shaped gemstone in the center. It kinda looked a bit like a dog collar.

Leo couldn't see it in their earlier encounter as the backroom was very dark but Indigo's body was absolutely covered in scars. Some dark and recent others pale from long ago.

Jesus Christ.

Splinter snapped his fingers, regaining Leo's attention.

"Do you want to know why I don't trust you? How about this whole situation!" Leo looked around at all the fighters. The Evil Six, the fucking Kraken! Indigo…

"This whole situation was my plan all along. If it wasn’t, then why'd I ask your tailor to make me this outfit?" Leo kept looking at Indigo, who had unsheathed both katanas and was giving Leo a pitying stare.

The fighters were starting to close in.

"So we could both perish looking super fly?" Leo reached into his costume, pulling out the dark blue portal coin.

"Or so I could sneak this baby in." The portal was activated, right next to the guard holding Leo's ōdachi. He grabbed the sword but not before flicking the guard's cup of tea to the ground "...To sneak this baby in. My deal was no weapons for you, not me."

And then it was on.

Three of the evil six charged first, weapons raised and ready to attack but Leo was faster. He dodged every attack, portaling in and out of sight. This was too easy!

A mace swung towards his skull, which got instantly sucked up into a portal and spat out in the far end of the arena. The yokai screamed, attempting to punch the slider into the ground. Leo was faster, weaving between every single punch and kick.

He swung the ōdachi, creating a blue portal and knocking the ape into the vortex. The portal opened over the top of the furious kraken, who merely swatted the yokai away like an annoying nat. He slammed into one of the distant Battle Nexus walls while the crowd cheered.

"If you would do the honors papa-" Leo stopped when he saw who his dad was fighting.

Dad was running circles around Indigo, dodging the majority of the lethal strikes from the katanas. Katanas that were already streaked with blood.

There was a broad slash that Splinter jumped to avoid, slamming his tail down into Indigo's head. In a burst of speed Splinter's tail was cracking like a whip, attacking Indigo who could barely keep up with the unexpected speed.

A kick to the left shoulder knocked Indigo to the ground, Leo winced. That was the same shoulder that had been dislocated when they met. Dear god that had to have hurt!

"Dad stop-"

The now evil five charged at Splinter, one swinging the mace, knocking him into the wall. Leo growled furiously, portaling on top of the brutes. With ferocious swings of his ōdahi he summoned dozens of portals, one of the brutes falling through. He zapped this way and that like a ball in a pinball machine.

Leo slashed at the other three brutes, landing some very bad ass cuts here and there. Mostly just thin scrapes, their skin was very tough.

"Leonardo!" Dad squawked as he tried to dodge Kraken Tom's massive tentacles. Leo tried to run over and help his dad but he should know better.

You never turn your back on enemies.

A mace slammed into Leo's carapace, knocking him face first to the ground. He rolled over, the mace about to be brought down on his skull. He screamed.

Shhink.

There was a gargled scream causing Leo to gaze up in horror.

A katana was impaled through the yokai's right eye.

A flash of black and red zipped by, yanking the katana out with a swift motion. The spiked helmet was kicked off the brute's head, spinning up in the air.

The yokai's screams were cut short when the twin katanas were slashed through his neck. His body fell to the ground, head rolling not far away. Indigo caught the helmet when it fell back to earth before tossing it to Leo. He started hyperventilating while the volume of the crowd nearly made the building shake.

"D-Dude?" Leo stuttered out, staring in horror at the lifeless severed head, bright green blood pooling around it from both the neck and the right eye socket.

"He was going to do far worse to you." Indigo replied, though his voice didn't sound normal. Almost hazy if that makes sense. Like he wasn't fully present.

Leo gulped, shaking like a leaf. The stench of blood made him nauseous. He could vaguely hear his father screaming while he fought off the other yokai. Though it was difficult to hear of the roar of Kraken Tom and the crowd.

"Leon, now is not the time to freak out! You said everyone's counting on you right?" Indigo yelled, shaking the slider. "We're getting the helmets right?" Leo stood up, swinging the helmet around. He pushed the panic, the horrible bile in his throat down. He can have nightmares about it later.

"Right! Let's take em down! Come on dad!" He shouted, summoning a portal for his father. Splinter begrudgingly hopped in, furiously tail whipping two of the brutes while yelling "Hot Soup!" knocking them both unconscious.

Indigo charged after the other one, katanas swinging mercilessly in a spray of green. Leo shuddered but followed close behind. "I'll go for the head, you take out the legs!" Indigo nodded, slashing violently at the yokai's legs. Leo jumped into the air slamming his legs into the brute's face, knocking him unconscious.

Leo snatched the helmet, twirling it around on his finger like a basketball.

"Now grab the helmets daddy-o!" He yelled at Splinter as Indigo grabbed the helmet at the far end of the arena.

Splinter confusingly popped off the helmets of the two yokai, looking at Leo with concern.

"Oh is this one of those moments I’m supposed to trust you?" A portal appeared and Leo gingerly took both helmets. Indigo threw the other helmet, which Leo caught.

The helmets were chucked like trash into a small blue portal, another forming directly above it. The helmets zipped through over and over, gaining more and more speed.

"Bingo!" Leo said confidently before it happened.

One of the tentacles grabbed Splinter.

"Papa!" Leo screamed, watching helplessly as his father was shook around like a damn rag doll.

"Give me a boost!" Indigo suddenly shouted, charging towards the slider. Leo interlocked his fingers crouching down. When Indigo stepped into his hands Keo flung him upwards with as much strength as he could.

Once in the air Indigo began spinning like a top, both katanas slicing through The tentacle effortlessly. Splinter was released, staring up in awe at Indigo while he looked like a freaky beyblade.

"Time to get Kraken!" Leo swung his ōdachi, creating a portal above one of the tentacles. One of the helmets was sent flying spike first. It slammed into the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.

Kraken Tim screeched in agony as two more of his tentacles got pinned.

"I'm just too good at this!" That statement proved to be his downfall. At that moment one of free tentacles swatted at his head, knocking two of the helmets he was about to portal down far off into the crowd, impaling two spectators.

Although the crowd didn't seem to give a damn.

"Shit!" Leo cursed, now they wouldn't have enough helmets!

Indigo landed in front of Leo, splattered with kraken blood. He pressed a button on the side of his spider claw gauntlet, releasing the construct with a grunt. He pulled his hand out before doing the same with the other gauntlet. "Use these!" The gauntlets were shoved into Leo's hands.

"But these are yours-"

"Are you kidding? I hate those stupid things, they're too tight and heavy!" He picked up the katanas and dashed off to fight the Kraken.

"Seriously Blue, how do you know that guy?" Splinter asked as the gauntlets were portal chucked at the tentacles.

"His name's Indigo, he's alright!" Leo boasted. He grabbed the last helmet, shoving it onto Splinter's head. "One more helmet." Splinter went tense, suddenly realizing he was a part of the insane plan.

There was a purely demonic screech, an earth shaking slam knocking them both off their feet followed by a pained scream. Two of Kraken Tom's tentacles had been pulled free and were viciously slamming into something over and over again with the speed of a cheetah.

That something was Indigo.

There was a spray of crimson before one of the tentacles grabbed Indigo and chucked him into the far wall of the arena.

Time seemed to stand still, the cheering of the crowd drowned out by the ringing of Leo's ears.

Indigo slumped down from the wall, landing on his knees before falling forward. There was a horrifying red streak on the wall.

Oh hell no.

"Ok Daddy-o lets kick some fucking ass!" Leo growled furiously, shoving his dad into a portal.

"Wait what? Can we try a new plan?" Splinter screamed as he descended from the very top of the arena, the spike aimed straight for Kraken Tom's skull. Leo fully ignored his father, portaling over to the unconscious Indigo.

The first thing he saw was a massive crack on Indigo's shell. It covered over two thirds of his carapace! That was bad, that was really fucking bad.

Blood was gushing from the crack, making Leo truly feel sick. He pushed past it, forcing all the lessons from Splinter to the forefront of his mind.

First check for a pulse.

He pressed his fingers to the shorter turtle's neck, sighing in relief when he felt the weak but frantic beating of his heart. Leo pulled out his fanny packs, grabbing as much gauze as possible to stuff into the crack to try and slow the bleeding. He covered it with medical tape, flipping the turtle over to look at his front.

It wasn't much better.

His right arm was bent at an awkward angle. The chest plate looked like it got run over by a tractor. At least it saved his plastron from some of the damage. His breathing was short, clearly strained. Most likely injured ribs.

A bruising bloody gash was on his head, probably what knocked him out cold. So definitely add a concussion to the list.

And that's just the wounds he can see. There is probably so much internal damage.

Leo gulped, summoning a portal before gently pushing Indigo inside. This portal led to the medbay of the lair.

This was surely breaking the terms of the deal he made with Big Mama, if she found out.

She wasn't watching him, her attention was stuck solely on dad, her expression furious.

She doesn't need to know.

The crowd was cheering like crazy at their victory. They had won, they took down the fucking Kraken!

"It's a knockout folks!" The announcer yelled excitedly as the blood colored petals fell from the ceiling. Leo gulped nervously, flicking the petals off.

Play it cool, don't let anyone know.

"They love you pops!" Leo said with fake enthusiasm.

"It was all you, my son!" Splinter replied, making Leo cringe. Not it wasn't 'all him' it was him and Indigo.

"Silence!" Big Mama shrieked as she landed in front of them. Leo plastered the fakest smug look onto his face.

"Just the spider I was coming to gloat to." All six of those Scarlet eyes were rolled.

"I am not one to be outmaneuvered my turtley boo. Well done. And now a deal is a deal. And as a sign of respect, I shall return this Shredder beast to his prison dimension if you catch him." She handed him the Bauble, making Leo's shoulders sag in relief.

Time to get the fuck out of here, stop the Shredder and head back home to patch up Indigo.

When the father son duo landed in front of the others, Leo instantly felt his stomach clench.

The dread was so heavy in the air you could smell it.

Leo hopped off of a squished Splinter, ignoring the freezing cold rain splattering over his skin, washing the bits of dried blood away.

"You love us, you missed us, we’re back, baby! Lou jitsu and Blue saving the day!" Leo barked with fake optimism, can't let the mask slip now. That lasted all of two seconds Raph shot him the deadliest of glares.

"It’s about time! We’re getting our butts kicked after you left us high and dry." Leo gulped, trying not to shake. They weren't the only ones left high and dry.

"High and dry? Come on dudes. Well, when I said ‘You got this’ I mean that. Look I bet the only reason we’re here right now is ‘cause Donnie inputted coordinates of blah blibbity blah blah blah! Donnie looked so utterly drained.

"Mikey razzed his tazz." Mikey was shaking like a leaf, whimpering softly.

"April finally used her crane license." April winked at Leo, at least she didn't seem too miserable.

"And Raph’s gonna put it all together in a plan to defeat that lead head with this mystic collar." He held up the collar, it shined brightly against the rain.

"Wow Leo, that’s remarkably accurate." Raph said, avoiding the slider's gaze. Suddenly there was a flash of magenta light, causing everyone to tense up nervously.

"He's back!" Raph gasped as the Shredder began to take form. "Prepare for Operation Fire Hanky Tickle collar! Leo, you sure you can get that on him?" Raph asked, grabbing Leo's arm.

Leo nodded, no shred of doubt in his eyes.

"Trust me!"

"I do." Raph let go of his arm.

Together with a fire distraction from Mikey, a blindfold hanky from Donnie and tickling from Raph Leo managed to get the collar around the Shredder's neck. The shredder crumpled to the ground, completely immobile.

Everyone began to cheer.

"Perfectly flasmogoric. You turtles are not to be trifled with." Big Mama stated calmly as she walked towards the turtles in human form. Lines of guards surrounded the turtles. No way to escape.

Leo stepped forward, trying to keep a neutral expression.

"One tamed, no longer phasing. Scrap metal psycho ready for your disposal!" Big Mama chuckled, gesturing to her masked assistant to step forward.

"You did your part So I will do mine." The assistant threw a device into the air, sucking up the Shredder. Once he was gone everyone cheered before scrambling into the sewers completely exhausted.

Leo sprinted through the sewers, ignoring his family's alarmed protests.

"We gotta help Indigo come on!" He shouted, charging through the sewer tunnels.

"Who's Indigo?" Mikey shouted at the top of his lungs.

"You brought him home?" Splinter yelled, Leo ignored him, getting closer and closer to the lair.

"Leo!"

"Leo what are you doing slow down!"

A metal pincer grabbed onto Leo's shell, dragging him backwards. Leo looked up at Donnie's annoyed eyes, suddenly feeling the whole weight of his family on him.

"Alright, who is Indigo?" Raph asked, that classic big brother concern coming through.

Leo was currently trying to squirm away from the metal pincers, there wasn't any time for this!

"One of the fighters from the Battle Nexus!" Splinter's tail smacked Leo's head, earning a whine from the boy. "You didn't seriously bring that maniac home? Did you?"

He did not just say that.

"Are you fucking serious? Indigo helped us! He saved you from Kraken Tom!"

Splinter crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath.

"Besides, he got hurt really bad and we gotta help him!"

"Like we didn't get injured!" Donnie scoffed, trembling a bit.

"His shell was cracked so hard it was bleeding so bad I had to stuff the crack with gauze so don't fucking act like shell injuries are not a big deal you fucking hypocrite." Everyone's eyes went wide.

"Wait he's hurt!" April chimed in.

"Yes! That's why we have to get back home so I can patch him up so he doesn't die!"

"Then portal us home! Quick!" Mikey handed Leo the ōdachi, when did he lose it? It doesn't matter.

The sword was swung around, the blue light illuminating the dark sewer tunnels.

When everyone stepped through, Leo sprinted to the medbay. When he got there, there was a streak of blood on the cot, leading to the floor. But no Indigo to be found.

"Where is he! He was supposed to be right here!" Leo screamed, looking around the cot. No Indigo.

"He's not here?" Donnie asked, nearly gagging at the blood stains. A drop of something landed on Donnie's head. He wiped his fingers, revealing a small red streak. More drips landed on Donnie, making him squeal before backing up.

"What the?" Before they could blink a blur of black and red lunged from the ceiling, tackling Donnie to the floor. Left hand pinned to the softshell turtle's throat, the right holding a dagger, ready to strike.

"Indigo no! Get off of him, he's my brother!" Leo pleaded to the turtle. Indigo looked up, bizarre eyes unfocussed as he swayed on top of Donnie.

"Shelldon activate the defense protocol!" Donnie hissed into his cracked wrist band.

"Dude its ok, this is Donnie." Leo began, trying to try the scissors out of Indigo's iron grip. "Sure he can be the most annoying person on the planet-"

"I heard that!"

"But he won't hurt you! Promise!"

Indigo didn't move, staring up at Leo.

For just a moment, his eyes seemed to change color.

Not the bluish-purple hue rimmed with yellow Leo had grown familiar with today but pure dark blue, like the ocean's depths. His eyes rolled into the back of his head before he flopped onto Donnie.

The softshell screamed, thrashing about while complaining that Indigo was all "icky and disgusting, covered in blood and sweat." Leo pulled the shorter turtle off, looking at the rest of his family who was standing in the doorway.

Yeah that was not the best introduction in the world.

[emperorvalens]

no thought in brain only thesis screaming

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Can I just say I am so fucking excited that Oda gets to showcase some of his biggest inspirations in this up and coming Elbaf arc?

We know of a few, such as DBZ, Astro Boy but two that really are going to shine this arc, and already have before and now, are Asterix and Obelix and Vicki the Viking. As the son of a French/Spainard, I personally grew up around the latter, so when I first started One Piece, it really came to mind, especially the color spreads.

Seeing Usopp wearing a Obelix's costume (as well to a degree Queen from The Beast Pirates but thats it's own thing) seems oh so fitting for an homage, as Obelix's entire character is kindness, and a strength of both physical and of heart. We also, the chapter before have a very similar design to Obelix, showing perhaps Oda had a favorite. (Not to mention the way Oda draws certain people seems to stem from some of these, uncharacteristic, designs.)

Than we have the Vicky The Viking insperation, which is absolutely undeniable and EVERYWHERE. From Kaido and his beast pirate uniform being clearly just Sven the Terrible, to a little boy wearing a very familar hat- right down to the barrel and dancing and singing, Oda clearly has taken the series to heart. I am BEYOND excited to see even more of this love for his childhood and comfort in his work.

To leave this post off-- have Zoro dressed as... Zorro.

[bloodiedrogue]

WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like. 

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day. 

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too. 

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready. 

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care. 

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.” 

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth. 

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another. 

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.” 

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?” 

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head. 

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.” 

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.” 

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side. 

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation. 

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely. 

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye. 

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought. 

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.” 

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of. 

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears. 

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?” 

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break. 

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want. 

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow. 

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right. 

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations. 

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with. 

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.  

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so. 

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.” 

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty. 

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan. 

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together. 

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment. 

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else. 

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?” 

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears. 

“Good. Then our destinations align.” 

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?” 

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over. 

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation. 

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years. 

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.  

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head. 

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need. 

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him. 

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.” 

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s. 

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin. 

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine. 

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes. 

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind. 

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed. 

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership. 

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.” 

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal. 

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him. 

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head. 

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in. 

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want. 

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is. 

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible. 

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin. 

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him. 

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away. 

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.  

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward. 

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor. 

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh. 

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.” 

“The cheekiest.” 

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries. 

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step. 

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him. 

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan. 

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.” 

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay. 

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs. 

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.” 

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind. 

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this. 

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh. 

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.” 

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves. 

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it. 

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke. 

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh. 

“Oh really?” 

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away. 

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss. 

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit. 

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him. 

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?” 

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance. 

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind. 

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay. 

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again. 

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut. 

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it. 

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.” 

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you. 

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter. 

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips. 

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub. 

-

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[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. ��This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Part 2

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

[macabr3-barbi3]

Nothing I Can't Handle Chapter 3 [Alastor/Reader]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54337009/chapters/140790502

Lucifer comes to visit and Alastor is totally normal about it- and you decide what you want!

Tags: Reader-Insert, Alastor in Rut, Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor, Rough Sex, Possessive Sex, Biting, cunnilingus

Since you asked to be tagged! 💕 @littlecat21 @fairyv-ice and another tag for the lovely @fraugwinska bc she is the literal BEST 💝🔥

Chapter 1 🦌 Chapter 2

You should have seen it coming.

Alastor, while still seeming a bit uncomfortable with the idea of showing you attention outside of the periods of time you would spend in your bedrooms, seemed more subdued. Calmer. He no longer stalked around the hotel like a feral beast; he seemed more willing to be part of little activities and such that Charlie planned; he didn’t avoid you like the plague as he had when he first proposed his deal to you. During his ruts he was possessive and almost doting, making sure to keep you fed with homemade meals and snacks and hydrated so you no longer had to provide those things for yourself. He would drape his silk robe over your shoulders the moment you entered his room, always an admiring glance to the monogrammed ‘A’ settled over your heart.

You did occasionally get to leave his room now- his inner animal apparently sated enough with the idea that you were properly mated to allow you out of his sight for short periods of time. God forbid you spoke with anyone though- you ran into Husk one evening on the way back from the kitchen for a snack and honestly thought Alastor might eat him with the volume of his snarl before teleporting you back to his room, to his bed.

Outside of the ruts he was mostly normal. You thought nothing of the faint static feedback you heard speaking with Angel at the bar, a bit tipsy and hanging off the spider’s shoulder while you laughed. Paid no mind to the disappearance of a sinner you were having a conversation with at a party you attended with the group, turning to find him having vanished and assuming that he just wandered away. Gave Alastor a smile any time that he spooned more jambalaya into your bowl at dinner time, laughing at the way he glared at Husk if he commented on it.

You were having a great time though, still ruminating on what exactly you wanted to get out of the deal. He had stopped pestering you about it after the 3rd rut, but there wasn’t much you wanted or needed for yourself- the Hotel offered you protection and friendship, you were sexually sated, you felt no need to try to bargain for power or money. You’d been considering either asking for something small- just a token, a trifle, something to show that you didn’t really need anything in return from the deal- or something grand. Something like asking for Husk to be released, for him to find a way to end Angel’s contract with Valentino. For him to maybe at least try to see you as someone more than just what his body craves, try to see you like you see him. An object of not merely animalistic lust but affection.

You were decent at keeping your personal and business lives separate, and despite your own feelings you knew that the deal with Alastor was business. You did your best not to let your true emotions known during the times you were sequestered in his room, when he gave you that sly, knowing smile before sliding the robe off your shoulders, when he sank his teeth into your shoulder and mumbled that you were his, his mate, perfect and lovely.

You were absolutely not getting lost in that fantasy. You were helping him- that was all he expected to come of it.

That was what you thought, anyway, until the Devil did what he did best and fell right into the middle of things, fucking everything up for everyone.

Lucifer’s visits to the hotel were few and far between, but you should have anticipated some kind of tension between him and Alastor the first time he visited after you made the deal to help him with his ruts.

Charlie’s father was a sweet guy, for being the king of Hell. A little awkward, a little eccentric, a lot handsy. Not in any way that was disrespectful, of course, but he was quite liberal with his hugs and handshakes and placing of hands on a back or shoulder when standing next to someone or guiding them somewhere. For the most part you were perfectly fine with it; perhaps a blush here or there at the proximity of the man sometimes, but you had no reason to brush him off or ask him to stop. You even had some actual conversations once in a while, discussions about books and art and anything else that seemed to strike his fancy. You never thought you would have anything in common with the literal Devil.

He was making his way down the line greeting everyone, pulling you into a tight hug when you offered him your hand. “Always great to see everyone, beautiful, but especially you!” He pulls back to look at you at arms length for a moment, his eyes traveling your face. “Ya know, I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“Ah, his Majesty has seen fit to join us for an evening!” At the sound of Alastor’s voice Lucifer stiffens, pulls away from you- his question forgotten in favor of fucking with the Radio Demon. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to.” He gives a pointed glance to the head of a rubber duck that pokes out from the front of Lucifer’s jacket pocket.

“Well, Alastor , I’m the King of Hell and I do what I want.” He sneers the other demon’s name, shoving the duck deeper into his pocket. “If I want to join my daughter and her lovely friends for a night I’m going to do just that.”

Alastor slides an arm behind you, the warmth of his hand making a home on your lower back. “By all means, then, join us! This way, my dear,” and he guides you away from Lucifer with gentle pressure, leaving the monarch behind to greet the rest of the hotel inhabitants as Niffty climbs him like a tree.

You shoot Alastor a sideways look. His last rut had ended weeks ago, the next not meant to happen for another couple months at least. He was testy like he sometimes got right before the rut happened, where the animal instincts and unfamiliar hormones were flooding his body in preparation. Antagonizing, a little possessive.

He leads you to a lobby couch, everyone else filing in behind the two of you and finding their seats. Lucifer sits in one nearest to Charlie and gestures frantically at you to take the cushion next to him- before you can even decide, Alastor has shifted his shadow to fill the vacant seat.

“How thoughtful of you!” He crosses his legs, settling back into the softness of the sofa. “I must say, sire, I never imagined you would wish to be seated beside me but of course-”

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” Lucifer snarls, but Alastor has already patted the cushion next to himself for you to occupy. Once you sit, the shorter demon leans forward, trying to catch your eye. “I wanted to ask if ya still wanted to come see the library at the manor!”

“Oh gosh, I totally forgot about that.” One of your more recent conversations, a discussion of literature and lost texts, had led to Lucifer offering to show you his manor sometime, the vast library a mere portal away. “I’m absolutely still interested!”

Alastor stiffens beside you, his neck snapping with the speed he turns to look at you.

Charlie lights up with excitement. “Oh you will absolutely love it,” she exclaims, leaning so far forward in her chair you think she might fall out of it, Vaggie placing a supportive hand on her back to prevent exactly that. “Dad, can we all make a trip of it? I think everyone in the group could benefit- I can’t believe I never thought to invite everybody-”

“Whoa, Char, slow down!” He chuckles, reaching across the space between their seats to clasp her hand. “I’m not opposed to the rest of your little friends coming to visit sometime too! But I was really hoping for a little one on one time with this one here.” He shoots you a wink across the Radio Demon’s lap. “Whaddya think?”

Husk notices before you do, a muttered “ah, fuck” before surreptitiously shifting himself slightly in front of Angel Dust, who poked his head up over the feline’s shoulder to watch anyway. 

Actually, everyone notices before you do, even the oblivious King. There’s a whining feedback noise that permeates the air, Vaggie and Charlie are settled back into their seats, and Lucifer is staring in horror at Alastor, who, when you actually turn to look at him, is staring at Lucifer like he means to dismember him. His claws are dug into the fabric of his pants, his smile sharp and dangerous , occult symbols hovering in the air around him.

You feel like you should speak before Alastor does something stupid like trying to murder the king. “I-”

Just like that the moment has ended- the feedback stops, the lights return to normal, occult symbols disappearing in a wisp of smoke. Alastor stands in a fluid movement, turning on his heel and bending at the waist to get eye level with Lucifer. “What a delightful offer. I’m afraid I will be in need of our darling inhabitant’s help at that time.” His smile is tense, words forced between them.

Not one to be put off by a razor tipped grin, Lucifer grimaces at Alastor. “We haven’t even set a date yet!”

“A shame, truly.” He straightens up, holds a hand out to you that you don’t even think about not taking. “I’m afraid we have much to discuss before any other plans are made, dear.”

“There have been no plans made!”

“Farewell, everyone!” He pulls you to stand beside him and with a swirl of darkness you’ve vanished, rematerializing in his bedroom. He crowds you against the door, tall body caging yours with arms on either side of your head and leaning into the space between your shoulder and neck. “You need to choose what you want from our deal,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “You’ve been putting it off for whatever silly reason you have, and I demand that it ends. Pick something.”

You close your eyes against the sensation of him and feel the hammering of his heart where he’s pressed against you. “It’s not- not time for your rut,” you say. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“The rut be damned. If your half of the deal is unfulfilled, if I can’t give you something that you want, then the deal is void.” He nearly snarls the words into your shoulder, the frustration apparent in his words. “You can decide to end this at any time and I can do nothing about it.”

Your hands come up to his chest, meaning to push him back, but you pause. “Alastor-”

“I have no power over this deal until your benefit is claimed. Should you have decided to entertain that kingly oaf I would have to sit idly by knowing that you are in his domain instead of mine, where you belong.”

“I didn’t know that,” you tell him, and then your brain catches up with what he’s said. “And what do you mean, ‘where I belong?’ This was just meant to be- you know, your ruts. I wouldn’t just fuck off and leave you messed up if you can’t accept anyone else but I didn’t think you wanted anything more than that.”

“I didn’t.” Alastor hisses the word into your skin, like it’s your fault you’re in this situation. “I was content to simply let these cursed ruts run through with your assistance with none of the pesky interference that feelings would bring. But you’re just so… good.” He laughs and the sound seems painful to him, vibrating against you. “You’ve thrown yourself into it with such gusto and enthusiasm, you offer me no complaints, you indulge my every whim even when we aren’t isolated from the world together, and you aren’t even getting anything out of it.”

Everything clicks into place- for you, at least. His actions towards you, his behavior towards Lucifer this evening, how possessive he’s been during the ruts and between them. Something had changed over the course of your deal; he wanted it set in stone to tie you to him, to make sure that you wouldn’t end your arrangement and run off with someone like Lucifer. To make sure you wouldn’t leave him, that you were bound to him and the deal you had made.

It should have been alarming. It wasn’t- the knowledge that he craved more, as you did, made a pulse of heat run through your body. 

“Okay,” you agree. “I see the problem, I understand- and I know what I want.” He raises his head from your shoulder finally, eyes narrowed at how agreeable you seem to be and his grin tense. You give him a sweet smile. “A kiss.”

Alastor says nothing, watching you with his suspicious gaze before he takes a deep breath. “You’ll waste the benefit of such a deal on a mere kiss? Don’t joke with me-”

“Who’s joking? I would ask for nothing if I thought you would let me. If this is what will give you the reassurance that I don’t plan on going anywhere then I’ll give it to you.” You let your eyes trail down his chest, lower your voice to a whisper. “Don’t forget to ask me where I would like my kiss to be.”

His breath catches in his throat and his gaze goes dark, raking down your frame like his claws have done so many times. “Do you know how many sinners in the hordes of Hell would have taken the opportunity to bring me to my knees with the deal that I offered you?” He brings an arm down from its position bracketing you to trail his fingers along your neck, over your breast, down your side and rest possessively on your hip. “Is that what you would ask of me as well?”

“Only temporarily.”

He chuckles low, the sound rumbling in his chest. “As you wish,” he says, and in a flash of movement he is sinking before you to his knees, hands running carefully over your body as he descends. He hooks his fingers in the top of your skirt, drags it to the floor along with your panties and then wraps a hand around your calf to prop your leg over his shoulder, bringing the heat of your wetness closer to his mouth. 

He rests his head against your thigh, hooded gaze moving from your desperately slick folds to your face, blushing and nervous despite having asked for exactly this. You had done this before, splayed in his bed with his face buried between your legs, but the angle was different- he could still see you, he wasn’t lost in the throes of his rut and mindless in his hunger for you. What if he didn’t like it when he wasn’t at the mercy of his instincts? What if he-

Alastor’s tongue, long and deft, comes out of his mouth to lick at the skin of your thigh, making you jolt and look back down, not realizing that your gaze had drifted. “You’d best pay attention, darling,” he mutters. “I might take offense should your attention wander.” 

Then he’s angling himself, slotting his mouth against you, and you would make a thousand ill-advised deals to feel this forever. His tongue slips in easily with the arousal that drips from you, the strong line of his nose brushing against your clit with every subtle shift of his head to get deeper, taste more. He pulls back enough to press a finger into you gently, sucks at the nub of your clit before sliding his tongue back into you beside his finger. The movement makes you moan, hands finally coming away from where they’ve been scrambling against the wood of the door to twist between the locks of his hair.

Accustomed to what he likes during his ruts, you run a finger up the tines of his antlers and he groans into you, low and sinful and fucking perfect. “ You,” he mumbles against you, between kisses to your slick lips and presses of his tongue to your sensitive spot, “will simply be the death of me. Look at me.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed again, and they fly open; the sight that greets you threatens to be your undoing. His eyes are glazed where he watches you, antlers having branched out beyond his ears, tongue pressed flush to your slick folds. His free hand comes up to lift your other leg onto his unoccupied shoulder, the motion putting you into an awkward lean against the door as he drags you closer to his hungry mouth.

“Wait- Alastor-” You try to use your grip on his antlers to pull him away to reposition but only succeed in making him grip your thigh tighter with the hand that doesn’t have fingers inside you- with the position change he’s added another, tongue still twisting dexterously alongside.

You start to move from the door and you panic a moment, thinking you’re falling, before there’s a firm pressure at your back and hands coming to rest in your hips. When you turn your head to look you’re greeted with the dark wisp of Alastor’s shadow, glowing grin unaffected by the words that follow your sharp intake of breath. “No need to fear, darling,” says Alastor’s voice from the shadow. “It’s merely here to keep you steady.”

You let your head fall back onto the shadow’s shoulder as Alastor continues to take you apart, hands fisted in his hair and on the base of his antlers, thumb gently stroking when you can manage the mental capacity necessary to not just be at his mercy. A particularly harsh suck to your clit has your legs clenching around his head, inner walls spasming on his fingers and tongue as he pulls you towards the edge of orgasm. “Fuck, Alastor-”

The moan that responds comes from the shadow but vibrates through your body starting between your legs. “Let me hear you, my dear,” comes his hot whisper next to your ear. “We don't often focus on you like this, do we? Just that one time during my rut. An egregious error- one I mean to rectify immediately.”

He angles your hips again, pulls his tongue from the clench of your body to focus on your bundle of nerves. “To have you during my periods of need is no longer enough- I wish to have you beneath me, around me, always. The thought of losing you to that regal imbecile drives me to madness that claws at my very soul. I’ll have to be sure to lay my claim in a way that is… indisputable.” His voice rasps next to your ear, the shadow a perfect transmitter of his thoughts and words while his mouth is occupied.

“Alastor-” You mean to warn him of your impending release, the coil of tension that threatens to snap with the briefest of pressure. “Please, I need-”

“Go on, dearest,” his shadow purrs while his tongue circles your clit in hard, fast swipes. “Come in my mouth, show me how beautiful you are in your pleasure-”

Your body shakes in the hold of Alastor and his shadow, voice leaving you in a strangled cry as you obey, your release making your entire body tensing wherever it can- your hands in Alastor’s hair, legs around his head, cunt around his fingers. He licks you gently through it before he pulls back slowly, expression satisfied looking up at you before he lowers your legs to the ground, standing and making sure he has a solid hold on you when his shadow vanishes. “How are your legs, darling, can you stand?” He walks you over to the bed and lays you on the mattress, an admiring glance cast across your frame. “I’ll never grow tired of seeing you splayed across my sheets.”

“I’ll never be tired of being splayed across them; looks like our interests align, how handy is that?” He meets your smile with his customary one, and you hold a hand out to him and pull him closer, quickly working the buttons of his shirt and letting him slide the garment off his body. “Do you know why I agreed to the deal with you?” You wait for his bemused nod before you undo the button of his trousers. “It wasn’t anything to do with your power or what you could offer me in return. Or even the orgasms, as wonderful as they’ve been. So do you know why?”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,” he murmurs as you shimmy his pants down his legs, hissing when you drag his undergarments down as well and his erection springs free. 

“I said yes,” you say, pulling him down so he kneels on the edge of the bed, “because I wanted a chance to be closer to you. That’s what I’ve been getting the whole time- I didn’t need anything else. Though the kiss was great,” you say with a wink, wrapping a hand around him and guiding the head of him into your slick heat.

“Fuck-” Alastor cuts himself off with a hiss as he sinks into you, fucking into your pliant body and grinding down when he’s sunk to the hilt. “Delightful woman- you always surprise me. So wet and tight around my cock every time you take me. So lovely and perfect, my-” He stops himself, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder, his favorite place to be. 

“Your mate,” you encourage him. “I will be- if you’ll have me. Even without the deal- ahh, fuck -” You interrupt yourself with a moan when he angles his hips, hitting the sweet spot inside your body. “I’m not going anywhere- I would have helped you regardless of the deal, regardless of the favor you asked of me.” You rock your hips up into him, let him reach further inside. “Whatever you will give me I’ll take, Alastor. Let me be yours- always. That’s what I want.”

“It’s yours,” he groans, “I would give you anything , darling. Anything.” He fucks himself into you harder, growling into your skin. “Let me give it to you.”

“Please,” you beg him, your second release a hair trigger away. “Fuck, Alastor please- I’m yours, your mate, please-”

“You’re mine, fucking- mine, always, fuck-” He spends himself with a snarl in the tight heat of your body and you follow shortly behind, a cry of Alastor’s name on your lips as you let yourself fall apart in his embrace. His teeth pierce the skin of your neck where they always do- and really, you should ask him about that, find out if it's a cannibal thing or a deer thing so you can decide if you’re less okay with it, even as hot as it is.

The only sounds for a bit are harsh exhales as you both try to catch your breath, tracing your fingers up and down the exposed skin of his back, pausing every now and then when you come across a scar. “This was… different,” he says quietly. “From the times during the rut, I mean. The ache, the need for you still burning but not through every fiber of my being in a way that cannot be ignored. I feel more in control of myself with you now, without it.”

“Which you like?”

“Very much so. My ruts are enjoyable with you, darling, but the feeling of being so lost in my baser instincts can be overwhelming at times.” He pulls back from your shoulder to watch your face as he speaks. “You being so accommodating to it helped and of course I don’t wish to stop, but I do believe I prefer us like this.”

“I do too. Speaking of baser instincts though, are you going to turn into some jealous beast again if I want to visit Lucifer’s library with everyone else?”

He heaves a deep sigh. “I suppose despite his obvious interest in what belongs to me I won’t stop you. A proper chaperone should get the message across to his royal idiocy, as should my mark on your neck.” He brings a hand up to run his fingers over the pulsing bite he’s left, and you shiver at the feeling.

“You should really be nicer to him.” You tilt your head up to press against his chest and listen to the steady thumping of his heart. “I have no interest in the King of Hell; you demand enough of my time.”

“As it should be- I did tell you I would take offense if your attention wandered.” Silence again for a few minutes until the demon atop you speaks, his voice rumbling pleasantly where he’s pressed against you. “You know, I can feel in our bond that the ‘kiss’ you requested doesn't count for our deal” When you shoot him a confused look he rubs his thumb against your hip bone. “I do believe it needs to be something tangible, as much fun as we had. Have you any other ideas?”

You sigh. “Dammit. Okay, just- something small then. I really don’t need anything else out of this.” You think for a moment, still tracing the scars on his back when an idea comes to you. “What about something like a bracelet? Or a ring or something- a piece of jewelry I can wear that will alert me if you’re hurt somehow.”

Alastor turns his head to watch you with a raised eyebrow. “What would you want with such a thing?”

“The whole point of this deal was to make sure that you were in peak, ‘not-sexually-frustrated’ form to take on the Vees, right? And that hasn’t happened yet so when it does I want to make sure you’re safe,” you tell him, and he hides his face in your neck again. “I meant it, Alastor- I care about you, I want to know that you’re okay. Always. That’s what a good mate does, right? I brushed up on my ‘deer mating habits’ knowledge.”

You can feel his smile. “Yes, I suppose that is true. Consider it done- for real this time.” He snaps his fingers and with a pulse of green magic there’s a silver band on your right pinky finger, an etched design that looks like Alastor’s antlers on them. “Should I ever find myself in danger or injured, the ring will alert you. I’m not sure what you expect to be able to do with that but regardless- our deal is officially set.”

You admire it for a few moments before humming an affirmative and letting your arm wrap back around him, fingers resuming their journey across the expanse of his back muscles.

“This deal could span decades,” Alastor finally mumbles into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You truly think that your feelings on the matter- your feelings about me- won’t change in that time?”

You sigh into his chest, allowing him to maneuver the two of you so you lay in the bed normally. “They won’t. And even if they did, the deal is done- I collected on my benefit,” you say in a sing-song tone, with a wink and a wave of your ringed hand. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Yes, well. I’m sure that’s nothing I can’t handle,” he says, tightening his grip around your waist, and you muffle your laughter into his chest, having finally gotten what you wanted all along.

[thechekhov]

Chekhov Reads Dungeon Meshi: CH46

D....dark Laios?

I mean, you DID consent!

The fact that ghosts can pass through walls and take other things with them... it kind of elicits another type of organism. Like, what can pass through cell walls? What other parts of the body can just yoink stuff from one place and bring it to another?

Congrats! It's all just been a dream!

I'm sorry what the SHIT?!?!?

Well, I-- .... yeah, I GUESS.

Though it looks more like one of those carousel horses.

I think this is probably still inside the dungeon. Very... DEEP. Inside the dungeon.

What? WHAT?! These things are like regular animals down here???

Oh, I--hm. I see.

Ordered by WHOMST?

Is this just an entire society of (humans??? ghosts?) that lives here in the dungeon deep? Is there still a king under the mountain? Are the rumors of the king dying not true at all?

........or are these people and descendants of adventurers who came in but were never able to leave? And the fact that Senshi points out that none of them are old.... are they ageing?

Laios, Senshi n--...... welp. There they go.

Bless this man and his absolutely non sexual obsession with monsters. But.

Izutsumi, who is a human-level intellect beastkin (though she's low on wisdom and patience....) is being very.... beast-ly and soft here. She's being magically compelled, presumably, to chill the fuck out.

Which means all these monsters are also under the same effect? Isn't that a little fucked up? They're basically under a permanent drugged effect.

Also. Hm. 'short lifespan' is....relative. Short lifespan compared to what? Immortality?

Orcs know this place exists....?

These people planting things for fun means they're absolutely trapped here like spirits.

Keeping up appearances for. Whom.

These poor people have no new incomers to talk to, huh.

Oh, I uh---- ................ hm. THat's not at all what I was imagining either.

Fashion is cyclical after all I guess....

Mmmmm. Mmmm-hmmmMMM.

WHEEEEZXE

Knowing I've finally hit these two absolutely iconic panels... amazing.

......I guess it can only do so much to make her docile...... she still doesn't like Laios.

Why does he look familiar...?

....so Derghal had a son. And a grandson. So then why is there a bid for the throne...?

Laios. Laios, is milking the minotaur the ONLY thing you did? Or was there more to it? Laios.

It's interesting. That bartender said he was 600 when he started his now-400 year old ale. So. That means they're 1000 years old.

That means that they're about as long lived as elves? Haven't gone mad yet. But that's still a long time.

That's kinda worse, yeah, but a loss of the self is a type of death, in a way...? So....

The most throwback of all time.

Actually, I feel like that's been there for a while, although it didn't always look EXACTLY like a lion's head. I feel like the little living armor he keeps in there made it that design? But how would it do that on purpose?

this is what it looked like some chapters back. Yeah, it's been sculpting into a lion's mane for a while now.... Ohohohoh playing the long game are we? 👀

Ah, it's not a wolf. How tragic for you, Laios. It'll never work out.

Also, damn, those wings sure be lookin like Falin's very non-dragon wings. What a wild coincidence. I'm sure that doesn't mean anything. :)

laughing hysterically. This poor guy can't get a break. He's been running from responsibility and inheritance for his entire life and it still catches up and trips him purposefully.

There is definitely a certain amount of tragedy there, yeah. These people aren't asking Laios for help because it's easier. They're legitimately stuck in a nightmare scenario. Unless you're someone who can get pleasure from other avenues, living all that time without the basic needs will drive a person mad. Elves live just as long, presumably, but they're still able to eat, I assume.

I'm honestly more surprised they're all as sane as they are.

.......King of Forgor.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 2, Unspeakable - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of alcohol, longing looks/touches, this part's mostly fluff, ngl.

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: And from that night, you and Bucky became best friends. Because there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and the stuff of your nightmares was one of them.

A/N: I thought the Harry Potter quote was appropriate to bastardize for the Previously On... Don't come for me, lol

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)  @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21

From that night on, Bucky found every excuse he could to touch you. It was as though, after so many years of nothing but cold cruelty, he had become addicted to the warmth and softness of your skin. You didn't mind in the least; you liked the way he wrapped his arm around your stomach and rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder when he came up behind you, or the way he pulled your hand onto his thigh and traced the lines of your palm with his index finger while you watched TV in the common room, side by side.

One afternoon, you were standing in front of a monitor in your lab, lost in thought as the numbers from your latest algorithm trial ran across the screen. So immersed were you in the data that you didn't notice the form coming up behind you until two hands grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you.

Without thinking, your years of training kicked in, like flipping on a switch. You stomped down, hard, on the top of your assailant's foot with your heel, while simultaneously throwing your elbow back into their solar plexus. The attacker let out a low "Oof" and released their hold on you, giving you the opportunity to drop your weight low and spin on your toes to face them.

Bucky stood stooped before you, one hand clutching his abdomen where your elbow had made contact, the other hand held up in surrender. The other hand?

"Jesus Christ, Buck!" you panted. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"I was trying to surprise you, you hell beast," Bucky said, though he was smiling. Rubbing the tender spot of nerves you had so artfully disturbed, he asked "Where'd you learn to fight so dirty?"

"Krav Maga," you beamed, pleased that you'd managed to get a hit on a super soldier, even if Bucky hadn't been actually attacking you. "Care to tell me how you managed to end up with two fucking arms?"

Now it was Buck's turn to beam at you as he held out his new left arm for your perusal. You took the hand, inspecting it. Black metal gleamed in the light of your lab. You turned the arm over, admiring the craftsmanship. "This is a thing of beauty, Buck," you murmured, trailing your fingers along the gold veins that ran through the metal. Bucky involuntarily shivered at your touch. "You can feel that?" you asked him, awestruck. He nodded, his face awash in delight.

You leaned in to examine it more closely. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it was... But, no, it couldn't be– "Bucky," you said in astonishment, looking up to meet his eye, "is this vibranium?"

Bucky grinned from ear to ear, looking like a little boy who had gotten just what he'd asked for for Christmas. "It was a gift. From the Wakandans, for helping them capture Helmut Zemo." Bucky seemed almost shy at revealing why the Wakandans had gifted him the arm, as though he was still uncomfortable with being acknowledged for doing good instead of being blamed for committing evil.

"This..." you started, at a loss for words. "Bucky, this is amazing! The Wakandans are the most technologically advanced nation on the planet. This makes the arm I've been working on look like a fucking stick."

Bucky cocked his head and studied you as you studied the vibranium appendage. "You were making me an arm, doll?" he asked, throat choked on emotion.

You looked up at him, a blush of color rising to your cheeks. "Well, I was trying to. I wasn't going to say anything until I knew it would work; I didn't want to get your hopes up, but this... this is worlds better than anything I could have manufactured."

Bucky gently pulled his metal arm from your hand and used it to cup your cheek, instead. You leaned into the cool, hard metal. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me," he murmured. You gave him a soft smile.

"You're one of my best friends, and you deserve all the good things," you told him with a shrug of your shoulder. "Including two functioning arms."

Bucky pulled you into a hug and you returned his embrace, relishing in the feeling of being completely held by him. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Pocket," he said into the top of your head.

You pulled back to look up at him. "Well, hopefully, you'll never have to find out." You stayed like that for a few moments longer, neither of you willing to be the first to let go. "You know what," you said, eventually pulling away from him, "we should celebrate."

Bucky looked down at you with a glint in his eye. "Celebrate, huh? What should we do?"

"Anything you want," you told him, moving out of the cage of his arms. Arms. You still couldn't believe it. "It's your arm we're celebrating."

He studied you for a moment, and there was a look in his eyes you couldn't quite decipher. As the heat of Bucky's gaze lingered on you, a shiver ran down your spine. There was something different about the way he looked at you now, something that made your heart race and your palms grow sweaty. It was as if every fiber of his being was focused solely on you, his eyes tracing every contour of your face with an almost alarming intensity.

"Can we start those Hobbit movies?" he asked.

"That's how you want to celebrate?" you smiled up at him. "You're such a fucking nerd. Yeah, we can absolutely do that. Oh, shit--" you remembered. "It's Girls' Night tonight. It’s fine– I can skip it."

"No," said Bucky, and the look he'd been giving you had vanished, leaving you to wonder if you'd simply imagined it to begin with, "go to Girls' Night. I know how much you look forward to those."

"I said we'd celebrate, and I want to celebrate," you insisted. "I can bow out of Girls' Night early. I'll just pop in, have one glass of wine, and then I'll be all yours; they can manage without me for a night."

Bucky hit you with his devil-charming grin. "All mine?" he asked, a mischievous lilt to his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slapped at his chest. "You know what I mean, asshat."

"Another dollar in the jar," he tsked.

"Get the fuck out of here and let me get back to work," you said with a laugh, shooing him away. You followed him with your eyes as he made his way to the door. Right before he went through, he turned around and looked back over at you, giving you a parting smile before walking off.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Twenty-Three)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Miguel is rutting, Reader is in heat, Breeding kink, Overstimulation, Rough & Gentle PinV sex, Oral sex.

Word count: 5338

Notes: IM BACCCKKK!! Daddy's come back with milk and oh god we all know what kind of milk I mean, ENJOY! Threesome chapter will be next, along with a non-threesome version, thanks to the last poll we did. Both can be interpreted as canon, it's whatever you want.

Mig was right. It was a long week.

While you could go for maybe an hour or more without feeling the urge, when it hit you were almost incapacitated by a need for each other.

Most of the time Mig approached you in a soft, docile, almost submissive manner. He’d get on his belly and rustle his abdomen, affectionately laying his head on your thighs, or he’d grind his pulsating cock between those same thighs while whispering and purring against your neck.

He’d kiss your head as he moved slowly inside you, petting your chest and hips while he praised how good you were. His good arañita, his small, perfect arañita, sweet and warm. He’d tell you not to worry, to just relax, that he’d take care of you.

But every so often, something seemed to stir up the absolute animal in him.

He became obsessive, possessive, fixated on that primal itch at the back of his mind to be successful in his mating. He’d pin you down hard and mount you from behind, digging his claws in deep while his cock probed deep, thrusting inside you like he wanted to physically push into your womb itself.

And god, the things he said.

The growling, the hissing, demanding to father your offspring, ordering you to get pregnant, ordering you to take it. You indulged him too much in this state. It created the fiercest pleasure in you, the most potent, soul-shaking orgasms, to let him fuck you like a beast until you were shaking and weak.

He’d always calm down after ejaculating, and every time he showed you the same level of aftercare. He’d cradle you close and keep you warm, licking venom across the places you were sore, shifting between constant praise and kisses. Still, the animal just kept coming back.

When you simply couldn’t handle being penetrated anymore, the only option left was to try oral or mutual masturbation, but that proved a little difficult with how different your bodies were.

At first Mig got desperate, and resorted to webbing your body upside down on the wall so you could pleasure each other with your mouths at the same time. He’d ravenously suck on your clit while you struggled to get your mouth around the tip of his bulbous cock, feeding each other’s delusional lust with soft, muffled moans and lapping tongues.

When he’d cum you swallowed as much as you could of the thick, strangely sweet stuff, but inevitably about half of it ended up coating your jaw and neck, and the sight of that just set him off all over again.

But then you started getting lightheaded. You were forced to resort to lying in bed instead, where you’d suck him off until he came and then let him taste you until you shuddered into your own orgasm, going back and forth in this dizzying tasting session until he inevitably broke and just fucked you again.

It was a mess. A wet, literal mess, a cycle of mating and sleeping with little in between, but between sessions you did get a few moments of lucidity to enjoy his company too. It was gratifying to lie on the clean side of the bed in his arms, talking about nothing while he groomed your hair. Whether he was being unintentionally funny or having a real discussion, he was always interesting to talk to, and when you had nothing to talk about you still felt wanted.

He'd wake you up with food whenever he had a moment of control. He always wanted to hear that you liked it, and when you said it was great, he’d bristle with pride.

Even in this strange, dizzying state, you were continuing to fall hard for Mig. You were becoming docile, domestic almost. His home felt like your home now, and more importantly, he felt like home. The sex was fun, yes, but it was also a reminder of how normal his body was, how much you trusted him with your own body.

You lost track of time in that warm, sweet den, indulging in each other like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Part of you wanted to just stay like this in perpetuity, but the world wouldn’t slow down for you, and soon other needs would catch up with the both of you.

….

About five days into the second heat, you woke to find yourself alone in bed. You were splayed out on your deflated mattress, utterly drowning in silk blankets and stuffed pillows, but the usual warm fluff you now associated with bedtime was gone.

Mig wasn’t here.

You arched your back and rubbed your face as you came to your senses. Thank God, you weren’t burning up right now.

In that brief respite you had time to think.

You needed to go to the medical bay. You needed more back up. Your patch was due to run out soon and you weren’t even sure it could withstand what you’d done, not to mention the strain on your body was very real and very taxing. Anything to ease the soreness, or perhaps to bring back the proper function of your limbs, would be greatly appreciated.

You just had to get past Mig.

The work you’d made on his possessive nature had been a little set back after the pollen incident. Whether it was his hormones or his lingering anger at Miguel, the poor man couldn’t let you out of his sight.

When you went to get food, or even just to clean yourself, he insisted on being at your side through it all. He was still compelled to scent mark you, and sometimes in his sleep he’d pin you down and growl as he pulled you close.

He was relapsing hard, despite his best efforts. That was partially why it was so strange that he wasn’t here right now. With a yawn and a stretch, you decided to go find him.

You staggered about the den with a silk blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

You noticed, as you moved from room to room, that a cold breeze kept blowing the blanket up around your feet. That could only mean one thing: the front door was open. You followed the great earthy tunnels up to the surface, emerging into a pale pink dawn, and there you found him.

That beautiful beast was stationed at the nests entrance like a gargoyle. In the morning mist and glistening dew he looked like an honest to god sculpture, chiselled and glowing in the pastel light. You bit your lip at the sight as you sidled up to his side.

‘Mig? Babe?’

He turned and purred at the sight of you. The way his face changed made you melt a little inside; it was all involuntary, the way his eyes widened and his lips automatically curled into a smile. ‘Mi arañita, what are you doing up?’ he asked.

‘I could ask the same of you, dummy. I was worried about you.’

He let you slouch down against his abdomen, his spider legs stretching to tuck you in at his side. He clung to you tight.

‘I just wanted to give you some space, and—well, I think the hormones are giving me ah… guarding reflexes’ he said. ‘I have a drive to just, protect the nest. I’m not sure from what, I just- I know I should. I know I have to guard you.’

‘Guarding your little treasure hoard, huh?’ you teased.

‘Mm. Mi tesoro. My priceless little thing’ he said softly. You nuzzled his side.

‘Well, you’re not gonna like this next bit then.’

‘This—next, what? What bit?’

You sighed. ‘Mig, I think I should I go to the medical bay. At the HQ. Just quickly! I need to get more birth control patches, and I think it might be worth seeing if they recommend anything else I can… Ah, it sound so, crass, but, I can only put off wanting you inside me for so long, and I could use something to ease the uh… aching.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Is it, still bad?’

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘My darling Mig, how do I say this… You are, REALLY, really well endowed, and you are inside me almost half the day. Yes, it’s quite bad.’

You saw his brows go up in distress. ‘Mi arañita… I’m, so sorry—’

‘Don’t be sorry, Mig. It’s not your fault that I want you’ you said, trying to play it off with another laugh to ease his worry. ‘We’re about 50/50 on the whole, begging the other for sex, so I take full responsibility for my own soreness.’

‘Well, are you sure you need to go to the medical bay? I can still use my venom if you’re in pain. You said it helped.’

‘Yeah. Yeah I mean, it does, a bit, but- I also know too much of it will paralyze me’ you retorted. ‘I saw that with Miguel.’

‘I can control it’ he insisted back. ‘I can control whether I release it or not, I’d never paralyze you on purpose.’

‘Of course not, I’m not saying that. I just—I trust you, Mig, and I wouldn’t blame you for slipping up, but good will and the best intentions don’t stop mistakes, and it’s mistakes I’m worried about. Plus, the venom won’t keep babies at bay, will it?’

You rolled your eyes at his instinctive little butt wiggle, the way his abdomen vibrated to betray how excited just a mention of such a thing made him. His primal brain was still so hooked on that thought, that deep rooted fetish, that desire to breed you. He coughed to cover what was already painfully obvious.

‘It—it, will not. I feel like, I am sadly the opposite of birth control.’

For a moment you were still. Then you snorted, and you giggled, and that giggle spiralled into laughter. He just smiled back with that same patient expression.

‘Oh my god, Mig. Ah. Oh—okay look, what I was saying is, I just need to visit the bay for a bit, then I will come straight back, and you can have me all to yourself.’

As you posited your idea to him, he took a moment to mull it over. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his mouth as his eyes wandered over the misty horizon.

 ‘Mm. Very well. But I will go with you’ Mig grunted.

‘What? Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mig, I—’

‘I’m going with you.’

You squeaked as his leg suddenly drew you closer. Glancing through his thick fur, you noticed that his eyes had narrowed. ‘Uh… Mig? You okay?’ you asked. His eyes narrowed further.

‘I don’t know who else in that place might—smell you’ he said. His voice was now low, monotone, dangerous.

‘You—you let me go before’ you said. His leg wound tighter, gripping you like a snake coiled around its prey.

‘Yes, because I physically couldn’t follow you in. And you got grabbed by… him’ he hissed. ‘I won’t let that happen again.’

‘Mig…’ You sighed and gently pet his flank, noting the disgruntled way that his legs were tapping.

‘I… I will not, get in the way, but I am asking, just—to please, let me accompany you’ he pleaded.

God, it was hard to say no to that face. Those big red eyes, those full lips pouting slightly as he silently begged for your favour. It didn’t help you were so unbearably horny for him. Part of you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, if it just meant he’d bend you over again, and give you a little taste of that perfect monster shaft.

Your thoughts must have shown in your face as his sadness shifted slightly into curiosity. You saw his eyes darting over your body’s contours beneath the silk blanket and quickly shoved him with your hand.

‘My god—okay! You can, accompany me. You are a member now I guess, it’s only fair. I only made you stay last time because you said you couldn’t enter the HQ, so… sure. Come.’

His body began to vibrate against your back as he purred with joy.

‘Wonderful. Mil gracias, arañita. I promise I will keep you safe.’

…

In sharp contrast to the comfort of your little isolated den, it was unbearably awkward to make your way through the HQ with Mig.

It’d been awkward the first time you’d gone to the medical bay, when nobody had known your reason for coming nor your relationship to the giant spider, but now? Now the eyes on you were ravenous and aware.

Mig’s body language was so overt even a fool could pick it up. He was hovering around your back with his fur bristled and sharp, his eyes fixated on anyone who drifted too close.

And you, with your body dotted with hickies and bite marks, with your legs still shaky and your hip bones bruised, it was painfully obvious. Luckily for you most people chose to keep their snide smiles to themselves. They found it weird, yes, but they found him too scary to question at this point.

You walked together to the medical bay without any major incidents, though one thought began to nag you as you delved deeper. Last time you’d been here you’d felt Miguel watching you, and now, nothing.

You’d heard nothing about Miguel’s whereabouts since the calls from Peter and Jess five days ago, so you were unsure if he’d returned or not. Your senses told you he hadn’t.

You felt a little pang in your gut as you walked into the medical bay. You had a lot of distaste for the man, but you still hoped he was okay. You didn’t want him to have done anything stupid.

As you got into line you felt Mig bristling, and in your heart, you knew he felt the same.

‘Where do you think he is?’ you whispered up to Mig. He let out a low growl at the reminder of his foe and his unusual disappearance, which also let you know that you were right, and he had been thinking of him too.

‘I don’t know’ he whispered back. ‘And frankly, I don’t care.’

‘I mean, you do. You do care where he is’ you said. ‘You’re worried he might be around, you’re worried he’ll approach me again, I know that for sure.’

‘I care about his proximity to me, and his proximity to you’ Mig grumbled. ‘Outside of that, at this point, he can choke.’

You pursed your lips. ‘Do—Do you really want him, dead?’ you whispered.

Mig narrowed his eyes further. It took him a moment to reply. ‘I… I don’t know.’

‘Mig, I get it. Obviously I don’t like him, but—I just don’t want him to be hurt. Like, hurt hurt. He’s a massive prick but—I mean he’s a person’ you said. It was clear from your tone even you weren’t sure of what you were saying. ‘I’d like to know he’s around, just, away from me. You know?’

You saw the momentary conflict in Mig’s eyes as he rolled his tongue. ‘Mm… I know. I know. I just—I don’t, want to talk about it, please’ Mig insisted. You nodded and gave his flank an affectionate pat.

You sidled up to the desk and put in your usual request to a slightly disgruntled looking receptionist. They requested Mig stay outside but he abjectly, if politely, refused, and not wanting to question the giant spider he was allowed to accompany you through the motions.

It was so much worse.

It was so, so much worse, to stand on the scanner and have Lyla look at the amount of semen inside you while its donor was glowering at you from across the room like a jealous dragon. It was so much worse to be asked, ‘how active are you?’ when Mig was there, a perfect example of who you’d been active with, as you said ‘up to ten times a day’.

It was so much worse that, when asked further questions about anatomical issues, Mig was there to answer in his usual blunt fashion. His casual description of his phallus size, detailing nonchalantly that, yes, he did slather your nether regions with venom to make it less painful. You could see Lyla eating up every word he said.

It at least invoked a kind of sympathy in the horrified nurse, as she willingly signed over whatever you wanted. Pain medication both topical and oral, stronger birth control, and anti-venom shots in case he injected too much.

As you made your way out you could only cope by laughing about it with him.

‘You are—a nightmare, Miguel O’Hara, I swear to god.’ As you spoke you let out a dramatic sigh that turned into stuttered laughter, all while Mig watched with endeared bur confused eyes.

‘Did—Did I do something wrong again?’ he whispered. You could feel him leaning in at your back, begging for affirmation, and despite being exasperated to the point of exhaustion you gave it. You held his little foreleg as you walked into the waiting room.

‘You are so… honest’ you laughed. ‘Just, SO honest.’

‘Is that not a positive trait?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it is. It is. I love that about you, but I also hate it.’ As you spoke you turned to cup his hips in your hands, holding him tenderly. ‘But, I’m willing to put up with it, which I suppose is a good sign, right?’

Mig blinked at you, his eyes wide. ‘Good, because… It means, I am worth the effort?’

‘Very much so’ you whispered. His abdomen rustled furiously even as his face remained calm. ‘Mm… Mm. Good. I am- glad. You are, worth, a lot to me’ he replied in that sweet, shy, stilted manner. You just chuckled.

‘You have such a way with words. Anything else you wanna say?’ you asked, your head tilted. Mig froze.

He knew what you meant. You’d both been teetering on the edge of saying it for a while: the big ‘L’, the biggest thing he could ever say. The moment where he admitted he loved you. He’d blurted it in front of his counterpart before, but to say it to your face? That was terrifying.

He hadn’t said he loved someone since Dana, and this was so much more. He wanted to keep you, to hold you, to see you every morning, but something in him just couldn’t say it. He was still terrified of something going wrong, of repeating his mistakes, and saying that word felt like moving too close to the sun.

And you, you weren’t much better. You were terrified of saying it and of him not returning the sentiment. It felt selfish, in a way, but you just kept waiting for him to say it first.

‘I… You, are mi tesoro’ Mig said softly. His hand cupped your cheek. ‘You are dear, to me. And I hope that I can keep waking up beside you.’

Your heart tripled over beneath his gaze. It wasn’t quite what you wanted, but it was enough for now. ‘I hope so too’ you whispered, and with one last squeeze you let him go.

You stepped into the reception room to find it almost entirely deserted, spare for one or two people milling about in chairs. You were grateful for the privacy as the reception called you over and handed to you those thick bags filled with pain relief and birth control.

‘We’re just waiting for one more thing, is that okay?’ the reception asked. You nodded.

‘Ah, sure, we can um—we can wait’ you said, but as you hurried back to Mig’s side you didn’t look as sure as you’d sounded.

‘Shiiittt. I don’t know how long we have before it—you know’ you whispered up at him.

‘The violent passion of the heat overtakes us both and we begin copulating on the floor of this public establishment?’ Mig replied. You grit your teeth.

‘Yes. Yes, that exactly’ you hissed back.

‘Ah… too blunt, right?’

‘Yes. Very blunt.’

‘But just between us, that is okay, right?’

‘We’re in a hospital waiting room!’

It was halfway through your whispered shouting match that you heard the reception call.

‘Anti-venom?’

Ah. That was the last bit you needed, you thought. What a weirdly quick turnaround, especially when she’d just asked you to wait. You turned and blindly reached to grab the bag from the receptionist, only to lock hands with someone else. You baulked and spun.

There was a man beside you, roughly your age and height, and he was reaching for the same bag of anti-venom.

‘You—can I help you?’ you stammered. The man frowned.

‘I—’

‘Oh, sorry, you both have—sorry that’s my mistake’ the receptionist said, interrupting you both as she yanked the bag back. ‘I have prescriptions for you both.’

You remained locked onto the other man as the receptionist rushed back to speak to the counter. He looked horrified, but of what? Your eyes narrowed. Why would anyone else here need anti-venom?

‘Sorry about that. You both ordered the same, thing, ah—Okay, here.’

The reception put both bags down and pushed them towards the two of you, but you didn’t even notice. You were unblinkingly focused on the other man’s face. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

‘Ah… Thank you. Sorry. I will… go, now’ he blurted, and before you could speak he’d grabbed the bag and hurried for the door. You grabbed your own and followed in hot pursuit.

‘Arañita?’

Mig crawled after you in haste. His sudden emergence into the main lobby caused a few startled screams, but you refused to turn. You were following that man with absolute dedication.

‘Arañita—what is it? What’s wrong?’ he hissed as he caught up with your stride.

‘HIM’ you hissed back, your eyes fixed on the man speed walking away. ‘I need to talk to him!’

Mig blinked. Without even questioning your motive he bowed to your needs, and with the power of his giant spider legs he gave you a little push across the slippery floor so you could close the gap between you and the stranger.

You skidded up and grasped him by the shoulder. ‘Hey! Hey, you—’

‘SHIT!’

The man jumped when you touched him, causing you to quickly retract your hand. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I just—’

‘Oh, I thought—I was having a heart attack, my, god’ the man panted. You watched him clutch his chest and heave, awkwardly and impatiently waiting to speak. ‘How did I not hear you? My senses are… awful, man—’

‘Look, I—’

‘You, you’re the one dating Miguel’s variant, right? The big spider?’

You were surprised when the man addressed you first. His eyes were on his suit as he brushed it down, but every so often he’d cast you a glance. He thankfully didn’t look angry.

‘I am’ you blurted, ‘yes, I’m—with, Mig. Spider Mig. Spider, Miguel. I’m sorry, again.’

He nodded. ‘Right. Yeah. Hence the uh- the, anti-venom. Right?’

‘Yeessss’ you said, clearly if wordlessly putting emphasis on the fact that he, also, had anti-venom in his hand. He noted where your eyes were drifting and accidentally looked down himself, glancing to the bag in his hand, which he immediately then tried to hide behind his back.

‘So, you uh… Other, Miguel, I’m assuming?’ you asked slowly.

The poor man was almost squirming on the spot.

‘You’re not a, spider, right? Like a regular one?’ you inquired when he failed to reply, noting his unusual suit and lack of mask. He sighed dramatically and leaned in close.

‘I—shit, I—look, I’m a physiotherapist, I work for the HQ’ the man hissed. ‘I’m—friends, with Miguel.’

‘Friends?’

‘Yes! Don’t look at me like that. I mean that, genuinely. We are friends. He—has a lot of, physical issues due to his biology, the mutations, and he pushes himself physically so much harder than anyone else, so he needs a lot of help.’

‘Right’ you said, slowly nodding along. After a moments silence spent staring at each other, teetering on the edge of the truth, the man sighed again.

‘I— Fuck, okay. We are, friends, and—Very, rarely, we engage in—we, do—’

‘He gets you to have sex with him, right? Because of the rut?’ you asserted.

The man recoiled in surprise and horror. ‘We—No! He doesn’t get me to—I mean we fucked like, one time, a really long time ago, but that—I really didn’t want to be interrogated today, you know.’

‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to interrogate, I was, curious? I guess? Or—’ You paused to breath as all your worries spilled from your mouth.

‘No, okay, for context, Miguel’s been gone for a few days and I said I’d keep an eye out but, more than that there’s a lot of complicated stuff going on, I think we were the last people to see him before he vanished, so—I’m not asking to shame you or, out of the blue, he—there’s a lot of stuff with him implying to Mig and to me that he wasn’t allowed to have relationships like this but then doing it anyway in secret so I’m just—’

‘Oh, ohhh okay.’

To your surprise the man interrupted your spiel was a soft ‘oh’ face of recognition. ‘I gotcha. Of course, you know him too, you’re dating his variant. But surely then, come on, you know about all his weird hypocrisies by now, right?’

‘His, what?’ you asked. The man snorted with laughter.

‘What you just said, about his weird hang ups. God the man spends twice as much time moping about his slip ups as he does actually making them. That dumbass. Trust me, if I wanted any more out of him than being friends, I’d have fucking strangled the man. He’s a mess. But, I don’t, which I think is why he comes to me. He gets in those, ‘moods’, and—I usually just, yanno, help him out. Hands or mouth. And, he does the same.’

‘Oh… Oh, huh.’

The man gave another shrug as you mulled over this new information. ‘So… you’re not, put off? By how… Much he is?’ you said subtly. Again, the man chuckled.

‘What do you mean? I mean he’s stubborn, and a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s fine, that’s fun. He’s still so nice.’

Your look of shock seemed to surprise the man. His smile faded in the face of your overt confusion. ‘He—are you, okay?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, just… Did you say he’s, nice?’

‘Yeah! Of course. I mean he’d hate me saying that out loud, he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s nice, but I know. He overworks himself to death trying to keep this place running. He’s always on edge because he’s always worried, so he plays off like he’s all… you know, cold and scary, but he’s soft inside. I’m, assuming you don’t know him that well, then?’

You remained utterly confused by this weird interpretation of the Miguel you’d met. ‘He—I mean, yeah, I thought I knew him pretty well, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do anything, nice’ you retorted.

Your overt distaste must have shown in your words, because the man suddenly looked disheartened. He coughed before speaking again.

‘He uh— I mean for me, and this is just me, but—when I couldn’t get surgery in my own universe, he secretly filed to let me have it here instead, and when the medical bay took too long, he personally went there and chewed them out for it. He never told me about it, Peter did, but post-surgery he’d always ask how I was doing. I’d show him and he’d just… give me a thumbs up and say, looks good, and that’d be it. Nobodies ever gone out of there way like that for me, ever, and he did it without complaint.’

Your eyes widened. Now this, this was interesting. You couldn’t imagine the Miguel you’d had to deal with being that considerate, that selfless, and yet, this guy had no reason to lie. Surely there had to be more to it, right?

‘Was… this, when you were, messing around?’ you asked slowly.

‘Oh, no. This was before that’ the man said nonchalantly. ‘Like I said, we were just friends. We still are. I appreciate that he’s never asked for more, honestly.’

Oh dear, you thought, you’d run out of justifications. Why had he been so aggressive with you then? Why was he so angry, so vindictive?

‘I mean, he’s—he’s also REALLY hot’ the man added with a slight laugh. ‘Like, REALLY hot. No offense but I used to have clients talk about how weird it was, you and the spider hybrid, I had to bite my tongue from saying bitch what are you TALKING about? I’d overlook much worse shit to just LOOK at that man.’

As the man chuckled you found yourself awkwardly laughing with him. You didn’t exactly have the best of terms with Miguel, but, clearly this guy had a very different experience. More importantly, you now had a solid lead on where Miguel had potentially gone.

‘So, you saw him recently?’ you queried.

‘Yeah. Well—Look, I know you get it, so, all I’ll say is I saw him about… four, days ago? That’s all I’ll say. I got this just in case, cos it’d been so long since the last time I forgot to stock up.’

You perked up a little as he spoke. Four days ago. That was after Peter mentioned he was gone, a full day after he gave in the paperwork for you and Mig.

‘Is… Is he, okay?’ you asked quietly. To your relief he nodded.

‘Yeah. Yeah he seemed fine, he seemed a bit more grumpy but that’s typical for him. He just, took sabbatical, he said. He wanted to figure some stuff out. He came over to relax then bounced. It’s not uncommon.’

To your surprise, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Had you been holding that in? You opened your mouth to thank the man and to ask his name, but something else hit you before you could.

Your whole body throbbed. You had to rub your thighs together to stop yourself from trembling, as the most vicious, potent heat slid through your veins. Your horror must have shown as the man tried to help you stand.

‘Hey, are you—’

‘BACK!’

You squeaked as something firm and furry grabbed your waist. You were pulled taut to Mig’s side as he appeared at your back, his eyes wide and his fangs bared. He was hissing aggresively as he held you close. You could feel it beneath his fur; that violent, overpowering rut, brewing and overflowing inside him. 

To your surprise, the man took no offense. He seemed to see those glowing eyes and recognise something in them. ‘Oh. Oh! Okay. No worries, I got it. You don’t gotta worry about me. You two uh—you two have fun.’

The man waved once before speed walking in the other direction, leaving you and Miguel to panic in silence.

You could both feel the heat brewing to the point it hurt. There were eyes everywhere, eyes all around you, glowering and gleaming. You knew you didn’t have much time before you both lost all social inhibition to your need.

Your eyes met, once, only to find that just locking gaze was too erotic in this state. You both turned and glanced in unison at the same thing; the nearby elevator, the one just large enough to fit Mig inside.

You swallowed hard. You were burning up, physically sweating beneath your suit. You weren’t thinking straight at all. In the moment, all you could do was act. You both barrelled into the elevator together.

Time to make another mistake.

Link to next part!

[thekidsralright]

a love worth fighting for.

pairing: abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis: anderson is the name on everybody's lips when it comes to discussing the newest up-and-coming boxers of the season. with the help of her coach and you by her side, she's going for the world title. but what will she have to sacrifice to get there?

an: so, it's finally here. this is a big one for me folks - i'd go as far as to say the biggest fic i've ever worked on. ever. i'd love for this to be multi chapter, but that depends on the reception part 1 receives. if you like it, please reblog and let me know your thoughts. i'm proud of this, so be kind with your comments x

warnings: 18+ mdni. violence, swearing, references to smut (despite this chap not having any super explicit content, if i decide to continue this fic there will defo be heavy smut in the next upload - so don't even bother reading the first part if you're not of age).

The MC’s voice reverberates throughout the stadium, drowning out the cacophony of cheers, boos, and overarching buzz from the crowd. You could never predict who they would back until the night, usually finding that boxing fans are easily swayed depending on who gets the first punch in. You were hoping all support would be directed at her tonight, god she needed it. Trying to maintain a positive attitude is hard when your girlfriend's opponent is making his way into the ring, his impressive height and wide, muscular shoulders towering leagues above his teams; arms raised, working the crowd and hyping them up in anticipation for the fight to come. They’re already eating out of his hands, the bastards.

“Ladieeees and Gentlemaaan! Welcome to the main event. In the blue corner, weighing in at 188 pounds, undefeated in 48 fights; he needs no introduction folks - it’s the man, the beast, Zach ‘Thunderstorm’ Norriiiiiis!”

The crowd roars in excitement, slapping their hands together and pumping their fists in the air. Zach is one of the nation's favourites, as any undefeated boxer would be. The nickname ‘Thunderstorm’ came from the sound his opponent’s bodies would make when they hit the canvas, like the crack of lightning. You look ahead with a neutral expression, keeping your eyes focused on the empty archway ahead of you - trying not to zero in on just how big his arms were. How they could crush someone's airways, smash apart their ribs, do irreplaceable damage.

You inherently hated what your girl did as a profession, hated the way she put herself in harm's way time after time after time. But there was also a part of you that admired her for it, for the unbreakable determination that radiated from her - if she got beaten down, she would get right back up and come at you even harder. It’s what kept forcing you to show up. That, and also the tiny factor of being absolutely in love with the woman. But when she got hurt, which seemed to be every other day lately, you really wanted to grab a hold of her fucking head and shake the-

“Aaaaand coming into the red corner, Thunderstorm’s opponent, weighing in at 175 pounds. She hails from Salt Lake City, and is rising through the ranks quickly. With 30 wins, 24 of them coming by way of knockout, give it up for the new kid on the block -  it’s Abbyyyyyy Andersooooon!”

And here she comes, bowling out of that archway with Coach right on her tails; the hood of her red robe covering her plaited hair, matching red gloves already fastened and ready. Even from where you were waiting by the stalls, you could see the all-too-familiar expression that befalls her face before every fight. Eyes so dark they look black, focused, unwavering; brimming with unshed aggression that are preparing for the violence that is about to ensue. 

Frightening. Arousing. Another reason you’re still with her.

Abby ducks under the ropes of the ring, bouncing on her feet as she grounds herself on the canvas before moving over to her corner where Coach is now waiting. As you rush up to them, Coach gives you the look he always does before a fight - the type that screams, ‘you shouldn’t be here, girl.’ He thinks you’re a distraction, an irritating fly he’d rather swat away so he can make sure his prized money maker has the best chance at winning. You weren’t giving in that easily. Coach could go to hell for all you cared; you knew his real motivations when it came to all of this. Abby may regard him like a father, but you saw him for what he really was. A leech.

Coach shouts up into Abby’s ear, her head bent in concentration - “He’s a fucking showman. That, and a bit of muscle. You know you got the upper hand tactically; he has no fucking clue what’s about to hit him. Just stay focused Anderson, and this bout is yours.”

Abby nods resolutely, eyes trained on the canvas as she rolls her shoulders back and cracks her neck. Coach’s hands come up to grip the ropes between them.

“You gotta win this champ, you can win this. Just don’t. get. distracted.”

Both Coach’s and Abby’s eyes turn to you at the same time as you offer up a reassuring smile to your girlfriend, also now clutching at the ropes that separate you.

“You got this babe.”

She nods quickly and gives a tight smile, but you can tell from the tense line of her shoulders that she’s stressing out. Yes she’s fought before, but it was never on this big of a scale. Never against opponents like him. It was what Coach insisted was the next step –

“You wanna face off a load of wimps Anderson? Or do you wanna make it to champion status?... Yeah? Of course you fucking do. Then you gotta get in front of the crowds and beat the shit out of the favourites.” 

Easy for him to say, he’s not the one going up against an undefeated fighter. But you had faith in your girl. That was never going to change. You move closer to the ring as she crouches down into the corner, Coach double checking he has all the supplies that she would need between rounds. You take her face in your hands through the division of the ropes and pull her in for a quick kiss - before she can move away, you hold her there and take her chin in your grip, eyes lingering on hers.

“Win this…like I know you can, and then come home and fuck me like a champion.”

You don’t give her time to respond as you let her face go and back away, moving into the crowd as you cheer her name. That posture of stress has eased slightly, and a smug smile is planted on her face instead. Coach, of course, comes and wipes that smirk away as he puts her mouthguard in, holding her head still as he most likely shouts some type of bull at her once again. But of course, she’s listening to him like it’s gospel. Amped up and ready to fight, Abby raises herself to full height, bouncing on her feet and swinging her arms to the side. The crowd aren’t sure what to make of her, most of them never even hearing her name before. But there is the occasional cheer for “Anderson!” amongst the rally of support for Norris. After all, people do love an underdog.

The announcer calls Abby and Norris into the middle of the ring, a hand on both of their chests as he explains, “Now I want a nice, clean game. Nothing below the belt. Are we clear?”

Both nod, pressing against the MC’s outstretched hands in an act of intimidation towards the other. Abby’s face is like stone, never breaking eye contact and standing strong. Norris on the other hand, his smirk was the show of pure arrogance. She better fuck this dickhead up. Both back away from each other, getting into a southpaw stance as the MC’s voice rings out for the last time. 

“Are we readyyyyy…FIGHT!”

You forget about everything else when that bell rings; the crowd getting louder, Coach’s bellows erupting from her corner, the look on Norris’ face as he circles his prey. The toll of that bell ringing in your ears sounds like a death sentence, also signalling the start of round 1. 

____________

By round 4, the feeling of uneasiness settles in your stomach and your eyes continue to follow her quick-shifting form, matching her movements so that when she ducked or flinched back, so did you. Both fighters have been pretty level with one another so far, both sending out jabs and uppercuts - only for them to be warded off before any real damage could be inflicted. It’s not enough to win though, she needs a clear hit.

Abby goes in for a right hook, ever so slightly clipping Norris’ chin and the crowd ripples in response, hoping for the real fight to begin soon. Norris responds with a clinch to stop her from advancing too quickly, wrapping his arms around and over her. You hated seeing him touch her like that, your own fists clenching at your sides in response.

The bell tolls again signalling the end of the round, both fighters making their way to their respective posts - but not before you see Norris saying something in Abby’s ear. She doesn’t move for a second, eyes unwavering on Norris as he turns his back. For a second you think she might go for him, but she’s worked too hard to let her temper win now. With a shake of her head, she goes over to Coach and plunks down on the ground - tearing off her gloves with her teeth and ripping out her mouthpiece. Her focus is still sharply on Norris across the ring, most likely getting strategy tips and a pep talk in her ear from Coach, reminding her to channel all that anger back into the task at hand. 

You don’t move from your seat in the crowd, wanting to give her the space to fully zone in. She knows you’re here for her and only her, and you provided enough motivation at the beginning of the night to last the duration. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy the view at the moment either, and that those feelings of uneasiness were also coupled with an overwhelming tide of arousal.

The way sweat is dripping down her face and neck, trickling down her chest and onto her arms. How she runs her hands over the top of her head, dousing it in water and brushing through the roots with her fingers to cool off. Yeah… you really hoped she did win tonight, not just because she deserves it from how hard she’s been training, but selfishly a part of you really wants to get fucked good tonight. Especially after the show she’s putting on for you right now. And you know for a fact it’s only for you.

Abby’s let you know multiple times how much she loves you watching her fight, seeing her crush opponents to a pulp and looking absolutely glorious doing so. It’s upsetting that tonight, she isn’t doing so well. But this is what she and Coach wanted, to start moving up the leagues and facing off against better fighters - solidifying her name among the real competition. You try to stop the negative thoughts from creeping in, try to stay positive for your girl.

The rounds keep stacking up, neither Abby or Norris winning the upper hand for long. It’s evident that both fighters are getting aggravated by round 9, their punches falling on the side of reckless, their expressions displeased and downright pissed. You shout as loud as you can, “Come on baby, you can do this!” in the hopes that Abby can hear you over everyone else. And she must have done, as her head slightly turns in your direction on instinct, and Norris’ gloved fist takes the opportunity to make contact with the side of her face in response.

The crowd screams with excitement, satisfied with the fact that something is finally happening. But all you see is red as the blood sprays from Abby’s mouth on impact, her body crashing into the ropes that barely keep her form upright. You take a step forward as does Coach, you both now waiting for the bell to ring so you can meet her at the post. 12 seconds.

Come on, just stay out of his way for a bit longer…avoid the fucker for 12 seconds!

Abby’s so stunned from that first punch that as she tries to right herself on the canvas and pick up her stance, Norris is already waiting with another blow to the face - this time an uppercut that sends her head flying back and her legs out from under her.

No no no no, NO!

5 seconds.

You’re screaming for her to get up as the crowd counts how long she’s been down. 

1…2…3-

“Stand up! Abby stand the FUCK UP!”

A wave of an arm and a twitch of a leg has you screaming in relief, as Abby slowly gets back on her feet before a KO can be declared, just as the bell signals the end of the round.

Abby all but bolts for her corner, leaning her body and head back against the post - her eyes shut from exhaustion and pain. Coach partially moves out of the way for the cutman, who is trying to clean the blood from her face as best they can - the enswell pressing against the areas where Norris’ punches made impact.

You can see she’s starting to give up, that undeniable fire in her eyes has dulled to a mere glow. You can’t stand it. You try to move your head further into her corner to say “Baby, you can do this, you just gotta-”

Before you can finish, Coach has climbed through the ropes so he’s kneeling directly in front of Abby’s hunched figure, grabbing the back of her head so their foreheads are nearly touching.

“You listen to me Anderson. You’re jumping about this ring like a fuckin’ monkey on steroids. Calm the fuck down, focus in on the technique we’ve been working on for months and stop…getting…distracted.”

At this, both heads turn in your direction. Abby’s expression shows you she isn’t angry about being distracted from your support; she knew you were coming from a good place. Coach on the other hand is looking at you like you went up there and hit her yourself. He never liked when you were around, always insisting that partners were just unwanted emotional baggage that could wait until after the last punch was thrown. But Abby refuses to get in the ring if you aren’t watching from the sidelines.

“Not going out there without my girl, Coach - she’s my lucky charm.”

“Well your lucky charm has been making you late to training. Gotta get your head back to the task at hand. You can play housewives later.”

But tonight isn’t the night to bicker with Coach about things that won’t change. You will both always be here for Abby, and right now she needs you. You hold her gaze, giving a smile and a wink - “Are you seriously giving up this easy? You and me both know you’ve got it in you to bring this piece of shit down. Come on Abs…fucking finish it.”

Coach is clapping her shoulders in agreement, lifting Abby up so she can shake out the stiffness and get ready for the next round. What you hope to be the last round. You take your position back up in the crowd, and get ready to cheer for your, and her, life. The bell rings out. 

Round 10.

____________

She makes every punch count, unleashing herself at Norris like a fucking beast. He doesn't know how to respond to it at first, taken aback at how quickly Abby has switched up her fighting style. The renewed vigour in her movements only enrages Norris even further, the confidence that this fight was his now starting to crack under the weight of Abby’s rage.

He still manages to land some blows, but it’s almost as if she’s stopped feeling them - blinded by the sheer animalistic instinct to push through and keep punching. A flurry of blows to Norris’ face causes him to hunch down and over for relief, but what he doesn't realise is that he’s just given her the perfect head shot from above.

The blow comes fast, and hard. You wince as her gloved fist makes impact with the back of his bent head, forcing his body further beneath her.

Norris goes down, face first into the canvas at Abby’s feet. 

Knockout.

The volume of the crowd increases, if that’s even possible, counting along with the MC to ten to see if Norris has it in him to keep going. You’ve never been more relieved when he doesn't move a muscle.

8…9…10! KNOCKOUT!

You’re screaming, jumping with your arms in the air like a crazy person. She won. Abby won. The MC brings her to the centre of the ring, raising her arm with his to signal her victory. She’s shouting too, showing her black mouthguard mixed with the sight of fresh blood, unable to stand still as she takes a victor’s lap, celebrating her win.

Coach rushes up, gripping her in a bear tackle whilst you look on from the sidelines - still trying to come to terms with what you’ve just witnessed. She won. Against ‘Thunderstorm.’ This is what she’s been working towards for months, hoping for the chance to make her name known among the big leagues. Your girlfriend just put herself on the map, and it wasn’t about to go unnoticed…

____________

It takes a while for you all to make your way out of the stadium, fans constantly asking for autographs and pictures with the underdog-turned-champion of the night. It was nice to see. Finally, Abby was getting the recognition she deserves. Coach was eating that shit up, as expected, spreading the word to anyone that listened that we had a new heavyweight world champion in the making. Abby would get that glint in her eye at every mention of the ultimate title: world champion.

Her head might as well be made of glass, because you can see exactly what’s happening up in that brain of hers as she processes the weight of what’s happened tonight. She can see the prize that has never been in reach now that little bit closer. And she wants it. Bad. You go to remind her to take it one step at a time, but you know it would be received the wrong way.

A number of journalists and presenters were waiting by the entrance of the stadium as you emerged into the cold night. They rush you as soon as they spot Abby. You weren’t expecting so many people to come at you with cameras and microphones, reaching around, past, through you to get to her. A flurry of voices swarm the now enclosed space.

“Anderson, how do you feel after tonight’s knockout performance?”

“Who’s next on your kill list?”

“Are you staking your claim on the heavyweight belt?”

“How will you be celebrating tonight, Abby?”

Overwhelmed, you take a step back so Abby is ahead of you - Coach now placing his arm around her shoulders to also lean into the microphones held up against Abby’s mouth. 

“The next fight is coming sooner than you think. Anderson is ready to take on any of these amateurs and claim the title that is rightfully hers.”

The interviewers all look to Abby expectantly, hoping she seconds the statements made. Of course she does. It’s Abby.

“I’m ready for the next fight. This is what I’ve been training for and I'm not going to slow down now. Put any fighter in front of me and I’ll deal a knockout to whoever wants one.”

You hear this and let out a long breath. This was the flaw that irked you most about Abby. She never knows when to take a break - to step back and appreciate how much she’s already achieved. Once she gets something, it’s on to the next. You just worry that she’s going to burn herself out.

As expected, her comment only invited them to ask more, now wanting to hear the name of the next person she wants to challenge and when that would be. Coach begins to move you all forward again, giving that cheshire smile he’s perfected and a sly “you’ll have to wait and see” - most likely aiming to leave some suspense in the air so more articles are printed tomorrow. 

All three of you go to move through the reporters, making your way to a black SUV waiting just ahead. From where you took a step back, the crowd sees an opening and begins to slot themselves in between you and Abby, hot on her heels with more burning questions. When she turns her head to answer them, that signature smirk on her face is quickly replaced with alarm, then stone cold anger.

One reporter is physically elbowing you out of the way to get a better angle for his picture, the flash blinding you for a second, causing your head to snap the opposite direction. 

You hear her voice ring out over everyone.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend and back away. Now.”

She pushes through until she’s in front of elbow-camera guy, who is currently regretting his choices now Abby is towering over him, his mouth slightly open with a mixture of awe and fear.

“Do you think it’s ok to treat a woman like that? Do you think you can push my woman out of the way and expect me to pose for a photo?”

He’s frozen to the spot, and Abby only raises her eyebrows in response. Taking your hand and pulling you to her side, she turns you both around after muttering “watch yourself” to the wimp you leave behind. 

“Sorry baby” she whispers in your ear, thumb brushing down the side of your arm. Placing a hand on the small of your back, she leads you both through to the SUV and watches you get into the car before joining you. The voices now muffled; you finally release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding in since the start of the night. She was fine. She’s safe. Everything’s ok again.

Now you finally have a chance to talk just the two of you - well, you and Abby and Coach - you want to make sure she isn’t serious about jumping straight into another fight. But when she turns to you, her eyes alight with pure happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, you decide to have that talk in the morning.

You have a champion to take home…

____________

The minute you get through the front door of your apartment, you’re leading her to the bathroom to get cleaned up. She’s got that dazed look in her eyes of someone in a dream. Only this dream is real, and you couldn't be happier for her. But God, does she look rough. Hot, always, but rough.

“Did you see how fast he went down when I threw that last punch, bubs? I felt like my chest was going to explode during those 10 seconds, it felt like a lifetime to wait. I need to start thinking about my next move with Coach and strategizing ‘cos I could never use exactly the same technique, these fighters are way smarter than any of those fuckin’ rookies I’ve fought before and-”

“Woah, Abs slow down.” You give a slight chuckle as she realises her rambling, holding her hands up in defeat - allowing you to lightly push at her shoulders so she can sit on the toilet. You grab the first aid bag in the cabinet, packed with the essentials that have come in handy many times through the years. The cutman at every fight has of course offered to clean Abby up, but you always took it upon yourself to take care of her wounds at the end of the night. You both liked it that way. You were gentler, caring.

Getting down on your knees in front of her, you get to work wiping the dried blood from her face, placing cold packs and plasters over her swollen cheek and jaw. She sits there in silence, patiently watching you do it all - her hands trailing over your face, neck, arms.

“ ‘m sorry for not noticing you got left behind…don’t want you to think I forgot about you or anything. I just get carried away with it all, ya know?” she mutters, cutting through the silence - cupping the side of your face with her hand as her fingers begin to brush through your hair. You close your eyes as you revel in the feel of it, nuzzling into her palm to give it a kiss.

“It wasn’t your fault, bubs. Besides, you came to my rescue in the end…like always” - you give another kiss to her open palm, reaching up to take her hand in both of yours so you can kiss her sore knuckles.

“Besides, it was kinda worth getting pushed just so I could see you make that guy absolutely shit himself.” You both burst out laughing, leaning in close to one another as if you were best friends sharing a secret. This was the Abby that only you saw. The one who didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders, who could just be and not think about the next move.

You whisper, “I’m so proud of you,” and she almost begins glowing with pleasure from your praise.

Abby pulls you in by your face, hands back to cupping either side, eyes turning mischievous. 

“I nearly forgot…I have one more thing I need to do tonight.”

You grin up at her, “oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She leans in further, her mouth stopping to hover just next to your ear, whispering “I need to fuck you like a champion.”

Her hand comes down to cup you through your jeans, squeezing ever so slightly. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this ever since they declared KO, getting wetter by the minute just thinking about the moment when she fucks you good and proper. 

“Come on baby…time for round 1.”

[areyoudreaminof]

some word salad behind the cut

I never thought I’d ever get into writing. My self esteem is so minimal it’s nearly non existent, so I had never bothered to try. But I started writing last year and found I was enjoying it. I made grand plans to write more until I didn’t.

My passion became my poison, suddenly.

As I scrolled through endless fics and writers much more talented than I am, my anxiety perched itself on my shoulder like a crow and squawked in my ear.

“The shit you’re putting out? No wonder nobody is reading it. You’re writing boring stuff. Who gives a fuck about kids and one shots?” It would say. I’d reply that I didn’t want to write smut. I don’t like doing it and it felt silly.

“So why are you writing at all?” Anxiety Crow said, “That’s what people want. And you can’t even do that.”

It came to a head right before Elucien Week. Last year, I wrote three fics I am still immensely proud of. One of which opened a door for me with the first Next Gen characters I came up with. I had assumed that I’d have something else lined up for this year's Elucien Week.

But in that year, I had a lot of personal changes and mental health challenges that weren’t getting better. I made the mistake of starting a long fic and it became this beast that I couldn’t tame. Even one shots and snippets became a chore. I’d have to force myself to finish a chapter, to try and translate the images I saw in my head to paper, but it wasn’t working. This coincided with my depression peaking in early 2024, in which I got suicidal and had to seek help.

By January, I’d gotten more frustrated with my writing, by June, I despised writing in its entirety. Three days before Elucien Week was due to begin, I hovered my mouse over DELETE ACCOUNT on AO3 and nearly trashed a year worth of work. I decided to take a step back to clear my head and to put a stop to this toxic competition I had with myself. I didn’t want to lose the hobby I’d grown to love and destroy the new friendships I’d made. I was absolutely terrified of losing those wonderful friends I’ve made and I felt so guilty and angry at myself for fumbling the bag and not writing anything.

I can’t even tell you why I obsessed over it, I may never go back to writing at all, but the weight of that self hatred has eased up from my chest. It’s not eating me alive anymore. That’s not to say it’s gone of course. Just the other day I had another major moment of doubt, and nearly trashed everything, again. I’m trying to parse through my own mind constantly to sort out my own spirals and triggers. Some days it’s working, others it’s not.

I think I’m now telling you about it, because I’m sure you’re feeling it too. People reached out to me to check on me when I left and others to let me know they were having the same problems. The feelings of inferiority among fandom, the nagging expectations we placed on ourselves. Never mind any of the challenges we face in our daily lives. What’s the worth of my mental health and happiness and why the fuck do I keep measuring it like this?

Whatever comes of this break, I hope that all of us can find our self worth, wherever it is. I see so many incredible artists, writers, and people that inspire me to want to keep going. If you’re reading this, you’re one of them.

Take a breath and take a break. We’ll figure it out.

[shiny-crocodile]

the best person i’ve ever met

lucy bronze x ona batlle

Summary

lucy and ona origin story; semi-slow burn, semi-quick; multi chapters that will get a little smutty

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10

CHAPTER 6

Chapter summary: dessert and disaster dates

Chapter notes: back with a quick one to keep the smut girls happy, enjoy

Smut

The girls were competitive, and not only was that helpful for being the two best fullbacks in the world, it was also helpful for having the best sex.

Lucy did as she was told and pulled off her t-shirt, tugging on Ona’s to do the same, leaving the younger girl completely topless while Lucy was still in a bra.

The older girl leant forward to kiss Ona’s chest, she just couldn’t help herself.

“Noooooo Lucy,” Ona complained, loving Lucy’s obsession with her chest but determined to have her way.

Pushing Lucy back she climbed on top of the English girl. “You’re not great at doing as you’re told, are you?” Ona asked, a glimmer of dominance in her eyes.

Not one to be told she’s not good at something, Lucy knew she had to prove her wrong, “I am, well I will be from now.”

The Spaniard wrapped an arm around Lucy’s back, unfastening her bra before discarding it to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Ona gasped, sitting back to take in the girl under her, “you’re fucking perfect.”

The younger player leaned back in, mouth tugging at Lucy’s earlobe with her teeth before whispering, “I hope you’re ready, gonna make you scream my name louder than you’ve screamed any name before.”

Lucy was now impossibly turned on as Ona started kissing down her neck, having to bite her lip before asking, “wait, what was your name again?”

Ona snorted out a beast of a laugh. For most, the ill timed joke and unsexy snort would ruin the moment, but both girls absolutely loved this, providing a new level of intimacy.

“Idiota.”

The Spaniard got back on task, wrapping her lips around Lucy’s nipple, moving her tongue around it as her hand got to work on the other.

Lucy was in another world, she wouldn’t have been able to make another joke even if she wanted to.

But she needed that mouth somewhere else. She nestled her fingers in Ona’s hair, gently tugging to encourage the younger girl’s journey further south.

Ona took the hint, leaving the older girl’s chest to kiss over her abs, marking them up as she undid Lucy’s trousers, slipping them off to leave the English girl in her soaked knickers and not much else.

“You’re so wet,” Ona observed, pulling down Lucy’s knickers to get a better look, marvelling at the juices covering the girl’s pussy and stringing to her underwear.

Lucy still couldn’t bring herself to respond and Ona wouldn’t make that any easier, slowly licking up the girls thigh before biting the skin at the top, drawing an insatiable moan from the girl under her.

“Jesus!” Lucy growled as Ona took her first lick up her folds.

Ona paused, licking her own lips, “You taste insane.”

Lucy was a praise girl, nothing turned her on more, providing even more juices for Ona to lap up.

“Your tongue is insane,” Lucy managed to utter out as Ona firmed up her tongue, starting to slowly fuck Lucy’s pussy.

The noises coming from both ends of Lucy were delicious, she clutched Ona’s hair tighter as the younger girl picked up her pace.

Lucy’s hips bucked, moving herself against Ona’s face, getting everything she needed and more.

Ona groaned against Lucy, both girls getting wetter as the older girl took more control of the situation.

“Suck,” Lucy chocked out, half demanding, half begging.

Obviously Ona instantly obliged. She relaxed her rigid tongue, starting to suck on Lucy’s clit, bringing her hand up to bury 2 finger at once into Lucy’s tight pussy.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiit,” Lucy cried out at the intrusion, Ona curving her fingers as she pumped, hitting the older girl right where she needed her while keeping up the attention on her clit.

Lucy was hurtling towards her high, wanting to make this last longer but having absolutely zero control of that.

She clenched her thighs around Ona’s head as she came, gasping for air but not able to fully catch her breath.

Ona showed zero signs of slowing down, continuing to suck her clit and moving her fingers in and out of the older girl.

“I can’t,” Lucy said, not sure if she could take much more but also not willing to push Ona away.

“You’ve not screamed my name yet,” Ona murmured, not giving up until she achieved her goal.

Already sensitive and rapidly approaching her second orgasm in a matter of minutes, Lucy couldn’t hold back anymore, a new sensation washing over her.

“Ona. Onaaaa. ONA!!” Lucy screamed, squirting as she gushed uncontrollably into the younger girls mouth.

This was a rarity for the older girl, she never squirted. Like ever. Embarrassment flooded over her as the younger girl’s head stayed between her legs.

The Spaniard removed her fingers, allowing her greater access to swallow the juices, before taking great attention in cleaning her up.

“Oh my god,” Ona said, incredibly proud of herself as she gave a soft kiss to Lucy’s clit.

Ona looked up at the girl, seeing a combination of lust, longing and a hint of embarrassment. She was most concerned about the latter.

The younger girl brought her mouth to Lucy’s, letting the English girl taste herself on her tongue.

“Don’t you taste delicious?” Ona asked, the ego boost helping Lucy’s embarrassment.

“Sorry for squirting,” Lucy said, her cheeks a deep shade of pink as she sat up, looking at the mess she had made beneath her.

Ona pushed her shoulder gently, “never apologise for that. That was amazing. Plus I wanted a new sofa anyway.”

“You were amazing,” Lucy returned the compliment, kissing Ona softly before wrapping her arms round the younger girl, pulling her down to lay on her.

“I’m 31 years old and that’s maybe the second time that’s ever happened,” Lucy confessed, “I don’t even want to know where you learned how to do that.”

“And I don’t want to know about the first,” Ona said, both girls chuckling at the hint of their jealous sides appearing at the same time.

They lay there in blissful silence, legs intertwined, Lucy gently massaging Ona’s head that laid on her chest while Ona used her hand to softly draw patterns across Lucy’s stomach.

Too exhausted and content to move, both girls’ breathing started to slow as they fell asleep, wrapped in each other on a slightly damp sofa but not caring one bit.

////

Hours later the younger girl started to stir, light flooding in through the curtain-less window.

They were in the exact same position they fell asleep in, so intertwined that Ona knew if she moved too much she would wake the older girl, still sleeping beneath her, so she laid there a little longer.

After a few minutes she gently lifted herself up, doing her best not to disturb her guest. She looked down at her, the light streaming in was catching the older girl’s naked body perfectly, making Ona laugh internally that she ever thought she would be strong enough to resist this, grateful that she had zero willpower.

“Stop staring, you creep,” Lucy said, not even opening her eyes but just sensing Ona’s eyes on her. Ona laughed, not even denying it.

The older girl’s eyes fluttered open, her turn to take the sight of Ona in. And what a sight it was to wake up to, she was mesmerised by the topless girl, “morning bonita.”

Head spinning at the sound of Lucy’s sexy morning voice, the younger girl leaned down to softly kiss her.

“Sorry about the morning breath,” Ona said, pulling away before Lucy pulled her back in for another.

“Mmm, I kind of like it.”

“Ewwww,” Ona said, sitting up, “now who’s the creep?”

Lucy laughed as the younger girl climbed off her.

Suddenly conscious of how completely naked she was, and feeling slightly exposed, the older girl lifted herself off the sofa.

“Just grabbing some clothes,” she said, walking away towards her bag in the hallway, arse on full display.

Ona bit down on her lip. Hard.

“Wait,” she said, hurrying after her before wrapping her arms round Lucy from behind to stop her walking, “not yet.”

////

They christened many spots around the flat, taking it in turns to draw orgasms out of the other. Starting on the kitchen counter, then in the armchair, followed by the bed, and ending with Ona pushed up against the wall of the shower.

“Well that was pretty fun,” Lucy said, wrapping Ona in a towel as they exited the shower, before grabbing one to wrap herself in.

“You’re pretty and fun,” Ona said, booping Lucy’s nose with her finger, finding the older girl extra adorable with her wet hair loose and skin pinker from the heat of the shower.

“So what do you want to do today?” Lucy asked, removing the new tangles in her hair with Ona’s hairbrush, “my flights not till 8 tonight.”

Ona felt a wave of sadness from being reminded that they would only have that one night together before Lucy had to go back to Barcelona.

“Shall we go out for breakfast?” Ona asked.

“Yeah I’m starving,” Lucy agreed. They may have had sex all over the flat but they hadn’t had anything to eat (well, actual food).

“Did you wanna catch up with anyone else while you’re here?” Ona asked, referencing the fact that lots of Lucy’s friends lived in Manchester.

Lucy shook her head, “nah, I’m here for you bonita.”

Ona smiled, giving Lucy’s arm a squeeze as she moved past to leave the bathroom and get ready for their outing.

////

“You’re ordering something chocolate free?” Lucy asked in a state of shock as the waiter left their table.

Ona rolled her eyes, she didn’t always have chocolate for breakfast, just 9 out of 10 times maybe.

“Might have done it so you would eat some of mine and then I won’t feel too bad about eating some of yours,” Ona confessed, looking longingly at another tables plate of chocolate pancakes.

Lucy laughed, “don’t be silly, get what you want, you can have some of mine anyway.”

Ona shook her head, “it’s ok, we can share this way.”

Lucy loved how Ona had decided they were sharing anyway, without even consulting her.

Watching the Spaniard stare at the pancakes on the table next to them and licking her lips subconsciously, Lucy got up and marched over to the waiter.

Returning quickly after she informed Ona, “right, we are sharing pancakes and eggs benedict.”

“But you won’t eat the pancakes,” Ona protested.

Lucy booped her nose the same way Ona had to her earlier, “promise, I will.”

////

Lucy stayed true to her word, forgoing half her plate for half of Ona’s. She knew who had the better deal in her eyes, but she didn’t really care. She’d eat a dessert for breakfast every morning if it meant Ona was happy, well maybe not every morning.

Being a typical rainy day in Manchester, they opted to just spend the rest of the day cuddling and watching movies, making their way from rom coms, to dramas, to marvel.

Both girls were having the loveliest time, paying more attention to each other than they were the tv for the most part.

“Yesterday might have been my best date ever, you know,” Ona confessed after being deep in thought for a few minutes while Iron Man 2 played in the background.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy asked, leaning down to kiss the top of the Spaniards head, full of pride at the sweet confession. “From worst date ever to best date ever in a matter of weeks, we move fast baby.”

Ona shook her head softly against Lucy’s chest.

“Nah, don’t get me wrong, the last one was pretty bad but not the worst,” Ona said, eyes still on the screen but not paying much attention as Lucy dragged her fingers up and down the younger girls arm.

“Go on,” Lucy said, wanting to know what could possibly have been worse.

“Where to begin, there’s been a few,” Ona started, leaning up to face Lucy, “I nearly killed someone once.”

“No way!”

“I made her a cake with nuts in, completely forgetting that she was allergic. Her face blew up to the size of a beach ball,” Ona explained, pretty nonchalantly.

“Was she,” Lucy paused, slightly worried to finish the question and find the answer, “okay?”

“She was fine, she had her epipen but she sent me a 5 paragraph message the next day accusing me of trying to kill her.”

Both girls burst out laughing.

“Murder by dessert,” Lucy said between chuckles, picturing Ona’s reaction at being accused of attempted murder.

“She told her friends as well, I got a bit of a reputation in Valencia because of it.”

Lucy joked, “the almond assassin,” setting both girls off into a fit of laughter. Bodies shaking against each other.

“Have you had any that rival that?” Ona asked once their laughter had eased off.

“Mmmm maybe not quite attempted murder,” Lucy laughed, “I did go on this date once and it was going really well, we got on, conversation flowed, it was just a good vibe.”

Ona sat up further to look at Lucy, intrigued as to where this was going.

“We went back to hers to, you know,” Lucy continued, Ona nodding, “and I go in and there’s a huge Man United cushion on the sofa, real vibe killer.”

The Man U player grabbed the cushion in question and whacked Lucy over the head with it, “you’re an idiot.”

////

As the day went on, the clock on the wall was constantly being checked, torturing them as they watched their time together slowly run out.

As they finished washing up after devouring some pasta Ona had made, Lucy scrubbing dishes and Ona drying, it was time for Lucy to drag herself into the bedroom to pick up her bag.

“You sure I can’t drive you?” Ona asked, kind of hoping Lucy would agree at the 5th time of asking.

“Traffic will be a nightmare and I don’t want you to have to drive back in it alone,” Lucy said, stroking her hands up and down Ona’s arms, bag on her back. “I can call you from the car though if you want?”

Ona laughed, “don’t be silly, I’m not going to completely fall apart without you. Just let me know when you land safe.”

Lucy looked down at her phone, it buzzing as the driver was a minute away.

“I’ve had the best time,” Lucy said before leaning down and kissing Ona gently, wrapping her in the tightest of hugs.

“So have I, thank you for coming.”

“It was my pleasure,” Lucy said cheekily, making Ona scoff and playfully hit her arm.

“Perv,” Ona said, giving her a final peck, “see you in a few weeks.”

“Bye bonita.”

As Lucy left she was already excited for the next time she’d see her, at Stamford Bridge in 19 days, not that she was counting…

Before she’d even climbed into the taxi she heard her phone ring.

“Did I forget something?” Lucy asked, answering.

“Mmm no, I just do miss you already after all.”

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

thinking about the fe games w/ routes (fates and three houses specifically but probably others idfk)

i think there needs to be more tragedy there. or opportunities for it i guess? or that fire emblem has to make unique death quotes for characters in general man

death in fire emblem feels so blah for me. more of an inconvenience than in other media. like when im playing DnD and an npc i love dies it isnt "man that sucks. anyway" but even w characters i love in fire emblem its just "man do i wanna reset the chapter for this that was so lame"

make death and especially betrayal related deaths Hurt More.

lets say youre byleth. youre teaching the black eagles, yay! but you have a b support with claude. you and claude are good buddies, maybe you just like claude as a character or its accidental because of x y z does Not matter. either way you are one of claudes closest friends. then the war starts, and you choose to side with a woman claude sees as a future tyrant (or at the very least a driven warmonger who might crush the alliance underneath her boot). imagine the hurt. the absolute fucking agony for claude.

and for byleth! byleth wakes up and their friend is gone. on another side, unreachable, 5 years of emotional distance *yawning* in front of them.

and then they reunite in the midst of battle, weapons drawn. theyve both come so far and have goals they *have* to achieve.

"I don't want this."

too bad. if you roll over, you get a game over because you fuckin failed the route. or you have to make someone else kill claude because sumn sumn mechanically you have a 0% hit rate bc of that b support. you cant do it.

too bad. claude cant run away, hes the last line of defense for a place hes responsible for. if he leaves what is he? a coward? a turncoat? would he have to believe in edelgard's future? would he have to slay his own allies, friends, the people who relied on him?

he cant. you cant.

he begs you to reconsider. you cant.

as he falls he reaches out a hand. you kneel beside him as he says a few things. calls this whole battle a clever gambit, praises your cunning in using effective weaponry, etc etc. but his voice is weaker. theres no option to spare him, you couldnt spare any *other* unit, could you? couldn't spare hilda. cant spare claude.

he mentions sometimes dreaming of the monastery. the food was good, right? hope the foods good in the future you build with edelgard. hope you name a town after him, thatd be fun. dont get stupid, teach, dont join him too soon. maybe he'll even wait for ya. keep a seat warm.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

then also: units in your own army.

lets say youre playing black eagles. its nearish endgame but not too close so i dont say any spoilers, but regardless bernadetta and yuri have an A support. they might get hitched postgame man, you havent done the A support of anyone else w those two. its a rough battle, your healer is severely low on psychic uses, you sold all your fucking vulneraries because you thought dorothea was more of a beast than she is. its dire.

unexpected sniper crit. yuri is on 0 hp.

bernadetta is within 5 tiles and instead of yuri's canned death quote, bernie interjects with one of the most well voiced anguished screams youve ever fucking heard. on the next turn, bernie gets +50 hit *and* crit on that enemy, and if she kills it the rest of the scene plays.

bernie is holding yuri, one of her few friends in her hellish fucking life. hes not gonna make it, she knows that, but shes still gonna try. shes wailing and begging him to stay like she wished she had all those fucking years ago, shes babbling about all the things he'll miss if he goes, all the things shes planned for them to do now that shes brave enough to leave her bedroom. he cuts her off to laugh. now is when she gets brave and honest with her feelings? when hes dying? oh bernie come on. he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug, kissing her temple like an old boyfriend and not a quiet yearning crush. he murmurs that hes glad she left her bedroom. that hes glad she can see the world beyond what abuse happened to her behind closed doors. that she'll find some other person to hold in his stead, one who wont so rudely get his blood on her battle leathers. one who wont leave her time and time again like he has. she wails into his shoulder as she drops the scraps of cloth she had been trying to use to stop his bleeding and just holds her dying friend.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

if death felt like An Event and not An Inconvenience i'd play with permadeath more man. make me sad fire emblem youre so shit at it

.