#by the strange pull

[cavalierious-whim]

Making Eyes and Pheromones (NeuWrioLette)

Part of 'by the strange pull'.

Neuvillette has a rare urge to mark up Wriothesley for the entire public to see.

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky.

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--

There is little that bothers him and yet, today, the sight of Wriothesley's open collar drives him mad.

Neuvillette stares, his gaze washing over Wriothesley's form. Handsome, he’s always so handsome with that damnable crooked grin, and the slight hunch of his shoulders as he leans down. But his collar—it’s open more than usual, an extra button undone. 

Wriothesley scratches at the skin on display idly, looking over a stack of papers that a Garde just handed him. Neuvillette tracks the movement like a predator, like Wriothesley is his—

“If you take a picture it may last longer,” drawls Sigewinne from Neuvillette’s side. 

He startles, and when he meets her face, Sigewinne shoots him a grin that just knows—knows that he doesn’t want her to know, knows things that shouldn’t even be thought of. Neuvillette pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Miss Sigewinne—”

“Oh don’t you Miss Sigewinne me, Monsieur. I know the look of an alpha in—”

“I beg of you to not finish whatever it is you’re about to say.”

Sigewinne does so anyway.  “In desperate need,” she says, just a little too loudly.

So rarely does Neuvillette’s alpha flare in his chest but Miss Sigewinne comes close to coaxing it out. “Miss Sigewinne,” he begins, only for her to talk right over him.

“I get it, you know? One handsome guy pines for the other handsome guy—”

“Sigewinne.”

“—A little keyed up. Hot and bothered. And look at him, all that skin on display.” Sigewinne laughs and waggles her eyebrows. “You know if you wanna sneak off to his office I’m more than willing to cover for you.”

“I do not want to do that. I will not do that,” replies Neuvillette tersely. 

“Oh boo,” sighs Sigewinne, visibly deflating. “You’re no fun.” Then she reaches up and punches at his bicep. “Still, you’re making eyes and pheromones. Get all of that under control, even if it’s some like necking or—”

Neuvillette turns away and leaves before he can hear the rest of what Sigewinne says. Absurd. Absurd. He doesn’t need Sigewinne’s unwarranted relationship advice and yet—

His eyes still linger, tracing the edge of Wriothesley's collar, sweeping over the swell of his pectorals and down the line of his collarbone. He sighs again, quietly reigning back the instincts that rage through his veins, and everything seems to fall back into place.

At least until a pretty little thing rests her hand against Wriothesley's arm.

#

Wriothesley falls against his desk with a thud, legs spreading the moment Neuvillette slips close. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t,” hisses Neuvillette, shoving his face into the crook of Wriothesley's neck. He inhales deeply, choking on his scent, drowning in the smell of leather, tea, and machine oil. This is what he’s addicted to, this is what he craves. 

“Hey.” Wriothesley tilts immediately and without question, the line of his neck on display. His fingers curl into Neuvillette’s hair and he tugs. “Are you okay?”

“That woman,” murmurs Neuvillette, nuzzling sweaty skin, chasing with a forked tongue for a taste. 

“Woman? Neuvillette, what woman?”

“The one who got a little too close.”

There is a pause as Wriothesley considers this. “Roselin? The Garde? My subordinate? Neuvillette, she isn’t—”

“I know that she isn’t. Wriothesley, I’m no fool, I know that you don’t—” Neuvillette groans softly. “I’m better than this. You know it, I know it. But I can’t help it, I can’t—” He’s so frustrated.

Wriothesley laughs, cradling Neuvillette’s cheeks in his palms. “Neuvillette.” He pulls back and tugs on Neuvillette's face to look at him. “What do you need?”

“You,” replies Neuvillette, turning to nip at one of Wriothesley's thumbs. “I can smell her on you—”

“A travesty.”

“You don’t smell like me—”

“Oh, that’s even worse.”

Neuvillette frowns. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” laughs Wriothesley, thumbing over the arch of Neuvillette’s cheekbone. “Tell me, baby, what do you need?”

There are a thousand things that Neuvillette needs, that his alpha needs. Arousal bleeds into his veins, coursing through his being like the high tide chasing the moon. Neuvillette rarely desires a claim—but oh, he needs to claim Wriothesley, to sink his teeth into his scarred flesh and taste it, to mark him up for everyone else to see and know. 

“Sigewinne—”

“Are you seriously mentioning her right now?”

“—said that I should take a picture and that it would last longer. But Wriothesley, a picture isn’t enough. I need for you to bear my marks, to wear my claim if you’re going to be so openly… brazen.” He teases the edge of his collar with his claws. 

“I lost a button,” explains Wriothesley. 

“You could have changed into a fresh shirt, beloved. Your closet is right over there.”

“I could have,” he agrees. 

Neuvillette’s gaze sharpens. “Oh,” he breathes, tilting his head. “This is on purpose then? All with the intent to tease me?”

“More like treat you.”

That makes Neuvillette’s chest rumble with pleasure. His mate has spent the entire day putting on a display for him. That—yes, that is satisfying. He leans close again, pressing his nose against Wriothesley’s nape and purrs. “What a good boy,” he says against his skin. “What a good mate.”

Wriothesley stiffens in surprise, and were Neuvillette in a better mind, he’d realize he’s never said that aloud, but at that moment he’s thinking of other things like sinking his fangs into Wriothesley’s scent gland, or sucking as many marks as he can into his scarred flesh.

“Go on, then.” Wriothesley presents himself so readily, so easily. His scent is placid and full of arousal. He wants this too, his fingers curling into Neuvillette’s hair to tug him close as he goads him on. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I’m all yours.”

Neuvillette has such a love-hate with the pet name, but he drinks it up here. Wriothesley's skin is hot underneath his mouth. He drags his fangs across scars and the thick leather cording of Wriothesley’s choker. Down to where his collar hangs open, trailing suckling marks the entire way.

Wriothesley moans. His legs spread eagerly and Neuvillette slips close, hands falling to Wriothesley's hips to yank at them.  Wriothesley is hard. Neuvillette trills, smiling against him as he palms at his cock through the stiff fabric of his clothing. “You smell divine. You feel divine.”

“Needy,” says Wriothesley with a click of his tongue, hips rising to rub his erection against Neuvillette’s. “You must be a certain way to accost me here.”

“I already told you what I need.” Neuvillette’s teeth sink deep enough to sting, latching into the meat of Wriothesley's collarbone. “But for you to offer it up so easily? Mhmmn.”

Neuvillette’s alpha flares, drunk on the tangy scent of Wriothesley's arousal. The friction is to die for. He tugs Wriothesley's shirt from his trousers and settles the flat of his palm against the searing heat of Wriothesley's back. A moan gets caught in Neuvillette’s throat as he bites his way back up the column of Wriothesley's throat, delighting in how the muscle twitches under his mouth.

Wriothesley catches his free hand, causing Neuvillette to let loose a soft snarl. “Hey, easy there,” he says, tugging that hand down to his crotch. “I just want you to touch me.”

Just like that, all those terse instincts bleed away. “Yes,” says Neuvillette, nodding against Wriothesley's temple. “Yes, yes.”

Wriothesley undoes his trousers swiftly, lifting his ass to shove them down around his ankles. Neuvillette is quick too, wrapping his fingers around his cock, stroking it from base to tip.

“Oh, fuck—”

“Beloved,” says Neuvillette, nipping at the line of his shoulder, right where his collar is pressed open. “All I want is for everyone to know that you’re mine.”

Wriothesley whines as he strokes his length again. “Yeah, yeah.”

Neuvillette squeezes the head and thumbs across the tip, spreading the precome, all the while sucking at his neck with a groan. “Wriothesley—”

“Mate,” says Wriothesley, “that’s what you said. You should—”

“I’m not biting you here.” Even if he wants to, even if Neuvillette is desperate to sink his teeth into that scent gland as Wriothesley writhes against him. Oh, the desire is there. He needs that—Sovereigns, he needs that. Another time and place. “I’ll sequester you,” he murmurs, the words dripping with heat. “I’ll mark you and you will not be allowed to leave my bed for days. We’d—”

Wriothesley covers the hand Neuvillette has on his dick with his own, squeezing it tighter. Fingers lock together and Wriothesley guides him to stroke his length harder, faster. “Like that,” he whispers. “Fuck, yeah—”

Neuvillette bites him, truly bites him, teeth sinking deeply into the juncture of Wriothesley's neck and shoulder. Right next to where his scent is the strongest. So, so close to that gland that begs to be taken. And then Neuvillette unlatches and sinks them down again, and again, and again.

Wriothesley goes taut against the desk and comes, spilling all over their hands. His other hand is curled around Neuvillette’s neck, holding him there against him, lax and so, so—

Neuvillette falls in love with him more with every subtle display of submission. For Wriothesley it isn’t submission, it’s trust, freely given. He craves this too, Neuvillette’s closeness and claim, and he sighs softly as Neuvillette strokes him through that blinding orgasm. 

Blood wells from the bite marks, and Neuvillette laps at them, moaning as he tastes metal and brine. He could drink it up and thrive on it. His own blood pulses as he thinks, Wriothesley, Wriothesely, Wriothesley.

Wriothesley is gentle as he pets Neuvillete’s hair. “Better?”

No. Yes. Maybe. His alpha has calmed, at least, appeased for the moment as he leans back and looks at his work. Neuvillette thumbs over teeth marks and purpling skin. “I… apologize.” He should know better, behave better.

“For what?” Wriothesley laughs and pulls Neuvillette forward by his cravat. “I do think I begged for you to take what you wanted.”

Neuvillette’s anxiety creeps him when he remembers a very specific utterance thrown out in the heat of the moment. “Wriothesley, we should talk about—”

“It’s not like I don’t know.” Wriothesely cups Neuvillette’s cheeks and drags his lips towards his. “We’ll talk about it later, though, not here. Can I have a kiss, please?”

He makes it so easy. Neuvillette’s worry sloughs off him like old scales when Wriothesley's face tilts up to press their lips together. Sweet and lingering despite their natures. Wriothesley laughs against him, teasing Neuvillette’s skin with the pad of his thumb. When they part to breathe, Wriothesley asks, “How bad do I look?”

Neuvillette clears his throat and pulls at his collar, embarrassed. 

“Oh.” Wriothesley's mouth curves into a smirk. “That bad, huh?”

“It will certainly… make a statement.”

Wriothesley hums. “Plus your scent all over me—”

“It’s not as though we are a secret.”

“Well, no, but—”

“I wanted it. I am not…” Neuvillette chuckles, tugging at Wriothesley's collar. “This damned collar. I’ll have nightmares about it for days.”

“Nightmares? Or nightmares?” Wriothesley waggles his eyebrows. “Speaking of, you didn’t—”

“Later. You owe me dinner anyhow after postponing the one earlier this week.”

Wriothesely gives him a fond look, something soft and crinkled that pulls at the edges of his eyes. He kisses Neuvillette’s knuckles. “Alright. Tonight. In the meantime—” Wriothese then winces, remembering something. “Sigewinne.”

“It’s her fault. Blame her for this when she demands to bandage you up.” Neuvillette strands properly, and steps away, leaving Wriothesley leaning against his desk, still half-naked and with his dick out. 

“I won’t let her,” says Wriothesely as he tugs his trousers back up. “I want others to look. I want—” He swallows underneath Neuvillette’s heated stare. “Point is I want the same thing.”

Neuvillette’s old dragon instincts chur, pleased. He lets himself steal one last kiss before leaving. 

Outside, Sigewinne shoots him an offensive smirk, to which Neuvillette allows himself the rare indulgence of giving her a rude gesture in return.

[adriles]

they are Cancelling me for dealing with my grief as best i can . also for the vicious war Crimes

[polinsated]

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 283

Now Jason would like it known that there was no mpreg situation going on. He isn’t even sure where people got that idea in the first place. Sure, he had taken a few Cores from the goons-in-white who had dared to set up in his turf. 

And sure maybe the excess energy from the pit (no wonder he’d been so irritable) was what said baby halfas (Okay, so they’re half human? Alright) had used to reform. And maybe the oldest is visibly less than a year old. 

But there Was No Mpreg Situation! He is this close to shooting someone! It was annoying (and slightly amusing) when it was just his goons, but now the Bats have seemingly got it in their heads! Dear Gotham it’s a good thing he’s not planning on like, ever revealing who he is because he would never be able to live this rumor down. 

[Winged Ghosts Au too, that seems to be getting lost in reblogs when it's just in the tags lol]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i have a Scene - a Plot if you will - that backs this as context. y'all are gonna have to trust me on this one <3 or read the tags...

[ditzybat]

janet: should we be concerned that our teenage son is hanging out with our strange middle aged neighbor with two sons - one dead one estranged - that hold similar appearance to ours? and who suspiciously has him over at his home sporadically throughout the week?

jack: nah, but hey look let’s be amateur archaeologists despite having a medical company to run and a young son, that’s definitely not committing illegal vigilantism, to raise!

janet: you’re right, how silly of me!

[salamispots]

dream logic means freshwater sharks are more dangerous than ocean sharks and that they can be out of water/glide across sand on reinforced fins lmao

[arthur-lesters-right-arm]

​me and the bad bitch i pulled. uh. A knife out of

Haha yeah Arthur got stabbed again I don't think he's gonna make it this time

[aquickstart]

ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

[alphabetcompletionist]

i wanna see one of the tumblr girlies write a post sexualizing the library of babel in their absurd way. although i guess it already exists in there

AB DEFGHI LMNOP RSTU WXYZ

21/26

[candycryptids]

Do you think the WoL dreams of Ardbert sometimes. Or. Like….

They unified their souls. Do you think that changed them. A WoL who used to hate a certain food finding themselves craving and loving it (perhaps Ardbert loved it, when he was corporeal) like. Am I making sense?

… that got off topic really quick but like, idk. I think it could be interesting. What would that do to you?

[cavalierious-whim]

Scattered (NeuWrioLette)

Part of 'by the strange pull'.

Still new to this, Wriothesely can't shake the feeling that this'll be like the other times; ending with one alpha bolting off.

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky..

At the moment, my written work is my only source of income whilst I'm between jobs. Other ways that you can support can be found below-- even if HALF of my followers on Twitter follow my $1 Tier on Patreon, it'd be life-changing income for me, so if you love my work, please consider it!

You can find my Ko-Fi and Commission Info/Shops here.

You can purchase Digital PDFs of some of my works here on Gumroad.

Pre-Orders for physical books of selected works are still open for preorder in my Big Cartel Shop here.

And you can follow my Patreon here as well!

--

Wriothesley feels like it’s a dream.

He’s fucked plenty of others before but it’s always been a fight with bites that break flesh, and the threat of broken bones and torn flesh. He reaps what he sows with his preference for alphas—that’s what he’s always told himself. And it isn’t like he hasn’t fucked an omega or two either, or betas; whomever it was has always been a means to an end. 

Neuvillette is different. He plagued his thoughts and fueled the sorts of fantasies that had to be driven away by Wriothesley's hands. Wriothesley has desired him for long enough that he still isn’t quite sure this is real, that Neuvillette is really underneath him in his rough-worn sheets in a too-small bed. 

Arousal chokes the air. Neuvillette moans, back arching as he begs for more. He catches Wriothesley's gaze through half-lidded eyes and tilts his face until his neck is on display. A sign. A call. There is no sour smell of rank alpha, only the addicting scent of arousal as he begs to be bitten. Wriothesley can’t stop looking. The pale stretch of the column of Neuvillette’s throat is tempting, and Neuvillette knows it. 

“Go on,” he murmurs, his voice low and heady. “Do as you wish.”

Neuvillette understands. He’s an alpha too and carries the same instincts and desires, and he knows that Wriothesley itches to latch onto his neck, sinking his teeth into that damned gland. To hold him there and fuck him deeply until he’s lost all his words, thoughts full of only the press of Wriothesley's cock. 

He would let him. Neuvillette. He’d let Wriothesley indulge however he wishes, and Neuvillette would love it in return, relishing it in the same way that he begs to be filled. 

Truly a dream—how Wriothesley's sheets are stained with Neuvillette’s ocean-salt scent; the way that he keens underneath him and wriggles his hips for more; those moments when he rolls them over and rides Wriothesley instead because instincts be damned and this is what they want. 

Wriothesley does not trust many but he trusts Neuvillette, and for Neuvillette to not just give himself freely, but to ask for it, to itch for it… Wriothesley's alpha is caught between roaring in satisfaction and shrinking back in fear of eventual denial. 

No alpha can handle this for long. No alpha actually enjoys being taken.

But Neuvillette is unlike any other alpha. And Wriothesley isn’t the standard either, and that is why the two of them fit together like puzzle pieces, notches lining up perfectly. Made for each other. Aren’t there stories about that? Fairytales of fated pairings and destined mates? 

He’s thinking about this too much, but can’t help it. Anxiety pricks at Wriothesley’s spine and lingers in the back of his skull, white-hot in the same way his pleasure is. 

No, no, Neuvillette. It’s too early to think of something so permanent as mate, but it’s hard to ignore the instinctual pull that tugs at Wriothesley's being. He leans over him, nuzzling Neuvillette’s sweaty nape. Tilts his hips up and thighs back for a better angle, and Neuvillette goes so easily, letting Wriothesley manhandle him without a second thought. 

“So good for me,” he mutters, trying to forget his worries, “and so pliant. You love this and my cock.”

The more he says it the easier it is to believe. Even with Neuvillette gasping underneath him, yes, yes, Wriothesley's alpha still wonders when it’ll all come crashing down. But it doesn’t, it never does, and he takes the moment to just fuck Neuvillette earnestly. 

Neuvillette does not lay there prettily like an omega, taking it as expected. Though he wants this, there is an aggressiveness to his need as his claws rake down Wriothesley's back, and in how they tussle in the sheets. Neuvillette nips at his mouth, at his throat, at the line of his shoulder, goading Wriothesley on, daring him to go harder and rougher. 

Wriothesley bites him back, teeth sinking into soft flesh. Neuvillette’s ass tightens around his cock, squeezing it in a vice grip. He moans, meeting every thrust, begging Wriothesley for more, clinging to him possessively. 

He could fall in love like this; probably already has. Wriothesley is so woefully gone for this man that he’s willing to roll over and take him too. That’s trust—a level of trust that he allows almost no one. He—

He’s thinking too much again. 

Neuvillette cups his cheeks and pulls him in for a stinging kiss. Teeth scrape against Wriothesley's lips. That too-long tongue explores every corner of his mouth. Wriothesley thrusts into Neuvillette hard, his cock sliding through his insides like a hot brand. 

Perfect, he thinks. To perfect to be real, too perfect for me, too—

Wriothesley comes suddenly, tipping over the edge whilst lost in his thoughts. Neuvillette doesn’t snarl as his seed fills him; no, he pulls Wriothesley closer, desperate to keep every last drop. Wriothesley doesn’t think of breeding others, but he thinks of how his come will drip from Neuvillette’s hole when he pulls out, and what a waste it’ll be.

Neuvillette’s hand drops to his cock. He strokes himself and Wriothesley watches, his gaze tilted down as he gasps and moans, pulling himself to the end. “Full,” he moans. “Wriothesley, Wriothesley—” He comes then, spilling across his stomach in thick ropes. 

And again, Wriothesley cannot help but stare when Neuvillette goes limp underneath him, chest heaving, a soft groan fluttering from his lips. Divine. What a vision. Wriothesley will never tire of it, or the tight, yielding heat of Neuvillette’s body. 

This is where the mortification and dread settles in; when Wriothesley is spent, desperate to cuddle and soak up these hazy moments, all the while wondering when Neuvillette’s alpha will decide it’s too much and bolt. It hasn’t happened yet, but—

Warm hands cup Wriothesley's face again and tug him down. When he looks, Neuvillette’s gaze is glassy but clear—and he watches him curiously. Cautiously. Neuvillette drags a thumb over the rise of Wriothesley's cheek, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

Wriothesley swallows. “Yeah,” he replies, but it’s flimsy.

Neuvillette’s mouth tightens. “Wriothesley,” he says, quietly, softly. And then he repeats, “Are you alright?”

“I…” Wriothesley doesn’t want to say no. He is alright—for now. But anxiety clings to him like a second skin. Alphas do not act like this, they do not wallow in self-pity, they do not feel sorry for themselves.  

Neuvillette smells it, the acrid tang of his panic. His jaw tenses and nostrils flare. But Neuvillette is also patient, petting Wriothesley's face sweetly as he waits for him to speak.

The answer does not come easily. It has to be coaxed from Wriothesley, pulled from him like a bad tooth with those soft touches. “Everyone else never wants to… this is when they leave. And we’re having fun. We enjoy this, but always, eventually, it’s incompatible. We’re both alphas, we—”

“Oh,” breathes Neuvillette. He pulls Wriothesley's face down until their foreheads rest together. “I see.”

“Neuvillette—”

“Come here.” Neuvillette’s tone is crisp but kind. Wriothesley shifts, his softened cock slipping free as Neuvillette guides him to lay across his chest. Sweat and sticky. Neuvillette smells like salt water and the damp, humid air at low tide. 

“I’m sorry,” whispers Wriothesley against his collarbone. 

“Don’t be. It’s easy to forget that I am not like the others.”

Right. Right, right, right. It’s Neuvillette’s mantra, the reminder that he’s ancient and has learned to rear back those instincts. And though he struggles—any alpha would—he still holds a sort of calm restraint that Wriothesley would kill another for. 

This is what drew Wriothesley to him; Neuvillette’s otherworldliness, carrying the scent of an alpha but holding himself higher than those base instincts. Now Wriothesley is wiser. He understands that it is one part facade and mostly practice, but it must be rubbing off on him because Wriothesley's alpha heels as Neuvillette pets his hair.

The come down from their coupling this time is quieter than usual. Neuvillette’s chest rumbles softly as he breathes, and Wriothesley basks in that soft purr, his anxiety slowly leeching away. The mess is forgotten, crusting between them. Claws scrape against his scalp in an easy, metered motion. Neuvillette hums, letting Wriothesley take his time to wind down, to parse out his thoughts, to say what he wants. 

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to leave. I want you to stay over. I want to sleep at your place. I want—”

“There is no need to explain.”

“I feel safe. With you. Which I don’t. I never do. That’s why I don’t want to lose this.”

Neuvillette’s hand stills against the crown of Wriothesley's head. “Beloved,” he calls him—and oh, that does things. Wriothesley has never been called something so sweet. He wants to hear it time and time again, to drown in the way Neuvillette’s slight accent curls around the word. “Of course, I will stay. You just have to ask.”

Wriothesley is terrible at asking for things, particularly when it's for himself. Always others before him. He’s the last concern. He doesn’t need anything. But he needs Neuvillette. He needs him like a man dying of thirst. And here Neuvillette tells him that he can take his fill, that he’s allowed that cup. 

Wriothesley tilts his face and kisses the line of Neuvillette’s collarbone. He never knew water could taste so sweet.

[bunnithechubs]

a little wip

[arbiterlexultionis]

Instant Eternity

Time travel involving the infinite realms is truly a bizarre thing. Sometimes it follow one set of rules, and sometimes that set of rules may as well not exist. Usually, however, it works in one of two ways, the first is when the time travel is achieved through artificial means such as clockworks portals and allows for the altering of the timeline as one would expect time travel would allow. The other type of time travel is through natural means, portals usually, and it’s just that, Natural. That portal to the past opened up in the past the same moment it did in the present. If you step into the portal in the year 2000 then you already stepped out of the portal hundreds of years ago. It’s A Thing That Already Happened. Danny himself experienced this, as while chasing Vlad through time they fought in the middle of a Roman coliseum and, whoopsy daisy, set a really big fire. A fire which Danny had learned about years before he even had his accident.

So, the infimap can take the user anywhere, anywhen. And the infimap is just that, a map. It doesn’t make new roads, it just drags you across already existing paths. So it is a natural form of time travel, if you use it to go in time to kill your grandfather in order to insure your never born your interference will result in your grandparents falling in love and your birth.

Danny realizes that anytime he needs to heal from a battle or has gone 156 hours without sleeping or eating he can use the infimap to pop back to the past for a few days and then have the map bring back to the “Present”, exactly one second after he left. A three week vacation that lasted one second. At first he’s really wary about using this, worried about accelerated aging or getting lost in the time stream and a hundred other issues. At first.

It’s been months sense the accident. Sam and Tucker have both shot up several inches. Danny, on the other hand, hasn’t grown sense the accident. At all. They fought a ghost who could rapidly age opponents, a single slap turned Tucker into a decrepit old man. The ghost wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat and spent 5 minutes trying to strangle him while Danny bought time for Sam and Tucker to pull off the plan. The sucked him into the thermos, his influence on time ceased so Tucker returned to his proper state. “Jeez it sure is lucky he didn’t try and age me, right guys? Ha ha ha”. Danny gets blasted through a natural portal while making a trip through the zone and spends years trying to get home, not aging a day.

He can’t deny it after that, can’t ignore it. He’s immortal. He’s going to live forever. He’s going to watch his friends and family whither away and die out. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life wandering from place to place trying not to get outed as the same 14 year old who save someone’s great great grandma 100 years ago.

After having his first middeath crisis, suddenly the only reasons he had to not spend years on end wandering the world and the past is gone, even if he loses the infimap, worst case scenario he’ll just take the long way home. Suddenly, he’s dreading the next 80 years of the “Present”. He decides that if he’s going to watch his friends and family grow old and frail he’s going to make sure it’s takes as long as it possibly could, from his perspective. By the time they’re 20 Danny’s gonna have 200 years under his belt.

He becomes a temporal tourist, hopping into the past every time the late night fights and schoolwork become to much. Spends years in every civilization imaginable, mastering every skill he can, leaving legends in his wake.

I feel like Danny and his adventures do have a lot of potential for story’s, as it’s a pretty good setup for having Danny in any type of time period or historical event for extended periods of time, fighting in the trenches of World War I, exploring the Americas during the era of colonialism, sailing the seas a swashbuckling vigilante pirate. I, however, have most of my related ideas being based around crossovers. So most of that will be in part two, so that people who like to filter out all that can still see this post.

[blusthings]

Chlobe I love u

[lilbitofmac]

Don’t talk to Tony until he’s had at least his third cup of coffee… he might say something without thinking.