#maybe there’ll never be a blanket answer but. it frustrates me.

[humming-pokemon-helpers]

Okay. Miniscule rant. Entirely tiny rant I am keeping in the tags mostly.

But Colress’s sentencing is coming up. And looking at the list of crimes: I hate that harm to wild Pokémon is treated far less seriously than harm to Pokémon with human partners.

[asweetprologue]

feel the turn of rotation (and stop)

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​

Prompt: Date Night Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt ask Jaskier to go to the Yule festival with him. Jaskier misunderstands his intentions.  ao3

“There’s a festival happening tonight.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was working on his latest composition. Geralt was leaning against the doorway to his bedchambers, which Jaskier tended to use as a study as well so that he could reserve the main space for entertaining. He took a moment to set down his quill and wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. It was almost overly warm in the room, the fire blazing at full height to fight back against the chill of his outward facing chambers. The single, tiny window above his desk ran with moisture, the frost melted away by the heat of the room. 

“Yes,” he answered, turning in his plush chair to face Geralt fully, one ankle coming up to cross over his knee. “There’ll be a procession at sunset starting at the main gate, to light the lanterns. And then dancing and such in the main square. Typical Yuletide celebrations.” As he spoke, Jaskier allowed himself to observe Geralt in full, briefly sweeping a glance over his companion. It was exceptionally rare for them to spend winters together; Geralt almost always chose to spend the colder months in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, while Jaskier returned to civilization. This year they had been deep in southern Sodden when the first snows unexpectedly hit, and by the time they’d made it back to Redania they’d received word from Vesemir that the pass to Kaer Morhen was closed. Jaskier had been offered a position teaching for the winter semester, along with a fairly lucrative retainer with a local lordling, so he’d offered Geralt a place to crash while they waited for the witchering season to start up again.

The downtime suited Jaskier’s companion nicely. Geralt’s hair was pulled back into a customary knot behind his head, but it was clean and soft looking, free of dirt and monster guts. His skin shone in the firelight, and the dark circles that always seemed smudged beneath his eyes were faded after weeks of consistent rest and food. He’d taken to walking around without his armor on, content after a few days with the knowledge that Oxenfurt was populated by nothing more threatening than overenthusiastic academics. At the moment he was wearing a pair of old black trousers and a dark blue shirt that stood out against his white skin like a splash of wine on a silk tablecloth. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune, but it was worthwhile to see it clinging to Geralt’s shoulders.

He looked good. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up as he realised he’d been staring. Snapping back to the conversation at hand, he realized that Geralt had been speaking. 

“- if you wanted to.”

“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked, blinking. Geralt rolled his eyes, used to Jaskier’s lapses in attention. The motion carried annoyance, but when his eyes fell on Jaskier again there was fondness in them. 

“I asked if you’d planned on attending. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be working.” Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the dark fabric across thick biceps. Jaskier swallowed. 

“Ah, well, typically I would indeed be regaling the crowds with my sonorous melodies. But considering I had company, I thought it might be better to leave myself, uh.” He cut himself off, feeling suddenly exposed in the admission. While he had taken the time off initially hoping he might be doing something with Geralt, he hadn’t truly expected the witcher to want to do more than maybe get drunk on overpriced Redanian wine. “Well. You’re here, after all,” he finished lamely. 

Geralt blinked at that, something odd crossing his face before he looked away. Staring at the fire across from Jaskier, he said, “You could still go.”

Something was off about his tone - overly flat, which he only did when he was trying to muffle some kind of emotion. What it could be, Jaskier had no earthly idea. Confused, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you all by yourself on Yule, Geralt. That wouldn’t make me a very gracious host! I’m entirely content to spend the evening with you here, if that’s what you would prefer.” And he was, truly. While he typically spent Yuletide amongst the people, dancing and singing and visiting with friends, he imagined it would be just as rewarding to spend the evening with Geralt, in the cramped comfort of his quarters. The two of them tipsy on ale and spirits, sitting before the fire, trading stories back and forth like they usually did on the road. Cuddled beneath a blanket, pressed up against each other despite the warmth of the hearth, drink making Geralt’s face flush as it almost never did…

Yes, Jaskier imagined he would be perfectly content to spend the evening right here. 

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, we could go. If you want. I - We should go. Together.”

It was choppy work, even for Geralt. He still refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze, staring with absolute focus at the fire. His shoulders were braced, tense as if waiting for a blow. It was baffling. 

“Well, of course, if you’d like to go I’m amenable to that,” Jaskier agreed. “More than, actually. It’s great fun, you’ll see.” 

Geralt finally turned to look Jaskier in the eye. A shiver traveled down his spine at the intensity there, but then again, that was how he often felt under that golden gaze. “Together,” Geralt said again.

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave, laughing a little. It was typical to attend the festivities with a spouse or sweetheart, but he’d not taken a paramour of any kind in several months, and nothing serious in years, if he was honest. His attention was unfortunately captured elsewhere. He spared a single moment to mourn the private evening he’d envisioned with Geralt, but he was already warming to the idea of attending the festivities. He’d already shown the witcher around Oxenfurt, but it was exciting to think of showing the city off again in a new light. Geralt had probably not attended many Yule festivals, he realized, having always spent the winters in the mountains. Something released in his chest even as his stomach dropped in disappointment as he realized Geralt probably didn’t even recognize the romantic implications of his offer. 

Geralt, at least, looked relieved. The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he gave Jaskier a soft smile. Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped in his chest, and Geralt’s grin suggested that it may have been audible. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with himself, hands fluttering across his desk to meaninglessly straighten papers and notes. “Good,” Geralt said, the grin softening back into that disorienting smile. “I’m assuming you’ll want to change.”

“Ah, yes, can’t very well go out in this,” Jaskier agreed, still feeling slightly unmoored.

“Of course,” Geralt said seriously, but his eyes danced with mirth. “I’ve got some things to do in the market before the stalls close. Meet you at the gate at sunset?”

“Perfection,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded before peeling himself off of the doorframe and disappearing into the other room. A moment later Jaskier heard the telltale sound of the exterior door opening and closing, the rusty hinges creaking. He sat for a moment in the empty room, going over the encounter in his mind and trying to determine what had made it feel so off.

“Strange,” he said to himself, and began packing up his things. He had a festival to prepare for. 

***

Dressed appropriately in his finest woolen tunic and the thick fur lined cloak Geralt had gifted him the previous year, Jaskier set out from his abode to meet Geralt. An hour or so had passed since their conversation, and the sun was lying low and languorous on the edge of the horizon. Its dying light rippled across the Pontar where it split around the island, the light layer of snow that covered the landscape transformed into gold dust. Already he could see the crowd gathering on the far side of the bridge, led by the priestess of Melitele, returning from the temple outside of the city. Jaskier stood inside the city gates, scanning the faces around him for familiar features. 

After a few moments he saw him - highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun, his hair turned to fiery gold in the dying light. Geralt smiled when they made eye contact, and immediately began to push his way through the crowd towards Jaskier. He too had dressed for the weather, his own wool cloak muffling his form. As he stepped into Jaskier’s space, he said, “You ready?”

Jaskier had the feeling that he didn’t know exactly what he should be ready for, but he nodded anyway. “They’re just beginning,” he said, waving towards the group approaching on the bridge. It was slow going, the procession stopping every few meters to wait while the priestess lit the lanterns lined up along the walls. They would be at it for the next hour at least, making their way around the circumference of the city to light the protective lanterns and then returning to the bridge, where the large crowd would release their own floating lanterns to carry their prayers for the new year to Melitele. 

“There’s music in the square,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could just barely hear it as well. Normally he would be amongst the performers, but tonight he was there as the audience. 

“The flutist is off key, I can tell already,” he said with a grin, though he could hear no such thing from this distance. Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s arm, just above the end of his glove. Geralt’s fingers were bare, his witcher metabolism keeping him warm enough without them, and they were a cold shock against the skin of Jaskier’s wrist. He let himself be led into the square, which was packed with people. Tables had been set up with food and drink around the edges, while the far side was dominated by a low stage. In the center, couples and groups danced, circling each other in common folk movements. The tune was jaunty and fun, a lively song to help fight back against the dark that threatened the edges of the gathering. Defiant in the best of ways. 

“I don’t suppose you know any of the local dances?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt confirmed it with a shake of his head. “Well then be a dear and get us some ales, hmm? We can still watch.”

Geralt, for once, did as he was bid without comment, probably just as interested in the alcohol as Jaskier was. He found them a spot to stand near the mouth of an alley, where he hoped the noise of the crowd would be a bit reduced. Geralt was sometimes bothered by the bustle and murmur of a large group of people. 

Geralt rejoined him shortly, offering him a mug of mulled wine. Jaskier took a grateful sip, feeling the hot liquid settle in his gut and warm him from the inside out. It was very good - spicy and strong, just how he liked it. Geralt hummed appreciatively when he took his own drink. 

They stood watching for a while, Jaskier making the occasional snide comment about a bad dancer or an overplayed tune if he thought it would make Geralt laugh. And it did, more often than not; Geralt was open and affectionate this evening, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially in Jaskier’s ear as they watched a couple sneak away from the dancefloor. Jaskier laughed into his glove, quickly beginning to feel light and soupy from the drink. 

“I know this one,” Geralt said suddenly, drawing his attention back to the band. It was a slightly slower song, a couple’s dance. Bright gold eyes turned in Jaskier’s direction. “Want to dance?”

Jaskier gaped. “With you?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked upwards, betraying only exasperation. “Don’t see anyone else here making an offer.”

“Well, you - I - Alright,” he said, finally, swallowing his confusion. Geralt offered a hand, and Jaskier accepted. 

They moved out towards the dancers, Jaskier feeling his heart rise in his throat. When they reached the edge of the pack, Geralt turned and gave Jaskier a short bow, overly formal for the setting. With an incredulous laugh, Jaskier returned the motion, and when he raised his head again Geralt was in his space, hands coming up to rest lightly on his waist. 

It shouldn’t have been able to take his breath away so easily, but it did. 

The motions of the dance were simple, basic circular pathways as they stepped out and back in together. Their hands never parted, but every time the steps pulled them apart Jaskier found himself missing Geralt’s warmth beside him. Slowly, the tempo picked up speed, until they were twisting and whirling around without pause. When the song ended, Jaskier was panting for breath. Geralt looked winded himself, though his chest rose and fell at the same rate it always did. 

They made their way off the dance floor once again, ceding their spot to another couple. Geralt’s arm curled around Jaskier’s waist and he leaned into the touch, feeling more drunk than he should be. “You’re good at that, witcher,” he said, accusatorily. “I could have been taking you dancing all this time! How many balls have we been to?”

Geralt flushed faintly, the color staining his ears a fetching red. “The Wolf witchers use techniques that are similar to some dances,” he said. “The pacing, some of the moves, are familiar.” 

“I’m never going to let this go,” Jaskier warned as they shuffled back towards the mouth of their alleyway. “You’re going to have to dance with me at every festival, ball, and banquet we ever attend from now on.”

Geralt smirked at him. “I don’t know that I mind.”

And what was that supposed to mean? Jaskier felt a flush spread down his cheeks, his throat, even his chest felt warm. Geralt didn’t mind dancing? Or didn’t mind dancing with Jaskier? Panicked, he said, “I’m going to get us more drinks!” 

By the time he returned with more warm wine, he had managed to wrestle his emotions back into place. He passed Geralt one of the mugs, giving him a wide grin that he hoped would cover for his accelerated heartbeat. 

As they drank, Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. He was happy to be here, truly. It was always enjoyable to spend time with the object of his affections, but at the same time, he felt something cold settling in his stomach that the wine could not touch. He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man observe the dancers. His hair was in slight disarray from the dancing, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Jaskier wanted him so badly it felt like a wound. He wished he could lace their fingers together as other couples around the square were. Wished he could sit in Geralt’s lap and feed him sweetmeats and honey cakes as the festivities melted away around them. It was difficult to be so close, and yet so far from what he actually desired. 

Geralt glanced over at him, and something in Jaskier’s face must have betrayed his sudden turn into maudlin, because he didn’t look away. “Should we go?” Geralt asked, concern drawing his brow together. 

Jaskier cursed himself, plastering on another smile. “No, no, dear heart, I’m enjoying myself plenty. The lanterns will probably be lit soon, don’t you think? Maybe we should go find ourselves a spot before the crowd arrives.”

Geralt nodded, still looking a bit worried. It was flattering, that he was clearly concerned about whether Jaskier was having a good time, but it only made him feel more wistful. Not looking to see if his friend was following, Jaskier began to pick his way out of the square, doing his best not to jostle any of the other partygoers. Geralt dogged him like a shadow, and they both emerged some minutes later in the silvery moonlight of the river walk. 

Already Jaskier could see the bridge, some ways away to their left, dotted with lantern lights. The procession had made its way back. He stepped up to the edge of the river, leaning against the low wall that held the city back from its edge. Geralt stayed a step or two behind him, arms crossed against the chill. “This will be a good spot,” Jaskier said, leaning over the railing to point. “They’ll release them there, so we should be able to see them as they go up.”

“They do this every year?” Geralt asked, voice a low rumble. Now away from the noise of the crowd, it shook Jaskier’s bones. 

He nodded. “For the last, hmm, thirty years, I think? The lanterns carry wishes, you see, requests for Melitele. They go up into the heavens, and when they come down they carry her blessing. So they say.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. They stood together in silence as the little pinpricks on the bridge became a sea of candlelight, and slowly, one by one, began lifting up into the air. Soon the sky was awash with golden sparks, hovering above them. 

Jaskier leaned against the wall, watching the lanterns make their way skyward. “Wish I’d thought to make one ahead of time,” he said wistfully, watching their lights twinkle in the darkness. “I didn’t know we’d be -” He turned to look at Geralt, who was rummaging around in his bag. “What are you doing?”

With a triumphant huff, Geralt found what he was looking for. He presented it to Jaskier with a sheepish looking grin, an unusually bashful look for the witcher. In his palm was a small square of paper and wood, maybe half the size of the other lanterns being set loose from the bridge. “I found someone selling them earlier,” he said, setting the little thing on the ledge of the wall in front of them. “Thought you might want to join in.”

Jaskier clapped his gloved hands together, delighted. “Oh, it’s just adorable,” he said, feeling his grin pull at his cold cheeks. He picked the thing up, cradling it delicately in his cupped hands. The paper sides were decorated with a floral pattern - tulips, or maybe buttercups. Jaskier reached forward towards Geralt. “Would you light it for me?”

Geralt reached out and snapped, the clean sound cutting through the still air. Immediately the paper in Jaskier’s hands began to warm, the little lantern glowing merrily. Carefully, Jaskier made his way to the edge of the river wall and leaned over the side, letting the lantern rest on his flat hands as it grew lighter. After a moment, it lifted gently off of his palms and started to drift skywards.

Geralt stepped up to join him, their shoulders pressing together as they leaned against the railing, watching their little lantern float up to join the sea of others. A wave of golden light blanketed the city, giving the river an otherworldly glow as it reflected the sky. Jaskier sighed happily, allowing Geralt’s constant warmth to wash over him. He turned to comment on the spectacle, but his words died on his lips as he found Geralt already looking at him. The warmth of the lanterns reflected in his eyes as well, making them glow with their own light in the darkness. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, his cheeks warming. 

“This was nice,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low. The rumble of it sent a shiver up Jaskier’s spine. They were so close together, and Jaskier found himself turning into Geralt’s heat like a flower to the sun. 

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, a beat too late. “It’s always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, my friend.”

Geralt hummed, a distracted noise, and lifted his bare hand up to Jaskier’s jaw. “Oh,” Jaskier said, surprise and confusion and clamouring hope blossoming in his chest, and then Geralt was kissing him. 

It was a chaste little thing, but Jaskier felt himself light up at the touch. His own hands came up to grasp Geralt’s hips, the gloves or the shock making him clumsy. Geralt hummed again, a wickedly satisfied sound that made Jaskier shudder embarrassingly. He tasted like mulled wine and cinnamon, the taste lingering on Jaskier’s lips as they pulled away. 

He stared at Geralt for a moment before clearing his throat. “What, erm. What was that for?”

Geralt gazed at him fondly, a thumb skating over Jaskier’s cheekbone. He knew it must be warm to the touch. “I wanted to,” he said, shrugging. “And it’s the customary way to end a romantic outing, I’m told.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Romantic outing?”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side, giving Jaskier a confused look. “What did you think this was?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again. “Oh!” He pulled a hand away from Geralt’s side to slap over his own forehead, feeling both extraordinarily foolish and giddy. “God’s above, this was a date?”

Geralt’s expression shuttered slightly, and his fingers slipped from Jaskier’s cheek to his shoulder. “You didn’t realize.”

Jaskier leaned forward, desperate to wipe the nervous look from Geralt’s face. He wrapped his own hands around Geralt’s neck, squeezing the base of his skull slightly. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t, but I am delighted. Ecstatic, overjoyed, elated, euphoric, exultant -”

Geralt laughed, cutting him off. “Alright, I get it. You’re happy.”

“More assuredly so,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. He felt lighter than he had in years, floating on a bubble of joy. “Though I will say, we will probably need to go on another ‘romantic outing’ to be sure we do it right. I won’t have our first real date be one I wasn’t even aware of.”

Geralt leaned back in, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. The bard shivered, anticipation making his breath come faster. “I don’t know that I would mind that either,” he said, and then his lips found Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, and knew that there would be many more chances for the perfect date to come. 

[julies-butterflies]

Kiss prompt 25 with boggie (and maybe hinting toward Sickfic cause you know I love when these boys suffer 👀👀)?

50 types of kiss prompts  //   accepting!!  ( for jukebox, willex, reggielukejulie, boggie )

25.   Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

                         ( read on ao3 here! )

It says a lot about the current state of his life (and friend group) that when Bobby wakes in the dark to the soft echo of someone rummaging around in the loft, his first thought is not “someone broke in”, but “which one is it?”

Slowly, he pushes himself upright. While he doesn’t remember dozing off in the garage, the evidence is all around him. His back is stiff from dozing on the couch in an awkward position; his calculus textbook is still wide open on the table, the equations he only half-finished sitting next to it. Here’s Bobby’s first clue  ---  someone picked up his pencil, and made a few hasty, scribbled corrections in the margins, solving one of the problems he wasn’t able to get.

He’s also sure the blanket covering him now was folded on the other end of the couch before he passed out... and, leading from the doorway, a glistening trail of footsteps have tracked their way across the garage floor, leaving puddles along the way.

He sighs between his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. The trail leads across the floor, straight to the loft ladder. From the still-audible sounds coming from above  ---  not drowned out by the rain outside, which batters the windows and drums on the roof like the roar of a mosh pit  ---  the intruder hasn’t noticed he’s been noticed. Bobby takes care to keep quiet, ascending the ladder slowly. When he pokes his head through the floor, he has to squint to discern shadows through the dim light.

Sure enough --- there’s a dark figure burrowing around amid piles of junk. He’s wrestling with an old quilt buried at the bottom of one of the trunks, and losing. Even from a distance, Bobby can see the dark hair slicked against his temples, the water streaming from his sodden flannel to drench the wooden boards beneath him. He trembles in his damp clothes, shaky movements fueled by restless energy. No doubt, he didn’t realize how much noise he was making.

Bobby leans forward on his elbows, and rests his face against one palm. “For a second, I thought we had racoons. But racoons don’t usually stop to help with homework.”

The rustling stops cold. It’s a minute before Reggie turns; when he meets Bobby’s gaze, he looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I, uhh ---” He huffs, then shrugs, sending off a hail of raindrops. “Figured since I was already breaking and entering, may as well pay you back somehow.”

“You know you don’t have to, Reggie.” Bobby folds his arms, balancing his chin on top of them both; his foot scuffs idly at the nearest ladder rung. This is far from the first time one of the guys has shown up at Bobby’s garage unannounced; since he never leaves the door locked anymore, it can hardly be called breaking and entering. There’s a makeshift bed up in the loft, and spare clothes in a duffel bag downstairs. They’re always welcome when they need it.

“Yeah...” The word comes out hoarse; Reggie has to clear his throat, ducking his face back into the shadows. “I know.”

A part of Bobby wants to ask  ---  but there’s no point, when he already knows the answer. When it’s Luke, it’s his mother; when it’s Alex, it’s his atmosphere; when it’s Reggie, the world is just too loud. I like how quiet it is here, he admitted once. It feels like a home. (A home, not his home  — there’s a big difference.)

So, instead of asking, he just shakes his head. “You could’ve called me. Or Alex. We’d have come to pick you up, instead of —”

“Alex hates driving on a good day. You want him to go out at night? In the middle of a rainstorm? All the way down to the beach, just to pick me up?”

There’s an edge of real frustration in his voice; and it’s Reggie, so that’s worrying, but Bobby’s own temper can’t help responding in kind. “Well, it’s better than you on your bike, freezing to death! Reg, you’re almost blue.”

For some reason, Reggie chuckles at that, ducking his head again. His sense of humor is as crooked as a wire hanger. Bobby’s learned not to question it, or try to follow the strange routes his mind goes down. With Reggie, it’s enough to just be along for the ride.

No matter how he got here, Bobby reminds himself, the important thing is, Reggie's here. He made it here, where he knows he’s always welcome… and there’ll be time to tear into him for his dumbass choices another day. Tonight, only three things are important: Reggie’s here, Reggie’s safe, and Reggie needs to get dry.

“You’re not sleeping in the loft,” Bobby declares, glancing around the dimly lit ceiling room. Aside from the cobwebs, it’s drafty and leaky up here; Reggie will catch a chill in a second, if he somehow hasn’t already. When Reggie opens his mouth to protest, Bobby just shakes his head, nodding downstairs. “The couch is more comfortable. Grab a blanket, okay? And go through what we’ve got — you gotta change out of those wet clothes.”

For just a second, a smile flickers over Reggie’s face — there one minute, gone the next. He doesn’t say anything, only nods… but Bobby reads his relief clear as day, and his gratitude.

It’s enough.

(No, it’s not — but he can’t change his friends’ shitty lives, he can’t protect them from the world, so it has to be enough.)

Bobby slips back downstairs, and busies himself making the couch comfortable. It pulls out easily into a bed; there are pillows tucked behind it for rainy days just like this one. He folds the blanket that had been tossed over him, and clears some of his papers off the table, just to chase away the clutter. By the time the loft ladder creaks, a few minutes later, the couch is as cozy as it will ever get.

Bobby turns, and almost sighs in relief at the sight of Reggie — in dry clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hug his bony hips. Bobby never likes to think about how thin Reggie is… but when it’s presented to him like this, so intimately, there’s no way to ignore it. (Home cooked meals, he suspects, are as rare in the Peters household as a trip to Disneyworld; no wonder Reggie inhales any food they put in front of him.) He still looks pale, skin paper white and washed out in the gloom. Though he’s run fingers through his hair, it’s still wild, flyaway hairs clinging to his brow. He hasn’t completely stopped shivering, either, but at least he’s settled down. 

“Here,” Bobby says, nodding to the couch. He can’t help cursing himself; clearly, his bedside manner deserves awards.

Reggie isn’t bothered. He just steps forward, that ghost of a smile back on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and says nothing more. When Bobby steps aside for him, he settles on the couch, tucking the blanket  around him. Immediately, like a leaf tossed into a windstorm, he starts shivering again. Bobby grimaces.

“So, when you catch pneumonia, is the plan to just ride it out, or…?”

Reggie glances up at him. His expression steals the words from Bobby’s mouth. There are dark circles under his eyes, standing out all the more in his pale face; his lower lip is bitten raw, flushed and sore, and hands fiddle restlessly in his lap.

“Bobby,” he mutters, and something in his voice is… desolate. So absolutely freaking tired... drained and defeated... so wrong for a person like Reggie, who is made of enthusiasm. He’s the bubble of soda in a glass, the dancing blaze of a sparkler, the crackle of a firework, the lilt of a bass line. Reggie is alive in living color… and tonight, the rain has washed it all away.

Something in Bobby’s stomach twists. His heart rattles against the cage of his ribs. Impulse spikes within him, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he has already settled onto the couch at Reggie’s side, and opened his arms wide.

“Okay. Bring it in.”

Reggie’s eyes widen. Touching isn’t Bobby’s thing. It’s Luke’s, sure, and even Alex’s. They’re both all about that casual affection, with too much love to be contained. Bobby shows his affection in quieter ways — a steadying hand, a late night drive, paying for take-out when he knows his friends’ pockets are light. He’s never been sure how to handle all the touching which comes with the package, with the Sunset Curve boys; he’s never known how to start.

Tonight, though, Reggie’s here, and he needs it. So, just for tonight, Bobby is officially a hugger.

“Come on,” Bobby encourages; and that’s all the prodding Reggie needs to gently tuck himself against his friend’s chest.

He doesn’t expect how well Reggie fits there, like a puzzle piece naturally slotting into place. He knocks the breath from his lungs without trying; even as long arms come to wrap around his chest, and a damp head ticks against his collarbone, it takes Bobby a minute to adjust. Yes, he asked for this — he reminds himself of that, as his own arms come up to wrap Reggie in an embrace — but Reggie’s so much better at it, and he’s not sure where to go from here.

“Bobby,” Reggie mutters into his chest. “You have to relax a little, otherwise how’m I supposed to?” He tilts his head up. “I’m the half-frozen one here, but you’re like hugging a scarecrow.”

Bobby snorts. Reggie looks up a little more. His eyes shine dark in the dim studio light as his brows furrow. “Do you not want me to —“

Bobby hushes him with a shake of his head, and pulls Reggie closer, tucking the blanket around them both. Slowly, he leans back against the couch. It seems like the thing to do to relax — and Reggie agrees, if the soft noise of contentment he makes is any clue. He’s still shivering a bit against Bobby’s chest; his voice carries an ominous rasp, and whenever he breathes out, it sounds unsteady. Bobby brushes against his bare arm, and is immediately struck by how cold Reggie still is; even holding him like this, the chill begins to seep into his own skin.

Bobby will soak up every ounce of it, if it means Reggie can be comfortable again.

So, he pulls Reggie close, rubbing a hand up and down his back in broad, earnest circles. He breathes out against the crown of Reggie’s head, hot and repetitive; a few times, he even rocks him, just to get the blood flowing back through his limbs. Reggie doesn’t protest. He barely even moves. It takes a while for their legs to tangle together under the blankets. His arms tuck under Bobby’s; his ear comes to rest over his heart. Slowly, his entire body curves into Bobby’s own, ravenous for any ounce of heat a warmer form can provide.

Even as he does this, he seems to melt, and Bobby knows — just knows — this is the first chance he’s had to really relax in days.

“Exhale, Reg,” he murmurs without meaning to. When Reggie stirs against him, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows, Bobby is suddenly relieved he’s never been able to blush. (Compared to Reggie, who could gauge the weather by the color in his cheeks.)

Still locked into his gaze, Reggie breathes out, in one long gust. It chills Bobby’s jaw.

“You’re so cold,” he mutters.

“Not anymore,” answers Reggie. “Not with you.”

He’s left a damp patch against the front of Bobby’s shirt, and his hair’s still wet. As Bobby watches, a droplet trails its way down his temple, stopping just as it reaches his ear. Before Bobby can think twice, he brushes it away with one gentle hand… and allows his fingers to linger over Reggie’s jaw a second too long before pulling away.

Reggie isn’t staring into Bobby’s eyes anymore. He’s hypnotized by his lips.

And well, Bobby reasons, there’s no better way to warm him up.

That's his justification for not feeling like a horrible person, when he leans in and captures Reggie’s lips with his own.

There’s nothing forceful about it, nothing demanding; the last thing Bobby wants is to take, only to give what little warmth he can. Yet as Reggie stays frozen against him for a moment too long, an icicle of dread pierces Bobby’s chest. He’s just begun to pull away, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, when Reggie suddenly catches him by the back of the neck with one icy hand, pulling him back down.

Bobby’s breath catches; Reggie catches him. For a minute, it’s all either of them can do to be near each other, moving with and against each others’ mouths in slow, earnest rhythm.

Heat? Oh, no — heat isn’t a problem anymore.

When they finally pull back, Reggie’s lips are flushed, his cheeks bright red — there it is, Bobby thinks, with a flash of victory. His breath is heavy against Bobby’s chest, but there’s a smile on his lips all the same.

“I mean,” he says, and pauses for a breathless chuckle, “yeah, sure, that works too.”

Just as Bobby begins to smile, Reggie suddenly jerks forward. His laugh turns into a gasp — and then he’s coughing hard against Bobby’s collar, entire body heaving with it. It’s all Bobby can do to steady him, keeping one hand on his shoulders as he struggles to catch his breath, until the worst of it has passed.

“Damn it,” he mutters, once Reggie has gone limp again. “You’re totally gonna get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Reggie offers generously against his collarbone.

“No, you won’t,” Bobby replies, knowing it’s probably too late already — and also, that he doesn’t really care, so long as he can keep Reggie warm and dry through the night.

When Reggie lifts his head to smile at him, Bobby brushes the rain out of his hair, and grins right back.

[heroineimages]

Tagged by @theoutcastrogue. (Her post)

Rules: It’s time to love yourself. Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

Thanks so much, sweet rogue, for tagging me! Firstly, this is exactly the kind of thing my therapist tells me I need to do for myself more often. Secondly, I tend to fixate on reading back over my past writing, so this gives me an excuse to do just that. Under the cut because there’ll be several writing excerpts and it might run long. Tagging @chenria, @9musesandanoldmind, @queer-trans-amazon, @jeanjauthor, and anyone else who wants in!

1. I did a lot of tinkering on Hero Forge after they released the colors and new engine. Firstly, I found it therapeutic and helpful for my anxiety. Secondly, I have a tendency to create stories for the new OCs I come up with. In particular, I like coming up with themed versions of the twelve base D&D classes. My favorite so far is the Desert Elf minis and their story.

2. My second favorite Hero Forge buildup was the Muskets and Snow designs, pitting Frost Elf tribes against musket-armed, multiracial commonwealth soldiers, once again based around the D&D classes. (Check my Hero Forge tag for more mini designs!)

3. I added four chapters to my Legend of Korra gladiator AU last year, and commissioned a movie poster for it from my amazing artist friend, Telenia Albuquerque. I added a few fighting scenes and several explicit lesbian bedroom scenes that I’m kind of proud of, including a fun, racy striptease. In the following scene, Asami breaks up a meeting between Varrick and none other than Marc Antony after Varrick attempts to abduct her and poison her bodyguards, including Korra:

“You said our host tried to abduct you?” [Antony] continued, turning to Asami.

“Of course not!” Varrick interrupted, stepping between Asami and Antony. “We’re pals, right, Antony? You know I’d never abduct anybody!”

“Mm, I seem to recall you abducting Titus Atticus’s wife, as well as the late Clodius Pulcher’s favorite catamite,” Antony replied.

“Allegedly!” Varrick protested, turning away and crossing his arms. “I allegedly abducted Atticus’s wife and Pulcher’s catamite!”

“Everything you do is ‘allegedly,’” Asami glared.

“So you’ve had dealings with this bastard before,” Antony laughed. “Please, come in,” he invited, gesturing to Varrick’s office. “No doubt we can handle this like civilized people, miss…?”

“Asami Sato,” Asami answered, allowing Antony to take and kiss her hand.

“Ah! Master Hiroshi’s daughter,” he identified her. “I’ve heard about you, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure,” Asami agreed with a hint of smooth annoyance.

“Great, thanks a lot, Zhu Li,” Varrick grumbled as the six of them trooped into his office. “What the heck happened, anyway?”

“It would seem you underestimated Mistress Sato, sir,” Zhu Li informed him, [still tossed over the gladiatrix’s shoulder]. The armored pauldron pressed into her gut was really uncomfortable. “She already had her guards inoculated against our poison.”

“What? How could you possibly know that?” Varrick demanded, turning to Asami.

“I’m more intelligent than you thought, and you’re less clever than you’d like to believe,” Asami answered, taking one of the three chairs in the room. “And, frankly, that old Persian trick of poisoning the dancing girls’ lips isn’t as cunning as you thought. It was all a matter of knowing what poisons you have access to and researching which ones work on contact and can have resistances built up for them.”

“Smart,” Antony agreed, taking the second chair while Acainissa stuffed Varrick in the chair behind his desk. Hebasken and Acainissa took up positions on either side of Varrick’s chair, looming over him.

“Varrick, this other door leads to your bedchambers, doesn’t it?” Asami asked, pointing to the curtained doorway.

“Yeah, why?” Varrick frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Korra, are you up for a bit of… revenge-sex?” Asami asked.

“I’m always up for revenge and sex,” Korra assured her.

“Take Zhu Li into Varrick’s chambers and fuck her stupid, please.” Asami instructed. “She’s a very intelligent woman, so I suspect that will take a lot of fucking to accomplish.”

Korra laughed and turned to pack Zhu Li through the door.

4. I’ve also made some progress on an older story I started a long time ago about my OC Elindra, a Drow paladin of the Red Knight who gets turned to a Drider by fanatics of Lolth. The following scene comes during the big escape from Ched Nasad between her and her dwarf cleric friend, Nell:

I used the glaive to parry the [Drider] warrior’s first assault. The snarly bastard was skilled, blocking and parrying my every attack, despite my Haste spell. And even if I did land a hit, my odds of breaking his Stoneskin were frustratingly small. I gave way instead, using my quickened speed to my advantage. An arrow flashed past us, announcing the return of the annoying ranger from earlier. I grimaced from frustration as another arrow shattered against my Mithral spaulder.

This was taking too damned long. No doubt the alarm had been raised and more guards and spell-casters were on their way.

Dueling with the warrior, I deliberately backed myself toward another aperture in the webs. I parried the warrior’s mace, managing to rap him across the face with the butt of my glaive. As he lunged again, I dropped my glaive and caught his arm. From there I leapt backward, pulling him though the gap with me. He caught the edge of the webs with two clawed legs, flipping us through upside-down. Still clutching his arm, my weight yanked him through the gap behind me.

A slightly larger Drider, I flipped myself onto his back, riding him downward as we plummeted. Gripping him by the hair, I screamed, “Smite Evil!” as we hit, slamming his head into the hardened webbing below.

The impact threw me from the warrior’s back, and I skidded onto my side perhaps twelve feet away. The warrior’s head was obliterated—a black, bloody smear across the calcified web floor.

“You alright?” I asked Nell as I picked myself up.

“Ye’re focking crazy, ye know that, Elindra?” Nell grumbled behind me, [still harnessed to my back]. “Ooh, that’s a pretty mess!” she laughed when I turned to look for a way back up. “Aye, let’s see ye Stoneskin protect ye from that shite, motherfocker!” she taunted the dead Drider.

5. And, lastly I’m happy with a lot of the progress I’ve made on my novel, First Empress. The following excerpt is a cute, racy little flashback scene of Elissa and Queen Viarra’s first time having sex:

“O–oh, gods!” Elissa groaned, catching her breath as she came down from her third climax.

Princess Viarra gripped the blanket on either side of Elissa’s shoulders, grunting as she thrust against Elissa’s leg to ride out her own climax. Broad, muscular arms trembling, her thrusts continued to get slower and more deliberate as she finished herself off. Her highness’s entire body shook one last time, and she gave a panting laugh before collapsing halfway atop Elissa.

They lay laughing and gasping for breath for long moments, their legs tangled together, their right breasts squashed against the other’s sternum. Princess Viarra’s arms splayed off to the sides while Elissa’s trembling arms clutched her love’s shoulders. Their shoulders were about even, but Viarra’s cunny now rested against Elissa’s knee. Their clothes lay discarded to one side with the wine they’d stolen from King Vaso and the erotic poetry they’d stolen from Prince Kallis. Above them, the peach trees of King Vaso’s orchard swayed in the afternoon breeze.

“I’m not squishing you, am I?” Viarra asked, her face still half-pressed against the tangle of brown and copper hair next to Elissa’s right ear.

“No,” Elissa laughed, wishing she had the energy to clutch her beloved princess tighter. “I feel safe beneath you,” she promised. “You make me feel safe and happy.”

“And you make me happy,” her highness assured her, turning her head to kiss and nibble at Elissa’s cheek. Elissa squealed and used one hand to try to push her away.

Unrelenting, Princess Viarra made a nasal, growling sound and pretended to gnaw on Elissa’s neck. “Grar! I just want to eat you up, you’re so sweet!” her highness declared, making exaggerated chewing noises against Elissa’s neck and shoulder.

Gods, her highness had gotten so strong the last few years, Elissa acknowledged as she squealed and giggled, unsuccessfully attempting to fight back. Viarra’s arms were probably bigger around than Elissa’s legs, and her shoulders were almost half-again as broad as Elissa’s. And she was tall. Possibly as tall as her mother as well as thick and big-boned, Princess Viarra was just too big and strong for anyone except maybe a wrestler or a gladiator to overpower.

Clearly Elissa would have to resort to guile instead.

Viarra shrieked out a series of giggles as Elissa reached up to tickle her sides. “Gods, no!” her highness squealed, attempting to push Elissa’s hands away. Unable to quite grab onto them, Viarra pushed herself away, laughing as she rolled onto her back.

Instead of renewing her assault, Elissa rolled over next to her, draping her left arm across Viarra’s chest and left leg across her waist.

“That was amazing,” Elissa admitted, snuggling up against her beloved’s nude form. “Thank you for being my first.”

“Thank you for being my first,” Princess Viarra countered, wrapping an arm around Elissa’s bare back. “I never imagined sex would feel like that.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing,” Elissa observed. “I mean, I could tell you were trying out techniques and all, but where did you learn them?”

“I asked Captain Vola,” her highness admitted looking over at her. “She’s pretty candid about sex advice, and even Captain Kellor admits it’s usually good advice. Part of the reason I brought you out here was because I wanted to try it, and there’s no one I’d rather try it with than you,” she added, reaching over to stroke Elissa’s cheek.

Elissa blushed and smiled, stroking her love’s powerful belly. “I’m glad you did,” she admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

[creativenostalgiastuff]

Last Words

Summary: Roman is just about to get married to the love of his life, Virgil, when he gets a phone call from Patton. Part of my Prinxiety Human AU. Angst to fluff prompt. Hurt/comfort

Pairing: Prinxiety (romantic), hinted logicality (romantic/platonic)

Warnings: mention of homophobia, weddings, anxiety attack, misplaced anger, manipulation mention

Word Count: 2303

Author’s note: Ha, finally got through writing something. This is so much fluff. 

Roman inspects himself in the mirror, turning side to side so that he can admire the craftsmanship of his suit: the red pants fit him correctly as to accentuate his assets, the matching jacket holding just enough flare in the color that the classic fight looked perfect. He gives himself a smile as he continues his inspection. Today he had to look perfect. 

Today, Roman is going to marry the love of his life: Virgil. 

It had been a long road to get to where they are now. The two of them had started out as friends. Okay, that wasn’t true. They started off hating each other. Roman had first noticed Virgil giving him what could only be described as death glares from the back of the bus when he got off at his stop. Eventually Logan, who was Roman’s lab partner turned friend, had introduced him to Patton, and Patton’s friend, Virgil. Virgil had seemed just as cautious with Roman as he was with him, which just frustrated Roman even more. Eventually, after getting locked in the choir room together, the two had blown up and finally cleared the air between them. A few months passed before Roman realized he had fallen for the Emo. At the desperate plea of Logan to “stop pining and just do something”, Roman took his courage and asked Virgil out. The rest, as they say, was history. Here they were, five years since that initial meeting, on their wedding day.

Roman’s smile drops as he finds a piece of hair out of place. He starts to mess with it; it needs to lay flat but not so flat that it loses its volume. Perfection was the goal. Besides, he didn’t need to leave his apartment for another hour in order to make it to downtown in time. 

Bzzzzz. Bzzzz.

Roman picks up his phone from the table next to the mirror and glances at the caller ID: Patton. He slides his finger across the screen and puts it up to his ear as his eyes fall once again on the mirror, “Hey Patton! Whattup?”

“Oh thank goodness, Roman,” Patton’s voice comes through the phone in a harsh whisper, a hint of relief as he says his name. 

“What’s wrong, Pat?” Roman asks as he turns away from the mirror. 

“Its Virge,” Patton answers, his words coming quick and desperate. 

“Is he okay?”

“His family called,” explained the friend. “I don’t know what they said, but we can’t get him to calm down.”

Roman clenches his fist. Virgil’s family was only bad news. They didn’t accept him being gay. So them contacting him on the day of his wedding could only be assumed to be a ploy to manipulate Virgil as they had done in the past. 

“I’m sorry for calling you, Ro,” Patton continues. “I know you two want today to be perfect. It’s just… we don’t know what to do. Logan has been trying to lead him through his exercises, but it just isn’t working. And you always seem to know how to help him. I know you two hadn’t wanted to see the other until it was time...”

Roman walks to the door, grabbing his keys off of the hanger on the wall, and heads out, “No, it's important. I’m glad you called. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in four. Can I talk to him?”

“Sure, let me go back in,” Patton says. Roman hears the door open on the phone and Logan murmuring quietly in the background as well as heavy breathing that could only be coming from Virgil. Roman listens as Patton talking in a soothing voice, “Virge, you wanna talk to Ro?”

The gasps slow for a second before picking up.

“Put me on speaker,” Roman demands as he takes off on a brisk jog; Logan’s apartment, where Virgil was staying for the day, was just three blocks away. A car would just slow him down. 

Virgil’s breathing gets easier to hear, signalling to Roman that Patton followed his request. “Hey there, Dark and Stormy Knight,” Roman says, trying to keep his breathing even. “It sounds like you’re having an anxiety attack, but it’ll be over soon. Just follow Logan’s breathing.”

“I know what to do,” Virgil spits out. “It just… I can’t… This isn’t what you wanted today...”

“If you put your hand on my chest it may be easier…” explains Logan.

“Really?” shouts Virgil, his breathing picking up. 

“I want you to be okay, whatever it takes. Can you put a hand on Lo’s chest?” Roman asks forcing calmness into his voice, ignoring Virgil’s misplaced anger. “For me?”

There is a pause before Roman hears a shuffle on the other side.

“Thank you,” Logan praises. 

Roman continues his jog, loosening his tie. He looks around and notices the local bakery as he crosses another street. “When was the last time we all went to the bakery?” Roman asks. Logan had once said that distractions could be useful and Roman knew that the last memory here was a good one.

“Two weeks ago, wasn’t it?” Logan answers, his approval and understanding coming through to Roman. 

“Oh right,” Patton pipes up. “They had just taken those chocolate chip cookies out of the oven!”

“They’re always better when they’re warm,” Roman agrees. “We’ll have to go back this week and see if we can get lucky.”

“Perhaps there is a schedule as to when they make them,” suggests Logan. 

“Maybe,” muses Patton.

Roman sighs as he turns the corner and can see the door to the apartment, “I’m just outside.”

“Door should be open,” Patton says before hanging up.

Roman jogs up to the door and goes into the familiar apartment.

He finds the three men in the kitchen. Patton is standing in the doorway, holding his phone. When Roman approaches, he steps to the side.

Roman’s heart sinks when he sees Virgil and Logan. Logan is kneeling, his face soft while his eyes seem calculating behind his glasses. He’s holding Vigil’s hand on his chest, softly so that Virgil can pull away without fighting. Logan’s shoulders are moving with his exaggerated breathing, his voice low as he counts the exercise.

Virgil has one hand on Logan and the other wrapped around his knees. His hoodie is draped over his shoulders with the hood up, but his arms aren’t in the sleeves, meaning either Logan or Patton had tried to use it to help distract and comfort their friend. His purple bangs stick out from under the hood, helping to hide his eyes. 

Roman takes a moment before he addresses them, “Hey there.”

“Roman,” Logan acknowledges. 

Roman kneels next to the two as his eyes scan, noticing Virgil’s tense grip on his legs and in ability to make eye contact. “How are we doing?” he asks, his eyes never leaving his almost husband. 

Virgil buries his face into his knees, pulling his hand back from Logan. 

Logan sits back and looks at Roman, “It’s a process.”

Roman nods, his mouth dry, “Right. You wanna talk about it, Virge?”

There is no response. Roman runs a hand through his hair before he looks at Logan and Patton, “Can… can you guys give us a minute?”

Logan nods, stands up, and walks over to Patton. Patton gives Roman an encouraging smile, taking Logan’s hand and leading him to the hallway, leaving Roman and Virgil alone on the kitchen floor. 

Roman sighs and scoots towards the cabinets. He sits with his back to them, his knees propped up in front of him. He leans his head back against the cool wood and looks at the kitchen light. 

“Okay, Doom and Gloom,” Roman starts, closing his eyes. “You’re not ready to talk about it, I get it. But whatever happened, I promise it is something we can work through. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be right here.”

He can sense eyes on him, so he opens his own meeting Virgil’s. Roman can’t help but smile, “There are those eyes.”

Virgil shifts across the floor, getting closer to Roman, while still maintaining his ball like state. Roman flattens his legs out, understanding that it was almost inevitable now that they were alone that Virgil would end up in his lap. And sure enough, Virgil lays down with his head in Roman’s lap still curled in the fetal position. 

Roman moves to take the hoodie off of Virgil’s head, laying it like a blanket instead over him. He then starts carding his fingers through Vigre’s hair, slowly and careful to apply just the right amount of pressure. Roman can’t help but smile when he hears Virgil sigh and watches as the tension starts to leave him. “That’s right, Dark Knight, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure of that?” Virgil asks, his voice quiet. 

“Of course,” Roman answers, his brow creased. “Pretty sure that when I asked you to marry me, it meant I wasn’t going anywhere.” 

“You could always change your mind.”

“Do you honestly think so little of me?” asks Roman. “After all we’ve been though, you think I would just change my mind? We both know many people have tried to get either one of us to change our minds. Yet we’re still here, together, after all of these years. We kept choosing each other, again and again. And we still will. Because we are strong.”

“But D said…”

“Forget your family,” Roman snaps before he catches himself. He takes a deep breath, “I mean, don’t worry about what D said. Do you want to marry me?”

“Yeah.”

“And I still want to marry you. Forget the others. We’re doing this for us, right?”

“Right.”

“We’re gonna finish getting ready,” Roman explains with a smile. “We’re gonna go downtown with Logan and Patton, as our witnesses, to the court. We’re gonna stand in front of a justice of the peace. I’m gonna gush about how amazing you are and promise you the stars. You’ll put up with it because you love me and honestly find it sweet even if you don’t want to admit it.”

That earns a smile from Virgil as Roman continues, “Then you’ll get your turn to say whatever you want. There’ll be some legal signing of things that I am sure Logan will find the most romantic of us all because god he’s such a nerd he would get excited over paperwork.”

“Be nice,” Virgil warns as he sits up, putting his head on Roman’s shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Roman admits before continuing, “And they’ll pronounce us husband and husband. And we’ll then go party with our family and friends, our real family and friends. Not your parents and brother, but our found family. And we’re gonna eat some good food and dance to whatever songs you want and just have fun celebrating us. Does that sound like fun?”

Virgil sighs and looks at Roman with eyes that just melt Roman’s heart, “Yeah. It does.”

“Great!” says Roman as he stands up and offers a hand to Virgil, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do you trust me?

Virgil rolls his eyes as he accepts the hand and gets pulled to his feet, “Seriously, do you know any other Disney pick-up lines?

“Is that a challenge?”

“Of course not,” Virgil laughs as brushes a piece of hair out of Roman’s face, causing Roman to blush. 

Roman can’t help himself. He takes his fiance’s hand and spins him once before pulling him close, placing his other hand on Virgil’s waist. Virgil shakes his head with a smile as he allows Roman to dance with him for a moment. 

Roman starts humming as he dances Virgil around the room, lost in his own little world. He was really going to marry this guy in an hour. Granted, the two of them had been together for so long, it just sort of seemed natural to make it official at this point. And now that they were old enough and independent from their disapproving and homophobic families, there was no reason to wait any longer. 

“What are you thinking?” Virgil asks after a moment.

Roman snaps back to reality, “Nothing.

Virgil chuckles, “Really? You’re humming Stronger Than You?”

“Hm? Oh sorry,” Roman blushes. “I guess I was just thinking that  I don’t care what your family said. I love you. Now and Forever. And they’re just jealous of what we have.” 

“I love you too,” says Virgil. “And you’re right.”

Roman spins Virgil and dips him with a dramatic flare, “I’m sorry can I get a recording of that?”

“I hate to interrupt,” Logan calls from the hallway. “But since it sounds as if things are okay, I thought I should notify you that we need to leave in five if we wish to remain on time.”

“Thank you five,” Roman answers before he turns his attention back to his partner and sets him upright again.

Virgil surprises Roman by pulling him in for a kiss, causing Roman’s heart to flutter. Sure, when dating, over time the butterfly feeling became less frequent. It was completely normal. But every once in a while, Virgil would find a way to get the response from Roman, making him fall head over heels in love again. And again. And again.

Virgil pulls away again sooner than Roman wants, tying his tie for him. Roman smiles and straightens Virgil’s shirt. After another moment of fussing over one another, Roman takes Virgil’s hand, “Okay, let’s go get married then. Any last words?”

Virgil smiles as he shakes his head, “You say that like marriage is a death sentence.”

“With you, my darling, it is anything but,” Roman says as he kisses the top of Virgil’s hand, causing the Emo to laugh lightly. “Let’s go start writing our happily ever after.”

[mithrilwren]

Servant Song

I always keep my promises :) Whether or not we get it on the show, here’s Fjord and Caduceus having a much needed check-in about the events of the Menagerie, their first night at sea.

(Also on Ao3)

Fjord could have taken the captain’s quarters. Caduceus expected him to, though in hindsight, that might have been a foolish supposition. But here they are, with Fjord laying down linens over his old bunk and tucking the sheets in with martial precision, when Caduceus had been thinking - had been hoping, truthfully - that he would have the night alone.

The ocean rocks beneath the hull, and Caduceus sits cross-legged on his own bunk, drifting with the rhythm and watching Fjord work. The corners are all done up neatly, far neater than anything that’s meant to be lain in ought to be. Could Caduceus be blamed for thinking that the man would want his crusts cut off, all those days ago? Fjord is particular about everything. 

And Caduceus is… frustrated. Unfair as it may be, that’s what he is.

He’s very, very tired. He wants to sleep, and Fjord is still fussing around, and he has to bite his his tongue lest any passive-aggressive word or complaint slips out. He may not enjoy the ocean, but he’ll be stuck on it for the next few weeks. He’d better start getting used to that discomfort now. It’s no reason to snap at Fjord, who hasn’t done anything wrong, even if every sound he makes is grating on Caduceus’s nerves like a taut wire scraped over stone.

Fjord finally drops down onto his bed, satisfied, and Caduceus fights the urge to cover his ears as the wooden frame creaks with his weight. Everything is too loud. Everything is too much, tonight. He’s feeling well past frayed. Speaking with your family for the first time in a decade will do that to a person, he’s finding out.

Fjord finally looks up at Caduceus, biting his lip before speaking. “...You mind if I put out the light?” The words are apologetic - like he had another question in mind, but lost his nerve.

“Sure.”

Fjord hops off the bed, and there - the sheets are already wrinkled. What was the point in all that? Caduceus huffs, then lays down and pulls the covers up over his chest.

The torch by the door snuffs out, leaving only a pair of thin candlesticks on the twin dressers and the light from beneath the door to illuminate their little shared room. Fjord walks back to his bed, confident where Caduceus would have stumbled. He’s the only one in the party now who can’t see in the dark. He thinks that most of them forget that, these days - that he can’t see the way they can.

“Night, Caduceus.” Fjord’s soft murmur rumbles over him, and he curls up as comfortably as he can on a bed made for someone a head shorter, facing the wall. Briny speckled wood stares back, half-rotted and almost slick in the dim candlelight. Or maybe that’s his mind playing tricks on him, reminding him of what lies beneath the thin protection of the hull. 

The world rocks, rocks, rocks-

Clarabelle’s face drifts from the darkness. He hears her high, excited laugh in the break between swells.

She was so happy to see him. 

He was so happy to see her. 

To see all of them.

He was so happy.

He was.

He is.

Caduceus tightens his hand into the blankets, body twitching as the ocean rocks, and the bed rocks, and the world moves around him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He is happy. His family is safe, and the grove will soon be saved as well, and that’s all that ever mattered. And this? This melancholy? It will pass. Tomorrow there’ll be new things that need his attention, and a fresh path forward: something to distract himself from the movement, and the noise, and all the things that are too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too unceasing. There’s still so much left to accomplish. 

What’s the point of feeling like this? How does it help him? What good does it do?

Caduceus presses his face into the mattress, willing the darkness to come already. Everything will be easier tomorrow. He’ll feel less heartsick, and more steady, like he needs to be. Like he always needs to be.

It’s just been a long day. It’s just been-

“Caduceus?” Fjord’s whisper is entirely too close and Caduceus flinches, but manages not to flail. He rolls over to find Fjord hunched over his bed, one hand braced tentatively on the edge of the mattress. “Are you asleep?” 

Caduceus sits up, drawing the blankets up with him. Fjord lowers himself onto the side of the bed, perched in an awkward way that makes it clear he’s trying not to take up too much space. It’s an uncomfortable pose, and Caduceus scoots over a little, until they have room to fit side by side.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but his voice is too rough for the question, not filled with enough easy assurance. Habit sends his eyes flicking over Fjord’s body in search of traces of seawater. If this is another nightmare, he’s not sure he has the energy to be the comforter tonight. 

“Nothing.” Fjord’s response is quick - too quick, and Caduceus’s eyes narrow. “I just… we haven’t gotten a chance to talk for a while. A lot’s happened in the last few days.” Caduceus nearly snaps that they would have had the chance, if he and the others hadn’t been so dead set on spending the previous night desecrating a sacred site. But when Fjord said he wasn’t involved in the acts themselves, he did believe him, and he has to be fair. Fjord’s done a lot for him; Caduceus owes him that much.

“What do you want to talk about?” Jester’s religious revelations, almost losing Beau in the fight with the Gorgon, the peace treaty they’re sailing towards. There are lots of things Fjord might want to talk through, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to pretend to be excited about any of it, but can’t quite make himself tell Fjord to go away either. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

Caduceus sighs, staring off towards the wall over Fjord’s bed. How does he answer that, when he doesn’t know himself? He knows what he should be feeling. He thinks he knows what Fjord needs to hear. 

“Good, I think. Very relieved that we all made it out in one piece.” And that must be what he feels, because he said it. And if he doesn’t feel particularly joyful, he will by tomorrow, once he’s rested a little more. And if he doesn’t by then…

Well. It was never his job to be happy. His job was to be patient, and to listen to the Mother, and to endure whatever trials might come, until the others came back. He didn’t spend these past ten years locked in a stone prison. He lived freely, and that’s a close enough thing to happiness. It’s good enough for the bees, and the beasts, and the whispering elms. It should have been enough for him.

(And besides, how can he say to Fjord, who never had parents to come home to, that the reunion hurt more than the leaving?)

“I’m sure the garden will be beautiful by the time I return. I’m excited to see what my family makes of it.” He manages a little sad smile, and expects that to be the end of the conversation, but Fjord is still there when he looks back to him. His eyes are troubled, flickering yellow in the candlelight, and Caduceus finds he can’t hold his gaze for long.

“They seemed like good people. It must have been nice to finally see them again,” Fjord says softly. Caduceus nods, swallowing hard. Nice. That’s how it was supposed to feel. He’s thankful to Fjord, in that moment, for reminding him of the right words, the proper ones.

“Very nice,” he says. “I missed them, more than I realized.” He startles when Fjord reaches out and touches the back of his hand, blunt nails grazing the soft fur over his knuckles.

“Sorry,” Fjord says, drawing his hand back, and he looks down at his own hands, still folded in his lap. They’re shaking, he realizes. Caduceus gives a little chuckle, almost as surprised as Fjord at the sight.

“Don’t worry about that. Just tired. How are you doing, Fjord? It must feel strange, being back on the sea, and on this ship. I know being the captain isn’t a role you relish.”

Fjord frowns, and answers slowly. “I’m fine, Caduceus. But… are you?” Caduceus opens his mouth, and nothing comes out, for far too long. “You’ve been through a lot in the last forty-eight hours.”

“Have I?” Caduceus laughs again, and uses the interruption to search for the next question he can ask, the next avenue he can take that will lead Fjord off this one. He’s desperate to divert the conversation before they reach whatever precipice they’re teetering towards. The swooping in his stomach tells him they’re close to one, even if he can’t see the drop.

“I mean, yes. What we saw in that place… it was incredibly disturbing, even to me, and it wasn’t my family who was petrified.”

Corrin’s broken body scattered amongst the sand. His father’s form frozen, with one arm raised. Clarabelle, she’s never looked that terrified, he didn’t realize she even could-

“But aren’t they your family too?” Caduceus asks. His brother, Caduceus sometimes wanted to hurt him when they were younger, but he never wanted anything like this. “You’re a Stone now, after all,” Calliope, with all her strength, even she couldn’t protect them and he smiles, mouth moving into a curve almost without his noticing. Fjord reaches out and takes his hand more forcefully this time: not hesitant, and not letting go. 

“Caduceus,” Fjord says, and Caduceus watches something wet drip onto the back of his green knuckles, the ones that cover his. Is the roof of the cabin leaking? He opens his mouth to speak again, and tastes salty water on his lips, and more dripping onto his tongue. 

Oh. He’s crying. That’s… odd.

He raises the hand that Fjord isn’t holding and wipes at his eyes, surprised to find that more tears are leaking out even as he swipes the first batch away. 

Does anyone ever cry, if there’s nobody there to watch? He’s always wondered. He was usually the one who did the watching, and the comforting as well, for all those who came to the Grove to lay their loved ones to rest. 

But why should he cry, if there’s no one to mourn? If no one actually died, in the end?

“I’m fine,” he insists, his voice roughening with each word. “Let’s talk about you, Fjord.” 

“You’re not fine,” Fjord says, undistracted and undeterred. “Caduceus, talk to me.”

“What’s there to talk about?” More heat slips out from the corner of his eyes, and brushing the tears away does nothing to stop more from falling, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening to his body - why it’s doing this, when he isn’t even upset. “My family is safe. I did what I set out to do. You know the rest.”

“But I don’t,” Fjord says, tightening his grip on Caduceus’s hand and looking at him so unhappily, and Caduceus would do anything to make this conversation end. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head. Did… did you get enough time with your parents, before they left?” He doesn’t mention the tears. For that, Caduceus is eternally grateful.

“Yes, of course. I’m glad that I got a chance to see them. I’m very lucky,” that they wanted to see me, after what I did, “that they were alive, all of them. I’m very grateful to you, and the others. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you all for what you did for my family.”

Far from being soothed, Fjord’s face grows more stormy. Caduceus suspects he’ll be losing circulation in his fingers soon, if Fjord’s keep up their vice grip. “You don’t have to repay us.”

“Don’t I?” I still have so much to make up for, after all. “I’m sure I’ll find a way. We still have a long road ahead of us.”

“Caduceus, we wanted to help you. Did we make Nott repay us, for rescuing Yeza? Or Beau, for standing up for her when we met her shithole father? Or me, when you gave me that sword, or when you helped me find the Wildmother? Was I supposed to pay you back for that?” Caduceus shakes his head. Of course not. He’d never have put that on his shoulders. “Then why would it be different for you?”

Because you deserved to be saved. And I-

“It’s fine, Fjord. Let’s-”

“It’s clearly not. Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Because I need it to be.” The treacherous nugget of honesty slips out in his frustration, and Fjord latches on. 

“Why? Why does it need to be fine?”

He doesn’t know the answer, and then he does. It hits him like a punch to the gut, a physical ache of realization. “Because if it isn’t now, then when will it be?” I did everything I was meant to do, everything I was led to do, and I’m still alone. He sucks in a breath, and that breath turns into two, then turns into a gasping, frantic pattern of inhales and exhales. “Then I’m always going to feel this way.”

“What way?” Fjord leans in closer, till his forehead brushes the loose waves of hair across Caduceus’s forehead, not letting him pull away, as much as his body wants him to press his back into the wall, or crawl beneath the bed, or be anywhere but here.

“Afraid.”

Is that how he feels? It seems true, when he says it, but it doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. 

“What are you afraid of, Caduceus?” 

Everything. The sea, the future, his parents’ love. Fjord’s hand on his, still holding him close, keeping him from running. He wants to shove Fjord away, but then he’ll be even more alone, and Caduceus is afraid of that too. But if he lets him in, then who will carry the weight? Is Fjord strong enough to hold them both?

Is he?

“I don’t know if I made the right choices. Maybe I chose the wrong path. I don’t know who can tell me the difference.” I don’t know who can forgive me, if I did.

Fjord’s other hand moves to rest on his chest, rough calluses catching against the silk that covers the ribs beneath. “Breathe,” he instructs, and Caduceus tries. He can’t make it slow down, at first, but Fjord’s hand runs gentle circles across his heart, moving in time with the rock of the ship. Eventually, air starts finding its way into his lungs again. 

“You told me that I should start looking for my own answers. Well, I’m going to try.” Fjord’s hand never stills as he speaks. “I don’t know if you’re on the ‘right’ path, Caduceus, because I don’t think there is one. I think the world’s more complicated than that. But I know that we all found each other for a reason. I know that your family is alive, because of what you did. And I know you set me on a far better path than the one I was walking, so if that counts for anything... I’ll never regret that I met you, not for a single day. I hope… I hope you feel the same way. And that you’re not just staying because you feel like you have to.” A twinge of uncertainty twists behind Fjord’s eyes, and his hand starts to pull away. Caduceus catches the hand before it can, holding it against his chest.

“I do,” Caduceus says, and finds that he means it. Even if he was supposed to live alone for the rest of his days, even if he abandoned that duty, he doesn’t regret meeting the Nein, or Fjord. He can’t bring himself to pretend anything else. “I’m glad to be here, with you.”

“Then this path can’t be wrong.” Caduceus smiles, looking down. That answer is more straightforward than he can accept. There are still some things that are ordained, that he can’t ignore in favour of his own feelings. But it’s a very Fjord sort of solution, and that’s endearing in its own way, and… it’s something to think on, at least.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Fjord’s posture relaxes, bit by bit. “I think I needed to hear that.” His head feels impossibly heavy, and he leans forward, dropping his forehead onto Fjord’s shoulder. A moment later, the hand that was on his chest moves to cradle the back of his head, not stroking his neck but just resting there, a comforting, steadying weight amidst the rocking of the ship.

“Anytime,” Fjord murmurs into a mouthful of hair. “And I mean that. Anytime you need me, Caduceus, I’m here.” 

He knows from Fjord’s twitching after a minute or so that the position isn’t comfortable for him, nor is it particularly comfortable for Caduceus either - his back isn’t meant to bend quite that far. He reluctantly sits back up, and Fjord grins at him as he straightens. “Bedtime?”

“I think so.” Fjord pulls away, standing, but he lingers a moment longer before returning to his own bunk, just watching Caduceus, like he has something else to say. But whatever it is, he loses his nerve again, and they both retreat to their separate blankets once more. 

In Fjord’s absence, the gnawing guilt starts to creep back in, and Caduceus’s heart rapidly begins to sink as he leans over to blow out the candles. But in the faint light before the last flame flickers and fades, he thinks he catches a glint of blue waves on the ceiling, reflected from the space between Fjord’s hands. 

He recognizes the hue. It’s the emblem he gave to Fjord: still cherished, even weeks after the fact.

Was I supposed to pay you back?

Not for something freely given. Not for something earnestly shared. 

Maybe that’s what makes the difference, in the end.

[yankyo]

Message Recieved- Part 2

Part two of the fuckboi Beej idea that @beetlejuicebeadoll thought of!

Warnings: mention of hypnosis, stalking, general creepy beej, light hints of sexual frustration

-----------------

Ding.... Ding.... Ding.... Ding

       You refused to look up, what was the point? You already knew which jackass it was that was spamming you this late at night. The only douchebag who never went on silent, no matter how many times you tried turning off the ringer. 

Ding... Ding... Ding... Ding... DingDingDingDing

With a few choice expletives snarled under your breath, you snatched up your phone, "Can you shut the fuck up already? I'm reading it!" You snapped to the empty air, hoping the bastard was close enough to hear you. Fuck, you barely had to hope, he never seemed to stray far now. You scanned the texts, your irritation growing with each word. 

🐞🥤: hey, hey babes 

🐞🥤: I'm booored 

🐞🥤: at least put on some TV or somethinggg 

🐞🥤: babes, stop ignoring meeeee 

🐞🥤: I'm dying heeeere 

🐞🥤: figuratively lol 

🐞🥤: hey, whatever happened to the sexy shorts?? 

🐞🥤: can we bring those back?? I miss them 

🐞🥤: babes, are u still ignoring me?? 

🐞🥤: baaabes 

"Don't you have something better to do with your life?" You snarled, glaring at the empty air. 

🐞🥤: not living, babes. 

"You fucking know what I mean, you dickbag!" 

🐞🥤: ooh keep talking dirty babes 

       You threw the phone this time, an almost too common occurrence ever since this creep decided to situate himself in his life. The fact that any of this could be common was crazy, but apparently humans could get used to anything and in the past few weeks of being haunted, you found that you were more irritated by the pervy spirit currently possessing your phone than actually scared. After all, all he could really do here was annoy you through the phone, he couldn't affect anything else or really cause trouble without you saying his name three times and since that wasn't happening anytime soon, the both of you were more or less stuck with one another. At least until you could figure out a way to get him out of your phone. 

       Ding, ding, ding the sound of your phone made you sigh, but you turned on the tv and just tried to ignore it now. Beetlejuice loved getting under your skin, constantly flirting and joking around, just trying to either make you blush or piss you off - usually succeeding with both. Every day ended with him begging you to say his name to no avail, and then every night he would torment you with stupid dreams. That was the worst part of it all. Every single time you tried to go to sleep, you saw him, could feel his rough hands pinning you down, felt his lips painting a sweltering path along your skin as he growled his devotion to you. You dreamt of those sharp teeth of his gleaming in the light, hovering just above your neck as a cocky smirk spread across his face, you had woken up begging for him to bite you, thankfully you hadn't said his name, but it was getting just far too close these past few nights. And the worst part was that no matter how desperately needy you woke up, you couldn't do anything but take a cold shower and try and not think about the promises he had hissed in your ear in your dreams while the fucking bastard acted like he had done nothing wrong. It was frustrating and even when you tried to ask him, he would just get all the more cocky with you and ask you all sorts of questions about your dreams as if he wasn't the one causing it. Prick. Well, you weren't going to just give him a free show - and besides, the idea of him just watching you was.... ding, ding, ding. God. Fucking. Dammit. 

🐞🥤: u know, babes 

🐞🥤: u've been looking awfully tense lately 

🐞🥤: I could help out u no.

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you didn't dignify that with a response. 

🐞🥤: nothing pervy ya know, a little massage

🐞🥤: I'm real good w/ my hands u know

🐞🥤: just an offer

Having his hands on you was the last thing you needed right now! Implications of what freeing him would actually do aside, if he was this distracting just living in your phone, you shuddered to think of the mischief he could get into if he was free. 

       "I'd be a lot less tense if you moved out of my phone and found someone else to fuck with." You deadpanned. 

🐞🥤: 😢 hurtful, babes 

🐞🥤: I LIKE being here with you tho

🐞🥤: ur pretty and cool and all, sides 

🐞🥤: u summoned me, can't leave til my name is called and all that 

How the hell that worked, you had absolutely no clue. You did know that swiping right on tinder did not equal a summoning, but then again, what did you know about summoning a ghost demon fuckboi? "Got anything else?" Why you asked, you didn't know. The smart thing would have been to just leave the phone there and go to bed, hope that you could get through the night without any more frustration, but the thought of going back to those dreams and not having an outlet for them.... yeah, not how you wanted to spend another night. 

🐞🥤: hmm 

🐞🥤: I've got one trick, but I dunno if U'll be up 4 it. 

You should back out now. You should just step away and find something better to do with your time. "What's that?" 

🐞🥤: Texting isn't all I can do. 

For a moment, you were confused, you knew he could somehow send pictures. They were blurry as all hell, but got the point across. And the thought of asking him if he meant what you thought he did was enough to make you want to self combust right then and there. 

🐞🥤: .... my voice is weird tho 

Oh. Oh. How did that work? "You can call me?" You pressed, curious now. Silence. The screen went black and a mass of unintelligible letters popped up as a distorted ringtone echoed through the apartment. Now would be a great time to collect your brain cell and run. Maybe to a church or something, stop being the main white lead in every horror film and perhaps not be possessed by a being you barely knew anything about - why were you answering the phone? 

       Static rippled through the speaker, the person on the other line drew in a trembling breath. 

       "Hey babes." His voice was low, gravelly, it sent a tingle down your spine. 

       "H...hey..." what were you even supposed to talk about now? "Your voice isn't weird." Perhaps it was the nerves, perhaps your own awkwardness, but thankfully Beetlejuice laughed, a soft, deep chuckle that somehow made you join in as well until the sound turned cold, intimidating, almost threatening. 

       "Just wait. You ain't seen nothin' yet." The desire to drop the phone and run was back, but you were glued in place. "Breathe, babes. Can't have you passing out on me yet." You exhaled a shaky breath you hadn't noticed you were holding in. "Good. Relax now, I ain't gonna do anything scary." Almost against your will, tense muscles relaxed and you leaned back against the couch, eyes falling shut. You hadn't lied, his voice wasn't weird, it was nice, almost too nice. Though he never raised his tone above a husky purr,  it filled you, his voice was your entire world. "Better. Now, what's got you so tense, huh, doll?" 

       "You do." The response was automatic, you couldn't have stopped yourself if you tried. 

       "Just me? Come on, that can't be it. You were tense when I got here." He was right, you couldn't blame all of your frustrations on him, there had been a reason you had been scrolling through tinder from the beginning, after all. 

       "I...." 

       "You can be honest with me, you know. You're lonely, just like me, aren't you?" The words were settling in your bones, dragging out those thoughts you had been pushing down. 

       "Yes." A breath, a relieved exhale that made your heart twist violently in your chest. 

       "Isn't it better to be truthful with yourself?" You found yourself nodding in response. "You can depend on me, I won't let you be lonely anymore.  You don't even have to say my name, just don't chase me away, let me stay by your side just like this." Just like this? How was this satisfying for him? Bound within your phone, invisible and formless, only able to reach out from within a screen - it had to be torture. 

       "Why me?" The question shocked both of you and the spell that had settled over you shattered. "How is this good?" You pressed forwards, and for once, you had rendered Beetlejuice silent. "Why didn't you just force me to say your name or something? Don't you want to be free?" 

       "I..." it was his turn to flounder.

       "Better yet, why stay here? Why waste your time on me at all? I'm not giving you what you want so why don't you just leave?" 

       "I just... I..." 

       "You don't know anything about me anyways, Beetlejuice, I'm not that treat of a person, why cling to me like this?" 

       "I DO KNOW YOU!" His purr had become a wail and even as your phone slipped from your fingers, his voice came through the speaker clear as ever. "I know you." He repeated, insistent. "I know how you speak to yourself when you're alone, how you laugh at your own jokes and console yourself when you're sad. I know how you like to fall asleep watching old crime shows, but will get so scared that you wrap yourself up in your blanket and walk circles around your home to make sure everything is safe. I know that you meet people just to shy away the second they try to get close. I know how your face brightens when you laugh and how your eyes dim when you're sad. I know you hate crying, so you cry in the shower so there'll be no evidence left behind." You were backing away from the phone now, how could he know all of that? He's only been here for a week, right? Your phone was shaking now, the screen sparking with green and blue and red. "I know you because I watched you. Because I love you. Do you know how long I've waited just to be able to talk to you like this? So you would know who I am?" He watched you? He called your name, the sound sharp, imploring. "I just want to be a part of your life. I don't want to be invisible anymore!" Scared wasn't an accurate enough word for how you were feeling in that moment. You felt as if you would be sick. You had to get away from here. Away from him. "W-wait!" As you stepped back, he called for you, as if he could sense what you were doing. "Don't leave me, please. I'll be quiet! I'll stop being so annoying! Babes!" 

       "Stop calling me that!" The scream echoed through the apartment and Beetlejuice fell silent, your phone screen turning a darker purple before it finally turned black - but you were already turning on your heel and running from the apartment.  

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 52)

Author’s note: I have nothing to say for myself. But, hey, have a chapter! I’m hoping to get back into something closer to weekly updates between Infinitesimal and A Little Nightmare now that college apps are done, but I did just get a new puppy (his name is Rudy and he’s perfect), so we’ll see how that goes. Happy reading!

Warnings: injury and illness, fear, arguing, guilt, death mention

Word count: 2430

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

“You doing okay, kiddo?”

Patton, standing at Emile’s side, was currently bearing about half of Emile’s weight, Emile’s good arm slung around his shoulders.

Emile, his gaze fixed on the tabletop in front of him, made an affirmative noise and carefully took another step. Patton moved with him.

That question again, the one he kept hearing almost nonstop this past… had it already been over a week? Longer? Emile wasn’t sure. A lot of the time he had spent here was fuzzy, especially at the beginning, for obvious reasons. He still didn’t remember the event that put him in this situation at all, although he had a few snatches of memory from immediately after that he wasn’t overly keen on dwelling on. And he’d been sleeping more often than not, especially during those first few days.

So, he wasn’t quite sure how long he had been here. Too long, he felt. He wanted nothing more than to go home.

On the bright side, he was definitely improving. He was finally starting to get some of his energy back, his bruises had begun to fade, and his nausea was dying down, thankfully, so he was able to eat more as well. His arm was still broken, of course, as was the end of his tail, and his head wound was still something to consider; but he was getting better.

As time passed, Emile was starting to get restless, lying down all of the time. Logan had thought that was a good sign, that Emile was starting to get bored. It meant that he was getting well enough to care about more than just sleeping. Patton and Virgil seemed glad to see it too, although Emile was mostly just frustrated.

Because Emile’s ankle was no longer as swollen, his head was doing better, and Patton made a good crutch, the littles had decided that it would be okay to let him walk around, just for a short while, supervised, of course. Emile was eager to stretch his legs and to get some small part of his independence back. The humans had already gone for the day, off to their jobs, so it was just the three of them until evening with no interruptions.

They had used some of the supplies from the first-aid kit to put together a sling for Emile’s bad arm; and once that was finished and in place, they had carefully shifted him into a standing position, moving slowly. That had been the most difficult part, getting him up and out of the box, with no one wanting to accidentally make any injuries worse. Virgil had even lifted each of his feet over the lip of the box so he didn’t trip. That part might have been overkill, but Emile still wasn’t very well-coordinated, and they hadn’t wanted to take the risk.

Now, as Emile slowly shuffled across the tabletop, both Patton and Virgil were watching him like a hawk. Emile could hear the anxious tap of Virgil’s crutch tailing closely after them, where he held Emile’s tail aloft so that the injured part of it didn’t drag on the ground. Even considering the fact that Virgil was holding Emile’s tail, he stayed very close, following them like a shadow. He only had one crutch at the moment, since his other arm was full; but he had no trouble keeping pace.

It still felt weird to Emile, how their roles had suddenly swapped. He was the oldest. Usually the one in charge, the healthy brother, the one taking care of everyone else. He never held it against Virgil for being disabled, or, later, against Patton for being sick and, as Emile suspected and completely understood, afraid of leaving the walls. That was just the way things were, and Emile had accepted his role. But, now… it was strange, to be the one being taken care of. That rarely happened, save for when he occasionally got sick, and never lasted this long. It was nice, in a way, to not have that responsibility on him for once; but even ignoring the fact that it took being knocked from the top of a cabinet to give him that release, he couldn’t say that he liked it. It felt… infantilizing, at times, even though he knew he needed their help. He hoped that Virgil didn’t feel this way, when Emile tried to keep him from putting himself in danger. Emile knew that he had been rather strict, even if he did have good reasons.

Regardless of any discomfort, Emile was undeniably glad that Virgil and Patton had stayed with him. He knew how much of a sacrifice it had been for them to go to humans for help, and then to stay with them for days on end because Emile couldn’t leave. It was true that Roman and Logan only seemed to want to help, as terrifyingly huge as they were, and they’d been very gracious with offering whatever the littles needed without asking for much in return, even binging cartoons for a few hours each evening simply because Emile and Patton liked them. But they were still humans, and Emile was indescribably grateful that he didn’t have to face them alone. However nice they seemed, Emile was determined to get better as soon as possible, so that they could all go home. He knew that Virgil was still very much on edge around Roman and Logan, and Patton had already spent far too much of his life at a human’s mercy. Emile didn’t want Patton to feel trapped ever again.

“I think I’m done,” Emile grunted, coming to a halt. They’d only done two laps of the table—and not even the whole table, given that they were staying clear of the edges and the back quarter of the surface was covered in supplies—but sweat was beading up on his forehead, and he was starting to feel ill. “Sorry to cut our scenic stroll of ours short so soon.”

“That’s okay, Em,” Patton said, smiling at his friend’s attempt at humor. “There’ll be other walks. And you made it a lot further this time!”

“Hm,” was all Emile responded.

This was technically their second attempt at getting Emile to walk. On the first, he’d made it about six inches before needing to be basically carried back to the box. Emile had persuaded them to let him try again an hour later, with some more preparation. He had decided that the first try didn’t count.

Patton helped him back to the box, and he and Virgil very carefully guided him over the lip of the cardboard. They eased him down onto the blankets, the tension leaving Virgil’s frame only when he was back down. Emile let out a small sigh, shifting to get comfortable.

“How are you doing?” Virgil checked, sitting beside him.

“I’m good, Virge,” Emile said.

Virgil looked doubtful. Fair enough, Emile supposed.

“Well, kinda tired, but that’s not a surprise.”

He looked down, nodding, twisting his hands in his lap. “We’ve still got a while before they get home, if you want to take a nap.”

Emile shook his head, only enough to be noticeable, watching Virgil’s seemingly subconscious fidgeting. “That’s all I’ve been doing.”

“Okay… but, like, you didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Is your head okay?”

“It’s fine.” He did feel dizzy, but it wasn’t too bad, considering.

“Your tail?”

“Doesn’t even hurt,” he answered honestly. Of course, whether that was good or bad was still up for debate. But Emile thought it was good—he still didn’t have full feeling in the tip of his tail, but he was growing surer and surer that he had some feeling in it.

“And your ankle?”

Emile supposed that Virgil would only get more suspicious if he claimed to be completely fine. “A bit sore, maybe. I tried not to put too much weight on it.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Let me look at it.” He slid over to Emile’s feet and partially rolled up his pant leg, inspecting the ankle. Emile felt his cool fingers gently probe at it, inspecting. He mumbled something to himself. Emile watched him for a moment, then looked over at Patton, who was sitting on his other side, with a meaningful expression.

Patton, in turn, shifted and cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, hesitantly when Virgil looked up, “I was, um, I was thinking of maybe going home for a bit, just to grab some things.”

Virgil paused, halfway through rolling Emile’s pant leg back down. “By yourself?” he said, concerned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Patton glanced at Emile, who gave him a small, encouraging nod. “I’ll be okay. I won’t rush. And I know you have to stay here, kiddo, which is fine. I’ll be fine alone, promise.”

“Is it important? I think we have everything we need.” He frowned, clearly thinking that if it was important, it would have come up sooner.

Patton glanced at Emile again. “It’s important,” he confirmed.

Virgil still looked unconvinced.

“If he thinks he can do it, he probably can,” Emile nudged. “I think we should let him go.

“Since when are you mister ‘let’s let everyone go off by themselves’?” Virgil said with a frown. Then he caught himself and broke off, glancing away.

Emile sighed.

“I’ll be careful,” Patton said once more.

Virgil groaned. “Okay, okay, fine; but if you’re not back tonight, I’m coming after you.”

Patton gave him a sad look at that, clearly aware that Virgil would never actually leave Emile alone in the human apartment. All he said, though, was, “I will be.”

Ten-odd minutes later, Patton had gathered what he needed for the trip—with help from Virgil, who fluttered around him the whole time like a nervous moth—and he departed, using the hook and rope to slowly climb down to the floor. Virgil watched him until he disappeared into the wall, then reluctantly returned to Emile.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Virgil looking to the side and absently picking at a seam in his jacket. He shifted, fidgeting, occasionally glancing at Emile and away again.

“Virgil, what’s going on?” Emile asked. “Is something worrying you?”

“What, you mean like Patton going up two floors by himself? That kind of something?”

Emile didn’t waver. “No, you’ve been acting weird all day. What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m great.”

Emile glanced up at the high ceiling above, then back at his younger brother. “Do you how do?”

Virgil blinked, then shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not news. Tell me what’s up.”

Virgil glanced at him again, then let out a long, disgruntled sigh. “It’s just… I don’t know, you’re doing better and stuff, and I was thinking… or, um, I guess I wanted to ask….” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly, looking as if he wished he were just about anywhere else.

“Ask what?” Emile leaned his head back on the blankets he sat propped against, watching his brother.

“I don’t know… I mean….” He sighed, frustrated, then looked back up. “Do you remember… We talked, before you went on that trip. The one where… you know.” He winced. “Do you remember our conversation?

Emile frowned. “I think so,” he said slowly, shifting to look at Virgil better and squinting his good eye. “I’m kinda fuzzy. Could you remind me?”

“Yeah, ’course… Um, we were talking about your trip and stuff, and I wanted to go with you, but you said no. And I argued because that’s kind of my thing. And I asked you why you were still mad at me, because I guess I figured I’d proved myself with Patton and everything… and, um, you said it was because I didn’t tell you about Patton before I brought him home. Because you thought…. It seemed like I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to help Patton.”

Emile glanced away. “Right. I remember now.”

“Anyway, uh, I just wanted to… you know—I knew you’d be okay, obviously, and stuff, but—that would have really sucked if that was our last conversation. Like, really sucked. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. It hadn’t been the best talk to end things on, even if Virgil had apologized at the end of it, and the guilt had been gnawing at him for a while now. Because even if that hadn’t been there last conversation, it could have been. Patton had actually left the house during the argument, frightened by how heated they’d gotten—something Virgil had already apologized for, but also still felt guilty about. “And like I said, I really am sorry about the stuff with Patton. I should have told you about him sooner, so you could help, not just showed up at home with him. I’m sorry.”

“I already forgave you for that, Virge,” Emile said. “But thank you.”

“I just… I know you would have helped him. I know you would have. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you.”

Emile reached out his good hand, and Virgil took it.

“I just wanted to tell you again, because… I don’t know. I wanted to make sure you knew. I’m sorry.”

Emile swallowed. “Well, if we’re apologizing for things… I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

Virgil blinked at him, taken off guard.

“I know, even with everything, I’m too strict sometimes. And I know how it stinks, to be stuck on the outside—or inside, I suppose, technically. Now more than ever.” He glanced down at himself with a grimace. “It was never about you, Virge. I just… I get scared. After everything that happened, with your foot and your tail… it just felt safer, to keep you away from that. I just… I never want you to go through something like that again.” He swallowed. “But I know that wasn’t my choice to make, even if I know you never really followed my rules. You’re an adult. You can make your own choices.”

There was a long silence after that, so long that Emile wondered if Virgil was going to respond at all.

“You’re just trying to distract me from Patton, right?” Virgil finally said, ducking his head so his chin disappeared into his hoodie.

“No, no. And this isn’t the concussion talking either.” Emile squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Well… that makes two of us, then, I guess.”

“We’re never going back to the seventh floor, though.”

Virgil winced. “Hell, no.”

[lucastheunlucky]

questioned - lucas&roland

Summary: Lucas is questioned by Roland about the ‘Dairy Queen’ mess, and asks why he was attacked and by who. Luke can’t explain it all, but Roland believes him that he’s a cop, and worse, that a few people in his precinct might be dirty. Roland is taking the case on, and released Luke.

Luke was still exhausted, which didn’t entirely make sense, being that he’s been knocked out for two days now. Finally awake, he was able to eat a meal, but everything ached enough to make his appetite non-existent. He was hooked up to a vital stand, an IV, and a catheter, and still forced to be handcuffed to the bed that he had to work hard not to disassociate or sleep more. Not that he was left alone. As hours went by, he was still not permitted to speak to anyone. He heard his older brother was here for him, and Luke just wanted Miles to bring him home so he didn’t do something stupid-- like go down to the street and let this hunter take him. Cause it was on his mind, doing something stupid like that seemed the only answer that didn’t end in blood or murder. He desperately needed someone to tell him not too, his mind so close to giving up it felt final in nature. Miles would reassure him right? He’d tell him he didn’t have too. That together they could kill this guy. Stop it for good. 

Just a moment to gather his thoughts was all he was given until he had to speak to a therapist about his mental health. Which, he lied profusely about. The guy probably saw through him, but Luke didn’t give them an inch in their search to find out if he meant what he said earlier about wanting to die, admitting he was just delirious from the anesthetic. They left without much. The cop by the door walked away soon after, and Lucas knew it was time to figure out what he wanted to say. When he saw the Sargent his insides soured against his will, and his fists curled gently under the blankets.  

While the evidence from the scene left them with more questions than answers, Roland hoped Lucas would be able to provide some answers. With results back from Forensics and their overview of the scene, it was plain to see that Lucas had not initiated the attack at the Dairy Queen. The question was, who did and why? Miles had mentioned a dirty cop and he checked the surveillance footage from that area for the short period of time Lucas had been in his cell, but it was conveniently missing. It screamed inside work and Roland would not tolerate that. Not in his station. Cops who played outside the law gave all of them a bad name and shirked their responsibility to the community. Looking over Lucas, he wasn’t in good shape and he could tell his presence left him feeling on edge. 

Roland tried to make himself a little less domineering, softening his face and brow line while holding up the key to the cuffs, “Mr. Washington,” he said calmly, “Before anything, I’m going to remove your cuffs. Evidence points to you not being the one who started the attack.” He reached out and asked, “May I?” He didn’t want to encroach on his space and make him feel as if he didn’t have power in this situation. The footage being tampered with had the sergeant believing Miles must have been right about there being a dirty cop involved. He wouldn’t get anywhere if the kid didn’t trust enough to give an honest statement. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Lucas said carefully. Desperate for it to be off his wrist, not that it was difficult to break out of cuffs, but the idea around it saying he was guilty of something left him sour and depressed. He didn’t know what else to say, not sure what he was going to be asked, or if he even should say something on it and incriminate himself. “Thank you.” 

Roland gently unlocked the cuffs and linked them back on to his work belt. “Thank you, Mr. Washington,” he responded, keeping his features relaxed as he took a seat in the chair next to his bed. “Can you start by telling me what happened at the Dairy Queen? It appears the attack was aimed specifically at you.” 

Lucas swallowed thickly. “Why do you think that? I was just--” he didn’t know how to word any of this and he didn’t want to bring up Nico either. “There.”

Roland could tell the man was clearly still uneasy. “You can relax,” he leaned back a bit in his chair to give him more space, “Footage shows you were inside during the attack that clearly came from outside. Security footage from your cell during the timeframe you were in it also mysteriously disappeared. Trying to get a grasp on the situation so we can put the right guys behind bars.” 

“I can’t really relax Sarge.” So the footage was deleted, great. Just great, so there were other cops involved. How could he ever figure out who to trust. “I mean, I-- really,” Lucas sighed, looking down, he'd avoided this exact scenario when he got shot in the head. This questioning couldn’t ever be fully truthful, this was why he didn’t say anything before. “I don’t know what happened. I was drinking a milkshake and then the window blew out. Maybe they were after me.”

“I understand,” Roland answered plainly. He suspected Miles may have been right about the cop thing which made Lucas less likely to trust him with the truth. He detested the idea of someone abusing their power for personal gain. They were paid on the taxpayer’s dime and they had a responsibility to the community to uphold. “All evidence points to them targeting you. You were the only one hurt and your blood was the only blood spilled on the scene. Have you noticed anyone following or have you received any odd threats?”

Lucas was so close to deliriously laughing it really fucked with his head for a moment because this was serious but he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Oh yeah?” he wasn’t surprised, it could have been quite different had he not been born this way. Those humans would have been splattered on the pavement. “I’ve--” he paused, clearly struggling. “I can’t tell you anything. If you are going to look into this, I really have to be left out of it. Or you will get me killed.”

Roland’s brow furrowed as Lucas spoke. Miles had definitely been right. “So it is a cop then. Your brother mentioned as much. Would explain why the security footage from your cell went missing. There is someone entering the area shown on tape right before you were rushed to the hospital.” He paused and let out a long sigh, “If you don’t tell me what’s happening, I can’t help as effectively. I take my job very seriously and the thought of someone abusing their power is very upsetting to me and isn’t how I want my department being ran.” 

Lucas’ face stilled, and his chest lifted a little faster, and the monitor he was on, suddenly made a sharp beep to mark his distress. Finally able to move his right arm, he gripped the bandage with his hand. “You don’t know what you are getting into Sarge,” his voice shook. “I’m--” terrified of this man. The words stayed unspoken. “I’m unable to tell you, I can’t do it-- he,” he gritted his teeth. “He always gets away with it. Since I was--” His hand tightened. “A kid. You investigate him, interrogate him--” He shook his head. “I can’t believe for a moment, any of it will stick and I’ll be punished for it. No hiding will save me. Please don’t do this.” 

The classic signs of trauma were present in Washington. Roland acknowledged how difficult it was for him to talk about this and apparently it had been going on for years. Why would a cop be harassing a kid though? It was likely Lucas wasn’t the only person he was doing this to either, but if he knew why, maybe he could find a pattern. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worked to take down a dirty cop. I know what I’m doing. If he’s doing this to you, it means he’s doing it to others.” His tone was firm as he added, “Why is he after you? If I can find a pattern, I can find evidence. They already got sloppy leaving the weapons and truck on the scene.” 

Lucas shook his head. “They aren’t the same,” he couldn’t believe he said that, it wasn’t exactly the truth but it would also maybe, make more sense for the Sarge to look at it that way. “These are two different things. Two cases. This--” He motioned to his arm. It all sounded stupid on his tongue, and he felt frustrated with himself that he couldn’t just admit everything. Feeling like he really needed to give him something he added. “There are other times when he arrested me. Many times. Since I was fourteen, fifteen, I grew up here. No one ever stopped him. I don’t know if that helps, if there is a paper trail. I never went to the precinct though.”

Roland was glad Lucas was giving him something to work with. A paper trail and taking a deeper look into those cases could uncover their dirty cop. The notion alone made him sick. Cops like that ruined everything the force was supposed to stand for. “Previous arrest records. I could work with that. There’ll have to be a link somewhere there.” He paused, looking over Lucas, everything in his body language indicated he was being as forthcoming as he felt safe being. “I understand if you don’t feel safe telling me more. I can leave my card, just in case you change your mind.”

“Okay, I--” he paused, thinking for a long moment about the why and if he could say something on it that didn’t confuse the situation. But Luke swallowed it down, and nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t feel better about all this, but at least he could see Miles soon, and get out of here.

[surviving-sides]

Try (pt. 1) [Zombie Apocalypse AU]

    A/N: Because, for some reason, it’s taking me so goddamn long to write, I’m going to split this up into two or three parts. There’ll be an author’s note at the end with a question that I’d really appreciate an answer to. 

    Trigger warnings: Eye trauma (not discussed in detail), surgery mention, blood, misgendering (not on purpose)

    The three of them had settled into a nice little routine. 

    Remus continued training Patton how to use their knife, and Patton continued going on runs with Roman (despite Remus pulling Roman aside every other day to insist that it wasn’t a good idea. Roman just told him to fuck off). Roman and Patton didn’t run into another problem like the one at the freezer, and they never ran into any living people, either. At night, Patton curled up on their pile of blankets, back to Roman, and cried silently, wondering if they were the last people alive. 

    Patton still hadn’t put down a biter yet. They didn’t think they could. Any time they got too close, they either got scared, and froze, or they remembered that they used to be people, and their mourning was so strong that it crippled them. 

    It was around midday, and Remus was out hunting. It was getting so cold out, Patton wondered if it was going to start snowing soon. Roman and Patton talked about going on a run for coats and hats, and about building a fire pit. Patton mused about how they thought they could make hot chocolate with nonperishable items, should they come across them. 

    But for now, they were relaxing. They didn’t get much time to relax. Patton was colouring in a colouring book Roman picked up for them with a very limited choice in crayons, and Roman was laid next to them, arms folded behind his head and eyes closed. 

    Something in the distance caught Patton’s eye. They set their crayon down and squinted, frowning. For a second, their heart stopped- Biters! But then… 

    No. They’re moving much too fast. 

    “Hey!” One of them cried, panicked and wheezing for breath. Their voice was faint with distance. “Hey- Help! Help us!”

    As they got closer, all Patton could see what blood.

    They closed their eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Panic was threatening to take over their body and it took all of their strength not to run into the bathroom and barricade the door. 

    “Roman,” they choked out. 

    Roman peeked an eye open, frowning. “You okay?”

    “Get my medical bag.” 

    Patton went out to meet them- A boy with dark skin and a girl with short hair. The girl practically threw him into Patton’s arms. 

    “Help him,” she demanded, terror stricken over her face. “Help him, please!” 

    “What’s his name?” Patton asked, helping her haul him to the rest stop. They laid the boy down on one of the benches, Patton shoving their bag under his head. 

    “Riley.” She took in a shuddering breath. “Riley. And- And I’m Virgil.” 

    Roman rushed over with the bag, eyes wide. “What happened?!” 

    “We- We were in the city,” Virgil panted, “and we were attacked. They- They cut his eye. Is he going to be okay?!”

    “How deep was it?” Patton asked. They wanted to cry when they saw their medical supplies. They didn’t think Riley was going to make it. 

    “I don’t know, I don’t know!” Virgil buried her face in her hands as sobs took over her body. 

    Patton wanted to give up. They had some gauze, painkillers, bandaids, and disinfectant. They were never even taught how to do the surgery. The best they could do would be to guess what to do with what they did know, and that was only if they had the correct supplies. 

    Roman took Patton by the hand and lead him a bit away. “What is it?” He asked quietly. 

    Patton pursed their lips hard as tears threatened to pool in their eyes. They explained the problem, Roman looking more and more troubled as they spoke. “Okay,” he said quietly. “What can you do with what we have? Can you buy us some time?”

    Patton took another look at Riley, and then let out a harsh breath. “Maybe. I don’t really know.” 

    “Try.” Roman squeezed their shoulder. “Okay? Just try.” 

    Patton nodded, and went back over to them. “I’m going to wrap the eye,” they said, pulling out the roll of gauze, “to keep it from getting infected, and hopefully stop the bleeding.”

    “Are you a doctor?” Virgil asked, sniffling and looking them over. 

    They shook their head. “No. I was going to school to be a vet. I know some things, but…” They hated to admit this. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.” 

    Virgil looked away, glaring with tears in her eyes. She took Riley’s hand and squeezed. 

    “Okay, what are you going to need?” Roman asked, standing nearby with a notebook and pen. 

    “An eyepatch, for sure,” they said. “Surgical thread, sutures… Antibiotics. Just… Grab whatever antibiotics you can find and I’ll figure out the rest.” 

    “Alright. We can get most of that at the animal centre, hopefully there won’t be too many ghouls.” Roman patted Virgil hard on the shoulder. “You coming?” 

    She sniffled and looked up at him, and then back at Riley. She kissed the back of his hand and stood up. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

    “Roman?” Remus frowned as he stepped out of the tree line. 

    Virgil brought up her gun. Remus didn’t seem bothered, strolling to the rest stop. He was… Covered in blood, all over his head and face and shoulders and torso. Dripping in it. 

    “That’s my brother,” Roman said. “Put the gun down.”

    “Why is he covered in blood?” Virgil narrowed her eyes. 

    “There was a ghoul.” He shrugged. “I killed it.”

    “And then bathed in it?” Roman asked incredulously. 

    “Well, if you must know-” 

    “Virgil, put the gun down,” Roman snapped. 

    Virgil hesitated, and holstered it. “A man walks in here covered in blood and I’m not supposed to react?” 

    “Oh no!” Remus frowned, reaching for Riley’s gauze. “What happened?”

    Patton smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch, Remus.” 

    He pouted. “I wanted to see.” 

    “No.” 

    He huffed. “Fine. What happened?” 

    “He was attacked,” Roman said as he grabbed his backpack. “Virgil here and I are going to get supplies for Patton to operate on him.” 

    “Fun. I’ll come, too.” 

    He went to grab his bag, but Roman stopped him. “I think Virgil and I can handle this.” He lowered his voice. “I’m already going to have to keep an eye on her, I don’t need to be worrying about you, too.”

    Remus’s eyes sparkled. “Good luck stopping me.” He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Besides, I bet you’re planning on raiding the animal centre in the city? That’s pretty deep in there. The last time we went that far into the city was when we found Patton. You’ll need all the help you can get.” 

    “Remus is right,” Patton said. “I need you guys to get back here as soon as possible.” 

    “You think this’ll be a smooth trip with me watching the both of their every moves?” Roman asked. “It’ll take twice as long.”

    “It’s not my fault you don’t trust us!” Remus laughed. 

    Virgil’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “What, you think I’ll jump you on the trip to save my best friend’s life? What the fuck could that do for me?”

    Roman threw his hands up. “I don’t know! But I’m not trying to find out, either! I’ll take one of you. Or I’m not going.” 

    “We don’t have time for this,” Patton said in frustration. “Please, just someone go, or Riley’s going to die!” 

    A smile stretched wide across Remus’s face. He stepped up to his brother, and snatched the notebook out of his hands. Stunned, Roman just watched. Remus plucked the car keys off his belt and went around to the driver’s side. “C’mon, Vergie. Let’s save your boyfriend.” 

    Virgil didn’t hesitate to grab his bag and hurry around to the passenger side. They were in the car and about to pull out when Roman huffed and whined and hurried to jump in the back seat. 

    “Virgil, you know how to read a map?” Remus asked, tossing one in his lap. 

    “Yeah.” 

    “Guide me to the animal centre, please.” 

    A/N: Do you want the hospital run to be a fic (with more effort put into it than this one lol) or asks?

Also, Virgil is now open for asks

[angstymarshmallow]

moments like these (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: after all the angst I’ve put them through lately, and because of how much I enjoyed nightbound today - I took pieces of the latest chapter, when MC has the chance to spend the night with someone. I kept writing to see where it would lead, and now here we are!]

[words counted: 1713]

Her kisses tasted like hunger and passion, all mingled together into one delicious meal.

And for a moment all Cal could manage was a groan of pleasure as hot-blooded desire begun coursing through his veins. 

It was testing his limits as the wolf inside him roused awake with eager and almost wild abandon. When it came to Wren, Cal was beginning to think he could lose control – because it shouldn’t be this intense, this all-consuming. He shouldn’t feel like he could never get enough of her, even though they’re still pressed against each other; half-naked and half-starved for attention.

It was their first kiss that had ignited something inside of him. And he wanted more than just a few stolen kisses – pressed along the soft silken sheets of his bed. As far as first kisses went, this was probably one of his most memorable– tangled together as they were, underneath the odd mansion’s roof with creaky floors and eerie silence.

She was breathtaking, stunning – again reminding him of the sun, when he broke their kiss to stare at her. And like the sun – he felt compelled to watch her, compelled to keep staring at the slight flecks of dark brown inside her eyes. He wanted to burn the image of her heavy dilated pupils while he stroked her chin; her eyes practically glowing against the rising colour of her cheeks. She was too beautiful to look at.

All he could think of was burying his lips between the softest parts of her skin now that he had her alone, after waiting forever for a moment like this. He wanted to inhale her scent, commit it to memory and nip where he thought would give her the most pleasure.

He tested his theory on a whim; burrowing his lips to the side of neck – where her shoulder blade met and bit with enough precise pressure for her to gasp and shudder in delight. It was a full body shudder too, one that had his own nerves jumping at the opportunity to please her in every way possible. “Oh, you like that…” His voice trailed off into a husky whisper.

Her eyes were bright with mischief as he pulled back slightly, but it was just enough to watch the flicker of emotion flit across her face. As if to answer, she closes the rest of the distance between them to straddle him, one leg at a time before his hands dropped to steady her waist. She tangled her fingers inside his hair and pulled.

His groin twitched at the slight spark of pain.

“I really, really do.”  She heavily emphasized, dragging her lips across his jaw where she did her own nipping herself.

His pulse jumped again. He wasn’t accustomed to turnabout play – but as long as she was doing the biting, he could get used to this. It would drive him crazy, maybe not right now but if she kept it up, he didn’t know how long he could keep this up without wanting to tear the rest of her clothes off her.

“Wren…” he uttered her name softly, when she kissed the other side of his jaw. “I’ve wanted this so much, every single day…” He trailed off again when she switched back, nipping again until the sensations became too intense for him to ignore.

Giddy with the urge to have her, Cal flipped their positions. The motion had taken her off-guard by the sudden way her shoulders stiffened and her eyes growing wider in surprise, but Cal quickly displaced the uneasiness by sliding himself between her legs.

Very quickly, her surprise was replaced by desire and her expression darkened to mirror what he already knew to be true. She wanted him, and maybe she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

The knowledge that he was doing this to her - driving her as much crazy with his love bites and kisses, exhilarated him. It encouraged him press the entire length of himself intimately between her inner thighs and rock his hips.

Her breath hitched.

His own breathing became laboured as he dipped his lips to find hers again, except this time – he was doing it to devour her whole. He deepened his kiss, sliding his tongue past the breach of her half-opened kiss. He guided his hips against hers’ shifting his weight to push back and forward – almost slamming into her with a growing sense of urgency. And although the last piece of fabrics still separated them, the slick sound of their own eagerness at touching each other’s bare skin had Wren growling his name.  

Fuck, he wanted so much more.

But he couldn’t have more. Not now. Not when there was still a bloodwraith after her. Not when she was still in danger and tomorrow would have proved it a tenfold over.

Cal went still at the thought.

He pulled away long enough to thump his forehead against her bare shoulder and groaned in frustration.

If only they had more time.

Wren blinked up at him, her brow crinkling in confusion before she cupped his cheek. “Uh – did I miss something? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. You’re perfect.” He turned into her hand, nuzzling her soft palm before pressing a soft kiss and shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he sighed. “It’s just…considering what’s going to go down tomorrow,” he glanced away for a second, hating the words as he said them. “We should probably get some rest.”

There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but just as quickly as it appeared – it vanished.

He traced a finger down the length of her neck, stopping between the valley of her breasts – where he longed to run his tongue over.

Fuck, he would give nearly anything to rip off her underwear right now. But he wasn’t thinking clearly – at least not with the right head in mind, as he managed to tear his eyes away. He waited a few beats before he swallowed, and glanced back at her. “And the things I want to do with you…they are not restful.” He ran his fingers down her arm to emphasize his point.

Despite the serious nature of their conversation, Wren laughed – blinking up at him with a smirk that toyed at the corner of her lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Then as though chagrined, her smile dissipated into a slight frown. “Ugh, but I know you’re totally right and I hate it.” She uttered her own sigh of frustration at the predicament they were in. “I hate that we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Me too, but there’ll be other nights like this.” He didn’t mean to end it as a question, but the uncertainty abruptly in his heart at the idea of never having a moment like this again disappeared when she reassured him with a smile.

“Duh, you think I’d let someone as hot as you go without having a taste for myself?” She winked playfully.

He wanted to say he was looking for more than one night – he was looking to explore whatever this was between them. Although, he settled for keeping things simple. Overthinking things could complicate everything. “Stay with me tonight, though?”

He knew he was asking for a lot. The moment he said it, the atmosphere in the room changed and he understood why.  They were still somewhat strangers after all. Yet, despite the short weeks of knowing her – she had his back. On more than one occasion, she fought on his behalf when she didn’t have to and came to his defense against his own pack when they tried to brand him a traitor.

Already, Cal trusted Wren more than he trusted most people in his life. So, it felt natural to ask her now that he was certain – now that he knew the sexual tension between them wasn’t all in his head. He was greedy to monopolize her time.

And if he could have her all to himself in one night – he would take it in a heartbeat. Still, being wary not to scare her off, Cal cleared his throat and added. “I promise I won’t bite.” Then, as though realizing the irony in his words he added, “not unless you want me to.”

That comment earned him a smile, and Wren bumped her forehead into his – the gesture although surprising, sent a distinct flutter of happiness towards his chest. “I’d love to.”

Without waiting for him to respond, Wren rolled from on top of him to slide underneath the duvet covers. He missed her weight almost since the second it was gone, but ignores the slight pang of longing that replaces it as he joined her under the covers. He tucked his long legs underneath the sheets and offered her his arm.

She snuggled to his side, letting her heard rest against his bicep before a contented sigh escaped. 

At the same second, he yawned into the air. 

“I swear I don’t even need a blanket.” She murmurs, voice dropping with subtle hints of exhaustion. “Lying next to you is almost like sticking my hand into a goddamn furnace.”

When he laughed, his entire body shook as Wren’s dark eyes peered up at him. “I hope this is okay? You’re comfortable right?” Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea asking her to stay, maybe he should give her some space. Doubts were an ugly thing if you allowed them to take root. He forced the thought back as he tried to retrieve his arm.

“Wait, don’t –” She stopped him with a disgruntled sound of protest. “I didn’t say I I didn’t enjoy it.” She blew a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. “This is more than okay. It’s encouraged. Please let me snuggle you on a daily basis –then there’d be no need for blankets.”

He smiled, reaching up with his free hand to drag his fingers through her hair after she shifted to rest her face across his broad chest. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“Good,” she titled her chin to drop a lazy kiss across his skin before yawning. “Good night.”

For the first time since they met, Cal was beginning to believe it would be because moments like these were hard to come by. “Good night.”

-

[astrodances]

A Night We Won’t Forget

Scroldie Week 2019: Day 1 - Klondike

Happy Scroldie Week!

There’s more comprehensive notes on ao3, but this first chapter is kinda an AU/canon-divergent scene insert for "Golden Lagoon." The path to the lagoon is much longer in this and therefore takes more time to travel, and for story's sake, Glomgold is just...way behind our lovebirds (he probably got tangled in the ropes of the one-man elevator XD).

************************************

Goldie was the first to spot them. Beautiful, ethereal pools of color that offered enchantment in the darkness. They were no gold, but even after a hundred-plus years, the falls were still a sight to behold on their own and drew smiles from the two sourdoughs.

"The Rainbow Caves!" she gasped, turning to Scrooge as he reached her side. "We're over halfway to the Golden Lagoon!"

The pair pulled out their respective halves of the map to the lagoon and held them together. Indeed, the caves had them around the center of the map. After another day of hiking and navigating the glaciers, they would surely find the motherlode. This time.

As Scrooge calculated the obstacles of their remaining journey, a flash blindsided his peripheral vision. Scowling, he turned to see his partner holding her phone over his shoulder and stepped away from her.

"What? Just giving you a little reading light is all," Goldie offered as an excuse.

Scrooge snatched her phone away, and when she attempted to feign a look of innocence, he rolled his eyes. "We should probably set up camp here for the night," he explained, returning his thoughts to their itinerary. "Despite someone making me do all the work on the elevator, we're ahead of schedule."

Goldie waved off his accusation as she began to climb down the rocks they were on. "It's okay, Scrooge. No one else is around. You can just admit you need to rest your old bones."

"I donnae-" An audible crack of the knee as he followed her tore down his defense. She smirked, and he mumbled after her, "At least I know I'm not the only one."

"For your sake I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

After they reached level ground, they fell into the task of setting up camp amid the light of the falls. Scrooge, being the frugal man that he was, had insisted on buying only one large bedroll for them to share, with the added excuse of wanting to keep an eye on her in that should she try to steal his half of the map while he slept, he would instantly know. Goldie pretended not to notice the frustrated blush that had crept up on his beak as he explained as much, and instead took delight in making him squirm by insisting, "Don't worry, hon. There'll be plenty of better opportunities to steal your map before we sleep. But we can trust each other, right?"

With their makeshift bed all made and a roaring fire going, the two settled next to each other around the flames, their shoulders nearly touching, and managed to have a peaceful dinner together. Or dinner for Goldie, at least. She shook her head in amusement as Scrooge scavenged through his backpack and pulled out the hors d'oeuvres he'd swiped from the buffet at Glomgold's gala.

"A hundred years ago, it was a can of beans," Goldie pointed out, gathering a spoonful of soup from the bowl in her hand before deadpanning, "Nice to see you've upgraded."

Scrooge munched happily on a teriyaki skewer before answering, "Hey, when it's free, it's free. And this is the good stuff. Flinty wants people to know he has the money for it, and who am I to stop him?" He unabashedly plucked the last bit of meat off the skewer with his teeth, then turned to offer her some tiny treats from another bag. "Cupcake, Cupcake?"

Goldie nearly spilled her soup as she choked over her laughter. "I'll take 'terms of endearment I'd never thought I'd hear Scrooge McDuck say' for five hundred, Alex." Still, she took a sweet from the bag all the same, setting it to the side to eat after her soup. "What's got you in a good mood all of the sudden?"

"Mostly the free food," he reiterated. "But also, look around ye! These falls are gorgeous! We didn't stop to enjoy them the last time, remember?"

Their eyes trailed around the cave: pools of pink, purple, and blue lit up their view, with a particularly large pool of light-blue gurgling across the fire from them. Goldie smiled at the tranquility of it all, but as she returned her gaze to Scrooge, who seemed to have truly gotten lost in the moment, a new thought crossed her mind.

"I'm surprised by you, Scrooge. Old legs or no, I was sure you would've kept us going all night to find the lagoon."

He shrugged. "Like I said, we're ahead of schedule." With a raise of her eyebrow, she knocked down his bluff by dragging a sigh from his chest, and he leaned back on his hands. "It's been over a hundred years. What's another day, hm? I'll be the first to tell ya that time is money, but adventure, this-" He gestured towards the falls, and she turned to look. "-is life. I want to savor the journey more now. Appreciate the finer things."

Goldie had been ready to call him a sentimental fool at the end of his soliloquy. It'd been on the tip of her tongue, that there must've been something in the water making him talk like that, but the way he was staring back at her when she looked at him again evaporated the words, leaving her feeling light-headed. Whatever energy he was sending her way in the short space between them, she wanted it. She wanted to latch onto it with a kiss that would leave them both dizzy. It'd been over a decade since their last, after all.

But she couldn't. Not when she still had a heist to carry out, and there was betrayal on the horizon. Not when she had to keep the upper hand.

"We...should get some sleep," she deflected, easily slipping on her pokerface again and doing her best to ignore the way Scrooge's spirit fell. She finished off the remainder of her soup and popped the mini-cupcake into her mouth with a satisfactory chew, then stood up and dusted off her hands. "Thanks for the cupcake...Cupcake," she echoed, leaning back down to plant a small kiss on his cheek. The way he leaned into her hold under his beak for a few seconds helped to assuage the guilt taking root in her heart, if only by a bit.

The two ducks fell into meandering chit-chat as they cleaned up after their meal against a waning fire. By the time they got under the single blanket they were to share for the night, another blanket between them and the ground, the conversation had returned to the gold they were determined to find tomorrow, any mammoths or elephants in the room be damned.

"You know you didn't have to hide it," Goldie remarked as she rested her hands behind her head so she could watch the nearest waterfall.

"Hide what?"

"Your map. Don't think I didn't see you moving it around like twelve times after dinner."

Scrooge stammered. "I-I...you weren't supposed to see that."

Even though he couldn't see it from the way he was laying away from her, she rolled her eyes. "Relax, Scroogie. I lost track of it after you put your kiddie meal back in your backpack."

That got a reaction out of him. "Ye are outrageous!" he declared, turning over to face her. Were it not for the amused sparkle in his eye, she would've considered him furious.

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment." Goldie leaned up on her elbow to face him in turn, a bewitching grin spreading across her beak.

His ensuing laugh was almost bitter. "I swear, you're actually going to be the death of me, O'Gilt. If you're not aggravating me, you're stealing from me, and if you're not doing that you're-"

A finger to his beak silenced him, and she leaned in close enough to tease him with the uncertainty of her next move. Just when the fire in his eyes started to plead with her, she finally murmured, "Get some sleep, Moneybags. We have a long day tomorrow."

Goldie wasn't sure if her whisper had reached Scrooge with how stunned he looked, but as she flipped over and pretended to go to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had made the wrong move.

—————

It took about two hours of sleep for Scrooge to realize he'd even closed his eyes at all. The second he did, he jolted up and twisted about to try to find what had woken him up in the first place. Because he'd definitely heard something or, judging by the empty spot next to him, someone.

There, only a stone's toss away, continuing down the path of the map. Target spotted.

"You thieving temptress!" Scrooge shouted to stop Goldie, who turned back to face him with that telltale victory smirk, one half of the map in each hand. A quick glance at his ransacked backpack and dusty hat and—were his spats on backwards?—told him she had been ruthlessly thorough in her search. He tangled himself free from their blanket and jumped up to square off with her.

"Morning, Sleepyhead. How's that queen-sized investment in 'instantly knowing' my every move treatin' you?"

He'd known this was coming. If it wasn't Goldie's inherently untrustworthy nature, it'd been her distance all evening. Every previous encounter they'd shared in their history together should've been enough of a clue that she was going to backstab him again, but like the fool he was, he kept falling for it. For her. Confident that this time, she wouldn't trick him. That maybe they could figure things out.

Curling his fingers into fists, Scrooge growled, low and betrayed. "So that's it? Bring me all the way back to White Agony just so you can take off and steal the gold for yourself?"

"You know it's more than that, Scroogie."

"Oh? Right, yes, I almost forgot. Can't have a McDuck-O'Gilt adventure without you breaking my heart. You, lass, are nothing but trouble! Then and now, you always have been and you always will be!"

The echoes of his outburst rippled across the caves, and for the split-second he saw her face twist into genuine hurt, a deeper part of him wished he kept his beak shut. But it was out there now, and he had to live with whatever happened next.

To her credit, Goldie managed to steady herself with a deep breath off to the side, but her broken tone spoke volumes as she wavered, "Because that's all I can be. We-I can't...be anything more. I love gold, and I...I love you, but..."

"You love gold, more than you love me," he finished.

"And that's why you love me. And why I'm not worth the trouble."

With the worst of his anger burned off, Scrooge closed his eyes for a count and took some deep breaths himself. When he opened them, Goldie's retreating figure was on the move, almost to the end of the pool their camp was next to. "Wha- Are you serious?!" he yelled after her, his feet already in pursuit.

"Yes, but I was also serious about what I was saying before, if that helps!" she tossed back.

"Not when you're running off with my map!"

It didn't take long for Scrooge to catch her. With livid, moonstruck adrenaline motivating him, he managed to tackle her into the next clearing between the pools. They rolled across the ground, each pinning the other down several times, and Scrooge somehow reclaimed one of the map halves. When Goldie realized this, she sprung up in an attempt to get away and keep the other half safe from him. But just as soon as she had her balance back, she stepped and fell into one of the purple pools, unaware they had rolled that close to them.

"Goldie!"

The fall had shocked them both, but Goldie relaxed when she realized the pool wasn't that deep, only coming to her collarbone. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the water smelled faintly of blackberries and was warm enough to swim in, and even more so that she had managed to keep her hands, and thus the map, out of the water.

Scrooge scrambled onto his feet and over to the side of the pool, raising a hand to his chest when he saw that things were under control. "Bless me bagpipes, you're both okay."

"Both?!"

Realizing the error of his words, he tried to backpedal. "I- uh...I meant you mainly. You, Goldie, are okay. Good. Very good." He peered closer and adjusted his spectacles. "And, ah yes, the map also seems to be intact."

Goldie had to bite back a devilish grin as a new plan hatched in her mind. "Oh, you mean this map?" she taunted, waving the folded paper closer to the water's surface.

"You wouldn't..."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Scrooge held his breath as she dared to lower the map, just until the very tip of its corner dipped into the water. A violet hue fanned out from it.

A dangerous wak! tore its way from Scrooge's throat as he finally reached the last straw for her antics, both from the present evening and from over a hundred years ago. "Give me back my map!" he demanded, throwing his own half off to the side away from the water before jumping in the pool himself.

For a few long seconds, only the sound of thrashing water and the rush of the falls filled the air as they wrestled for Goldie's half. It was madness, pure aquatic, multicolored madness, in an attempt from both parties to simultaneously get the map and keep it dry.

It ended when Scrooge finally got his thumb and finger around the map, tugged it out of Goldie's hand, and tossed it over her shoulder to safety, trying not to wallow in the likelihood that it was dotted in purple now. He kept a hand on her other wrist to keep her from going after it, accompanied by a sharp "don't," before taking stock of just where their tussle had landed them.

Goldie was now pinned between him and the side of the pool, her free arm outstretched over the edge in a futile attempt to reach for their prize. Their clothes were soaked purple and clung to their feathers, casting them in a mystical glow, and their lungs begged for air after having to fight against the drag of the water against their garments. Drops of violet trailed down their necks in rivulets. Scrooge lowered her wrist into the water as she turned to face him and he backed off just enough to let her sink onto her feet again.

And just like that, she left him breathless.

The air was charged with electricity again, and Scrooge failed to swallow past it. At this proximity, all that he could focus on were Goldie's eyes and the way that the water's glow highlighted each individual shade of green in them with a glint of dazzling amethyst. How they watched him as her breath tickled his nerves, waiting for his next move. Daring him to make it.

Whether his free hand cupped her face or his beak crashed into hers first, Scrooge couldn't say. His grip on her wrist loosened and transferred to her hip, and both her hands ran up his chest to play with his shoulders, neck, whiskers. He leaned back and pulled her with him further into the pool and closer to the falls, letting momentum carry them both the rest of the way. Anything to prolong the feeling that they were soaring in the clouds above their own secret world.

When they parted to catch their breaths, an unspoken revelation rose up between them. The hesitation that had haunted them around the fire was gone now. Goldie no longer had the upper hand, but neither did Scrooge. Their guards were down, and whatever chapter waited for them next in their lives, they wanted it. Together.

Goldie smirked, even as carefree desire danced in her eyes. "So, still think I'm trouble?" she challenged.

After taking the time to brush back a few stray strands of hair that had fallen into her face, Scrooge replied, "I'm sure of it." He caught her beak for a few more swift, successive kisses, before leveling her with a dreamy, honest gaze. "But you're worth every second."

[marshmallow-phd]

Sculpted Raven

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: It had been just you and your brother for the longest time and that’s how you liked it. Politics and lies had drove you away from your home five years ago and that has since left a bitter taste in your mouth. While exploring the latest town you’d settled in, you met Chanyeol. He was everything you didn’t want: goofy, happy-go-lucky… a wolf. Mate pull or not, you were going to try everything you could avoid him while keeping the secret from your brother. But how long would you be able to fight? Will Chanyeol be able to pull you back into the world you swore you would never enter again?

Warning: Mention of death

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

Out of respect for your mother, Chanyeol slept out in the living room on the couch while you and Lon took your old rooms for the night. Part of you had hoped that Chanyeol would give into his instincts and come join you, but when you woke up in the morning, the extra space on your bed was still empty. You had to admire that boy’s self control.

Suddenly getting a craving for some good, old fashioned pancakes, you hopped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen.

Fast asleep and snoring away in dream land, Chanyeol was spread out on the couch that was several inches too short. One foot was dangling off the side and planted on the ground while his other knee was bent up at an uncomfortable angle. The blanket was tossed down on the floor like it’d been thrown off sometime in the night.

Smiling to yourself, you picked up the blanket and started to lay it back over Chanyeol. Apparently, he wasn’t as asleep as you thought he was. Or maybe he was just that sensitive to your presence. Either way, his arms lifted up and encased you in his embrace, causing you to lie on top of him until he flipped over to his side, squishing you between his body and the back cushions of the couch.

“Chanyeol,” you grumbled, trying to wiggle out of his ironclad vise. As nice as his warmth was, your stomach was roaring at you to feed it.

At your attempt to get away, Chanyeol growled, pulling you in closer to him.

Fine.

Angling your arm as best as you could, your cold fingers found a little patch of skin under his shirt near his hip bone. Then you pinched down hard. When that didn’t work, you – albeit a little guiltily – added in your nail.

At the sharp pain, Chanyeol yelped, letting you go as he flung himself off the couch. He landed on the floor with a hard crash, vibrating the floor. He looked up at you with pouty lips.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “But I’m hungry and you wouldn’t let me go.”

He perked up at the mention of food.

Shaking your head, you slid off the couch and headed into the kitchen. Everything you needed to make breakfast was stored exactly where it had been when you left all those years ago. Your mother was a creature of habit, meaning you didn’t have to waste time in finding all the ingredients and could get straight to work.

Chanyeol kept his distance, standing a good ways away as he leaned on the counter and watching you work your magic. His manners and over awareness that he was a guest in your mother’s house was a little frustrating. A few times you caught him closing his eyes and sniffing the air. He even hummed in satisfaction. Your own mouth was watering in anticipation.

Lon came shuffling into the kitchen when you were close to being done with the first batch of pancakes and bacon.

“How come you never make this at our place?” he whined.

You rolled your eyes. “Why would I make them just for you?”

Lon grumbled unintelligibly under his breath as he helped himself to a plate of the now semi-warm pancakes. He slicked on the butter and poured more syrup than any one person needed before sitting down at the table. Chanyeol hadn’t moved to make his own plate, still keeping his eyes on you.

“Go ahead,” you pointed towards the food. “Eat it before Lon gobbles it all down.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I can wait for you.”

You glared at him. “Chanyeol, just eat.”

“He’s not going to until you’ve eaten, remember?” Lon butted in through a mouthful of pancake.

Glancing over at your wolf, he stood there sheepishly, keeping his own eyes down at the hardwood floor.

As the assistant chef to your mother and then the head cook once you got older, you were used to being the last one to actually sit down and partake in the meal. It made you feel a little… giddy to finally not be the one scramble for the scraps. When there are wolves in the family, whatever was on the table would only last five minutes or so. Why they needed to eat so damn much was well beyond your scope of knowledge.

Feeling generous, you slipped the last batch of freshly cooked pancakes onto a separate plate before picking up some for yourself. You held the fresher plate out for Chanyeol. “Here.”

To your surprise, he shook his head, instead swiping the colder plate from your hand, leaving you with the hot ones.

“Um, you’re supposed to take these,” you wiggled the plate at him.

“No,” Chanyeol said stubbornly. “You eat those. You made breakfast, you should get the hot ones.”

“Just take them,” you growled, gritting your teeth.

“No.”

“Chanyeol.”

“No.”

“Just do it.”

“No.”

The plate disappeared from your hand, but it was neither Lon nor Chanyeol who stole it away.

You mother, still in her PJs and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, sat next to Lon at the table, acting as if there was nothing strange about the fact that she just took the plate meant for your mate and started eating.

Chanyeol was the one who laughed first. He tried to hold it back, but soon it bubbled up and boiled over. You stared in fascination as he clapped along with his laughter before leaning onto the counter and slappin the surface. His actions were as if the funniness of the situation had taken over his limbs and were just flailing them everywhere to get rid of the extra energy.

It was infectious, his laughter, and soon you, too, were bent over with tears forming in your eyes.

When you finally were able to breath again, you found yourself in Chanyeol’s arms. His chest was still vibrating on a small volume from his laughter. Looking up at him, Chanyeol took the opportunity to kiss you, keeping it PG since you were still in the presence of your family.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Lon mumbled.

Your mother just smiled as she continued to eat.

Making up a plate of the last of the pancakes, you and Chanyeol sat down to join your family.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch how Chanyeol didn’t even pick up his fork until you’d had at least three bites and even then, you had to take two before he would take his next one. It was silly, but mates eating before the wolves was an old tradition reinforced by instincts to protect and take care of their mate. There would be times where your father wouldn’t eat until your mother had had two plates cleaned off. You thought it was a little much, but you would take it in stride as long as you were able to use your own fork and feed yourself.

“So,” your mom sighed, putting her fork down on her empty plate. It made you feel better that she was able to finish what was in front of her. “How did you two meet?”

You choked on the food in your mouth. That was not the conversation you expected her to start.

“At a fair,” Chanyeol answered.

The look you gave him was one of confusion. “No, we didn’t. We met at Kris’ shop.”

Chanyeol shook his head, turning his face to you fully. “No, that’s when we first spoke. I first saw you at the art festival. And you saw me, too. After Tao got scolded for flirting with you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” You’d taken one look at him and ran the other way, knowing exactly what that feeling in your chest was indicating. “I wouldn’t count that as meeting, though.”

He just shrugged. “I do.”

At the gushy way he said it, you rolled your eyes.

“You two are in for an interesting future,” your mom mused. “Opposites are always an unpredictable mix. There’ll be hard times ahead, but you’ll get through them. Just trust each other.”

“Okay, Mom,” you giggled. “When did you become Grandmother Willow?”

She simply shook her head. “Just make sure not to fight in front of the children.”

“Mom!”

You were absolutely horrified. Chanyeol’s entire face had turned red, all the way to his ears. Even Lon looked a little ill at your mom’s sudden comment.

To your mom, though, it was a natural thought process.  “Of course, that won’t be for a while.”

“A very long while,” you insisted. Chanyeol’s mouth was struggling not to split into a large smile. You nudged him hard with your elbow, digging the bone into his arm.

He whined, pouting out his bottom lip. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about it,” you demanded through gritted teeth. “That won’t happen for an extremely long time.”

Shoulders slumped, Chanyeol nodded. You scoffed, mostly to keep yourself from laughing.

“It’s only natural,” your mom reminded you.

Huffing, Lon pushed his plate away from him. “There goes my appetite for a second helping.”

You kicked him under the table, making him hiss.

With a frail hand, your mom patted his shoulder before standing up out of her chair.

“Do you need help with anything, Mom?” you offered.

She smiled at you over her shoulder. “No, I’m fi-”

Before she could convince you with her small, two worded lie, she collapsed to the floor on her knees, clutching her chest where her heart was.

“Mom!”

You ran to her side, pushing the hair away from her face and keeping her steady. Sweat beaded  all over her forehead and her breathing was shallow, raggedy, and uneven.

Lon rushed over and scooped her up into his arms. “Call Markus. I’ll take her to the hospital.”

You couldn’t say anything, just nodding as you watched the two of them disappear out the front door. Moving was impossible. Chanyeol came up behind you and helped you back up to your feet.

“I’ll call Markus,” he volunteered. “What’s his number?”

Your hand was shaking as you pointed to the list of emergency numbers your mom still had on the fridge. Using his own cell, Chanyeol got ahold of Markus and explained to him what had happened. Not even five minutes later, Markus was at the house. It took both of the wolves to coax you out to Markus’ car you were so rigid and disoriented.

In the back seat, Chanyeol held onto you quietly, rubbing your arms up and down and kissing your forehead, anything he could think of that would help comfort you. It didn’t truly work, but you accepted it. Without it, you might have fallen apart completely.

By the time you reached the hospital, Lon was in the waiting room with head hung low. He explained to Markus that they took your mom in for some tests. There was no word on how how long the tests would take or many there would be. Only time would tell.

You settled into a haze sort of state, sitting that chair in the hallway, staring at nothing. There was no reaction when Chanyeol took your hand. Every sound was just a monotone hum in the background.

It was several hours before you were allowed to actually see your mom in her room. After all the tests and every avenue explored, the doctors had no hope. This was it.

You were terrified to walk through that door. Lon and Markus entered with no hesitation. The latter kept his distance, letting your brother take his rightful place by your mom’s beside. Taking that step to cross the threshold from the hallway to the foreboding room was nearly impossible. That would be accepting the truth.

Tubes and wires monitored your mom’s vitals and helped keep her alive. This was not how you wanted to remember her. This was not the imagine you wanted to hold on to. You wanted to remember the woman who had been smiling at the table just this morning, making the typical, inappropriate mother-type comments. That was the truth of her, the real her.

Turning around, you tried to run, but Chanyeol blocked your path.

“You’ll always regret it,” he whispered, even though your refused to look at him. “If you leave now, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

He was right. You wished that he wasn’t, but he was.

With his help, you managed to walk into the room. Markus brought over one of the spare chairs so you could sit next to the bed. Your mom’s hand was cold when you picked it up and pressed it against your cheek. She didn’t move or open her eyes. At least, she seemed at peace.

No one spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in the background. The solemn atmosphere never let up. And you knew… that this was where it would end….

**

It was a perfect day for a funeral.

Yes, it was a very morbid thing to think while you stood there under the umbrella the Chanyeol clutched to as the sky cried along with you. Pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat.

The tears that fell from your eyes weren’t the loud kind. They fell silently, almost invisible thanks to raindrops that hit your face with the slight wind.

Every member from Markus’ pack was there to pay their respects to your mother. She was well loved among them all. Everyone would miss her kind and generous heart. A giant hole would be left in the world, now that your mother was gone.

It still didn’t seem real. Like at any moment, she’d come walking along the grass in between the tombstones, wiping away your tears as she cooed at you that everything would be alright. But she wouldn’t magically appear that way. Even with the lid closed, it couldn't be denied that she was resting inside the casket as the priest spoke over her, offering the final goodbye.

When he finished, he motioned to Lon and you. Stepping forward and out from under the protection of the umbrella, you laid down the yellow dahlia that you’d been holding onto the whole time as the rain soaked your hair, shoulders, and back. Dahlias were your mother’s favorite flowers and it felt right to lay them down with her instead of the traditional roses.

The procession of mourners started, giving you their condolences before they were allowed to leave the depressing area. Chanyeol was by your side the whole time, making sure you knew that he was there for you to lean on the whole time. Even though he’d only met your mother the one time, you found that he, too, had tears to shed for her absence.

Once almost everyone was gone, Lon turned to you with a heavy sigh.

“I’m going to stay for the next few days and help Markus pack up some things in the house. Just some stuff that can be donated. Mom would want that. And then… then I’ll come back to my things from the apartment before settling in the house. I’ve already told Markus that I want to join the pack and the others have agreed.”

You nodded. It was only right. You were just happy that Lon was going to keep the house. Not that you would agree to selling it anyway, but it was better that it didn’t stay empty.

“You can keep the apartment, if you want,” he continued. “I’ll pay the rent. I know you won’t move back up here with me, but that’s okay. Mom wouldn’t want you to leave anyway.”

All you think to answer with was a shrug. You didn’t want to go back to that apartment where you’d be all alone. What was the point of staying there? Your brother was the only reason for that place. But where else could you go?

Markus called Lon over to speak with him about something that you didn’t catch, leaving you alone with Chanyeol.

“Do you want to stay in the apartment?” he asked out of the blue.

You looked up at him, confused. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I mean, besides my parent’s house. But I don’t want to move back here.”

“You could always move into the farmhouse,” he suggested so quietly at first you weren’t sure if that’s what he’d actually said.

“What?”

With his hand that wasn’t holding onto the umbrella, he scratched the back of his head. “We’ve got plenty of room. I mean, there are twelve of us, so it may be too crowded for you, but at least then you wouldn’t be by yourself. I’d get it, though, if you didn’t want to. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

Throwing yourself at Chanyeol, you buried your face into his chest. It was silver lining on this dark, dark day. “Thank you.”

He rubbed your back, resting his cheek on your head. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

You nodded, face still pressed up against him.

Chanyeol pushed you back gently, cupping your jaw with his hands. He pressed his lips against your forehead. You knew that he was elated that you’d be moving in with him, staying in his home and sleeping next to him every night, but he was keeping his own happiness inside, knowing that this was just a side note on today.

In too short of a time, your life had been completely up ended, distorted, and insanely rearranged. Not having your brother right by your side was going to be difficult.  You’d leaned on him as your support your whole life. But now it was time for the two of you to go your separate ways. As siblings, you would always have each other, even with distance in between you. If something major were to happen, you knew that you could run to him and he’d be there.

For now, you had to let him go and head down your own path. Your hand wouldn’t be empty, though. Chanyeol would walk beside you, helping you along when you needed it and stepping back when you needed him to as well.

As you said goodbye to your mother one last time, you reminded yourself to only remember the amazing childhood she gave you. Life was unfair and had it’s up and downs. That’s all your story consisted of. But your mother helped you write your story, guiding your pen and steering you back when you got off track, and for that, you would always be grateful.

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

All Aboard - A Holiday Epilogue

Merry (Way Late) Christmas @xhookswenchx ! Please accept this humble offering from me, Mrs. Secret Santa, although not so secret now. I hope you enjoy this fluffy and smutty follow up to All Aboard. 

For those of you who don’t know, the original story was based on this post by @xhookswenchx and therefore, the story was only possible because of her. What better way to help me continue to say thanks for the inspiration than to dedicate this holiday epilogue to her. 

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     ao3     ffnet     Rated M     4.8K

I love writing this version of Emma and Killian simply because they are gone for each other and need each other like all the time. They started off hot and heavy, and even though they aren’t on a train this time, they are still at it. Thank you again to @hookedonapirate for beta reading and feedback!

Epilogue

Several Years Later…

Emma wanted nothing more than to take a nap, but she needed to be ready to volunteer in thirty minutes. This year they were going to the local orphanage to help serve a family style dinner, give out presents, and spend time with the children. Maybe she’d have time to nap afterward.

It had been a busy day already, what with waking up early (on a day off from patrolling Storybrooke as David’s second in command) to brave the throngs of last minute holiday shoppers for the gifts she and Killian had waited until the last minute to procure for tonight’s Dirty Santa gift exchange.

They were attending a holiday party thrown by Mary Margaret’s and Elsa’s co-worker Ruby Hunter and her husband Graham, who was also one of David’s deputies. Killian and Emma were going to pass on the party, but when they found out the Nolans, the other Jones family, as well as new friends from the shipping business, Will and Belle Scarlet, and David’s other deputy, Robin Locksley and his wife, Regina were all attending, they didn’t want to be the only Christmas Scrooges, so they’d decided to go.

Looking into the vanity mirror, Emma finished her makeup with a layer of color to her lips. Rubbing them together and popping them open, she smiled at the decadent holiday color Killian had picked out while they’d been out shopping earlier.

“Ah!” Emma yelled when Killian snuck up behind her and tickled her waist before wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Killian nuzzled his nose between her hair and her neck and inhaled deeply. “You smell divine,” he told her, then proceeded to plant a line of kisses along her neck and down her shoulder.

“Stop it, we’re going to be late.” She shivered just a bit when she felt his cock pressing into her backside. She really could go for a good fuck right now.

“I don’t care if we’re bloody late, I want my wife,” Killian growled into her ear. “I couldn’t have you this morning because we had to wake up and shop, now we have to volunteer, then we have a party. What if you’re too drunk after?” He smirked at her as he cocked an eyebrow, knowing she would remember the incident he was referencing.

“I promise there’ll be no tears shed over not getting to suck your cock, because I don’t plan on being drunk.”    

“What if I’m too drunk?” He kissed up her neck and attempted to reach her mouth.

“Killian, I just put on my lipstick,” she half whined and half sighed. She really did want him; maybe they had a little time?

“Aye, Candy Cane Red, I love that shade on you, darling, but I think it’d look even more magnificent on my cock. Don’t you?”

Emma’s eyes focused on her husband of four years and four days  - they’d gotten engaged over their first summer together and married on December 20th, the one year anniversary of meeting at the King Street Train Station in Seattle, Washington - he’d been absolutely insatiable this holiday season. A vice-like yearning came over her as she turned in his arms. “I don’t know, perhaps we should find out?” she suggested, brushing the hair from his forehead.       

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” a loud voice boomed from the front of their home. Emma and Killian had stayed in the little seaside cottage Liam had set up for his brother’s arrival five years ago. It was perfect for the two of them.

“Shhhhh, maybe they’ll go away if we’re very quiet,” Killian whispered. He smiled as Emma rolled her eyes at him.

“We’re not going away, you two!” Liam shouted. “Stop making out, it’s time to go you concupiscent adolescents.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and she burst into giggles. “I never thought I’d hear the word concupiscent from another living soul.”

“It’s the highbred vernacular ingrained in us dashing Brits, darling.”

“Oh, shut up,” Emma snorted. “Highbred my ass, two seconds ago you wanted to know what Candy Cane Red lipstick would look like on your cock.”

“Gentleman on the streets, rapscallion in the sheets?”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with love for her ridiculous husband. She pecked his lips through her smile. “Whatever you say.” She patted his chest placatingly before walking out to greet Liam and Elsa.

Walking to the front of the house Emma greeted her sister-in-law and brother-in-law with a hug. “He’s not very happy with you,” she told Liam.

“He never is.”

“Good afternoon, sister,” Killian said pulling Elsa into a hug. He narrowed his eyes as he acknowledged his brother, “Liam, you cockblocking sod, haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“Aye, but we’re family, there’s no need to knock among family.”

“That’s it, Swan, we’re changing the locks. Whose idea was it for him to have a key, anyhow?”

“Yours,” they all answered in unison. “So we can feed Nemo when you two travel,” Liam added.

Killian and Emma loved to drive along the coast finding secluded destinations to escape to, and just have each other. They were also the proud owners of a formerly stray black kitten, who needed to be cared for when they were gone. Killian had decided to call him Nemo after the Latin term meaning nobody. He’s nobody, from nowhere, Killian had told her when she’d gotten home from work one day, and he and the kitten were curled up on the couch.

Killian muttered under his breath about pisspoor timing as he and Emma bundled up in their winter gear. This winter was proving to be one of the bitterest on record, with temperature breaking lows and high winds to boot. Walking out the door and loading into Liam’s car, the four headed to meet David and Mary Margaret for their Christmas Eve tradition of volunteering.  

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

The afternoon had been amazing, getting to help out on such a special day. The group had stayed later than they’d realized, talking with the children and playing games. Emma’s heart felt full as she remembered how wonderful Killian had been with the little ones, making them laugh hysterically at his antics.

“We will see you at nine, you better not bail!” Elsa said when they pulled into the driveway to drop off Killian and Emma back at home.

“We might,” Killian threatened.

“We won’t,” Emma corrected, running her hand up and down his arm.

The door hadn’t even shut when Killian was pulling Emma into his embrace. He kissed her hugnrily. “I have waited so patiently…”

“Oh, yes, just like a good boy. You must be on the nice list?” Emma rubbed her hands up and down his chest, kneading it ardently.  

“Aye.”

“And what is it you want this year?”

“All I want is my wife,” he purred while kneading and squeezing her ass much like she was his chest.

“I think that can be arranged.” Emma dove back in to continue their kiss when an irritating siren-like sound began blaring from Killian’s cell phone.

“Shit,” Killian cursed, separating from Emma and scrubbing a hand down his face.

“What is it?”

“The alarm was tripped down at the warehouse.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Aye, love. Leroy and Anton have the next two days off for the holiday. I took today to cover if anything happened, and Liam has tomorrow.”

“I could go with you?”

“No need, I’ll be twenty minutes tops, it’s probably just a bird or small animal of some type that tripped the system.” Killian leaned in to peck her lips and bit down on her lower one, “I will see you shortly.”

“Hurry back,” she said breathily, wholly affected by the promise of sin in his words.

Sixteen minutes later…

“Did you get started without me?” Killian asked as he walked down the hall to their room. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight that greeted him. There was his lovely wife, snuggled into the blankets of their bed, and the low vibrating he’d mistaken for one of their toys was actually her snoring as she slept soundly. He decided to let her get the rest she’d been craving.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“Come on love, time to rise and shine.”

Emma whined as her husband shook her shoulder. She was so comfy, and just five more minutes, that’s all she wanted.  

“We’ll be late for the party if you don’t get up soon.”

Bolting upright and gave her husband a pout. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple hours.” He rubbed his arm up and down her shoulder and leaned in to peck her lips.

“I’m so sorry, babe!”

He smiled at her sincerity. “No need to apologize, Swan. I can wait.”

Emma threw the blankets back to reveal her naked form. “I really was intending to, I just decided to lay down to wait for you… and I guess I knocked out before you got back.”

Killian let out a frustrated moan, “Darling, you are killing me.” He stroked his hand over the contour of her bare hip.  

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“You’ve been exhausted all day and it wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me to selfishly wake you, just for a roll in the sheets.”      

“It’s not selfish if we both get something,” she purred.

Killian smacked her ass lightly. “Mmm, indeed, I guess I didn’t look at it that way. Too late now, we’ll be even more late if we don’t get ready. As it is, Dave is already texting me to find out what time we will be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her brother and Mary Margaret, and their penchants for punctuality. “Fine.”

They were ready in record time. Emma wore a strapless, red dress with black jewelry and accessories, including a shawl and stiletto heels, while Killian wore a black button up shirt and black slacks, and a red vest to match Emma’s dress.

After touching up her makeup and curling her hair quickly, they grabbed their Dirty Santa gifts and headed out the door.

The party was actually a huge undertaking. At least half of Storybrooke inhabited the beautifully decorated home, every surface was covered with food, gifts, or alcohol. After eating and mingling Ruby announced that it was time for the Dirty Santa game. There were gifts that ranged from classic, to practical, to sexual, to humorous, to downright weird, and the group shared many laughs as presents were picked and stolen, and guests cheered or pouted.

Once the massive gift exchange was over, an area of the great room emerged as a dance floor, and the kitchen became the place for beer pong and shots. Emma was feeling a little suffocated as she sat in a corner conversing with her closest girlfriends. The music was blaring, she’d eaten just a little too much, and the house had become overly warm as people danced and partied. The windows were now open, and hopefully the chilled winter air would permeate the room soon. She excused herself to the restroom to take a breather. Grabbing a bottle of cold water she headed upstairs to Ruby’s private bathroom so she could rest and clear her head.  

She sat on the extravagant gold chaise lounge that adorned the far wall of Ruby’s mansion sized restroom. She wondered if she’d be able to get away with a bath, then chuckled at herself. She was 33 years old, it wasn’t even midnight and she was ready to be at home. Home in bed with a certain rapscallion, she thought, and suddenly her stomach was churning with a different sensation. A raw need for her husband.   

E: Meet me upstairs. Last room on the left. Now.

K: You want my candy cane?

E: my 👄 on your candy cane

K: 💨

Emma laughed at her phone as she pictured Killian sprinting toward the stairs knocking over anything and anyone in his way. She’d just finished applying a fresh layer of lipstick when the door burst open behind her. “Lock the door,” she commanded in a low voice as she stalked toward him.

Killian complied then turned around and roughly pulled her against his body. “My cock might actually break, it’s so fucking hard.”

His words were a dirty caress and she bit down on her lip to keep from moaning. “I can feel that, babe,” she whispered as she rubbed against him. Emma dropped down to her knees, intent on showing Killian exactly what his cock would look like with Candy Cane Red lipstick painting it. She masterfully unfastened his pants, pulled down his fly and freed him. “I told you I wouldn’t be too drunk,” she smirked before clutching his ass in her hands and sucking his length into her hot mouth.

Normally he’d insist on lady’s first, but Killian was so ready he couldn’t bring himself to halt her ministrations. He grabbed a fist full of her hair on each side of her head and grasped tightly. “Yes, Swan, suck my cock. I’ve been half hard all evening just thinking about your delectable mouth.” He marveled at the way he slid in and out of her pretty lips, and she had indeed painted his cock that delicious shade of Candy Cane Red.

Emma moaned along his shaft as she looked up at him to appreciate his beauty. He was an absolute wreck, hair falling just above his hooded eyes from the way she was working him, cheeks flushed a deep red, the line of his jaw flexing as he gritted and clenched his teeth. He whimpered as his peak crept up on him faster than he wanted, and Emma’s clit sparked with want. “I need you, Killian.”

“Fuck,” he panted as she withdrew her mouth. Dragging her up from her knees, he stole her breath with a desperate kiss. He tore the top of her dress down, exposing her breasts, and hiked the tight skirt up over her ass, all while ravaging her mouth. Killian slapped his palm against her ass cheek and squeezed it with one hand while weaving the fingers of his other hand tightly into the hair at the base of her skull.

Emma moaned when he bit down on her lip. Maybe she should keep him waiting more often; she liked the desperate need in his touch tonight. She slipped her own hands into his pants which loosely hung unfastened on his hips and kneaded his ass. “Someone’s feeling a little vigorous tonight,” she said breathily as she broke the kiss for much needed air.

“Did I hurt you love?” He released the firm hold he’d had on her hair and guided her to sit on the chaise. His ardor immediately cooled, and his concern genuine, he knelt in front of her and smoothed his hands up and down her thighs lovingly.

Emma just laughed. “No Killian, you didn’t hurt me. In fact,” she leaned in, and placed her mouth at his ear, “I like it.” Emma leaned back and bit her lip, waiting on his reaction; even after all this time she could still feel a little bashful with him.  

Killian’s cock jumped as her warm breath caressed his ear. He waggled his eyebrows at her and smoothed his tongue along his bottom lip. “I do love when you tell me secrets, darling.”

Emma giggled at the way his eyebrows danced as he lewdly licked his lips. Biting her nail she asked quietly, “Want to hear another secret?”

Her bit of shyness and the pink on her cheeks was quite arousing for Killian. Pinpricks of sensation broke out across his skin as he watched her bite on her nail and try to act innocent. “Aye,” he replied with a lust fueled timbre.

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless before trailing her mouth along his jaw and back up to his very sensitive ear, so she could whisper to him. “My panties are all wet.”

“Fucking Hell,” Killian gasped. He could have guessed at that, but hearing her say those words had his cock aching to be buried.

Emma spread her legs wide, grasped one of his hands and pressed it against the thin material of her panties. “See, you make me so wet, Killian” she purred.

He growled at how she uttered his name, and how easily his fingers slid over the soaked silk as he rubbed her clit through the material. “Goddamn love, how long have you been like this?”

She shrugged her shoulders as a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Tell me,” he coaxed as he continued to circle her sensitive flesh.

“Just since you came up here.”

“All this,” he emphasized by cupping her sex, “just since I got up here.”

“What can I say? I enjoy blowing you.”

“That arouses you?”

“Does it not arouse you to… go down on me?” Emma asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Gods above, I love pleasuring you with my mouth, Swan.”

“Then why would you think it was different for me? Have I ever done anything to make you think I don’t enjoy it?”

“I suppose not. I guess most women just make it sound as though it’s a chore.” Bending down he latched onto a breast - one of Emma’s favorite erogenous zones. Over the years he’d committed to memory the erotic noises she made when he teased and laved her nipples.

Emma laced her fingers into his hair, holding him to her breast, loving the way he feasted on her pebbled flesh. “Well, I guess I’m not most women, because I love sucking your cock. Making you come down my throat as you call out my name and your cock spasms against my lips, fuck,” she panted as she ground her core against where his hand still rubbed her.

Killian swallowed hard as she waxed poetic on giving him head. Grasping his straining cock and stroking languidly for just a second of relief, he beseeched his wife, “Emma, I need you, love.”

Scooting up the long chair, Emma removed her panties before laying back and letting her legs dangle over each side of the chair so she was spread wide for Killian. “Then have me.”

He sprung to action, stripping off his clothes and then engulfing her body with his. Laying claim to her mouth, he nestled his cock between her folds and glided back and forth. The warmth that coated him as he teased her clit with the head of his cock was almost enough to have him coming, but he found some semblance of control as he worked her closer to the edge.

Placing a hand on Killian’s chest, Emma pushed him back a little, she situated her legs against his shoulders, then reached down between their bodies and lined him up.

The heat of her core beckoned him the instant his tip nudged her entrance. Wrapping a hand around each of her ankles he sunk into her depths, moaning at the sensation of finally being enveloped. He had to fight to keep upright, the feeling so overwhelming he wanted to slouch against her and just rut to a quick completion. Breathing in deeply, he focused on only Emma and bringing her pleasure.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed when he finally slid into her and began thrusting in and out. The sound of skin meeting skin as he plunged into her wetness echoed through the powder room. Emma’s legs were being stretched, burning deliciously as they rested on his shoulders and he leaned into her seeking the deepest of thrusts.    

Killian looked into her eyes, deep green and blown wide, willing her to fall apart so he could let go. Her mouth hung open and small puffs of air escaped in time with his movements. Her cheeks were bright pink with the exertion and her hands played with her breasts, she was gorgeous all the time, but he loved watching her draw to the edge as they connected on this level.  When he felt like he actually might explode, finally he heard his his angel’s voice, breathy with gratification.

“Oh fuck,” she breathed out on a long moan. “So good, Killian, so good.”

Her fresh wave of arousal rushed over him warmly and her walls pulsed around his cock, evoking his climax. His stomach tightened and every muscle in his body went rigid as he spilled his release deep into her.

Body weak with pleasure, Emma threw her forearm over her face as she smiled into her arm, euphoria stealing over her. “God, I’ve needed this all day, so fucking good babe.” She let her legs slide from Killian’s shoulders so she was laying spread wide.      

“Allow me to clean you darling?” He cocked that hyper eyebrow of his and delved between her thighs.

Emma tightened her arm over her face, particularly her mouth as she whimpered when his warm hot tongue met her sensitive flesh.

“Knock, knock,” came a loud voice, followed by a few raps of knuckles against the door.

Emma and Killian both jumped a mile high, apparently forgetting they weren’t in the privacy of their own home. “Shit!” Emma cursed.

“Eh, just a minute, Ruby. I’ll be finished shortly,” Killian called. “To be continued,” he whispered to his wife, giving one final swipe of his tongue through her folds.

“No rush, no rush. As long as she’s finished, Jones, it’s not proper to leave a lady wanting. Emma, if he leaves you high and dry, you let me know.”  

“How about I let Graham know?” Killian shot back, wondering what the deputy would think about his wife propositioning Emma.

Emma smacked his chest as they righted themselves on the chaise. “You know she loves fucking with you more when you give her the reaction she wants.”  

“Oh, he’ll be so happy you asked, Killian!” Ruby laughed through the door.  

Before he could clarify what he meant, Emma leaned forward and kissed him. “Let her have her fun,” she told Killian so only he could hear. “Don’t worry Rubes, Killian knows how to give it to me just how I like it.”

“Ooooh, hot damn!” Ruby laughed. “You two just make sure to clean up any mess, then get your asses downstairs. David is wondering where his sister is, and Liam is trying to bet him that you’re up here doing exactly what you’re doing.”

Killian rolled his eyes. He and Liam didn’t have a sister, so it was impossible for Liam to know what kind of hornet’s nest he was stirring. They got ready in short order and headed down the stairs hand in hand, if they thought they didn’t look thoroughly fucked, they were mistaken.

Most everyone was still carrying on and partying. David however was glaring daggers between Liam and Killian.

“Bloody hell.”

“Come on, David will get over it.” Emma pulled Killian forward with a serene grin on her face.

Mary Margaret was attempting to reason with her husband as they greeted the group at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s an adult, David.”

David’s expression lightened infinitesimally. “They could’ve waited till they got home.”

“We are right here,” Emma cut in, feeling a bit feisty.

“You could have waited till you got home,” David directed at her.

“I didn’t want to,” Emma sassed. “Sometimes needs must be met,” David’s face contorted into that of a man hearing too much information, “and we were already interrupted by one brother this morning, and a fucking alarm system this afternoon. So forgive me if I needed a little instant gratification.”

“Little?” Killian questioned. David definitely shot him the evil eye.

“A lot,” Emma smirked, leaning in to kiss him. “Huge gratification,” she added, playing it up for her brother’s reaction.

Elsa, Liam, Graham, and Ruby burst into laughter at the look on David’s face, while David himself shuddered and looked to his wife for support.

“Hey, you asked for it the moment you tried to lecture a married adult about sex,” Mary Margaret chuckled.

“Someone get me a shot!” David called out as he walked away from the bunch. They continued cracking up even after he’d gone in search of alcohol.

“You are going to be in trouble tonight,” Emma told Mary Margaret.

“Nothing a little physical activity won’t alleviate,” her sister-in-law replied, waggling her eyebrows.  

The party got smaller and smaller until it was just the close knit group of them visiting. Emma tried, but failed to stifle a yawn as everyone chit chatted.

“Tired again, sleepyhead?” Killian whispered.

“I guess you wore me out,” she giggled quietly. “Take me home?”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

Emma tickled Killian’s belly, his most ticklish spot, as he slept, eliciting a grunt of dissatisfaction from him, and then quickly turned over and pretended to sleep.

Last night had been a blast. After saying Merry Christmas and good night to everyone the evening before, they’d driven home, showered - where they got down and dirty one more time before getting clean - and then hit the sack. Emma was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She felt as though she must have caught up on sleep as she was wide awake this morning. That and she was crazy excited to give Killian his Christmas present. She huffed out a sigh as she heard her husband’s breathing even out again. Rolling over, she gently tickled him again, but this time he captured her wrist before she could pretend to sleep again.  

“Is someone excited for Christmas morning?” he asked in his gravelly morning voice. Her joyous laughter was answer enough. “One day our children will be tickling us awake bright and early Christmas morning and I don’t want to hear any complaining from you, love.”

Emma’s smile was brilliant and her eyes a little glassy as she pictured it. “Come on!” She pulled Killian by the hand, almost dragging him out of their bed. She threw on her big fluffy robe and practically skipped to the basin to brush her teeth.

“How much coffee have you had?” He rose from bed and stretched before throwing on his flannel pajamas - she had the temperature set to arctic chill again. Joining her to brush his teeth, he watched as his wife exuberantly went through her morning routine. “Let’s remedy that, I’ll start the coffee, you turn up the furnace.”

No sooner had Killian filled the coffee pot than Emma was at his back, arms wrapped around his midsection. “Heater is on. Presents!”

“Don’t you want coffee?”

“Later,” she whined pulling on him.

Killian turned in her arms and was smitten by the joy on her face and the excitement dancing in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what she had in store for him, but his curiosity was now officially piqued. He kissed her gently. “All right, coffee later. Presents now.”

“You first!” Emma demanded. Pushing him onto the sofa, she handed him an envelope and practically bounced on her toes as she waited for him to open it. Her hands were clasped together and she was biting her lip in anticipation.

He considered drawing it out to get a rise out of his wife, but her excitement must’ve been contagious because he decided to skip teasing her in favor of finding out what was in the envelope. He opened the flap, careful not to rip any of the contents, and pulled out the card. Killian read the front cover aloud:

“The best gifts don’t come under a tree…” He opened the card and finished reading, “You, me, and Baby Jones will make three,” before he even noticed the grainy black and white image framed on the other side.

Emma watched as her husband studied the ultrasound photo and different emotions crossed his beautiful face. His eyes had gone from normal, to bugged out - is it happening too fast for him? she worried - to glassy - are those happy tears or sad tears? she panicked - to crinkled at the corners as a brilliant smile took over his face.

A sigh of relief flew from her mouth as she witnessed her husband having the same reaction she had when she’d taken her first pregnancy test two weeks ago. They hadn’t necessarily been trying, but they’d decided to forego preventative measures a couple months ago.

“We’re going to be parents,” he murmured. His fingers traced over the image of their baby as realizations dawned on him. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of coffee, between that and the baby, no wonder she’d been so tired lately. And this was why she knew she wouldn’t be drunk last night, and why she’d egged her brother on feistily. He stood up and pulled her tightly to his chest, hugging her as if she might disappear. “Emma,” he whispered as he became utterly overwhelmed with emotion.

And then Emma was crying as her husband was brought to tears by the announcement of their baby. Grabbing one of his hands, Emma placed it over her belly, and covered it with hers. “We love you, Killian.”

He kissed his wife soundly. “And I love you.” Kneeling down, Killian whispered, “And you as well, little love,” before placing a kiss to her belly.

End

[noroalia]

For the ship thing could you do ballooj (balloon x oj) please!

of course! ballooj is a new ship for me, so this might be a bit messy as I’ve never thought of their dynamic.

big spoon/little spoon:OJ is obviously the big spoon. Balloon prefers to be held, anyway.

favorite non-sexual activity:The weekly game nights. OJ and Balloon always forms a team or allience, and even though they rarely win, Balloon thinks it’s great.

who uses all the hot water:Balloon. OJ’s juice gets heated up if he showers warm, and it just makes him feel gross. Balloon tends to avoid super warm showers, the sudden heat can make him pop which is. Never a good experience.

most trivial thing they fight over:The way others treat Balloon, maybe? Most people have accepted Balloon, but there’ll always be moments of distrust. It wouldn’t be OJ scolding Balloon, but it would more be like OJ scolding others and Balloon wanting him to stop. It’s not necessarily trivial, but I can’t think of anything else.

who does most of the cleaning:OJ. He has to clean up all the areas in the hotels that aren’t his room, with the help of Soap and Paper, of course.

what has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue:OJ, probably. Balloon hasn’t watched a lot of series or movies, so OJ puts on whatever he has recommended to Balloon before.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working:Balloon notices heat change quicker than OJ, so he usually tells OJ when something’s up. 

who steals the blankets:Balloon. Sometimes he just needs to have a moment to cover himself in a blanket and dissapear… 

who leaves their stuff around:OJ. Sometimes he’s writing a list of things that he needs to do and then places it somewhere and forgets that he needs to finish writing it.

who remembers to buy the milk:Balloon. OJ misses the obvious things, like milk, when he’s shopping in bulk.

who remembers anniversaries:.OJ. He has them all written down in a calendar somewhere.

Who cooks normally?Since OJ is head of the kitchen, he’s the one who cooks a lot. 

How often do they fight?Not that often. OJ gets frustrated sometimes with having to run a hotel and all, and maybe he snaps at Balloon, but he always apologizes immediately after.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?OJ fixes around the hotel and Balloon goes and talks to his friends. They’re not separated that often, so.

Nicknames for each other?OJ calls Balloon “honey”, and various pet names. Balloon doesn’t have a nickname for OJ since y’know. OJ is a nickname.

Who is more likely to pay for dinner?The obvious answer is OJ! He did win II, after all.

Who steals the covers at night?They both do. They more or less wrestle for the covers everynight, but it usually end up on the floor.

What would they get each other for gifts?Balloon would buy books and decorations for OJ, while OJ would buy Balloon various small things over the course of their relationships.

Who kissed who first?Balloon kissed first. It was a super bold move, and he started crying afterwards.

Who made the first move?Balloon. It was the “do you wanna grab a coffee sometime?” cliché, just like Suitcase had told him to do.

Who remembers things?Balloon. He helps OJ get things sorted out when he’s too stressed to function well.

Who started the relationship?Balloon ended up confessing, but OJ already knew he liked him. So technically it was Balloon who started it.

Who cusses more?OJ, definitely. He can loose his chill sometimes, while Balloon is more likely to go oh c’mon than actually using foul language.

What would they do if the other was hurt?Balloon isn’t used to OJ shattering, so if he did Balloon wouldn’t know what to do. He’d panic. OJ knows that Balloon gets popped quite often, so he has Mephone on speed-dial in case Balloon doesn’t get revived.

[hannibalcreative]

JustFuckMeUp FanFic Roundup

Thank you so much to @meduszoa for the beautiful art banner!!

Dress Up by DrJLecterSummary: Having to find new clothes while on the run is often complicated, so when the choice is between a dress or going naked there is only one thing to do. Hannibal doesn't mind all that much and Will realizes once again that he doesn't know himself as well as he thought when he is with this infuriating man.ExplicitNo Archive Warnings ApplycrossdressingHannibal Lecter, Will GrahamHannigram Lecter's Massage Therapy by hanni_banana

Summary: Desperately needing to unwind, Will makes an appointment with the massage therapist Hannibal Lecter, who is the best of the best when it comes to working over the body. But for special referrals, Hannibal also offers other, more intimate services. And Will is his latest special referral.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Conquerors by Cinnamaldeide

Summary: According to Will's current count, Hannibal has enjoyed significantly messing with him twice so far, which is twice too many for his taste; he deems it necessary to ensure there’ll be no third occurrence.

Mature

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Possessive behaviour, biting, blood

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Alana Bloom

Alannigram

Get A Hold Of Me by Coldrust

Summary: When the A/B/O Dynamics Police Division of Abuse and Trauma gets a report, Chief Lee Fallon takes it in his hands to take a hold of the situation.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Knotting, Mommy kink

Elias, Lee Fallon

Elias/Lee Fallon

Slow Hand, Easy Touch by denaceleste

Summary: “Are you ready?” Hannibal asked in the softest voice. Those clever, delicate hands drifted over his face slowly, and he didn’t so much relax as release a small amount of tension. “Yeah, I think so.” Will huffed out a laugh. “Much as I can be.”

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 A Veiled Aura by Destinyawakened, SeaOfEmpathy, You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am

Summary: Hannibal happens into a wine bar where he meets a young man who resembles his Will Graham. Will their shared love of wine and kinky encounters result in more than just a one night stand?

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fisting, Choking

Hannibal Lecter, Lee Fallon

Hannibear (Hannibal/Lee)

 Confession by Devereauxs_Disease

Summary: Hannibal decides to play priest. He steals a cassock and sneaks into a confessional. The first confession he hears is from a snarky empath who has some blasphemous ideas...

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 This time is for her pleasure by Edge_sama and hchannibloom

Summary: Alana has had a rough day, and Will and Hannibal decide to help her relieve some of her tension.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Het Sex

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Alana Bloom

Hannigram, Hannibloom

 Our Own Instincts by FunkyRaccoon

Summary: It wasn't until Will was three steps away from him did something happen, a glance into the alpha’s eyes and he saw. This was not the Will Graham he knew, this was someone completely different, feral, a wild thing. A bloodthirsty thing.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Rough Sex, A/B/O Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Knotting, MPreg

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Alana Bloom, Frederick Chilton, Jack Crawford

Hannigram

 Mating Season by hanni_banana

Summary: Will and Hannibal are fauns, and it's mating season. Will wants nothing to do with it, but he doesn't get a choice when Hannibal, the newest member of the herd, decides to mount him.

Explicit

Rape/Noncon

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Focus and Curiosity by hesterbyrde

Summary: Will has been dating his psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter, who suggests they try using nipple clamps.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

nipple play, mild BDSM elements

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Offer it to me by HollyMartins

Summary: They had never established a safe word before and Hannibal wondered idly if that had been a mistake.

Mature

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

dubious consent

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Rend by Kateera

Summary: Injured from a fight with Gideon, Randall and Matthew retreat to the barn to tend to Randall’s wounds. At least that was the initial plan…

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Wound Play, Blood and Gore, Wound Penetration,

Randall Tier, Matthew Brown

Brown/Tier

 Go Down With This Ship by Merrythought

Summary: An excerpt from our Spacedogs roleplay that we aren’t gonna ever post but this scene in particular was hot & I love my some straight Nigel slowly falling for Adam (｡♥‿♥｡)

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Adam Raki, Nigel

Spacedogs

 Something's Wrong With Will Graham by Necronon

Summary: Will is a creature and it mates with Hannibal.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

creature Will, Weird Biology, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Oviposition, Mating Cycles/In Heat, dub con,

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Untitled by ofdvorakanddastardlyschemes

Summary: “Hush, Will. Hush, my dear boy.” Hannibal’s hands slid to his jaw and the curve at the base of his skull, holding him there, holding him steady, holding him present.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Bondage, biting

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 A Taste for It by peacefrog

Summary: Hannibal wants Will to act out his dominance. Will complies, all too happy.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

dom/sub dynamics, hand feeding, orgasmn denial,

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Consonance in Dissonance by RubyBakeneko

Summary: Hannibal habitually listens to his recordings of Will's therapy sessions, and he finds himself especially affected by Will's dream of tying him to a tree. It's a short step from there to thoughts of Will tying him up in other contexts, and to reflections on the appeal of Will’s increasing self-empowerment.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Ten by samui_sakura (sammie_s43073)

Summary: Nigel's in a meeting with his fellow Dons and Adam is sending him texts and pictures of him trying on his new lingerie. There are some negotiations, some orders and some need to obey.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Dom/Sub, Crossdressing, Shibari

Adam Raki, Nigel

Spacedogs

 And Cure His Heart by ThisIsMyDesignHannibal

Summary: Will’s irritability and frustration have been mounting since going on the run, and Hannibal has been bearing the brunt of it. Unconsciously craving one particular way Hannibal can help him quiet his whirring mind, it’s time for Will to face up to what he needs, swallow his pride, and ask for it. This time, however, actions speak more eloquently than words ever could. Relinquishing control can be its own form of therapy. Relief is often found in surrender.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Bondage, dom/sub

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Sold by TigerPrawn

Summary: Maybe Adam bids on the unpopular Le Chiffre in the charity auction out of pity? He's not sure. What he is sure of is that their instant attraction and complementary force of wills is going to make for an interesting evening.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Light dom/sub, bondage, power play

Adam Raki, Le Chiffre

Royale Instinct (Le Chiffre/Adam T)

 The Finer Things by Vix_spes

Summary: After discovering one of Will's secrets, Hannibal is determined to shower him in the finer things while indulging in one of his own proclivities.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 The Fisherman's Dream by Yggdrastiles

Summary: There's a sea monster who's been threatening the small, coastal village of Wolf Trap. Will intends to find out the truth, and ends up finding out way more than he bargained for.And then Hanni's tentacles find Will's butt.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

tentacle sex

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Octo!Hanni, Will Graham

Trope: College AU (Hannigram AU) by TigerPrawn

Summary: Will loses a dare with bestie Bev which results in him having to attend a furry convention with his weirdo roommate Francis. Between that and Alana breaking up with him, this semester pretty much sucks. Will can’t decide if the fact that Francis is bringing his snooty (and pretty hot) friend Hannibal to the convention is going to make it better or worse.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, Furry

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Beverly Katz, Francis Dolarhyde

Hannigram

The Crawling Chaos by Pancakeispeople

Summary:

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Blood kink, tentacle sex, tentacle porn, biting kink, monster sex, blood drinking

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 #justsquirtupme by hannigasm

Summary:

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

threesomes, sex toys, double dildos, voyeurism

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Franklyn Froideveaux

Hannigram, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham/Franklyn Froideveaux

 Carneae by super-queer-hannibal-obsession

Summary:

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

voyeurism, group sex, power play, blowjobs, anal sex

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, OCs

Hannigram, Will Graham/OC

 Maybe Once, Maybe Twice by shiphitsthefan

Summary: Nigel has demons to face; Lee has himself to unravel. The answer, obviously, is sexual healing.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

bdsm; bondage; power exchange; blanket consent; a/b/o dynamics; reference to past non-consensual situation not between the main characters

Lee Fallon, Nigel

BearDogs (Nigel/Lee)

 Beauty and Rage by 11MyDesign11 and Destinyawakened

Summary: Born in a facility that breeds and trains soldiers to fight beasts and demons, Will has his own ideas on what life should mean. On his escape, he adapts quickly to his new, unfortunate surroundings and takes to the male escort life with incredible ease. His life takes a sudden change when he meets Hannibal Lecter, a devilishly handsome man with an alluring, and unlikely past, and is not all what he seems.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Biting, marking, branding, torture, bondage, mentions of suicide, golden showers,

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Just What the Doctor Ordered by ishipthemsogoddamnhard

Summary: When Hannibal goes looking for Will after he doesn't show up to therapy, he makes Will confront his suspected fetish for calling him 'Doctor' with smutty results.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Medical kink, prostate massage, Dom/sub, Doctor kink

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 YÊU by gildedwinged

Summary: Hannibal & Will making love ♡

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Gentle sex

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Fit To Be Tied by Hannibalsimago

Summary: Adam receives an urgent text from Will. What he finds at home, leaves him breathless.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Chastity device, Handcuffs, blood drinking, bruising, biting

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Adam Towers

Hannigram/Adam Towers

 I see you see me by GreenPhoenix

Summary: Hannibal wants to watch Will with someone else, and Will lets him.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Voyerism, Virginity kink

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, OC

Hannigram, Will Graham/OC

 Guts by nightliferogue

Summary: Will has a growing fetish that Hannibal takes advantage of.

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Gore, Sex without lube, biting, blood, self-cannibalism, intestine use during sex, breathplay

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Danger by Rakusnow

Summary: “Shut up, Will.”

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Mild asphyxiation, dubious consent, handcuffs, mindfuck, Dom/sub

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Rebel's Cum! by Thymogenic

Summary: Adam and Nigel have a fun 'Rogue One' themed role-play romp as Adam ruins orgasm after orgasm for Nigel all night long! Fret not, for Nigel soon has his revenge after he is driven into a lusty rage from not being able to be satisfied repeatedly at the hands of his villainous/adorable boyfriend.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Ruined orgasm, bondage, mentions of torture in a roleplay setting, roleplay

Adam Raki, Nigel

Spacedogs

 Daddy's Boy by 11Mydesign11 and You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am

Summary: After dating Vivian for a few weeks, Aiden finally gets to meet his girlfriend's mom, Gabi and step-dad, Nigel. Will it go according to plan or will the sixteen year old get more than he's bargained for?

Explicit

Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage

Daddy Kink, Heterosexual sex

Nigel, Aiden, Gabi Ibanescu

Aiden/Nigel (WildDogs), Nigel/Gabi

 What Immortal Hand by ElectraRhodes

Summary: The growing awareness of skilful hands, that save, that change, that make things anew. Will watches Hannibal save Devon Silvestri's victim. And hopes.

Mature

No Archive Warnings Apply

Come Eating, Competency Kink, Hand Kink

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Lust For Life by Hannibalsimago and purplesocrates

Summary: Setting: Post TWOTL. Creating a new life together, re-establishing trust is trickier than it seems. Hannibal is finding recovery is much slower than he anticipated. Will decides to take matters into his own hands.

Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Daddy Kink, Cock Rings , Edgeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scar kink, Praise Kink, Double Anal Penetration, Aftercare, Sexual Age Play

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Not of this world by Chesapeake_Ripper

Summary: Will Graham is invited to dinner at Hannibal's home. The night does not unfold like what he had thought and Will learns that Hannibal is not of this world and that he is going to become a vessel for Hannibal

Explicit

Rape/Noncon, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Oviposition, Egg Laying

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Four Hours by TwistedDream

Summary: Will is late home from work and Hannibal is not pleased.

Mature

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

BDSM, Dom/sub, spanking

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram

 Spin Me Around by ArgusJade and bluethegreat1

Summary: Hannibal lost a few years ago his Will through an accident, they had survived the fall but then after living a few years together he lost him again. The doctor turned more dark and tried to deal with the loss of the man he loved so much. One night as he was again on a hunt after a victim he met Cal and thought he would see Will in front of him.. he caught him and since then he can't let him go anymore, now he had plans with the young man and made him want to stay.

Explicit

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Capture bonding, Punishment, Humiliation, Dom.sub. spanking, dubious consent

Hannibal Lecter, Cal Roberts

Hannibal/Cal Roberts

 Untitled by BeginToBlur and Cinnamaldeide

Summary: A contribution to the #justfuckmeup fest that @hannibalcreative have going at the moment.

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

crossdressing, public display, lingerie

Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham

Hannigram