#muscle tussle spoilers

[windupaidoneus]

obsesseddddd w how normal's character is going... she's kinda demon girl adjacent now. her demon features are hidden under her helmet so no one really knows aside from her friends. she's always wearing her helmet. she wipes her forehead sweat but wipes the helmet rather than her actual forehead. her horns are made of plush fabric. her best friends are an unfriendly british catboy with poison magic & impostor syndrome & their shared amnesiac former shitty boss who's also a fishperson alien who was exiled from their home planet but they don't remember. she canonically got her pronouns & gender by buying a pronoun pin at a hot topic. her introduction was her committing identity theft. the person whose identity she stole is fine with it because it's funny. her twin brother is also fine with it because it's funny. she keeps habits & speech quirks from the people whose identities she steals. she has a chip in her body that will blow her up if she doesnt punch things regularly enough. shes the jod of woman tiddy wednesday. and her name is normal

[royaltyfreeramblings]

blaster ^^

why'd you make him hot.

[whoyacallinyellow]

never again

John Marston x F! reader

Spoilers: RDR2 ch1 Content: 18+ mdni, NFSW, m/f smut, drunk sex, praise, pervert warning, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, grammar errors I couldn’t be bothered to fix. Type: second pov / (wc - 1442) / pc: me

Summary: a night of drinking never goes unpunished

You stirred awake to a shadow looming in the tent. The soft clanking of metal, and clicking of spurs from unsteady steps made your breath hitch. Now propped up on your elbows, your heavy eyes managed to follow the man fumbling in the darkness. 

Through your delirium, incoherent murmurs must have escaped you which warranted a response. 

“jus’ me, hush.”

John’s whisper, soft like butter, melted your body back onto the bedroll. It only took three words from the man to bring you the security he offered, in more ways than one. 

“s’alright.” 

John reassured through a strain, knowing he startled you all too often— whether it was a late night drinking, or a guard shift.

Your shared tent was tucked behind the medicine wagon, close enough for John to keep an eye on you, but far enough for some privacy the man so desperately requested. 

Soon enough his body was united with yours, a welcoming embrace of tobacco and whiskey that never failed to blanket you with comfort during the night. 

His chest vibrated against your back as he hummed, rejoicing in the mutual comfort that he brought you. John’s hand ran down your side, calloused palms snagging on the fabric as he worked against it. Your torso trembled, anticipating his every action as he was soon consumed by a different high. His lack of rationalization from the whiskey radiated off him with a feverish heat that pulsed over you. 

“c’mon sweetheart.”

The vague and needy words dissipated as quickly as they formed. Your eyes met his, a certain sadness sunk within his dull blue wells, glossed and masked over with the liquid dopamine he poured every night. 

Turning to his embrace, your hands weaved through his shirt, both unclasping the buttons and beckoning him. An offer John gladly took as you positioned yourself for his body on top of yours. 

With one arm propping himself over you, and the other tussling at his waist. His rehearsed movements in the dark had to be second nature by now.  

The wind rippled through the fabric of the tent, momentarily welcoming in the moonlight. Allowing you to catch a glimpse of the man over you, the blue beams kissing the raw scars on his cheek. 

There was no doubt John got off easy, 

The wolves could have taken much more from him, but managed to be more forgiving than any BlackWater lawman could have been. 

You let out an impatient protest as his hands continued to fumble, temporarily appeasing you with his lips. 

His stubble dragging across your collarbone made you shutter. John’s kisses were usually coated in whiskey, only to leave you with a different high than the one he chased earlier. 

“you’ve been eyeballin’ me all day, missy.”

He remarked against your skin, a slight drawl presenting itself as he freed your torso from your shirt. 

You felt your cheeks heat up, both from his words, and your naked state. Despite John knowing your body just damn well as his own, everytime managed to feel like the first.  

John always caught your eyes on him. Sweat beading down his forehead as he worked an axe effortlessly, it was almost as if the man was beautifully built for manual labor. You were infatuated with the way his biceps would flex while his toned muscles peeked through the shirt that clung to him with every move. He would eventually meet your indiscreet gaze with amusement, knowing very well he would be all over you at night's arrival. 

Your eyes would simply linger a moment longer, despite being caught red handed. He couldn't help but to admire your boldness, a confidence hidden within you not needing to be boasted about for validation. 

“Someone’s gonna hear—“ 

You cooed, your worries being thrown away by the hungry lips and hands that carassessed your breasts.  

John grumbled, not bothered to remove his attention from your neck. Throughout his buzzed state, his hands became coordinated, grasping at and invading every part of your bare skin available to him. 

How sweet he thought you were, a blank canvas only for him cast upon. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt a small nibble on your neck. His excitement demonstrated through the smile plastered against your skin, along with a hard spot pressing against your leg. 

“keep those little lips quiet, now.” 

John commanded with a whisper, his rough fingertips ghosting their way across your waist to free you from your restricting garments. 

His drunken staggering alone was enough to wake the others, but the man always blamed you for being too noisy.

Perhaps it was his own pride, cocky words he could not help but to boast— he reckoned it ain’t his fault he’s so good in the sheets. Hell, he can’t help how he makes you feel. 

“such a good girl for me, ain’t ya?”

John murmured through a soft moan, just the thought of you made him ache, his body begging for the release you so willingly gave him.

His pants were finally kicked down and bunching up just below his knees. Before words could be spoken they were interrupted by John’s fingertips that raised to his lips, a dollop of spit being dispersed onto them. 

A brash groan left his lips and graced your rosy cheeks while his hand stroked up the shaft of his cock— either unneeded preparation, or a ritual of his, you couldn’t tell. 

Your torso knotted and quivered  against him, impatience consuming your every move. Quiet moans escaped you as the head of his cock met your slick entrance, always proving his preparation irrelevant. 

“Jesus, woman— this worked up over me?” 

The man beamed with a husky chuckle, not realizing the volume of his voice until your palm smacked his chest. 

More of a tease at your dismay, John couldn’t help but to always comment on it. Your wetness was a mere reminder he always took pride in. 

His smug smile eventually twisted into a bitten lip as he eased himself into you, the lack of self control overrunning any wit to him he had left.  

“that’s it,” 

John praised gently, his jaw going lax as his length slipped further in you. A rugged hand clasped over your mouth as his hips began to thrust. His half-lidded eyes eventually meeting yours. 

Your eyes held so much trust for him, trust he was never sure how he earned in the first place. How he wished he could hear the moans of his name, but instead focused on the shared pleasure you gave him. With your walls contracting and fluctuating around him, he thought it was nearly too much to handle.  

“Marston! It's your shift!” 

A nasally demand rang from outside the tent.

Through your ecstasy, you had no recollection of any steps approaching, and neither did John— god only knows how long the pervert was loitering outside the thin canvas. 

“Christ!” 

The shriek of horror that left John’s lips, you could have sworn he saw a ghost. Springing up at your feet, his pants were yanked up and manhood tucked away while you scrambled for cover. 

John stormed out with a stumble, so many feelings of wrong and right flooding through and past him like the wind. 

“Goddamnit— Williamson—“ 

He sputtered in disbelief, arms gesturing violently towards the man’s mug. 

“If I didn’ know any better, I reckon you’d like hearin’ my woman.” 

John barked at the man, the shock in his tone long erased by bitterness. 

You hid in your palms, the embarrassment burning through your cheeks, and the airborn tension that managed to leak into the tent. 

The silence John created was painful, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, the entire camp was now aware of you two. 

The pause was eventually broken with a nasty hawk and spit, along with curses that ran off of John’s tongue. His pleasant night with you was quickly turning into a sober guard shift. 

John trudged back through the tent flaps in defeat, retrieving his discarded gun belt at your feet with a frown plastered on his face, gently illuminated by the lantern he now held. 

“never again in camp.” 

The man scowled to himself, the risk of waking the others was long gone— if he had to be miserable, so did everyone else trying to sleep. 

With John’s attention circling back to you, another kiss, just as needy as before, was placed on your lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his impending doom. 

His boots were haphazardly pulled on with a struggle. You repeated his words, a small grin crept upon you in his state of frustration. 

“never again.” 

~

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 4 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 4.

Softly in the background, played Dean's rock music. Your head rested against the cool window pane of the shotgun side. You were nearly dozing, but still alert; the adrenaline was taking its sweet time to leave your system after the three months you'd mostly spent on the sea.

The fast-passing lights from the lamp posts between the trees of the vast forest illuminated your face now and again. The lull of the Impala's engine purred and revved, far more relaxing than you ever thought it would be. You were curled up into a ball, knees drawn to your chest, and your arms held them for warmth.

You were wearing short white shorts, a sky-blue tank top, a black denim jacket, and Dean's leather jacket that he had perched on you when he thought you had been asleep and cold; you adored him for it.

You had known Dean as an acquaintance and an ally, but with the New Law, things had changed drastically. The turbulence in your relationship faded during this three-month retreat, you were starting to see him as a loyal, permanent friend.

You glanced at the said man. He was softly humming to his music, head bobbing up and down, fingers drumming the wheel, the muscles flexing under the rolled-up sleeves of his red flannel, his black undershirt dancing with his playful aura, atop his blue-washed jeans. The light that struck off the surface of the moon was reflected in his green orbs probbing the specks in them throb like liquid gold. His dirty blond strands were tussled in a way that generated a need to run your hand through his hair.

What an ensnaring visual!

Watching Dean drive in his beloved fascinated you - his concentration, his care, his dedication. It did all sorts of things to you, his kindness. You wondered how Dean driving this sleek beauty made you feel all fluffy inside.

A smirk curled up on Dean's lips and you couldn't even care to think if he knew you were staring or not.

This went on for a while: silence, gazing, dozing off, waking up again, and then staring at him again—until Dean steered the vehicle wrong.

'Wrong turn, Mr. Winchester,' you politely informed, voice raspy from sleep.

He huffed in annoyance. 'How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me by my name, darlin'?'

You smiled apologetically, 'Force of habit. I'm not used to taking your name.' The three months in public had caused you to revert to calling him "Mr Winchester" - a title he loathed, only when it came from you.

'Well, if that's the case, then I took the right turn.'

'How so?'

'I kidnapped you and now we are going on a date,' he said, tongue-in-cheek.

You opened and closed your mouth, taking a few moments to process that. You glanced in the sideview mirrors of the car, and sure enough, none of your security was tailing you. Neither was Dean's.

This sly man.

'A date?'

'Yep,' he popped his "p" as mischief took over his face, and a cute happy smirk stitched itself onto his lips.But he was nervous, it could be seen in the way his pearly whites worried his lower lip.

'About time,' you said, pretending to be annoyed, yet barely sustaining your poker face: a smile was about to expose you.

'You . . . won't protest?' Dean checked.

'I get what I want, Mr. Winchester,' you said with a challenging gleam in your eye. 'Some things I get fast, like the monsters I am hunting. And some things I have to wait for, like the only guy I ever liked - you.'

You were relieved when he chuckled. 'You're awesome.'

You whimpered, dreaming of your first date. You'd been reliving all your memories, as life often passes before your eyes before the end. Castiel's struggle was to keep you from the cold fingers of death, but you kept pushing him out of your head, believing you didn't deserve the help.

He would just have to keep trying:

'What are you doing?' Dean asked when you went to your drawers to retrieve a blue gift-wrapped box with golden ribbons.

'I'm putting this under the tree,' you said, doing exactly that.

He chuckled under his breath. 'You know that the parents only do that so the children think Santa left them presents, right?'

'Oh. They never overtly said that in the movies.' You glanced to the main door of your room. 'Do you want me to don a Santa hat and say "ho ho ho"?'

His amusement triplefolded.

'No, darling,' he happily brushed his lips on your forehead. 'It's so that children think Santa is magic that they aren't allowed to see Santa Claus. Never take part in any trivia,' he teased you. 'You'd lose terribly.'

You scowled. 'It's the children you should worry about—allowing them to believe there's good magic.'

'Aw, well—maybe there is,' he grinned smoothly, 'Would make sense why I found you.'

'Good. Lay on the cheesy. Makes my present more practical.'

He rolled his eyes, smacking your butt in retaliation. You gasp-scoffed; any other person would be picking their fingers off the floor but Dean had done this before . . . And you'd kinda liked it.

It was your first Christmas together, and also the night of your first sexual congress - which is why Castiel shuddered out. He waited for your minutes before diving in again to safer memories.

'The coffee's gone,' Dean groaned, pouting as he rattled his flask. He glanced to see you hiding your laugh. Eyes narrowing, 'It's not funny. I might die of caffeine withdrawal.'

'You had a cup half an hour ago!' you freed your laughter. 'You're like a Basset Hound, you cleaned us out in five hours!'

'What's your point?'

'It was supposed to last us a day,' you mused.

'You don't have to be so mean,' he turned his nose up, frowning at your attitude. 'You know what you signed up for.'

You giggled, 'Okay, princess.'

'What are you doing?'

For you had leaned back to rummage through your duffel bag where you stashed reinforcements. You pulled out an extra flask of coffee you had brought specially for Dean, and a pie you had made yourself.

'Becoming your damsel in shining armor,' you said. 'But that's all I have, so can't whine after you've licked your fingers clean.'

He gleefully took the pie in his hands, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me!'

You laughed, 'Are you talking to me or the pie?'

He pulled you closer by your neck and slotted his lips against yours, in a quick soft kiss, you could feel his smirk on your lips.

'The pie' he whispered against your lips, kissing you again even though you slapped his chest. When he pulled away, his eyes were raw with emotions.

'But I love you, darlin'.'

Your first "I love you"s sifted through your mind. You were moving chronologically, and Castiel didn't want to find out what happens when you reach the end.

Castiel slightly cursed how the green-eyed hunter taught him to. Roaming your memories cost both of you; you, your life force, and Castiel, his grace. He knew if he didn't manage to successfully meet you in one of your trips down the memory lane, he'd lose you forever.

You were already hyperventilating, writhing and gasping out Dean's name over and over again, because your tortured subconscious somehow knew this wasn't real, and it was starting to really miss Dean. Your Dean.

Castiel was starting to feel your agitation as his own, his empathy grudging his mind but your heart might seize by how overworked it was.

He needed to tread carefully now, perhaps, alter his tactics and go to a memory you and his other self were present in together - a place where he could replace the other Castiel comfortably and breach your nightmarish haze.

Unluckily, he couldn't have chosen the worst possible memory for that.

Dean had sneaked into your room to spend a blissful evening together, falling asleep in each other's arms.If the media knew that you two were canoodling before marriage, they would have your heads. People were usually open-minded, but they weren't being constantly watched by the paparazzi - it was different for you Leaders.

'Good morning,' you rasped, leaning up and kissing the corner of his lips. 'I hate you for waking me up.'

He chuckled. 'I love you, too.'

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, a smile engraved on his face. A blanket was pulled around the two of you. You were wearing his shirt and underpants, while he was in his boxers. His green eyes twinkled as he played with your fingers, his eyes catching on the soulmate ring he gave you during your engagement.

'What?'

'Hmm?'

'Why'd you seem so happy?'

'Oh, your mom called.'

You grimaced, 'I'm sorry. I told her not to do that. What'd she have to say?'

His grin widened: 'The date for our wedding.'

You gasped, 'Really?' You practically squealed, shooting upright. 'This is awesome! When?'

'Next week,' he smirked, sitting up too.

'Oh, my God!' you shriek-laughed. 'This is great! We will never have to pretend to be formal again!'You threw your arms around him, curling into his lap, and he caught you, laughing at your enthusiasm.

You crushed your lips to his for a long minute until he pulled away, your hearts fluttering in tandem.

'I love you so much!' you exclaimed, unable to stop beaming.

He kissed your forehead, 'I love you more.'

'Impossible,' you teased.

'I'll let you think that because I love you more,' Dean said slyly.

'You're so cheeky.'

'But imagine, this day next week, we'll be husband and wife.'

'I know,' you whispered, and you laced your fingers with his.

You hugged him tightly, your hips straddling his, and he buried his face into your hair, letting all his problems fade, and simply feeling unadulterated happiness for a second.

Your moment was encroached when the door to your room burst open. 'Help—Siege! Attacked! Lady Y/N—Sir-Sir, is—'

'Breathe,' you ordered.

Immediately, you and Dean slipped into your roles. You two untangled, sliding off of your bed; confidence radiated off the two of you, irrespective of the fact that you two were severely underdressed for anyone else to see.

The servant didn't even care that Dean was in your room, shit-scared and pale like a ghost. He was panting, hands on knees, and whimpering in short bursts.

'We've been breached. Lord L/N - he initiated Code Red. Request for all hands on deck.'

You exchanged a glance with your fiancée. 'Request approved,' you and Dean said in unison, eyes still locked, but voices professional.

'Where?' you questioned. 'Who?'

'Uh, the courtyard, swordsmen's training area. It's Castiel.'

Your back snapped straight in shock, jaw clenched with anger and betrayal. Guilt and fear tried to overthrow your other emotions; you wondered what kind of consequences you would face for this . . .

'Noted,' Dean answered for the two of you. 'Go. We'll be there.'

Soon, armored up and armed, you and Dean ran as fast as you could to the makeshift battleground. On your way over, it was impossible not to notice the numerous dead bodies littered about, severed limbs and blood decorating the once beautiful palace like gruesome graffiti.

It depressed you when you recognized most of the faces, and it burdened your heart to know that you were to blame for this somewhat directly or indirectly. Only when, on occasion, you stumbled across a body with a stab wound and burnt-out eyes, did you feel slightly better; even the angels were dying.

Within record time, you had climbed down fleets of stairs, Dean in tow, and were running into the open battle.

'Five o'clock!' you yelled, jumping forward, and Dean blindly followed your command as a huge angel bomb slammed into the ground where you were standing not a second ago.

You both rolled back to your feet, continuing to run. After dodging several more flying magical arsenals like that, you two finally sought shelter behind a tree line, just as a rogue group of fighters passed along the way. But you decided not to help them just yet - you had bigger fish to fry - from what you could see, your aim was the center of the mayhem.

Dressed in a severely abused trench coat, and a suit now painted in God knows how many people's blood - stood the cruel traitor. What shocked you was how much agility he was moving forward with, and he wasn't only killing your people: it was clear that he wasn't below throwing the other angels in the line of fire to protect himself.

Your blood boiled, and rage flooded you. This bastard should not have fucked with your brother's kingdom, he was going to pay . . .

'Y/N?'

You turned to reply when Dean's lips crashed against yours in a firm, devouring kiss. One of his hands made its way into your hair, pulling you closer, and the other stroked your cheek softly, all his actions full of desperate worry, demanding promises of your safety.When he pulled back, concern for you clouded his eyes, and you were sure you mirrored his expression.

'Be careful.'

'Yeah, of cou—'

'Not just of the angels,' he warned. 'Our faction knows he was a friend.'

You hesitated, already knowing the answer before you asked. 'Do you think our people will turn on me? I mean, I didn't know he would betray—'

'I know,' he cut you off in understanding, kissing your forehead. 'But I don't know. Just . . . Just be safe. We will figure this out later.'

'I love you,' you clung to his hand.

'I love you, too, darlin'.'

You releasing him, even though you never wanted to leave. A pit of dread bloomed in your gut, the words to stop Dean from stepping into the battle on the tip of your tongue, but, even though you knew you should have, you couldn't stop him as he ran head first into what would be his demise . . .

Shaking off the bad feeling, you followed suit, your war reflexes kicking in, allowing you to start dropping bodies left and right.You were very much surprised to find hundreds of monsters in here too; it was a combined effort of the three factions of angels, demons, and monsters. How they managed to power down the sigils and the magical borders was ponderable.

Your memory is quite distorted. Parts of the war are fading in and out of your vision.

You chopped the heads of two vampires simultaneously. You'd managed to gank this nest of eight who had ambushed you.

Dean was way ahead of you; he'd already taken down five ghouls, six Djinns, and three werewolves. You both were heading in consistently straight - toward the remnant Leaders and Governors. Your hunters had formed a rough battle circle and were maintaining that position at all costs. Medics were coming and going to save as many lives as they could.

In about twenty minutes, you had been able to join the center circle. The surge of the monster attacks there was more concentrated than anywhere on the whole field. The circle tried to keep shifting, but the monsters wouldn't ease up around them.

Dean was here, pushing back a line of feral rugarus with a little assistance from Joana. Jody, Bobby, Rufus, and B/F were here - all up against different creatures. You couldn't see your brother or Jack on the field. Come to think of it, you hadn't seen Jack in a long while.

But you didn't have much time to yourself when a group of demons set their eyes on you, while you were three-quarters of your way into finishing a group of shapeshifters, dumping them in a heap at your feet.Before you could set the last heart down, they were onto you; you yelped as one slashed for your throat, and you moved back, causing it to scratch your shoulder.

'Dean, fire! B/F, demon blade!' came a shout.

B/F and Dean responded to the call. You only heard it when your name was screamed into the fray of commands.

'Bobby, machette!' You shouted, ducking out of the reach of the demons, and moving onto the angels you'd been assigned. 'Jody, angel gun!'

Your group worked as if parts of a single organism. More commands were screamed, warning the other Leaders in the circle of the weapons they were going to receive and what they had to give, said in this exact order.

You aired your weapon Bobby's way, in return, receiving a gun from Jody's general direction. Reflexively everyone got what they had to. This change was usually made to relieve a pair of Leaders - you think it was Rufus' and Joanna's time for lunch. This also allowed the Leaders to reevaluate if everyone had all the correct weapons for the correct monsters.

Over your head, other weapons were thrown as well, and places were quickly switched. Your impeccable aim slaughtered the bunch of angels. Next to you, Dean unleashed an inferno of fire upon the six wendigos who had wanted to attack you earlier.

And so the war went on, switching back and forth - ruthless killing consumed your little group. The swell of the monsters never ceased.

Sometime later, Sebastian yelled that hellhounds had rampaged the palace - Jo and Rufus were lost, and so were most doctors and civilians. You lost Bobby when he took a blade to his neck for Seth who showed up after a while with back-ups and replenishments in the form of weapons, witches, and more human force.

Still, you were losing.

The grieving soulmates like Jody could only fight so much, she had tears streaming down her face and rage fueled her - but for how long?

Even the youth was struggling to keep up, what of the elderly on the field who might soon start dropping like flies on the ground - but they had no choice. Humans were outmanned.

Castiel was appearing and disappearing. But he was gone more than he was here - sometimes for a couple of minutes, sometimes for hours. Every time looking refreshed and rejuvenated. But he never tangled too much with your group of extremely talented hunters, that bastard.You even cursed him at one instance and challenged him to fight you. He simply ignored your taunts, doing his thing - the seemingly endless supply of his warriors shifting strategies, per his instructions.

You all tried to imply new strategies too, but he was making sure to keep you all occupied so that you couldn't help your subjects. Every human on the field was cornered.

Your concentration first wavered when they killed your brother.

'NO!' you screeched at the top of your lungs, a white ball of energy exploding from your heart and rippling from you in circles - successfully killing all monsters in a five-mile radius. It was your residual archangel powers.

Unfortunately, although the powers managed to kill all the evil - it also managed to weaken your forces by throwing them into the air.

This was bad because no one had known how you'd killed Micheal. People disapproved of using powers to defeat the other factions, they would rather you sacrificed yourself to kill Michael instead of leveling the playing field. Now everyone knew.

Tears welled up and you fell to your knees from dizziness. Your insides were cold and numb from shock. Your brother's eyes glazed over and some more blood gurgled from his mouth as he finally fell limp on the ground, a knife sticking out from his back. A demon backstabbed him in the form of . . . Jody, who now stood over him with a ghastly grin. Before you could even process it, she alleviated her gun, shooting B/F, the last Leader except you and Dean, and most of the humans nearest to you - some die, some take cover. She levied her gun on you and Dean, but never pulled the trigger, tilting her head to one side as if listening to something, and then her neck twisted one-eighty degrees. Black smoke funneled into the air, and her body fell to the ground, unmoving.

Dean's arm slung around you, and you both glanced at each other, equally broken, trying equally hard to not sob in the middle of this bloodbath.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' tsked Benny. He was the vampire Alpha's second-in-command and the Captain of the Bloody Princess. 'I really thought that you wouldn't last longer than an hour, let alone days. But, hey, this was more fun, wasn't it?'

'I'm gonna kill you,' you whispered, emotionally wrecked.

'Y/N, no—'

But you leaped out of Dean's reach, practically flying towards Benny. Unexpectedly, someone threw their body weight on you, making you reflexively stab backward.

The gasp was too familiar.

Your entire body froze, and your whole world stopped moving.

Something was terribly wrong, all your instincts screamed: Do not turn . . .

But you recognized it! You recognized him . . .

Your unwilling glance cast to your right, just as Dean's head came to lean down on your shoulder, breath shuddery.

Suddenly, he was on the ground and your memory had progressed. Nothing made sense, including your gibberish words.

'I won't let you die, my love. N-Not while I'm still alive.' A small smile formed on his lips and he locked his green orbs with yours as if he was proud of himself for this little act.

'Why would you throw yourself at me?!'

'Oh, how sweet,' laughed Castiel. He had been standing behind you, and you hadn't noticed him before. 'I didn't think he'd sacrifice himself for you.'

And the heart-breaking understanding dawned on you . . . Dean had seen Castiel while all you'd seen was revenge . . .

A sob tore from your chest, 'You shouldn't have done this—'

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile dancing at his lips. 'That's what fiancés are for, darlin'.'

Incoherent yelling brought you out of your reverie. You looked up in utmost confusion to see Castiel killing . . . himself?

'—fight them,' Dean continued. As if he didn't see this at all.

You gaped at the new guy, a worried look on his face.

You shook your head, tilting it to the side, certain that this shouldn't be happening. 'I-I-I was supposed to duel Benny and Castiel—'

'We need to leave, Y/N,' the lookalike of Castiel said. 'I've been looking everywhere for you. I come from your reality. We should go. Your mind and memories make me very uneasy.'

'Who are you?' you shook your head. 'I need to-to save Dean!' you exclaimed. 'I was . . . this isn't supposed to happen! I don't remember this!'

Castiel's brows furrowed in confusion. 'If you don't leave, you die.'

'B-B-But, if I leave, he'll die,' you said in a low tone, 'he'll die anyway. I'll get him killed. I-I-I don't know . . . he doesn't deserve me, this! I-I get him killed. I deserved to die—I—' Your voice cracked, breaking down then and there.

'Calm down,' he said softly, coming to gather you in a hug. 'I need to listen to my voice, and you need to breathe.'

You wanted to fight it, you knew you should have. But for some reason, you resisted that urge. You didn't want to hurt this new trench-coated guy, you felt as if, if you hurt him, you'd also indirectly hurt someone you cared about - you just couldn't remember who.

'I don't understand,' you whispered, watching as Dean lay on his side, not even acknowledging the fact that Castiel was hugging you. His eyes were stuck at where you should have battled your planet's Castiel, and it was as if Dean was watching the duel unfold . . .

It should've happened. Why was it not happening?

You should have promised Dean that you'll save him, and then dueled Ben and Cas. And Jack - where was Jack?

'This is a memory,' informed Castiel - something that you had already begun to grasp on.

'Who are you?' you questioned, falling against his chest. 'Please go away. I should've died.'

'Dean wouldn't appreciate that,' he told you. His blue eyes were full of sympathy and pain for you. Why did he even care? You would have killed him if a nagging voice in your head didn't stop you.

The voice was continuously telling you to go with him. To save yourself.

'Come with me,' mumbled Castiel. 'Please. Dean is waiting.'

'He's gone,' your voice wobbled. 'He's dead,' you said it, for the first time in more than seven years . . .

Castiel shook his head, 'Please. He's waiting.'

You glanced at the man in front of you. Two knives sticking out of him - both of them, the price of saving you. He'd insisted that you gain powers to fight Micheal which was when Castiel had become your "friend", and now, he insisted on saving you again . . .

Out of seemingly nowhere, a gold necklace appeared on Dean's neck. You remember putting it there. That and the soulmate ring had been the symbols of your love with Dean - both of which you'd let burn along with the battleground.

As the love of your life bled on the battleground - among the rest of your family, the rest of the Leaders - you felt a part of yourself dying, all over again.

It was over. It was all over.

You let yourself fall back against your savior, stemming the flow of your memories but unbearable crying took over you, as you let the magnitude of what had happened hit you all over again, yet, seemingly for the first time.

You gasped awake in the real world, shooting forward on the forest floor.

Sweat beaded your skin, and you were chilled to your bones but your mind was blank. With an unimaginable effort, you blinked away your tears, toning down your devastating cries to slight whimpers.

Not yet - you can't cry yet. It's not safe.

Your e/c orbs fell on the figure kneeling next to you.

'Castiel,' you said, frigidly. You knew you couldn't attack him. You shouldn't.

He gave you a small smile. 'I'm glad you're okay. Save him, please. Goodbye, Y/N.' A sound of a flutter, a breeze gushed around you, and he was gone.

You tightened your arms around yourself, not caring in the slightest if his company on you was reduced. You mustered your strength and stood up on your jelly legs, but something was missing.

Your mind raced to recollect what had happened before you were forced into an unwilling submission to your past.

You understood slowly that your injuries were missing. You looked down to your stomach and then checked your thigh, giving a once-over to your whole body - if your clothes hadn't been ripped and stained, you would have never known that you had been hurt in the first place.

Then you realized that your bow was missing. You felt vulnerable instantly as if you'd gone out in public without clothes.

You would've thanked Castiel but you didn't because, first, you didn't want to, and second, he left defenseless even if he did heal you.

You decided to ignore his existence until he was needed again as a compromise.

You put yourself on the Purgatory map pretty quickly. You were in the land of Djinns - you had a safe house in here somewhere, this one underground, you believe. They were as good as nothing in here, so technically, they didn't pose you much threat.

You did contemplate freeing yourself from the torture of watching Dean: the stupid American-accented Dean Winchester who you can't have. Technically, he was safe. You sent him to the safest area in Purgatory, rumor for the portal had been spread so a capable monster would come looking for him, and he could this hellhole in his rearview mirror. All he had to do was blame you for how you aggravated the tryst between the Leviathans and the Dwarves, and they would hunt you, and permit him to stay.

Even as you thought it, you knew your goal was too idealistic. Dean came to save you, you doubted he would throw you under the bus - despite your excellent skills.

He really pissed you off sometimes. You honestly can't deal with another man who has a fucking hero complex! That reckless, beautiful fool thought you were important enough to risk his own life and enter an area you clearly told him not to.

To top it all off, he seemed to care about you! Why else would he kiss you?

He obviously cares, and he protects what he loves. Inevitably, he will die like—

No! came an inward scream. Don't go there, your mind warned.

You had to take a second to compose yourself - the state of mental health was extremely fragile.

Out of the mayhem of your thoughts, a broken voice came through, Promise?

Your self-preservation was ravaged by your soft corner for Dean's namesake and lookalike. You did tell him you would find him . . .

For a distraction, you decided to run for the rest of the day.

No monster bothered your jog as you cut down six miles. Within the next hour, you had touched your safe house. You stitched your clothes more or less and constructed a new bow and a hefty set of quivers; you tested them on three stray Djinns. Before evening, you had jogged over to the edge of the Borax forest again.

The army of Leviathans was doubled, parading around the perimeters of the forest. A small camp had also been set up. These monsters whispered around in harsh voices, and tensed at the slightest noises; you even caught a wisp or two of your and Dean's names. You had seen and planned enough wartimes during your lifetime to recognize one; your little stunt yesterday may as well have been a trigger.

Maybe Dean would need you to keep him safe after all. You doubted he had war experience. You know he'd faced apocalypses before, but war and the end of the world are majorly different things. The latter is quick but wars elongate the pain of an apocalypse until you die a little every day.

You shrugged those thoughts off. Eyes on the goal.

Stealthy as a cat, you scaled a tree, tiptoed to the edge, and swung into the Borax forest, absolutely unobserved.

As you trudged further within the forest, now on the ground while the silence deafened you. Not even crickets. You kept an eye out for traps; if you weren't cautious, you might end up hanging upside down from a rope like a lousy Tarzan.

Just because you can swing your own weight now, doesn't make you Tarzan.

Who's Tarzan?

He has scoffed, Don't tell me you haven't watched fucking Disney - what loveless world did you grow up in?

Just because I don't like television or music, doesn't make me an outcast.

Maybe you should look up the word, you bookworm.

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' you growled.

Your attention diverted when the air whizzed, your ears perked up and you ducked, letting it slash thin air over your head.

You raised your hands in surrender. 'I come in peace!' you yelled. 'Please. I need to find my . . . friend. I mean no harm.'

You stood rooted to your spot, aware that you could spook them. You strained your ears until you caught the rising decibels as someone approached you.

You bit your lip, giving yourself up. 'I'm a human. Y/N L/N. And, my friend, Dean Winchester, is still in this territory if the stories of you guys capturing prisoners are correct. I just need shelter, and for you to release him. We'll be no harm, I swear. Please, let me talk.'

'Is it right? You slaughtered the fairies!' came an accusing, squeaky voice.

You nodded. 'They betrayed me. Gave my location to the Leviathans.'

The Dwarves gasped and snarled altogether.

'We had to . . . let go of the fairy population because betrayal is one thing I don't tolerate,' you raised your chin in defiance. 'It was my idea if you still want revenge - I hear you were close to them. But kindly release the other human, he is innocent, just trying to get back home. You know how homesickness feels better than anyone, don't you?'

A pregnant pause.

You closed your eyes just in case they wanted to take you up on the revenge, your reflexes would only get in the way.

'Hand low.'

The Dwarf King emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a magnificent crown of bird feathers, befitting his royalty.

You had to hide your mystery disappointment upon not being attacked.

You gave him a small tentative smile, greeting him with a curtsy.

He scowled, deepening the frown lines on his grimy, old, scarred face. If he stayed very still and closed his eyes, you could've mistaken him for the bark of a tree, his skin color matched it, and his battle scars were appropriately carved on all the visible parts of his skin. Even his clothes were made of leaves - without his crown, he would be undetectable to a person who didn't what to look for. More small people peeled away from the trees. They were even smaller than their king, which would have been amusing if you didn't know how deadly they were when they wanted to be; all just as unkillable as the Leviathans in Purgatory.

'They us shoo - the bad Leviathans,' the King sneered, voice as rustly as a dead leaf in the graveyard. 'We you not welcome, just capture-kill. Why? Why us seek shelter?'

You kneeled to shorten the distance and appear less threatening.

'We don't want you to exclusively protect us, we can do that on our own. We just need shelter, there is a house I built here—'

'It stand still,' he huffed. 'Dwarf no-no land.'

'I see,' you said. 'We can keep that arrangement. If you could just lend us a couple days, you won't even know we are—'

'We want hurt Leviathans,' he cut you off yet again. 'You want hurt Leviathans?'

'Those sons of bitches who want to kill my friend? Fuck, yeah!' you scoffed. 'I want them deader than my will to fucking live!'

His eyebrows knitted together. 'Say again?'

You pursed your lips in amusement. It had been ages since you switched languages to connect with a person - otherwise, you know half the European languages for smoother conversations with your Governors.

'Yes. Y/N and Dean want to hurt Leviathans. Very bad.'

He assessed you for a moment. 'You good fighter?'

The smug, self-assured smirk on your lips was your experience's fault. 'The best. Me the reason for security more, uh, beyond your forest,' you accidentally ended in correct English.

He approved you with a grin. 'Pick her.'

'Pick what now!?'

The dwarves came like an all-consuming wave, their tiny hands floated you in the air. One of them blindfolded you with an evergreen leaf so lithely that you were a smidge scared, the miniature creatures forwarded you hand-to-hand, to what you can only assume is their secret lair. You "accidentally" bumped into trees constantly, at that point you could only protect your head with your hands. They were chatting in a foreign language you knew nothing about.

Then all too abruptly, you were dropped on the ground; to be fair, they weren't taller than two feet.

You knew better than to make a sound or move unless they directly addressed you to do so. Anxious minutes stretched on until finally, the blindfold was loosened.

All of the dwarves had already made themselves scarce, leaving you on the edge of the small lake, between the tall trees and your house just in the middle of the lake.

You were wrong, they weren't ready to share their lair just yet. Instead, they'd bought you to your safe house, the gazebo you'd built in memory of Dean's garden . . .

'Your Dean come,' a squeaky voice made you jump. You hadn't even noticed the small Dwarf, the size of a tennis fucking ball, near your elbow. She grinned at your fright. 'You stay. Behave.'

Did a tennis ball just ask you to fucking behave? If you didn't want peace, you would've thrown her into the lake like a pebble.

She trotted away behind the rest of her population and you wondered how many were watching you from the trees.

All you could do was wait, you supposed. And if Dean wasn't handed to you by nightfall, you would attack them.

The Dwarves surprised you by keeping their word. You were expecting them to be as unworthy and dishonest as the Leviathans, but they gave you Dean, relatively harmed - if you don't count his unconsciousness and the bumps on his head from being lugged around like you been, as harm. They carelessly thumped the man at your feet.

The Dwarf King was frowning. 'We no like him, know? He try and kill.'

'He stupid,' you were quick to retort. 'He don't know how great you be. I'll make him understand. I hope this no ruin our new friendship?' you extended your hand for an alliance.

He hesitated, before giving in and shaking his knotty hand with yours. 'Friend. But because you promise to hurt sons of bitches.'

'Aw, you learned how to curse,' you laughed, making the Dwarf King blush grumpily.

He waved his hand in dismissal, 'One favor more!' he demanded.

'Okay?' you quirked a brow.

'Teach English!' he forcefully said. 'Leviathans speak good, we rub good English in face!'

'I think I like you,' you chuckled. 'You got style, buddy. Teach English, got it.'

He blinked both his eyes at you and raised his thumbs. You think he was winking.

He and his entourage left the clearing, telling you that they would be by the next day for their first lesson. One of the Dwarf ladies also told you that she was the healer around there, and if you needed anything, she would be able to conjure it for you within a day or so . . . She reminded you of Selina, but then you slammed the door on those memories as well.

Or, well, you tried too. You had this grim feeling that it was too late to ignore your past anymore. Your breakdown was coming, you just hoped you'd be alone for it.

A/N: Welp, the trauma's out of the bag! What did you think of the glimpses from the Supernatural Wars?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[violettduchess]

Hello! Congrats again on the big 1k! May I request #14 kissing to try it out + Gilbert in your Wild West AU, with a side of enemies to lovers? Or if you just wanna photoshop Gilbert's head onto a scantily-clad cowboy, that's cool too. Totes up to you! Thank you and happy writing! Yeehaw 🌵🤠🖤

A/N: Here you go @atelier-the-atelier 💜 I love that you love AUs as much as I do and I hope I did our boy proud in his first role as a cowboy 😉

A contribution to @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady's Different Universe Same Love CCC; an entry for my 1k First Kiss Celebration with the kiss prompt: "Let's try it out"

Warning: Spoiler for Gilbert's route ⚠️

Gilbert x female Reader

WC: 2.8 k

It’s a long way from town to get to the hot springs on the very edge of Rhodolite County, but every aching muscle in your body is telling you it’ll be worth it. You would ride as far as Benitoite if it meant you could have some peace and quiet and time to recover from today. 

Sheriff Michel had been pleased with you. Single-handedly stopping a stagecoach robbery by a band of Obsidian ruffians is no small feat. Add to that the fact that you’re a woman and half a head shorter than these varmints? Hot damn. When you had shown up with the three men tied together, several with missing teeth and black eyes and one with a bullet hole in his shoulder, the sheriff’s lips had lifted in a cool smile before he nodded for them to be taken away to the county jail.

“This is why you’re Chief Deputy,” he said, offering you a satisfied nod. “Now go and take the rest of the day to recover.” It was an order, loud and clear.

And the best place to recover from an ordeal like tussling with bandits is the hot springs. You can see them now up ahead. Nestled into the narrow gap of a rocky ravine are several small pools of dark water, each one right next to the other. Above you the sky is a bright and brilliant blue, the sun shining high enough that you know you have plenty of time until nightfall. 

You slide off your horse with a grunt, then turn to pat his neck affectionately. “Go on now, Luke. Find yourself some grub.” He snorts, shaking his mane of red hair, and then wanders towards the side of the ravine where taller, darker grass is growing freely. You never worry about him coming back. He’s one of the most loyal creatures you have ever known.

Soon your clothes are folded, resting on top of a smooth, flat stone, warmed by the sun. Your worn boots, with their scuff marks like battle scars, rest on the ground beside it. You consider moving your holster and gun to a patch of ground right behind you but decide to lay it across your boots so it won’t get wet. Your hat is the last thing you remove, tossing it with casual ease so that it lands on top of your clothing, perched there like it was on display. 

You pause a second, stretching your arms up towards the endless blue of the sky, enjoying the feel of the wind as it ribbons itself around your bare body. If someone asked you what freedom feels like, it would be this. Just you and the world and nothing in between. 

Carefully you step towards the edge of the dark blue water and then lower yourself in, inch by inch. The heat engulfs you and you sink down until only your head and shoulders are uncovered. 

Good lord, if this ain’t heaven.

The warmth kneads its way across your sore muscles, untying knots and soothing aches. Your eyes fall closed and you allow your head to tip back, your throat exposed and vulnerable but you don’t care. You don’t need to worry about protecting yourself 'cause there isn’t anyone here but you and the water and a whole lot of nothing for miles.

“Now this is a sight.”

Like a bullet through muslin his voice tears through your peaceful relaxation. 

Several thoughts, wild as runaway trains, collide in your mind at the same time: No! Why? Go away! Fuck!

Forcing yourself to remain calmer than you feel, you open your eyes.

In front of you stands The Trampling Beast himself, the outlaw Gilbert von Obsidian, leader of the Obsidian gang and a wanted man from here to the Acroite territories. The gold accents on his signature black leather boots and belt buckle gleam in the sunlight. His leather-gloved hands rest casually on narrow hips, but the deadly LeMat revolver at his side is just inches away. He tips his beautiful onyx Diamond cowboy hat in greeting, smiling at you with his perfect, white teeth. He reminds you of the drawings you’ve seen of tigers in those science periodicals the schoolhouse gets delivered. 

Beautiful and dangerous as hell.

“Goddamn it, what are you doin’ here, Gilbert?”

Your voice is steady and you’re deeply grateful for the water’s opaqueness. You’re also deeply aware of how vulnerable you are, naked and trapped in the water while he’s standing there in all his black and gold glory.

He watches you with his brilliant eye, red as sundown. A black leather eyepatch covers the mystery of his left eye. All kinds of rumors live around that eyepatch: the outcome of a deadly knife fight, a childhood accident, a science experiment gone wrong in his country of birth. Part of you wonders if it isn't just a ruse, a scare tactic to intimidate his enemies. Maybe there's nothing at all under that eyepatch but a second, perfectly healthy crimson eye.

His smile never falters as he shrugs, the motion far too performative for your liking.

“The same thing you are, I imagine. Looking for a place to recover from an arduous afternoon.” He catches your gaze and holds it. His eye gleams. The tiger has you in his sights. “You see, three of my men were accosted today. And then brought to jail.” He shakes his head. “Freeing them was……strenuous.”

Anger snakes its way around your spine. “God DAMN IT!” You slap the surface of the pool in frustration, water splashing up harmlessly. When you finally meet his gaze, his smile is still in place and absolutely infuriating. “Did anyone get hurt?”

He raises a hand to his heart, pretending to look wounded. “What kind of man do you take me for, Deputy?”

Your voice quakes with fury, glows with an anger hot as a blacksmith's forge. “A varmint. A dirty, no-good, black-hearted-”

“I see.”  Something crosses his face, a fleeting moment where his smile falters and it surprises you enough to quell some of your outrage. Have you made a dent in that armor of his?

“Let’s talk. I believe if I explain some of the situation, we may be able to come to an agreement. Save us both the burden of our rivalry.”

You raise your hand to your forehead, squinting at him. Even the sun seems to be in love, lovingly outlining his body in gleaming gold. But…..if he wants to negotiate, it needs to be on a level playing field and not one where you are vulnerable in the water and he’s fully dressed and armed.

“Fine.” You jerk your head towards the hot spring next to yours. “Get in and we’ll talk.” 

You’ve surprised him. He glances from you to the pool and the expression on his face sends a thrill of satisfaction through you. It’s not often Gilbert von Obsidian is thrown for a loop like this. It takes him a moment before he comes to a decision.

“As you wish.” 

He reaches up, removing his hat and places it carefully on the smooth, flat rock next to yours. His hair is dark, like the sky at early night and looks shockingly soft. Next he removes his black leather gloves, slowly, finger by finger. Have you ever seen him ungloved before? Somehow it feels almost indecent, the sight of his strong hands and bare fingers. Next comes his holster and gun which you note he places as far away from the spring as yours are. He’s playing fair. He bends down, moving his boots and socks and again, the sight of his bare feet shakes something loose inside of you, some part of you that you wish would stop reeling and be still again. Those naked fingers unbutton his black and gold shirt, revealing skin as pale as cream and when he removes it, your breath hitches. He’s long and lean, the lines of muscle cutting through him as if made by an artist’s brush stroke. You don’t realize you’re staring until he grins slowly.

“Like what you see?”

God damn it. This man is the enemy.

With an agitated exhale you turn in the water, facing away from him. What you don’t realize is that now he can look without restraint, his gaze running freely over the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Water beads and slides down your skin and some primitive part of him wants to catch them with his tongue, sink his teeth into the delectable place where neck and shoulder meet. 

With a start, he realizes where his thoughts are going and why he very quickly better reign them in. He strips off the rest of his clothing and lowers himself into the neighboring pool of warm water, sending the same prayer of gratitude for its dark opaqueness as you did earlier. 

“You may turn around, Deputy.” 

You turn around slowly, one hand still close enough to cover your eyes. But he is in the water up to his chest, resting his forearms on the rocky shelf between your two pools. 

Oh for fucks sake. 

He looks so…..

So…….

Your heart is racing and the heat that rushes through you has nothing to do with the springs. 

My God. He looks so…..

You build a dam to stop those thoughts from forming. A dam of anger, outrage, cold hard logic. This man is dangerous. He is your enemy.

“Well then spit it out, Gil. What did you wanna tell me?” Best to get this done as quickly as possible. 

He leans forward, resting his chin on his forearms in a move that is endearingly child-like. He’s left his eyepatch on but his one eye is focused on you intently.

“Did you ever stop and notice who my people have been…..relieving of their goods?”

You arch a brow. “Innocent victims.”

He frowns slightly and you can see he is disappointed in your flippant answer. Even more surprising is how much that bothers you. You clear your throat and try again.

“Your gang stole from a merchant family from Jade County, a visiting Tanzanite noble and the mayor of Rhodolite, all within the last three months.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. And what do they all have in common?”

You scoff. “They’re all rich.” 

He makes a gesture with his hand for you to continue. 

“They’re…..very rich.”

“Go on.”

While considering  you absently reach up to adjust the pins in your hair. His gaze darts to the curve of your arm, the water running in enviable rivulets down it, the way your shoulder hikes up and exposes the elegant line of your collarbone and a few tantalizing inches of skin below that. He licks his lips. The tiger lowers itself inthe tall grass, haunches tensed.

“So wealthy….,” you murmur, “that they can afford the loss.” Something clicks into place as you look him in the eye. Obsidian is a poor county, home to a lot of desert and rocky hills. Hot days and freezing nights. The people who live there have a reputation for being a hard folk. You hear someone from Obsidian is around, you tend to give them a wide berth. It’s a tough place to live, often populated by people who have nowhere else to go. It’s a wonder they manage at all, if it weren’t for……

He sees you have connected dots and realized that what he has been doing isn’t for him, but for the poor people of his county. The ones who took in an abandoned foreigner after his parents died and made him one of their own. 

“You’re using the stolen goods to help the people,” you say out loud, searching his face for the confirmation you know will come.

“Good girl.” 

Those words, almost a purr, nearly send you to the bottom of the springs but you manage to grip the rocky ledge between you and remain upright. You mirror his body language, resting your forearms on the same ledge. There are mere centimeters between his arms and yours. Your faces are closer than they have ever been but you need this, you need to look him in the eye and see if he is sincere. Has he really been playing Robin Hood this whole time? And if yes, does that make his actions any more excusable?

He sees the questions in your eyes, the way you are scrutinizing him. He’s told you the truth but he can see you need something more. A gesture of trust. It comes to him after a second. He reaches up and slowly removes his eyepatch, resting it on the ledge you’re both leaning on.

Your lips part but no sound comes out. What you see under the eyepatch isn’t scarred skin or a milky eye or even another crimson one. What you see under the eyepatch is an eye that echoes the sky in summer, the bluebonnets of the prairie, the bright feathers of the bluejay. 

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until it starts to ache and you’re forced to inhale.

“Why….why do you hide it?” You tilt your head, slowly adjusting to the sight of his mismatched eyes, both arresting, both magnetic.

“A lot of locals feel if you look like me….it’s a sign of being cursed. And minds steeped in superstition walk more easily down paths of violence.” 

You nod slowly. It wasn’t too big a stretch of the imagination to see someone who looks different being blamed for a drought. Or a wave of illness. You’ve heard stories of people run out of towns for it. Sometimes even worse. 

You hold his gaze, letting this new idea of Gilbert von Obsidian settle over you. It coats your previous conception of him as a ne'er-do-well criminal, remolds him into something….if not exactly noble, something certainly more…understandable.

You take a moment before speaking.

“Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. When you…..liberate….the very wealthy of their goods and it happens to be around the border between Rhodolite and Obsidian, I’ll turn a blind eye. But if you attack anyone, wealthy or not, clearly within the boundaries of Rhodolite County, you’ll be pursued.”

He considers this. There is a major stagecoach hub in Rosewater, the Rhodolite town right on the border to Obsidian. It also happens to be a busy train station where the wealthy often switch to stagecoach when traveling to the capital city. What you are offering him is, in fact, quite a gift. 

He smiles slowly, truthfully, devastatingly beautifully and you stifle the urge to gasp, stung by twin emotions of dismay and excitement. 

“I’ll take that deal,” he says. You clear your throat, lifting a hand. A handshake to seal the deal and then you would have the entire ride back to the sheriff’s office to figure out how to explain this all to Chevalier.

Gilbert looks at your hand, then looks you in the eye and his smile sharpens. “Oh there are better ways to finalize a deal.” His gaze drops to your lips. “Let’s seal it with a kiss.”

What the hell did he just say?

“I……that’s…..what…..”

He tilts his head and it is so roguishly charming you could scream. 

“Why not try it? Hmm? Or am I really so repulsive?”

Oh no, no you’re not and that is the problem, you think as you stare back into those eyes, those beautiful crimson and azure depths that seem to actually twinkle in the sunlight as they regard you.

But you can’t show weakness, right? It would reflect poorly on the sheriff’s department. At least that's what you're telling yourself. 

“Fine,” you mutter, ignoring the wild fluttering of your pulse. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Now he laughs and good God almighty it is nothing like the harsh, sharp-edged laughter you’ve heard from him before. This is soft, almost breathy, dreamy with anticipation as he leans forward, forearms pressed against the slick rocky ledge and presses his lips to yours.

Gilbert von Obsidian tastes like the coolest mountain spring, right before winter hits. Cool and clean, crisp and exhilarating. Never would you have imagined his lips would mold so perfectly to yours, that they would be so soft, so sweet. He's the first drop of cold wine, the first splinter of chocolate, the first spoonful of iced cream.

The water sloshes as he reaches for you, leaning further across the rocky shelf that separates your bodies. His hand slides over your bare shoulder, up the curve of your neck and lingers there as his mouth learns everything there is to know about yours: shape, taste, texture. 

And then, with his hand on your neck, your fingers gripping the rock for dear life, you part your lips in invitation. 

He accepts without hesitation and my God did that sound come from your throat? 

Your low, soft whimper sparks something in him and your whine is answered with a growl. The tiger is ready, springing from its hiding place, scaling the rocky shelf and plunging into the water beside you.

You welcome him with arms as wide as the western sky.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @tele86 @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @aria-chikage @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @joiedecombat @bubblexly

[harvardhaugland]

closest friend - bosch ♡

a/n: more of an angsty-smut fic haha and once again. not even proofread. HELP MEEEEE. anyone wanna be my beta reader pls 💔

world tour spoilers! chapters 10 - 13 at least! bosch does break into the readers home but everything beyond that one part is all consensual, just a simple passionate bj ^^

Throughout this whole journey for “strength”, running around— doing all types of errands, all for him. You had second thoughts. You’ll be cooped up in your apartment, tussling over in the bedsheets, nothing but silence and the AC running.

When you can’t sleep, you look up at the ceiling and count all the days you had been looking for him.

Hell, the first time you had met, you two barely knew each other. You still don’t even know some basic things about Bosch, like his birthday, favorite food, not even a last name— yet you had always stood up for each other.

The lack of communication between the two of you had started to border your friendship.

You want to see him again, just talk to him, be around him. Just make sure he’s okay through all this. Tonight, you can’t even sleep because of an encounter with him. Back at the construction site. Bosch in some kind of cardboard box-head getup.

Hour after hour, it turns to 2 AM. Your eyes grow heavy— finally, starting to drift off to sleep. Your body hadn’t fully shutdown, but you could squeeze your eyes closed to the very least.

You roll over to the side, facing the wall. Focusing your attention towards getting a good night’s rest rather than the ambient darkness of your room. Slowly, your worries start to fade away, growing sluggish, tensed muscles relax. For a moment, you feel at peace after a few restless weeks without sleep.

The hinges of the window squeaks.

Wind blows in.

Footsteps.

Heavy breathing.

Heavy breathing that wasn’t from you.

Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, perhaps this is what too little hours of rest does to you, or maybe it’s just all the heavy hits from training you took that are starting to hurt again. So you remain still, sleeping, breathing quieter than whatever— or whoever seemed to be in here with you.

Paper crumples in your ear and it feels as if your pillow is being lifted up.

Your paranoia gets the best of you and you’re quick to turn around, and try to grab the intruder by the arm. To which an audible gasp comes from them. You have them held by the rather bulky cuffs around their wrists, your vision readjusts to look up at who you’re holding— a completely ironic scenario taking place.

It’s you and the “Cardboard Combatant”. Face to face. No bullshit. You won’t let him go this time, making sure to keep hold of him. “Bosch?” you say, gently, “I’m not gonna fight you, if that’s what you’re here for.”

There’s no response from him. He simply grunts. Seemingly displeased, a bit awkward, stiff in posture.

“Are you okay?” You get up. Your hand goes down to hold his, to which he promptly snatches his hand back, a paper note crumpled in his other hand, his fists balled up tight.

Instead he very hesitantly reach out to hold your hands, “I shouldn’t be here, I’m sorry.” he says, “I just had a note for you, that was all. I’m okay.” he reassures, his voice is strained.

“Please don’t leave.” you’re almost pleading with him, you don’t question what the note was for. Bosch is simply standing in place with his head held low. Carefully, you reach to take the box off his head, cautious as if you were dealing with a stray cat, unpredictable. You expect him to stop you, but he lets you take it off. He looks tired, furrowed and upset. Your hands drift up to caress his face, fresh bruises on his brow bone and cheek. He winces when you graze them.

This all feels so ironic to you, you wished upon a star to see Bosch again— and here he is, inside of your room, with the two of you going in to share an awkward, yet intimate kiss.

He rests his hands on your hips, leaning against you, pushing you into your mattress. Bosch nips at your neck with kisses, practically close to biting you with how aggressive he was, desperate, touch-starved. His hands drift up your shirt, he’s excitedly fast, but hesitant at some points, almost in fear that he might hurt you like before.

You flip positions, on top of him this time, unwrapping the shirt tied around his hips, Bosch is laid back against the pillow with a shy look, hand hiding over his parted mouth. He’s hard through his pants— you pull them and his underwear down just enough to free his cock, having to glance up at him occasionally to make sure he’s okay, hands gently working his erection up, soft stroking that makes him squirm underneath you,

You take the tip into your mouth, illiciting a small gasp from Bosch, his hands grab the back of your head, firmly, he starts to slowly push you down further— stopping when you gag halfway down. Starting to bob your head up and down once you adjust.

Bosch’s fingers tangle into your hair, his leg wraps around your head, forcing you to keep at a rough pace, letting you take in deep breaths inbetween.

“You feel so warm.” he remarks, whining your name the more you take him in, when you hit the base of his cock, he’s panting, “..What are you doing to me?”. He’s overwhelmed with pleasure. Sweat running down between his chest and sucking in his stomach. For his first time, out of all people, he would keep his legs apart for you.

He makes your head spin. Bosch is cute when he’s like this, holding onto you, calling your name softly, trying to be as quiet as he possibly could— tears well in the corners of his eyes as his cock twitches down your throat, trying hard to prolong the pleasure.

He whimpers, wanting to get the most of this, but he can’t play around with you any longer. Bosch roughly shoves you back down to the base, nose hitting his pelvis as he pulls out, carelessly cumming all over your face and tongue. He’s speechless, his chest heaves as he grips the bedsheets. His face is red, he’s hot all over, as if he had a fever of some kind. Bosch collapses against your pillows.

There’s drool and cum dribbling down your mouth, pooling at your chin. Wiping it off with your shirt, feeling too exhausted to properly clean up. You tuck him back into his pants, simply laying on top of him, tangling your legs together.

When you wakeup, you’ll find him missing from your bed. Unsure if the feelings shared the night before was genuine now.

[sandrockinn-in-da-haus]

Ep 01: When Logan met the Builder.

This episode occurs post MtaS “The Goat” Main Mission. ⚠️DISCLAIMER⚠️ spoilers ahead!

Chapter 01: Trust is Earned

The harsh Eufala desert sun beats down on the bandit duo as they ride across Sandrock. Their white knuckles gripping the reins of their trusty steeds as sand flies behind them. Nightfall is approaching and they need to reach their destination beyond the desert boundary to Atara. An acquaintance of Grace's awaits with news of the impending threat, set on destroying Sandrock and all those within its boundary. Whatever it takes... it’s part of his destiny.

Logan’s bright blue eyes set on the horizon with his head held low to avoid any flying sand. it shouldn’t be much further until they reach Atara. Time is of the essence.

Logan: “HHHHEEEEEEEiiiiiiiiiiii-YYYYYYYAAAAAA”

Logan whips the reins and kicks his heels. Rambo picks up speed, navigating sand mounds and gravel pits. Interweaving the grand rock formations in which Sandrock is known for. The agility of such a beast is majestic, for surely, such a heavyweight would substitute strength for agility. Rambo’s legs ride over the sand like a racehorse on turf. He is free. If you saw him in water, you would possibly mistake him for a dolphin, his grey mane and weightlessness mimic that of the beautifully designed dolphin. The grace in his strides leave even the highest paid race horse in the dust.

A second set of hooves follow close behind.

Haru: “I don’t think we will make it by nightfall!”

Haru’s back and legs are growing tired, he doesn’t have the stamina to hold onto his steed quite like Logan.

Haru: “I need a break!”

Logan ignores Haru’s request. And keeps on riding.

Logan: “HHHHEiiiiYAAAAA….. HEEEEiiiiYYYYAAAA!”

Flicking the reins once again, Logan knows it’s just past the horizon. They can make it if they just keep going.

Haru: “LOGAN!”

Haru digs his heels into the side of his beast and Merle let’s out a mighty “BAAA” setting his sights on Rambo. You see, in the ocean if Rambo was considered a dolphin then Merle would be a Swordfish. Much faster than Rambo but out of hierarchy would always stay behind, except in these cases.

Merle quickly darts in front of Rambo and stops him in his tracks.

Logan heaving: “WOOOOOAAAAAA.....".

Logan: "HARU….. Atara is just beyond the break! We can reach the boarder before midnight!”

Haru jumps off Merle and gives his tasseled hair a stroke. Haru whispers into the beasts ear.

Haru: “Thank you my friend.”

Haru unstraps his satchel from Merle and begins unpacking his rucksack.

Haru: “You can keep going, but I would rather not freeze to death once the sun sets…..”

Logan rolls his eyes and let’s out a sigh. He knows Haru is right, Haru is ALWAYS RIGHT.

Haru: “Given the lack of cloud coverage today, tonight is going to be extra cold, I suggest we start a bonfire.”

Logan’s heavy boots hit the ground with a great thud as he dismounts Rambo. He gives Rambo’s head a tussle to shake off the sand from his thick mane.

Logan smugly: “Who is running this ring Haru? Last time I checked I recruited you!”

Haru let’s out a scoff and turns to look up at Logan who stands in front of him silhouetted by the sun beaming around him.

Logan was a tall man, with the body of a Greek god. Chiseled features and muscles on muscles. His eyes, a deep ocean blue with a subtle hint of green around his pupil. He was a beautiful specimen of human design. It would be hard for anyone not to notice his rugged good looks and stature, he oozed sex appeal.

Haru: “Given the lack of sleep and empty belly you wouldn’t make it to midnight my friend…. You are lucky I promised your Pa to stay by your side…. Because you are as stubborn as you are reckless!”

Haru goes back to setting up camp. Logan mutters under his breath.

If there is anything that Haru can hold to his merit, he is as loyal as a dog. He would go to end of the earth for his friends and he cares for them as if they were his own family. In fact since being on the run from Sandrock, Haru and Logan were just that, family.

Before long the bonfire is lit and the camp is set. While huddled around the fire Haru pours tea, while Logan grills the Yakmel steaks. It’s getting cold.

Haru hands Logan a cup of tea and settles himself across the fire staring into the flames. In that moment both of them forget that they are on the run, home was now a distant memory and everything that comes with the ‘normal’ life ceased to exist.

Haru: “How bad is it?”

Logan puzzled: “How bad is what?”

Haru: “Being alone”

Logan looks up from the grill to see Haru zoned out gazing into the fire.

Logan shrugs his shoulders and goes back to cooking the steaks.

Logan: “I don’t care too much for company anymore. Being on my own means I don' need no bodies permission and I can come and go as I please.”

Haru: “Hmmm”

Logan: “Since Pa’s been gone….”

Logan swallows the hard lump that has formed in his throat.... his emotions. It’s still hard to talk about his Pa. Even with Haru.

Logan: “….. I haven’t felt the need to have anyone close by"

Haru looks up from the flames to look at Logan. He is aware of the pain Logan carries and the guilt he ultimately feels.

Logan: "Its just easier not to have feelings. Besides....."

Logan takes a deep breath.

Logan: "We have more important things going on Haru. Like saving this godforsaken town."

Haru nods his head.

Haru: "Even if the townsfolk dont appreciate it."

Logan takes the grill off the fire and walks over to Haru.

Logan: "We are doin this for ma Pa. His promise to Sandrock was to always protect its people."

Haru reaches out his plate and Logan slides a Yakmel steak into it. It hits the plate with a sloppy squelch. Not the most appetizing meal, but it will provide enough sustenance for the weary travelers.

Haru raises the steak to his mouth and takes a huge mouthful. His hunger is immeasurable.

Logan sits down on the opposite side of the bonfire and starts to devour his meat like a ravenous dog. Decorum wasn't a priority right now. Especially as Logan hadn't eaten in 2 days, being a bandit on the run meant the regular meal was hard to come by.

Haru goes to speak with a mouthful of food.

Haru: "So ho'bout that builder ey?"

Haru winks at Logan.

Haru: "Not to bad on the eyes..... and a combo to boot! She kicked your ass Logan!"

Logan lets out a sarcastic laugh.

Logan: "She was lucky I went so easy on 'er... I knew Grace was behind me the whole time, I just wanted to give 'er a taste of what its like going up against a real outlaw."

Haru lets out a wail of a laugh.

Haru: "Come on Logan! Admit it! She had moves... She beat me for peetsake."

Logan shrugs his sholder toward Haru.

Logan: "Like I said... a REAL outlaw."

Haru kicks sand towards Logan in playful jest. He places his empty plate down and lies down on his back staring up at the endless abyss.

Haru: "Anyway she was a looker...."

Logan continues to hoover down his last pieces of food. Not taking much notice of what Haru is talking about.

Logan: "Mmmmm"

Logan rests his plate beside him and stretches out beside the fire, his legs almost reaching Haru's head.

Haru: "I hope we get to see her again... I think she would really like me."

Logan looks over at Haru. Haru's cheeks are blush as he reminisces on his encounter with the builder. Its sweet, Haru has a crush and Logan can see it all over his face.

Logan: "Well she might be a looker but she would soon enough stab you in the back!... That's the dangerous type!"

Haru whips his head around to look at Logan in shock.

Haru: "What do you mean? Shes helping us Logan!"

Logan shakes his head and stares into the night sky.

Logan: "Don't trust noone Haru, even the pretty ones. They will rip your heart out! Remember trust is earned."

Haru: "But Grace vouched for 'er! Shes one of the good ones!"

Logan shakes his head.

Logan: "Grace is only here to better 'er standing in Atara Intelligence, she wants to make Chief Commissioner one day!"

Haru: "Oh comeon Logan! Grace is our friend! We wouldn't be here without 'er!"

Logan scoffs.

Logan: "Humpffff... That might be true. But everyone has their own prerogative Haru. You would be smart to remember that!"

Haru turns back around and nestles into his rucksack. Its cold out and the stars are outnumbering grains of sand.

Haru: "When this is all said and done, I am go'n to marry dat girl!"

Logan lets out a scoff.

Haru was like a puppy, he fell hard and fast. But not Logan, he was hard headed and as stubborn as a mule. It would take quite a woman to break this bad boy.

Haru let out a prolonged yawn and before long he is fast sleep. Logan settles himself on his back staring into the sky, closing his eyes as he dreams of the days events.

It had been a long time since Logan had felt the warmth of a woman's touch on his skin, smelt their sweet aroma or combed his fingers through their hair. Logan longed for the feeling of a woman's touch and caressing her full bosom in his hand, slightly flicking the peach nipple in his fingertips. He had yearned for a woman for so long, he wanted to quench his thirst and succumb to her animalistic instinct. He reached down into his leather pants and touched his pulsating appendage.

His breath begins to quicken and his hand glides along the shaft of his member. He pictures a woman straddling his waist as he lifts her into the air, his hands grabbing onto her posterior with force as her arm wrap him in for a warm embrace. He has her high in the air and places her on his member, they gasp as the immediate pleasure sweeps over them both. With each pulse he becomes more and more hard. He grabs the her hair and pulls her head back as he sucks the sensitive skin surrounding her neck. She moans and grinds deeper and deeper. Logan lets out a deep growl as he feels the wetness of her core pulsate against his member. She digs her fingernails into his shoulders as he lets out a mighty heave. With the last of his energy they crumble into a heap on the floor, both heavily breathing as they lay on the ground. Logans head resting on her stomach, the rise and fall giving him a sense of calm and comfort. She combs his hair so delicately and kisses his head as she catches her breath. His hand wrapped around her waist so tight, he never wants to let this go. This feeling he longed for, the sense of comfort and love. This place felt like home.

As he catches his breath he tilts his head up to see the woman's face. It was only then that Logan would see the woman he was craving and yearning for. The woman he craved was the builder!

Photo Inspiration from Reddit: "https://www.reddit.com/r/MyTimeAtSandrock/comments/vtf5qz/any_logan_lovers_out_there_time_to_meet_him_in/" from @Pathea_Games

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”

[honoredbastard]

: : ♡ TR: sending a picture of your new kitten to your boy draken and then mikey. someone unglue draken from his bike and give mikey another taikyaki. thank you.

part one to this kitty is up! part three and the final, unless more is requested. will be mikey.

character — draken  content — fluff, swearing, an eventful half asleep draken who barely knows wtf is happening, time skip char. ( manga spoilers ? )

a/n  — sorry if the draken part, actually nah. this whole thing will prolly be confusing. i’m callin dibs on sleepin’ soon cause the brainrot of draken and mikey is FINALLY calming the fuck down. anyways, thanks for reading luv!

: : ♡ KEN RYUGUJI

you were the first to wake up, draken was finally not glued to some bike he was repairing or installing the parts for that finally arrived. he didn’t change, he had oil riddled all over his body and some of that had transferred onto you. although luckily none got on the sheets so that was at least a given. but you couldn’t glare at him with anger for long, his black hair shaping his face oh so gently. the usual two bangs he’s been wearing recently turned into long thick messy hair. your hand yearned to run through that silky hair, yet you had a surprise for this angel of a man. 

you didn’t wanna wake him and he was already searching for your warmth when you finally got situated. getting washing, getting dressed, letting out luna and leon your doberman and pitt that draken didn’t want but he cozied up to them real quick. a third animal couldn’t hurt right? draken’s voice rang in your head “no more animals babe! we’re going to become a zoo!” a zoo we will become than, right ken? you gazed down at him, a smile pulling at your lips when you leaned down.

brushing away his jet black locks to place a kiss on his temple and dragon tattoo. “i gotta go.” his hands found your waste, arms snaking around you while pulling you to him in one quick movement. “noo... five more minutes.” draken groaned, “my dear mi amor, i have to go to this appointment.” you whispered in his ears, trying to wiggle out of his grip. but he’s just too strong for you, so after a long tussle with his fucking big ass muscled arms. you began groaning in defeat, you felt draken’s breath against your nape when he chuckled. sending shivers down your spine.

“i win.” “you do not.” “oh really?” draken’s morning voice was slow, assertive, was a little slurred, but you felt the dominance from that simple statement. “i mean- yes! you did win, babe can you let me go now?!” shit- you may have flipped that switch. but you really needed to get this kitten! it’s going to go to another adopter if i don’t!!! “I’MMA TURN THIS WHOLE HOUSE UPSIDE DOWN IF YOU DO NOT, RYUGUJI KEN, LET ME OUT THIS GODDAMN BED.” “babe, never scream like that again.. please.” draken sounded hurt and defeated. 

you wiggled your arms from his loosening grip and cupped his face, his eyes closed letting you get to gaze at his beautiful face. “i’m sorry, you were just getting to sleep huh? i got a surprise for you so i just really gotta go. ok? you’ll love it though. luna and leon are already outside in the backyard with plenty of food and water. please rest.” you apologized, rubbing your thumb back and forth on his semi-oil dirtied face.

it was soothing to draken who hummed in response, slowly being dragged into a never ending feeling of warmth and comfort. you. your smell, your warmth, your voice. everything about you made him fall asleep. before you knew it, draken’s breaths became regulated and quiet. the rise and fall of his chest was smooth and calm, finally his grip was loosened enough for you to get out of it. running to your car, you yelled from the large fence to your two kids “love you! i’ll be back soon, don’t you dare wake up your daddy! you got a younger brother on the way to do that!”

the only time draken had paint on himself and you is after multiple or one sleepless night of working on a bike he knew he could finish and needed to finish. when he reached the bed his body numbed, relaxing completely when he had you in his arms, leon and luna trying to squeeze between you and him. making their spots infront of you and behind draken, the only way he’d truly fall asleep is on nights where everything was quiet and seemingly perfect.

“i’m so sorry for being late! my husband-” you tripped on your words, draken was your boyfriend, well you were engaged! well- EUGH. the couple could notice your flustered gestures and handed you the kitten. it had a white spot that you could just squeal at right beside it’s eye. once the adoption was settled, you were on the road again to draken while wrestling with your brain for a name. “i don’t know.... i’m sure draken will come up with something.” 

when you arrived home, draken was still there on the bed - only cuddling a pillow that barely filled your absence. he opened an eye when he heard footsteps and paws tapping against the wood floors in the hall, still drowsy and yearning to sleep. his vision was still spotty but when you got closer to him he noticed the black and white thing in your arms. “what’s that?” he asked, pointing at the ball of black and white gaining closer to him.

“a kitten.” “babe?” “yes, draken?” you smiled, feeling his stern expression from a mile away. “is this a stray? you know we can’t-” the kitten nuzzled beneath draken’s chin, finding a spot in the nook of the pillow and the man. and he was gone- hooked. “we’re keeping her.” “what should we name her?” “i don’t know, how about.... jiro?” “jiro? i like it.” melting into the kittens fur, draken fell back to sleep. “ahh.. a dad with his daughter. luna, leon? wanna join him?” their tails wagged and banged against the floor before you hushed them. “on 3.. ready? one.. two... THREE!” all three of you leaped onto draken, alarming the kitten that ended up in scratches for all of you.

[severide-kelly]

Don't Read If You Don't Like Spoilers!

Okay, so as filming has started, there's info dripping into my twitter feed and while I won't post anything out in the open here, I will discuss spoilers so don't read if you like to see the show unspoilt.

So, here we go....

Based off of this tweet:

So, it seems like the honeymoon will be interrupted by (I would assume) Campbell himself, coming after Kelly with a gun.

So things that make sense to me: *With Campbell's Chicago operation ruined, it makes sense that he comes after Kelly as he feels he wrecked it all for him and it's finally time for Campbell to do something about it.

*I wouldn't be surprised if he had someone else with him as Campbell doesn't seem to do much dirty work himself and has plenty of goons. If Campbell isn't here for this, I would say that the story won't be over until he is caught.

*But, as the bad guy, Campbell hasn't had much screentime or even any dialogue so it feels like it's a short-term story. I feel like this might get wrapped up fairly quickly and then they move on to something else.

*Also seems that Campbell would wait until he assumed the couple are sleeping and then tries to kill Severide as that's always been his target. I saw a theory about the place getting shot up and the car getting ruined but the guy isn't going to turn up with a machine gun and start blowing up the building. He wants to kill one man and he'll do that as directly as possible.

*I imagine a scene where Campbell stakes out the place way into the night. He's going to want to make sure they're both asleep. There's no point in his kidnapping or trying to threaten Kelly in any other way, he's just going to want to shut him up for good. It makes sense that there's a gun.

*He needs to break in quietly, but there's a chance they didn't bother locking the door behind them as it's a relatively secluded area and they aren't thinking about Campbell being a threat. So it could be easy for him to get in. If it's not unlocked, I imagine it's not the trickest place to break into anyhow, it is a cabin they don't use most of the time.

*I think perhaps Campbell will either come across one of them as he's sneaking through the cabin- either one of them gets up for a drink/pee. They can easily have several shots fired in a tussle without anyone getting hurt, or only getting a minor injury.

*There's the chance that Campbell still gets away or that this still isn't Campbell that is here. It could be muscle hired and if it is, even if the guy is captured, with Campbell still at large, Severide would still be in danger.

Personally, I'd love to see this storyline continue.

Severide isn't a character who has a lot of fear. He doesn't in his job, or with confronting people. But he's never had people come after him like this before and now he has Stella to consider too. It'll be interesting if they did have this affect him a little. The effects of all this should be kinda significant. He had the guys beat him up, another guy tries and stab him (sort of), who he then accidentally killed and then potentially someone trying to shoot him. Even Kelly must have a point where he's like this is too much, and be a little freaked out.

I'd also opt for having him injured by gunfire just to make it a little more 'real' for him. He gets through several rough calls (like chimneys falling on him) without a scratch, so having him actually get hurt would do something to give him a bit of a wake-up call. It's not like it has to be serious, but I'd have it have been close to being serious.

[bibliocratic]

If you’re in the mood for a prompt I’ve been thinking about Jon getting hurt during the apocalypse and trying to hide it from Martin in a manner very similar to what he warned Martin not to do to him. I enjoy your writing very much! Have a good day!

I am always in the mood for some good old apocalypse hurt/comfort! Thanks for the prompt <3

jonmartin, series 5 adjacent but no spoilers, hurt/comfort

It's been a long two days.

Jon's breathing is hard-won, gravel-scraping up a dry and scream-torn throat. If he is sleeping, and Martin can't tell, even now if that's what to call it when the Archive's Eyes are closed, his head is mercifully free of dreams.

Martin's hands are sweat-lathered, muscles taut with a wired and overworked exhaustion. The scabs on his arms are itching from where Jon's blunted, gnawed nails dug and scored in a senseless panic,  as the rest of his body convulsed, set upon some feverish pyre.  

Martin doesn't even think Jon knew who he was. Doesn't know how long it will take for Jon to claw himself back.

It's been a long two days, but then days don't exist any more, so maybe he's getting the times wrong again. Martin shakes his shaggy head free from the dizziness building up, dust and grime clogging the smooth-running of him, adjusts his tremulous hold on the cricket bat, already soiled and discoloured dark along its edge. The sky hasn't taken on a night-pall since the world crashed sideways; it's the perpetual grey of an un-tuned station, studded with the great flexing, conjoining, bifurcating pupils that are now all staring at their beleaguered Archivist as he sweats and burns and cries out and whatever Martin can do for him, it is clearly not enough.

They'd thought it was the Hunt when it had attacked.  Slaughter at a push. Jon had cast his face in a dissatisfied, pained expression, bemoaning his own slowness as Martin disinfected the snag-toothed wound of the now decimated beast,  cleaning off the blood as thoroughly as possible, bandaging the area as Jon shook jittery with adrenaline and pain they'd no remedy for.

It was clearly sore to walk on. Jon had grunted as he stood, waved off Martin's fussing, trying to grind down any insurrection of his body even as they went mud-trudge slow across the vacant domain.

He'd grown ashen as his steps lost their stride and turned to shuffling. Martin had been the one to set his jaw and put his foot down, setting up camp in that nether-grey of something that would never be night again, shoring his spine with his own brand of stubbornness. Jon had agreed, but clearly not happy about their lack of progress, and they compromised on resting for a few hours, see if Jon's body would heal the injury on its own.

When Martin had asked Jon later if he was feeling better, Jon had said yes. Had said it was all healed up even as he shouldered his backpack, that they should really get moving. Martin had made a quip about Jon's super healing abilities and Jon had, he'd smiled like he was in on the joke, hadn't he?

Jon had said he was fine, and Martin believed him because he trusted him to tell him the truth.

They'd walked and walked through mire and moor and Jon had ploughed on, hadn't winced and stumbled. He'd been quiet, but then there were days like that for the both of them, that wasn't – should Martin have said something? Had the lines around his eyes been tighter, had he turned away from Martin as they walked, had there been anything he'd failed to see? As they walked, when they set up camp and Martin had helped Jon with the zip that was always getting stuck on their sleeping bag, when Jon had encircled his arms bodily around Martin and grunted a weary goodnight.

Martin had tussled free from the greedy, fog-banked maw of his nightmares to Jon panting and spasming next to him. Eyes all open, pocked across his body like boils, rolling sightless, his pupils shot wide in the damp frame of his skin, frothing spit at the corners of his mouth. His skin shiny, fish-scaling with sweat, his outward front of humanity losing ground as his flesh becomes more eyes than skin, his voice crackling like corrupted tape, his words, when they slicked garbled and gibberish from his lips, all stolen from other people's tragedies.

He throws his body around  storm-wrecked and insensate, and he burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won't wake, not for Martin's calls and shakes, not for anything.

When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Their camp transitions to medical bay, but Martin is not a doctor. He tries to use the limited water they have to quench the fire-brand heat across Jon's skin; Jon flinching and fighting every pathetic gesture to comfort. Martin's mouth runs itself down shushing and failing to soothe his scalding delirium, Jon who sheds tears and pleads forgiveness and begs mercy for those he has lost. The dark lichen that is ensnaring the veins of his hip, his stomach grants him the cruelty of being able to see his burden of ghosts made material before him.

He cries at whatever Tim says to him. He tries to follow a phantom Sasha from the tent, struggles against Martin as he tries to keep him from walking out, from hurting himself more, Jon's slurring words barely understandable but for his moaning desperation that slips into anger for Martin to let go, it's Sasha, Martin, let me go, Martin!

He scratches and bites and Martin makes himself immovable, insurmountable. Jon's struggles always boil down to a grief-drowned sobbing eventually, and Martin can carry him limbless and half-collapsed back to bed.

Martin treats the yellow-weeping wound with what little antibiotic ointments they packed, cleans the swollen, reddened skin, and Jon wavers between the ghosts and shadows of his lying brain. Martin prefers the tearful, mourning Jon in some ways, because at least, there, in some ways, he at least remembers who Martin is, even if he might as well be as wraith-like as his hauntings.

It is better than Jon's terror.

When Martin looms large and unknown over him, Jon's legs scatter to push away. His eyes recognising nothing, staring up at him with suspicion. Jon's body has not been kindly used, these past years, and Jon won't let him touch his wound, kicks and pushes him away, tries to run even as his legs give under him. When every question is laced with the command of the Archive, and the compulsion tears answers Martin didn't want to give from his throat, the static in his head too much like Elias' violation and still Jon is panicking, asking his questions and not understanding the answers, and Martin dutifully retches up every horror Jon wants to be privy to, even if he's not sure it's only Jon asking, it's only Jon who wants to know any more.

Martin's body heaves up every unwanted honesty, peppering them with hysterical apologies of his own as he holds his hands over Jon's mouth to gag him, muffling the sound painfully as he presses his hands to clench Jon's jaw to immobile,  even as Jon fights him, even as every eye stares and finds him wanting.

Martin is exhausted being a prison, of being so held as hated in the eyes of someone he knows loves him. But one of them has to be stronger now. Martin has never wanted to think of Jon as dangerous, but he watches the eyes grow rounded and alert as they feed on his dredged up horrors, the static ringing howling and hungry in his head. He's not entirely sure Jon will be able to stop himself from going too far.

When Jon calms, slips back into fever-dreams, there are bruises in the shape of fingertips around his mouth, and Martin can hardly bear to look at them.

The roots have receded their front lines, the puncture wounds puckered smaller when Martin checks again, and he can't look at that either.

It has been a long two days.

Jon's shivering has settled now. He rocks and frowns and breathes shallowly, but he doesn't bawl and sob names at the air.  He doesn't try and ask any more questions. His fever broken, Martin thinks he's dream-walking again, for the roots continue their retreat steadily, the Archive feeding somehow.

Some pawing, creeping things have chanced their luck at an embattled, weakened Archive, and Martin's responsibility teeters between nurse and soldier. He's not a good fighter, but he's desperate for them both to survive this and that serves him well enough. There's blood scoring a bandoleer down and over his shoulder, a crest of viscera coating his shirt from some misbegotten creature of worm and want. He can't put weight on his right foot properly. He is so so tired, but still he sits, half folded, his grisly cricket bat over his knee, directly in front of the open mouth of their tent and  the dreaming Jon, whose eyes scatter misted and blind under his eyelids.

Jon returns as Jon maybe a day later. Disorientated, groaning as he sits up, only two eyes in his head again. He calls out Martin's name, dry-throated, in his own voice again. He sounds sluggish and cautious. Not accusatory or betrayed or scared.

Martin kneels down by the sleeping bag, checking the untroubled skin of his calf is free from wound or infection. Jon's eyes are staring at him, nervy, over-bright, but he ignores them for the moment. Exhaustion has sanded down all his edges; he doesn't have the energy he wants for his anger, not yet, not when the worry has yet to pass from his system.

“How long was I, um, out of it?” Jon asks slowly. He looks uncomfortable. The tent is permeated with the unflattering smell of sickness and blood, both of which he has noticed if the slight wince in his expression is anything to go by.

“Three days, I guess,” Martin throws out, packing up the medical supplies now he's sure they won't be needed any more. “Not that time works any more, but you know. Estimate.”

“My leg...?”

Jon has the good grace to look guilty, and Martin feels a petty, digging stab of satisfaction. Good. Good that he knows he fucked up there.

“It got infected,” he replies shortly, shoving the supplies down to the bottom of his rucksack, kicking some clothes in a bundle near the mouth of the tent. He'll fold them separately in a minute;  they're going to need to be cleaned at the next place they find water. “The thing that bit you, I think it must have already been aligned to Corruption, or whatever.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“...Martin?” Jon's voice is low and tentative. He looks as weak as Martin feels. Martin closes his eyes, because he can feel what is coming, and he can't do this, not now, not with his thread-bare temper, the panic that's not unknotted from his bones. “Martin, why won't you look at me?”

Martin straightens from his hunch. Breathes out long and hard through his nose. Turns.

“Better?” he asks. He knows it comes out as a snap.

Jon's eyes go wide as they properly take him in, a blood-tainted furious wash-out of a man.

“You're hurt,” he breathes out, looking at the marks left by things Martin didn't kill fast enough, the little smarting wounds Jon dug in himself in his terror.

Martin wants to snarl at Jon to stop looking at him.

He doesn't.

“Yes,” Martin replies instead.

Jon's hands are taking on gestures of panic.

“Martin, will you – God, s-sit down, I-I-I'll get the medical supplies, take a look at them, make sure they're nothing – ”

“No,” Martin says. He's struggling to remain impartial, to remember how to be gentle to those he wants to treat gently. He breathes out another jagged exhale. “No. I'll sort them myself.”

Jon's pushing himself up to standing, staring critically at the disastrous image Martin makes, motioning to the rucksack.

“If you just let me – ”

“No,” Martin snaps. “No, I don't want you to help me, alright? What I want, ok, is to make sure you're all healed,  and then I want as close to a bath as I can get in this bloody hellscape, and then I want to get some fucking sleep for a bit. That at the moment, that is the limit of what I am capable to wanting.”

There's a tense pause.

“You're angry at me,” Jon says in a small voice.

“Ten points there, Jon, really perceptive,” Martin snarks back. He can't look at Jon because he knows that would have stung, and he knows he wanted it to, wanted Jon to know a fraction of how much these last few days have hurt.

“Because I didn't tell you about my leg?”

“Oh, I'm not sure. Do you think that's possibly something I might be a bit upset about?”

“Martin...”

“If you're going to – to give me excuses, I don't want to hear them. Of course I'm upset! I'm furious actually. Because you told me it was fine. You told me it was healed, and I trusted you to tell me the truth, because unlike you, Jon, I can't read people's bloody minds, s-so trusting you is all I have to go on. Apparently that was asking too much from you.”

Jon flinches at that. Martin bites his tongue so hard it hurts, and tells himself that Jon deserves his honesty, not, never his cruelty. That this is not the man he wants to be.

“I am angry,” he repeats, deliberately quieter. “And we will talk about it later. But I – I cannot deal with it right now. Not without saying something I'll regret. So I want you to drop it, and just – leave me alone for a bit.”

Jon nods jerkily, looking cowed and miserable.

“Alright,” he says. “Alright, I'll – er, go, have a scout around for any water?”

It's as open an offer for space as Martin's going to get.

Martin must have collapsed onto the sleeping bag first before anything else because he wakes up with his shirt still starchy with blood what must be hours later. He blinks, turns over, groaning at his protesting muscles. Jon's eyes immediately swivel to him from the other side of the tent.

“You fell asleep,” he says quietly. He's clearly been sitting nearby, waiting for Martin to open his eyes. “I didn't want to – There's a stream, not too far, and I, um got water, if you want to wash... I've used some, so it's er, it's safe, and I've, er boiled it in case of, er bacteria and things. I'll – I'll get it and then give you some privacy....”

He's stumbling up. Martin reaches out a scratch-marked hand, and murmurs 'Jon'.

He doesn't know what he wants. He feels gross and sluggish and wrung-out empty, and the ashes of his anger are still embers he could stoke into expression.

Jon lingers. Looks from Martin's eyes to Martin's outstretched hand. He still has bruises the shape of fingertips near the side of his mouth, and he strikes an ill, frail figure in this light.

Martin's had enough of Jon looking scared of him these past few days.

Martin repeats his name.

Jon comes over. Kneels down where Martin has sat up so they're almost the same height.

Martin's hand settles on Jon's wrist, and he exhales shakily.

“Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?” Martin asks. This is not the question he wants to ask. The question sat poisonous behind his teeth is why didn't you trust me enough to tell me the truth? Neither of them can stomach that sort of question right now.

“I thought it would go away on its own,” Jon replies, shame coating his words. “I thought I could handle it. I didn't want you worrying.”

I worry anyway, Martin does not say. Does not need to.

“You were so sick,” Martin whispers instead. “You were so sick and you weren't getting better for such a long time, a-and there was nothing I could do but watch.”

“I'm sorry,” Jon says. “God, Martin, I – I'm sorry.”

“I know you are,” Martin replies quietly. “I know.”

Martin might offer up forgiveness if he wasn't so tired. His head so thick with all the things he is powerless against in this world.

“Let me,” Jon says, at Martin's side. His fingers hover over Martin's shoulder. “Let me, please.”

Martin nods.

Jon helps him strip out of the disgusting, blood-ruined armour he's been stewing in. His movements are faltering but methodical, light-fingered and exploratory. He soaks a cloth in water that's cooling down from boiling, dabs at every small mark scattered like anvil sparks across Martin's chest, his arms, the deeper wound at his shoulder that's begun to blossom with bruising. His eyes keep flicking to Martin's face, like he's double-checking something.

Martin, for his part, turns dozy and biddable, straining to keep conscious while Jon apparently tries to put plasters over every single mark on his body.

“What did this?” Jon finally asks as he presses gauze to the slash over his shoulder.

Martin blinks slowly, rouses.

“The usual,” he says. “Bunch'a monster things, wantin' to take a bite out of you.”

Jon hums.

“I saw what was left of the cricket bat,” he says. “Very gallant of you.”

Martin huffs a laugh. Jon continues wiping the grime and dirt down from Martin's arms, stopping every once in a while to soak and wring out his cloth.

“What did this?” he asks again, peering at the imprints where fingers wrapped around the meat of Martin's arm and tightened, the crescent curve dig of nails.

Martin thinks about lying, but he doesn't have the strength. He can't shoulder it, and neither of them should have to. Secrets have never served either of them very well.

“You,” he replies, lowly. “You were, you were feverish, you didn't know what was happening.”

“I didn't...?” Jon starts, but then he reaches up, touches his own bruise-marked jaw with a dawning realisation.

“I hurt you,” he says, slow and horrified.

Martin remembers every horror and honesty the Eye dragged from his unwilling throat to bolster the crumbling body of its Avatar, and murmurs: “You didn't mean to.”

He doesn't say that he thinks it helped.  He doesn't say that if anything like this happens again, it'll be an option. He doesn't think Jon wants to hear that right now.

Jon pulls away as his mouth shapes another sorry, but Martin cuts him off, enfolds his arms around his scarecrow limbs and buries his face in Jon's throat. After a moment, Jon's trembling arms complete the circuit.

“You can't do this again,” Martin says, throat thick. “I can't – I can't do this on my own. I can't do this if you don't trust me.”

“I do,” Jon breathes in, damp and hitching. “I do trust you, I'm – I'm sorry. Martin, I'm sorry. You're not on your own. It won't happen again, I-I promise, it won't.”

They spend a long time holding each other up in that small, cramped tent, murmuring promises this life might not let them keep.

Martin crushes down the cynicism this world has tried to teach him, and chooses to believe in every single one.

[op-peccatori]

per sempre tuo (M) | IkeVamp Leonardo

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Leonardo da Vinci/Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Your lover has many different sides, and you adore every single one of them.

per sempre tuo: forever yours

a/n: Finally. This is just some unnecessarily long fluffy smut to cope with finishing his route. Yes, I did listen to Italian music for this and yes, I did cry at some of the lyrics. I recommend the first 2 (A Te and Magnolia) if you wanna give it a listen~ AND, for Thirst Purposes, I’ve installed a reading nook in Leonardo’s room.

I had a tough time with the title, trying to pick which was more appropriate, per sempre tuo or tuo per sempre, but I went with the former...

(warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, no plot, extreme cheesiness, some minor spoilers for Leo’s route

You’re not sure what wakes you–the gentle thrum of the rain outside the windows, or the familiar, sweet scent wafting over to you.

Slipping out from underneath the comforting mantle of slumber, you shiver and curl up sleepily.  

Or maybe it was the cold, the hint of autumn chill brushing warm skin as you turn over with a groan to find your usual bedmate missing. With a quick search of the disorderly room, you blink at the way your head throbs and squint at Leonardo. He’s curled up in his little reading nook, with the window cracked open, and you watch as he–cigarillo held between sanguine smudged fingers–sucks in a mouthful of smoke. It spills from his lips in slow, curling wisps after a few seconds. 

Further inspection reveals a notebook resting on his lap, an unbuttoned shirt, and chestnut strands pulled back into a short, messy ponytail that does unfair things to your libido. You don’t sit up just yet, content to let your eyes run over him as you try to recall the events of last night. 

Dinner had, as always, been a warm, chaotic affair. You remember being unable–and unwilling because it had been a while since you had indulged–to turn down Comte’s offer of wine. You remember the slow buzz creeping through your veins as you laughed at Arthur and Theo’s bickering, the droopy look on Sebastian’s face as it snuck up on him too, and the endearing flush on Isaac’s cheeks, unsure if it was wine-induced or if it was the result of Dazai’s teasing. 

A flush fills your own cheeks as you remember Leonardo’s warm gaze and soft lips, telling you to have fun as he left to have a quick chat with his old friend.

You remember accepting another glassful of the beverage, and you remember Sebas walking you to your room–which doesn’t explain why you’re in Leonardo’s bed instead of your own. It’s a bit like staring into murky water, trying to identify what lurks beneath the surface, and it slipping away just when you’re on the verge of discovery.

You refocus on his still figure.

Leonardo is, at his core, a man of action. With an eager mind, hands that itch to reach for something or the other–a book, drawing tools, things to repair, and ever since you came into his life, you. 

Jack of all trades, master of nearly all. 

Watching him at any time is fascinating; it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, you’re always eager to watch him in motion. And then there are the times where he’s quiet.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but it’s clearer right now as you observe him silently. He’s more subdued when it rains. It had been different when the two of you had been caught out in that sudden shower, but even now, the restlessness seems to have withdrawn, leaving placidity in its wake. 

He loves his naps, but the way he’s curled up next to the window, listless, eyes unfocused–he looks almost lonely. 

“Buongiorno.” Your startled gaze meets his, the cool gold of his eyes heating as they catch you staring. He turns his head to face you, his upturned mouth and the little crinkles in the corner of his eyes sending warmth fluttering through you even from across the room. “Slept well?” 

“Mm, I think so.” A yawn catches you off guard, quickly covered up by the back of your hand. You stretch languidly, feeling your muscles release, before you sit up, reaching for the top of your head to pat down flyaways. Your dress from the previous day is draped over the back of a chair, prompting a quick startled glance down at your body. You’re in one of Leonardo’s shirts; with a grateful sigh, you reach for the glass of water he somehow managed to make space for on his crowded bedside table. “I feel like I did.”

With the way he perks up, you wonder if he’s been waiting for you to wake up and play with him. The thought amuses you for a moment; sometimes, he really does act like a cat. You meet his eyes again, and he looks curious, putting out his cigarillo in a little ashtray on the windowsill. He’s always curious about what’s going through your head. 

“I hope you do. You were out cold,” Leonardo replies after a moment’s pause, before something sly crawls into his tone, the mischief glittering in his eyes putting you on guard. “I’d say you slept like the dead, but your snoring could’ve actually woken them up instead.” 

You barely avoid choking on the cool drink, gulping down a mouthful of it as you glare at him as dangerously as you can. It only serves to widen his smile. 

“Lies.”

“Nope. It was cute, though. I like it when you snore.” 

“When I-how often do I do it?” Your voice is shriller than you would like, and he, being the infuriating man that he is, starts laughing. 

“No need to get so worked up, cara mia,” he soothes, closing his notebook and placing it on a shelf behind him. He reaches for a damp cloth, wiping his hands clean, and closes the window.  “Come here, you look cold over there.” He looks colder. 

“I am cold,” you mumble, embarrassment still hot on your skin, but you can’t resist his beckoning fingers and climb out of bed quickly, the hem of his shirt falling to the middle of your bare thighs. Picking your way across the room as deftly as you can, a low hiss escapes you as you end up stepping on what looks like a puzzle piece. 

He reaches for you with a sheepish smile, gathering you up in his arms before settling back against the wall, reaching down to rub the sole of your foot tenderly. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his calm voice warm, raspy gravel, reaching down to the very depths of you; wrapped up in his embrace, his heat seeping through the layers of cloth between your skin, you can’t help but melt into him with a soft hum. With your head cradled against his chest, you peer out the window. The skies are a solemn grey, but the flowers are there to make up for it, looking brighter in the light shower as they reach toward the heavy clouds.

You mull over his words for a moment, worry filling your heart, pressing your lips to the side of his neck before tilting your head back to look at him. “Is that why you were awake? You couldn’t sleep because of me?” 

At your words, he looks close to laughter, the corners of his lips quirked, but he fails miserably and presses it to your scrunched up brow. “I’ve slept through a lot worse, so no.” 

You study his expression for a moment longer, gauging the sincerity in his eyes, before you nod. Wondering what kind of stories are behind those soft words. “Oh. Also, did I pass out at the dining table? Because I don’t remember getting back to your room…”

“No, you didn’t. Last I saw you there, you were wide awake, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh that loudly. But by the time I got back, you’d already gone up to your room. ” Confusion creeps in, and Leonardo chases it away with a swift peck to your scrunched nose. “We should get you drunk more often.”  

You think back to dinner, and while it’s all a bit blurry you do remember having fun.

“So, I didn’t do anything embarrassing?” His fingers skim down your arm to tangle with your fingers, bringing them up so he can press his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Hmm. I think we have different opinions on what makes something ‘embarrassing’.” You stare at him until he grins again, sudden and wicked. “Don’t you remember singing for us?”

You resist the urge to jump out the window. “Oh no.”

“It was lovely,” he insists, chuckling when you swat him. 

“I can barely sing when I’m sober, and my drunken version has been likened to the screeching of a cat.”

“I don’t agree at all. I enjoyed it quite a bit.” 

“Of course you enjoyed it.” Feeling quite faint from the force of your despair, you attempt to escape his hold only for him to tighten it, pressing you back into him. You pull, he pushes. He pulls, you push. Your brief tussle ends with you sitting back against his chest, curled up between his legs, and a shiver running up your spine when you feel his lips on your neck.

“I did. Let’s see–I loved how free you looked, the way your hair escaped your neat little braid, the way you throw your head back when your laughter seizes you. The way you smiled at me, with your flushed cheeks and smiling eyes, reaching for me as if you never wish to be parted from me again. I loved it all.” His breath falls hotly on your skin and you’re frozen in his embrace, your heart holding onto every word that rolls off his silver tongue. “There was just one little problem.”

Your first attempt to speak dies in your throat. You wet your lips and try again, eyes sliding shut as he presses a burning, open-mouthed kiss beneath your jaw. “What was it?” 

Leonardo hums, lips forging a path up to your ear. “I wasn’t the only one to see all of that.” 

Fingers trace the jut of your collarbone, slow and inquisitive, as you work through the implications of his words. “I doubt anyone would see it the way you do.” 

“In this, cuore mio, you’re completely wrong. Not only do they see what I do, they covet. They envy. I don’t blame them for it, you’re a blessing one can only dream to have, but it still…” 

“But still?” 

He nips at the shell of your ear, hand smoothing across your abdomen, and your breath grows heavy. 

“It makes a part of me want to hide you away, away from their longing eyes. I would never do that, but a man still feels the need to stake his claim, yeah?” His hand dips under your shirt, tracing incomprehensible patterns on your skin, the calloused pads of his fingers skimming the skin beneath your breasts. “The entire time I was speaking with ‘Comte’ I was thinking of what beautiful side of you would be revealed next.” 

Your next words are carried on a breathless whisper.

“What did you do?” And you feel the way his lips, pressed to your temple, curl up. “What happened after that?” 

“Heh. Nothing.” He bites at the plump flesh of your cheek, light and playful even as his hand drifts up to cup one breast. Something is lodged in your throat and it feels like it might be your heart. “You did all the work for me.” 

It must’ve been something embarrassing, because you know the way he tugs at a nipple, rolling it between nimble fingers, is more of a distraction. The knowledge doesn’t stop your stomach from clenching with anticipation. “What did I do?”

“Nothing as bad as you’re imagining. I went looking for you, you see,” Leonardo licks up the length of your neck, kissing his way across your skin. Your fingers dig into the firm flesh of his thigh, holding onto the cloth as he sucks red, blooming marks. “But you weren’t in your room. Gave me quite a fright. I found you soon enough, though; stumbling through the halls, trying to find your way to your darling Leo’s room.” 

“I don’t remember that at all…”

His other hand cups your sex, heel pressing in with purpose as your head tips back, lips parting. “Don’t think anybody’s ever been that happy to see me. It was quite a kiss. Did I mention I had a few of the others looking for you too?” 

Leonardo’s palm slips further down, caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh, his cheek brushing yours when you try to look at him. He helps you turn around, leaving you kneeling between his legs, his fingers brushing your cheeks before he cups them and pulls you into a sweet kiss. The taste of his thin cigar spills rich on your tongue, the proof of his arousal brushing against your knee, but he seems content to just kiss you, tongue curling around yours, making a satisfied little sound low in his throat.

Desire burns low in your belly and you pull away with a gasp, forehead dipping to press against his.

With eyes dancing with fervour, he doesn’t look so lonely anymore. You worry, sometimes, that you won’t be able to reach him, that your worlds are too different. He’s a living legend who seems so out of everyone’s league it’s almost funny. 

But he’s also Leo: easygoing and warm, when all he wants is to curl up in your arms, to kiss you, and run his hands all over you, a dragon curling and rubbing itself all over its greatest treasure. When he just soaks up every bit of affection you offer him like a starving sponge.

The flat of his palm meets the soft flesh of your rear with a low smack, pulling you out of your musing. 

“I think that’s really e-embarrassing.” 

Such a demanding old cat, you think. Always wanting to hoard your attention. You should save that one; he gets, quite subtly, but adorably huffy when you say that. You’ve seen his quiet, simmering anger over the big things, but it brings you an odd sort of joy when he gets playfully mad at you over the little things. When instead of shrugging it off, he pouts until you’ve peppered enough kisses all over his face. 

He pinches your stinging flesh.

“Don’t agree. Story’s not over, though. So, then I brought you back here, but you decided to be a bad girl and torture your helpless compagno.” His hands slip up your shirt to cup your breasts, your back arching when his thumbs brush over tightening nipples.

“I’m not sure h-helpless is a word I would ever use to de-describe you.” Desire begins to pool between your legs, your head dropping back when he rolls the peaks between his forefingers and thumbs. You slip the shirt over your head, much to his approval and he doesn’t hesitate before leaning in for a taste, his next words spoken into your skin.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? But when the love of your life kisses you so sweetly, tasting like rich wine, with her hand on your cock–” He sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, working his mouth roughly as you moan and weave trembling fingers through his hair. “And you have to tuck her into bed because she’s drunk, and spend the rest of the night trying to think of the most disgusting things you’ve seen in your life? One can only wonder what circle of hell invented this.” 

“I-“ your skin burns at the thought of you trying to drunkenly seduce him, and you sit back on your heels with ears burning hotly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too. You put up a real tough fight, nearly convinced me…the places my mind went…” Leonardo sighs and slips a leg between your thighs, laughing when you squirm at the firm muscle of his thigh pressing into your sex. “Yeah? You wanna know?” 

“Did I really do that?” It comes to you in one single sentence, and the memory of Leonardo’s body pinned beneath you. 

“I just want to feel you. Please?”

Strong hands grip your hips and pull you forward, the friction robbing you of all coherence for a second. “I very nearly prayed.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, planting soft kisses on both his cheeks, reaching for the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. “I’m really sorry.”

“Mm.” The pleased possessiveness in his eyes always takes your breath away, and the way he sighs and relaxes at your touch makes your heart thump in delight. It always ends up this way; a quiet moment spent with hands running over warm skin, the muscles of his chest firm under your fingers, your spine stretching as his palm slides along the length of it. “I’ll allow you to make up for it.”

“Yeah?” Your lips brush over his, and you breathe in the sweet scent lingering in his breath. Your hand slides down his solid abdomen, coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. “What do you need me to do?” 

With a small hum, his darkened eyes fixated on yours, clever fingers brush your breasts, your sex, and in a move that makes your breath hitch in your throat, they wander over to your rear, between plump flesh–and you immediately consider if what you’ll need is available or if you’ll have to run down to the kitchen. 

Leonardo kisses his way across your cheek, soft and sweet, lips warming your ear. “Smile for me.”

You blink as he pulls back to grin boyishly at you, feeling your brow twitch as your head drops to his shoulder. “You make me feel like a horny pervert.”

“Aren’t you?”

The sound you make is childish, near whiny in tone as you attempt to jump off his lap and flee to the safety of his bed. An admirable attempt, but one that is foiled right away by his arms wrapping around you. “Hey, don’t run from me.” 

“Leave me to my shame, Leo.” He pulls you close, chest pressing to chest, and your lips quiver at the feeling of your breasts against his muscle, and the way he tries to look stern but his affection just softens it until you want to eat him up. 

“You’re so pretty, Leo. Sometimes I wanna just eat you up.”

Dear Lord. Drunk you is shameless. 

“No shame in wanting your lover, cara mia,” Leonardo coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I want you just as badly, in every single way, all the time. Il mio cuore è tutto per te,” he murmurs, pulling your hips down to meet his, your mouth watering at the hard ridge of his erection. 

“I don’t see you making a fool of yourself,” you breathe, rolling your hips into his, thrill unfurling within you when he growls throatily. 

“If you saw what goes on in my head, you would run.” His voice is a power unto itself, growing deeper, going straight to your pussy. You reach for the fly of his pants, unbuttoning it swiftly and tugging at them until he lifts his hips with a thick chuckle. 

“Never. I’m far braver than that, and much too in love,” you declare, yanking the fabric down his thighs, taking a moment to admire the thick muscle defining them. 

“And you say I’m the smooth talker.” You crawl up the length of his long legs, his keen eyes raking over you, swaying breasts calling his hands to them like fleshy magnets. “Come to me, cara mia. I’ve been waiting too long to get my hands on you.” 

The head of his hard cock pokes at your thigh when you settle over his lap, his legs spread out. It begins to leak with a few pumps from you, and your eyes flit between the beads of his precome and the way his lashes flutter with each movement of your hand. 

“I don’t think I can wait too long,” he groans. “I was hard most of the night. Wanted you so bad.” 

“Sorry, baby.” You press your lips to his chastely, again and again until his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you there. Rough fingers reach your entrance, collecting drops of your arousal before pushing in. A wicked grin stretches across your mouth, matching his own. 

“Ah, I don’t think you’re up for waiting either.” Shuffling on your knees, you guide the head of his cock to your entrance, slack-jawed as you sink onto it. 

“...Fuck, Leo.” 

Leonardo draws you into another kiss, teeth sinking into your lip when you clench him tightly. His hands squeeze your thighs and, in a display of strength that honest to god has your pussy fluttering, he lifts onto his knees with ease, your legs coming to wrap around his hips. With his tongue still licking into your mouth, he pulls you half off his cock before jerking you back down and slamming his hips into yours. He swallows every moan, every cry, every wrecked sound that climbs up your throat. 

“You feel so good, cara mia. So perfect. And you’re all mine,” he growls into your skin, his thrusts relentless, intent on taking you apart. He presses you back into the bookshelf, and your heart pounds in your chest when he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them back and hooking your calves over his broad shoulders.

The next, merciless slide of his length into you has your eyes rolling back. It’s only in this, when it comes to sex and your pleasure that Leonardo can push you in different, filthy ways until you’re left shaking. Your voice climbs in pitch with every rough thrust, your hands scrambling for purchase on a shelf behind you. 

“There, oh, there, please, k-keep doing that,” you sob, blinking back tears as you look up at him pleadingly, burning hotter at the sharp, consuming desire you see. He presses what feels like impossibly closer, the burning in your thighs strong but the drag of his skin against your bundle of nerves overwhelming. 

“Come for me, ___,” he groans, a wicked smile ghosting across his lips, allowing you a glimpse of fanged teeth and you see stars. Your back arches, head thumping against wood; your walls clamp down, and a hiss leaves his lips as you break in his arms. He slows his pace, fucking you through it, lips chasing away the tears spilling over. 

Forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest heaving, mind and body more jelly than flesh–his cock is still heavy in you, and an involuntary whimper sounds deep in your throat when you look up at him. He kisses you gently.

And with all his gentle affection, he pulls you off of his length and sets you down in front of the window, back arched and ass out, the glass cool against your sweaty cheek. You hiss softly when he slides in again, your breath fogging up the glass, his front curled over your back. Brushing away damp strands, he plants open-mouthed kisses on the nape of your neck, your shoulders. Twining your hair around his fist, other hand steady on your hip–he angles his hips and thrusts deep. 

You had been sure you didn’t have it in you to make even the slightest noise, but your body disagrees in the form of a low keen, your aching cunt swallowing him greedily. 

“That’s my good girl,” Leonardo exhales, his pace turning swifter and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin providing an erotic contrast to the soothing rain. “Sorry for being so greedy but…” His fingers find your swollen clit and heat coils in your belly. “...I want one more.”

Denying him, your own pleasure at that, is not something within your capacity.

He muffles a guttural groan in your skin, nearly rutting into you as you wail, loud and wanton, unravelling once more. His pace stutters and liquid heat fills you in thick spurts. You turn your head, weak but wanting, to welcome his lips on yours.

Cracking the window open once more, you curl up against his body, his heat more than enough to shield you from the cold. You brush his hair away from his face, his having slipped free in the frenzy of desire. He rubs your lower back gently, covering you with his still-warm shirt, reclining against the bookshelf; you think you almost hear him purr his contentment. 

“Wait, where’s Lumière?” You’ve seen no sign of him, and the thought relieves you a little.

“Following Sebas around, last I saw him,” he mumbles, nosing at the skin behind your ear. You’re both so sweaty, but you wonder if you can make it to Le Thermae without running into any curious residents. “Also, cara mia, there was something I wanted to ask you.” 

“Mm?”

“I talked to Comte about it, and he’s agreed so you don’t need to worry about that. If you’re okay with it, I wanted to take a little trip.” You look at him and he pokes your cheek, but there’s no missing the hopeful look in those eyes. 

“Just us?”

“Just us. I want you all to myself,” he tells you, smug smirk and cockiness, before it softens into a tiny smile. “I had some work, back in Italy. Thought I could take you, show you around since we’d have the chance. Only if you’d like to, of course.”

“I’d love to.” Your immediate response is, quite embarrassingly, teary eyes and an enthusiastic kiss. Pulling back, you raise a brow. “Only if I’d like to? You mean you wouldn’t have wrapped me up in my sleep and taken me along anyway?”

“As you cute as you look when you’re grumpy,” he laughs at the narrowing of your glittering eyes, “the journey would be far more pleasant if you’re happy, no?”

“But I’m always happy when I’m with you,” you point out, foxy smile in place. The fuzzy feeling in your heart feels close to spilling over when he hugs you closer, but you still catch the way the tips of his ears flush. He holds you close as if wanting to imprint the feeling of your body against his, to sear your love onto his heart, to inhale the scent of you and trap it in his lungs–before the day comes when he will no longer have the chance to.

You turn away from the sadness and bury your face in his chest.

“Y-yeah, well. It’s time you got to eat some of the best food in the world.”

Now is the time for love, and you plan to give him so much, to paint him in the colours of your adoration, devotion and passion–that loneliness will not dare touch him for a long, long time.

Thank you for reading~ 

Translation:

il mio cuore è tutto per te: my heart is all for you

cuore mio: my heart 

per sempre tuo: forever yours (tuo is masculine singular possessive, tua is feminine singular possessive)  

[davidobriksblackhat]

Summary: David finds himself relying on certain things to get him through the day and it all catches up to him

(sneek peak/not full work)

Word count: ???

Warnings: drug use, mentions of suicide, spoiler* overdosing, mental illness’

•

Another day, another Xanax.

David popped his first xanax of the day, downing it with a random water he found in his bed, the liquid coating his dry and raspy throat in relief. His body greeted the drink happily, the cracked look of his pink lips fading with each drink he took. He couldn’t be bothered to find his chapstick that was probably lying beneath one of his piles of clothes, instead he used his tongue to paint them in saliva.

The same black bland shirt he had first put on roughly 4 days ago hugged his figure as he snatched up a hoodie that he found strewn across his nightstand without care and slowly guided it over his head and through his arms, not even pulling the bottom of the heavy fabric all the way down. He scanned the room and his eyes landed on a pair of shorts he had worn about a week prior, he didn’t think twice about it like he used too and ignored his inner past self pleading for him to scour his closet for something clean instead. But without a second thought and with soft steps he made his way into his bathroom, admiring the peace that somehow existed around him, Natalie’s usual scrutiny’s about his laziness and slobby self nowhere to be found and in turn he listened in on the birds outside which chirped away happily.

His reflection was hard to look at and he now realized why his friends and roommates' eyes lingered longer on him. If it wasn’t for his scruffy beard and eyes bags that seemed to droop lower than they ever had he’s sure no one would even bother to ask what was going on in his head mentally. His hair had also grown past his ears, and although Natalie had insisted she could give him a trim he refused saying he was trying a new hair style but in fact he was adapting a new mental lifestyle that taught him hygiene wasn’t as important as it used to be.

David exhaled through his mouth, his nose picking up on the rotten smell of his breath and he chuckled harshly, grabbing for his toothbrush and applying a small amount of toothpaste, not even wettening his brush he stuck the bristles in his mouth and attempted his best effort of what he called “brushing his teeth” nowadays, which consisted of irregular periods where he would decide that he should take care of the building plaque and foul odor that his mouth produced.

With the small and unhurried strokes of his toothbrush he set it back in its unkempt place without cleaning it and spat what little bit of minty residue was left into the sink. He turned the faucet on, resting his elbows on the sink as he watched the bloodied spit spin around and fall down the drain. He leaned his head into the sink and opened his mouth for only 5 seconds, the gentle and cool water washed away what was left of the toothpaste in his mouth and he pulled away, resting his head on his right arm, eyes watching the water fall flawlessly.

“Why am I here,” he said aloud, his eyes closing shut as his left hand reached towards the handle and turned the sink off. Once again, silence, not even the birds made a noise. It was just him and his thoughts.

He pushed himself off the basin, his arms stiff and legs lagging behind as he made his way out into the living room. No one was around. No Ilya, no Natalie, no Jason. It was just David and he didn’t know how to feel about that, more so he didn’t know how to feel at all and he was fine with that. Or so he thought.

He trudged out into the backyard, the sun beaming high overhead and from that David assumed it was around noon. The breeze tussled through his locks and stung his eyes, tears brimmed but he did nothing to get rid of them, instead he trotted over to the glass railing that was separating him from the ledge. His arms settled on the tops, and he reached his head out like a giraffe and peered down at the hill that looked right back at him, taunting him to jump in a manner that David considered and immediately shot down. The ache in his stomach reminded him to eat but he didn’t give in to his body’s reflexes, backing away from the dangerously tempting jump he turned to go back inside.

His mind was blank and somehow his aching stomach no longer cried out in demands and now was at a rest David recognized as a shallow slate that mirrored his head. If he could describe how he was feeling it would be how a sims character portrayed “fine”. He was just fine. Not happy, not sad. Just fine.

With heavy steps he stopped at the slider door, his eyes trailing to Natalie’s form that busied herself in the kitchen, working away at some kind of food she found in the fridge. His gaze only lasted a couple more seconds before he plopped himself onto the couch, curling into the white blanket that had already been there.

If this was a mental breakdown he didn’t notice too well, aside from the few extra pills he had to swallow, he’d say it was much calmer than his last, then again he couldn’t feel it like he could feel the last one. He could feel the intense anxiety swelling within his chest though and the tears pricking at his eyes asking to be let out. Otherwise nothing, and it scared him that he felt nothing, that all he had was the terrifying thoughts that persisted on encouraging him to end it or leave somehow.

Like a bottle David felt the water at the top overfilling and yet the pills helped to catch the surplus like a gutter, just barely keeping the bottle at an “okay” level.

“You have a presentation with college kids in an hour Dave,” Natalie’s soft voice appeared across from his earshot and he broke away from his zoned out thoughts. A soft gaze settled over his pupils and the dialated black orbs met small brown ones. He didn’t say anything, she didn’t expect him to anyway, this was just her pushing him forwards.

“I, I can’t do it Nat,” his raspy voice broke out, his tone stayed relatively even and he was glad that there was at least one pro to the xan’s. She looked away from her bowl of fruits and gave him a nasty scowl, “C’mon David, we don’t have time to play around. I have the laptop set up in the office and you’ve got 45 minutes to be ready.”

Tears broke out of their wall, the surplus reached it’s turning point and the jagged rise of his chest revealed to him that he was having some sort of anxiety attack that was subdued from the drugs and kept it from being expressed. It hurt. Not physically but he felt the mental tolls that racked his body as his shaking hands came up to his face to cover his eyes.

“Ilya!” He heard everything so clearly, and he could feel everything well, too well. He brought his knees up to his chest as a reaction, hoping to settle the nauseated pit in his abdomen that felt rigid in a way.

“What the fuck am I doing,” a whisper left his mouth, but he’s sure it was much louder than just a whisper.

Hands racked his body, rough calloused ones and a familiar masculine voice commanded him to relax but it didn’t help, instead he curled even further into himself, tensing his body.

Then a fire broke out within his head, it spread to every muscle possibly every fiber of his being and for a moment he did feel fear, the kind of fear where you’re scared because you know what’s happening but at the same time you still don’t know what’s going to happen.

Then it was black, his eyes closed and all he knew was when he woke up it was not going to be good.

ii to be continued

[danwhobrowses]

AEW Full Gear 2020: Review

Didn’t watch it live but I still have the time to review the next day, after the problems All Out faced Full Gear was definitely something fans were hoping won’t repeat the same mistakes, so it’s time to see if it delivered Spoilers for Full Gear of course

The Buy-In Most of the Buy-In was just the video packages save for a MJF and Kingston Family promo (though props to Alex for interviewing the Lucha Bros in Spanish, that was a nice touch), which I feel was a bad move. The promos were of course fantastic but my qualm was the video packages: the packages are on the countdown show anyway, there could’ve been 2 matches at least and a few segments that could’ve set up the TV feuds considering that it was over an hour. NWA Women’s Championship: Serena Deeb (c) def Allysin Kay (Submission via Serenity Lock) A solid pre-show match, Deeb and Kay are crisp given their veteran history. Kay worked on her height and strength while Deeb worked on her yoga-based flexibility. There was a lot of good chain wrestling as you’d expect from the NWA alums, a shift to an Octopus Stretch, Deeb working the Leg with a Dragon Screw and Kay still managing to muscle out of Deeb’s offence. After a Kay salvaged herself from what looked a bit like an elevated Styles Clash with a leg on the rope, Deeb forced her to tap with a Serenity Lock on the worked leg. While the match was fine the intrigue came after when Thunder Rosa wearing all the tassels she could to make Shawn Michaels blush came to the ring to challenge Deeb for a rematch. With Rosa gesturing the AEW ring it is clear that the AEW/NWA partnership and Thunder Rosa’s time with the Elite is far from over.

Main Card Of course with JR coming to commentary the main card is scheduled to begin. Unfortunately, I had been spoiled some results in advance (no thanks to Youtube or the 2 hour PC update that allowed the youtubers to reveal this while I was waiting to update) but a handful were in line to how I predicted them, so it didn’t fully harm the outcome. Don Callis though came out as well, they’ve hinted at it with Kenny but to actually see Don on commentary was definitely a surprise. AEW World Title Contendership Tournament Final Kenny Omega def. ‘Hangman’ Adam Page (Pinfall via One Winged Angel) Omega came out first the same way he’s done all the tournament, the cleaner dancers and the very long-winded braggadocios introduction. Pyro but no cosplay, Omega oozed confidence as proven by his plate as the leader in most victories in AEW. Page however paced towards the ring with nervous energy with the hilarious plate of ‘Focused Yeehaw Man’, less show but still drive, which really perfectly divulges the styles of both men as wrestlers. A snubbed handshake by Page did lead to back and forth, chops and counters as both men anticipated the stylist moves of the other. Hangman took over the early offence with strong moves, big boots, fallaway slams and a superplex did hint at some potential for the Hangman to gain the advantage. But then Omega with a moonsault from a railing put Kenny in control, Kotaro Crusher at 2 and a belated You Can’t Escape (he slipped after the first part but landed the sault after a pause) for 2 as well, then into the usual repertoire, the tope con hilo, the Back Head Missile Dropkick. Both men almost set up a One Winged Angel but then a V Trigger shut down a Buckshot but got bombed on the ramp after a series of counters, another pop-up bomb at 2 for Hangman.  Trading blows, a Rolling Elbow was broken even by a V Trigger and then a Tiger Driver at 2 for Kenny. Back and forth as both escaped Suplexes, both hit Rolling Elbows but Hangman then got the clothesline, he lands the deadeye...but does not get the 3. Buckshot reversed to a crucifix but Hangman sits the pin for another 2, Dragon Screw and V-Trigger on the ropes for Kenny gives him the energy to roar back, ducks the vicious swing of the Buckshot and hits 2 V-Triggers, Hangman tries to fight out of the One Winged Angel but the move hits and that’s 3.

Destiny comes true for Omega, he had to fight for it though. Definitely a physical match, the emotional layer didn’t all reflect on the match but Hangman definitely reels in disappointment afterwards, more isolated, more alone, and set to descend to new lows as Omega returns to the main event picture.

Orange Cassidy def. John ‘4′ Silver (Pinfall via Beach Break) Two cult heroes for AEW, Silver on BTE and Cassidy on Dynamite, fighting as a side story to the TNT title picture, JR gets props for calling Silver a “Human Bowling Ball” as both men enter with their respective faction members. Silver continues to play to OC’s jokes as he protests OC’s pockets, before being annoyed by OC’s counter wrestling - especially screaming ‘It doesn’t hurt!’ to OC’s monstrous kicks. Silver literally depockets OC for monster heat - no seriously he rips the pockets out of OC’s jeans! A lot of bravado follows from Silver’s power moves, throws and kicks to keep the heat going. Silver’s power also impressively suplexes out of OC’s swinging DDT attempt but the crowd chants definitely get to Silver as OC counters Silver’s irish whips with some turnbuckle shots, a crossbody and the swinging DDT, Silver though powers back, a one-handed Gorilla press into the ropes, a back head boot as he sets up the Spin Doctor, but then OC gets the headscissors, Michinoku Driver for 2 as the wrestlers at ringside argue the count of 2 or 3 (Heels and Faces kept either side). Silver rolls up OC trying the Orange Punch, counters again but gets hit with the stunner, counters again and lands the Spin Doctor but it’s another 2! Silver motions to homage Mr. Brodie Lee with a discus but it’s dodged into an Orange Punch and Beach Break for 3. Best Friends come to the ring to give the people what they want, the hug with the rainmaker zoom. A nice fun match, it really gave Silver some props to hang with OC as both characters shone through. I was surprised that Dark Order didn’t try to get involved and no post-match stuff.  TNT Championship: Darby Allin def Cody Rhodes (c) (via Pinfall) TITLE CHANGE! Allin rode in with a painted car and a half-painted driver before smashing his skateboard (with ‘The New Face of TNT’ emblazoned on it) into the windscreen. Sporting a veiny style of paint, no words are written on him like previous title matches, it’s all business. Cody (using his surname now) rolls in with his grandiose gates and pyro with Brandi beside him before being flanked by all the remaining members of the Nightmare Family - including Gunn Club and Lee Johnson. He’s also promoting a new shirt. Mike Chioda is announced as the Ref for this, giving a bigger fight feel to this title match.

Cody flaunts his strength advantage early on, knowing full well that Darby has never beaten him, but Darby is defiant to his insulting ‘politeness’ and cockiness - slapping Cody in the back of the head to wake the champion up. Encouraged to ‘muscle around’ Darby by Arn, he almost gets baited into a pin, he leaves the ring but gets suicide dived from his back (after a Ricochet-esque moonsault feint), in retaliation Cody just dumps Darby on back first on the ramp, harming Allin’s left elbow. Cody hones in on that injury with wrist locks and stomps, Darby also selling by being unable to use both his hands to pull the heavier opponent with an irish whip and being unable to lock the arm for a backslide - the latter getting him into another submission. Taunting the injury by exclaiming ‘that arm is trash’, Cody doubles down the arm, using it to ground any of Darby’s counter efforts. But every time Darby refuses, Cody grows more frustrated, an avalanche shoulderbreaker and a cross armbreaker attempt selling that Cody is using things outside of his usual moveset, but the missed moonsault gifts Allin a respite. Yoshi Tonic is Darby’s first signs of a rally but he’s shut down by a superkick, Darby pulls off the middle turnbuckle pad resisting Cody’s Cross Rhodes attempt and Cody is dazed by running into it but a rollup is at 2. Assured that he’s in control by Arn, Cody lands an Avalanche Cross Rhodes but Darby’s arm is under the rope, he counters a backpack sleeper by dropping from the turnbuckle which rolls Darby out the ring - Arn demands Darby stay down but he breaks the count. ‘Stay Down’ barks from Arn and Cody from continual powerslams but Darby refuses, even inviting Cody to continue. Frustrated, Cody brings that small white belt to the ring but is told by Chioda to not use it, dropping it behind him, Darby uses it to sweep Cody into a jacknife pin for 2, counters Disaster Kick with a Last Supper for 2, Flip Stunner and Coffin Drop follow, but also 2! Cody tries a Cross Rhodes but Darby counters with a Sunset Pin, Cody sits on him, 2, Darby rolls him, 2, Cody pulls back, 2, Darby rolls again, 3! Post-match, Cody hands Darby the title on one knee as Allin finally claims his first win over Cody and his main prize. Tazz however walks up to promo against the emotional moment as Cage and Starks blindside both men. However, dissension appear when both Starks and Cage both tussle for holding the TNT title, Tazz grabs it and gestures to Darby, with Cage carrying Darby outside of the ringside, Cody tries to fight back but fails, Darby thrown through a set piece and laid on the car he came in, they attempt to slam the door with Darby’s arm in between but Will Hobbs with a chair chases them down. It was a good title match, good narrative throughout. I think the finish could’ve been a bit more spectacular, Cody does seem to exude a Hogan-esque philosophy to losing at times, this one did feel like he wanted the loss to feel like a fluke. Darby’s win is deserved but the FTW shenanigans did dampen it, I expected Tazz and his crew to show during the match but in post-match it just kinda killed some of the wind in Darby’s sails. Interview Segment The Natural Nightmares - instead of backing up Cody - promo against Butcher, Blade and Bunny, specifically Allie for her using of QT to set up their Dynamite match, Dustin reveals that it’s gonna be a ‘Bunkhouse Match’. Dustin is a great promo but I have no idea what a Bunkhouse Match is, plus this is the segment you would see on the Pre Show. The Dynamite card is also revealed with Penta vs Fénix 2 as previously revealed and new match Conti vs Red Velvet. AEW Women’s Championship: Hikaru Shida (c) def. Nyla Rose w/ Vickie Guerrero (Pinfall via Knee Strike x4) Nyla rolls up with Vickie Bluetista style with a blue and cyan gear which really didn’t suit, Nyla’s gear has always been a mixed Bag The longest running Women’s Champion adds more colour to her Tifa Lockhart gear, her name plate finally on the belt (as detailed on her youtube channel, the name plate is more difficult to put on given its curved shape). Shida and Nyla are ready to go even before the bell as they trade blows, the Champion putting pressure on Rose with knee strikes and dropkicks but noticeably fails on the lift. Shida keeps her advantage of cutting Nyla down and landing the apron knee while Vickie screeches. The chair launch is cut off by a clothesline from Nyla but her attempts to pull a table is refused, giving Shida the chance to land the chair launch and sending her through the rail. Vickie though blindsides Shida’s knee with a kendo stick, giving the Native Beast the advantage she needs. Nyla uses the underneath frame of the ring to wrench Shida’s knee, then the ring post and a chop block to limit Shida’s use of the Tamashii (formerly called the Tamashii no 3 Count). Nyla continues to hone in on the leg, splashes and single leg crabs, even biting the knee to maintain her advantage. Shida rolls out of the senton and muscles a suplex for 2. The Tamashii is blocked by hitting the injured knee but Shida crossbodies, the knee continues to be the focus as Nyla keeps grasping and dropping Shida on it. My favourite Nyla Move, the Beast Knee is smashed into the injured knee for 2 as Nyla uses her weight against Shida’s injury. The champion pump kicks Nyla to the ramp after some turnbuckle shots for a corner dropkick, then a second in the ring at 2. The leg gives out on the Tamashii again so Nyla can powerbomb but foolishly pulls Shida out of the count, adding insult she lands the Tamashii, but only gets 1! A Back body press gives Shida the energy she needs, an Avalanche Falcon Arrow follows but Shida then breaks the pin, she tries the Tamashii but Vickie psyches her out (it was a botch but not a bad one), Vickie tries to kendo Shida while she’s hoisted and Shida just throws Nyla into Vickie. A half-hearted Falcon Arrow hits 2, Tamashii lands but another 2, second Tamashii and 4 Knee Strikes end the match. Being carried out of the ring by Aubrey, Vickie and Nyla are left in the ring as Guerrero screeches venom at Nyla, slapping the former Women’s Champion as she leaves.

In spite of it’s short build it was a good match, the final section was a little sloppy on the vicious vixens’ part but Shida sold her knee wonderfully. Expected Vickie to have more involvement and the post-match seemed to back out on Nyla turning on Vickie but maybe there’s more tale to tell. As a personal preference I hate when wrestlers willingly break their own pin, especially in a title match, it’s just a daft strategy but it was good to see that Shida’s stock has elevated to the point where she didn’t need the DQ stip to win like she did when she won the title, her early dominance would give her extra confidence and extra heat for who I think will be her usurper, Dr. Britt Baker DMD. Next time though, give Shida and her opponent Dynamite feud building. AEW World Tag Team Championship: The Young Bucks def FTR (c) (Pinfall via Superkick, Matt to Cash) TITLE CHANGE! With Matt previously cleared to compete, the Bucks strolled up in Black, Yellow and Purple to their usual money rain, but the pomp and confidence is limited, Matt noticeably slower up the ropes as he nurses his ankle. The champions roll up in White jumpsuits with Tully - who the Bucks protest on since he’s banned from ringside due to his prior attacks, he does leave on his own accord. A nice touch from FTR are the star colours; red, blue, yellow and gold, aka tag champs in Raw, Smackdown, NXT and AEW. Mind games of ‘Greatest Tag Team of All Time’ as well also there to get into the Bucks’ heads. Matt was confident to show that his ankle was fine by going first, Cash going for the injury but being out-wrestled to his frustration. FTR’s quick tag action is halted by the Bucks rushing them to a stalemate in 2s. Nick and Dax trade some chain wrestling with again the Bucks frustrating them, the Bucks almost seem to be playing FTR at their own game plan, until Nick is punched in the face. Both teams take to the ring leading to the Bucks doing a Rana into a ground pound on the champs before sending them out of the ring with their patented tandem offence. Dax busts open his hand hitting the ring post after Matt dodged, reeling from the ankle attack, the Bucks relish the opening to equialize on Dax’s hand for catharsis. A bit of a miscommunicated spot followed where Matt’s moonsault was ‘dodged’ by Dax not paying attention, and his throwing Matt into the ropes looked ugly as fuck as Matt nurses his ankle and Dax tags out for Doc Sampson to dress his hand. When he returns he quickly goes for vengeance on the ankle in mostly a same manner as Nyla did to Shida prior. Cash jumps for Nick to pull him away from the Hot Tag which grants Dax the opening for a Superplex but Cash gets knees from the follow-up splash. The hot tag again thwarted after Cash hit the railing but Dax throws him in ring to tag in, the two men stand between the brothers as Cash flies over the ring post to the floor and Dax is baited into the DDT, Nick storms into the hot tag, wriggling out of FTR’s grapples with kicks and the dual clothesline/bulldog but is eventually caught by FTR who land the Hart Attack. Nick regains advantage with a Cheeky Nandos Kick when FTR were setting up the Powerplex, blind tags Matt who spears the baited Cash and gets a knee in the face, but it’s only 2. Matt’s involvement leads to the knee giving out on a lift, leading to an Electric Chair bulldog combo from FTR, they go for Goodnight Express but Matt superkicks Cash, then Dax, Cash rolls out of ring leaving Dax alone to the Bucks, 3-D! Twist of Fate! Swanton! 2! Lovely homage to the tag team greats. Superkick Party is called, but Cash sweeps Matt’s ankle and Nick gets a rebound powerbomb, but Matt is legal and get 2 on a sneaky pin. Dax gets overzealous with the Dusty Punches and uses his injured hand, but Matt also gets overzealous and uses his bad ankle, both men use their injured limbs for a punch/superkick trade-off, but Dax beheads Matt with a lariat. Homaging DIY they meet in the middle but only get 2, they try the Spike Piledriver but Nick throws Cash off, a tandem move and a swanton onto the ramp leaves Matt room to use a Sharpshooter on Dax, Dax gets to the rope but Nick superkicks the injured hand before Sharpshooter on Cash, FTR clutch each other’s hands but get pulled away but Matt’s ankle gives out to continue the hold. Matt pulls a finger break on Dax’s injured hand (an awkward spot given the scrutiny Marty Scurll is under right now with the SpeakingOut movement) leading to the BTE Trigger, but Cash cannons himself to break the pin. Matt brings out the chair but it’s not legal, Dax goads Matt to hit him but Nick tells him not to, Matt relents and sets up the Meltzer Driver but Cash grabs Nick for a Powerbomb through a ringside table, a very well done twist by Dax leads to the Spike Piledriver but the leg Cash hooks drops onto the rope. Furious, Cash takes Matt’s shoe off, leglock and stomp leads to an inverted Figure Four and ankle lock, but Nick is rising and Cash sees it! He tries the suicide dive but Nick ducks it, breaks the submission with a 450 but Matt only gets 2. Cash superkicks Nick out of the ring, gesturing Two Sweets to Matt before another superkick, but Cash keeps looking at the top rope, he misses the 450 and Matt hits the unbooted Superkick for 3. Kenny came to congratulate the Bucks afterwards as Hangman hovered by the tunnel - wanting to congratulate his friends but still feeling isolated. This is one where I would’ve benefitted not being spoiled, but thumbnails are a bitch. With the narrative that Bucks needed to win to keep on competing and were already at a disadvantage definitely sold the stage to be for Matt to shine. Personally I thought time would run out and there would be some semantic fenagling but it was clean as a whistle. A great match as well, definitely delivered on its build, FTR definitely lacked the presence of Tully to keep their heads in the game in a narrative sense, it’s a shame their tag reign was short but the story has always led to this moment, there was no way Cody AND the Bucks would not be able to challenge for their main titles. I would have one criticism though, the early stages of the match did feel like it was just 1v1s, the tag match needed more tag team offence. Elite Deletion: Matt Hardy def Sammy Guevara (DELETION via Pinfall) The cameras shift to North Carolina where Sammy rides ominously on a golf cart to the Hardy Compound, but Matt also seems to be sorting out business on the phone saying that Sammy’s on his way - fearing that he may need backup if the numbers go against him. Neo 1 confronts Sammy, providing a hologram of Matt welcoming him to the compound and disabling the golf cart. Having crushed a toy monster truck on the way in, Sammy’s face drops at the revving of a full sized monster truck next to him helmed by BROKEN Matt, who flattens the cart before exclaiming that the act was ‘orgasmic’ and ‘now that was a squash job’. Setting the zany tone, Sammy goes all around the truck and hits Matt with a trash can to begin the match. Moonsault off the Truck’s tire as he hammers Matt across the woods. Commentary kinda took you out of it as they tried to fill the silence with their ‘state the obvious’ as the fight sprawled to the front lawn. Sammy doing some great taunts such as saying ‘it’s my house now, daddy’s home!’ and trying to drown Matt in the fountain but Matt grabs the ‘Scepter of Mephistopheles’ to hit Sammy with, missing only the headshot as they go to a backyard ring. As Matt reminds Sammy that he asked for this, Sammy takes advantage with the ring work until a Side Effect is hit and a powerbomb through the table. The pin however is broken by Santana and Ortiz, who double on Matt. Through a walkie talkie though Private Party are called for support to negate the former LAX - though Matt gets hit by a Street Sweeper and a Twist of Fate in the meantime. ‘Roman Candles’ are next on Matt’s mind as he and Sammy both grab a few to fire at each other while PP and Santana & Ortiz tussle in the ring, PP using some of the patented offence of  the Hardy Boyz. The latest ‘Sammy Run Away’ meme appears as Sammy is chased by fireworks before slipping in some mud, flattened by a Twist of Fate. As Matt prepares to throw Sammy into the Lake of Reincarnation, a Gangrel (yes, Gangrel! From the Brood) threatens The Hurricane (yes, Shane Helms, the Hurricane) as a hostage, claiming that Matt never gave him any loyalty while in the Brood, PP arrive to help free the superhero, who asked why it took 2 years - leading to Hardy to funnily quip ‘I’m sorry, long-term storytelling, I had to go to AEW just to finish this’ leading to Hurricane’s famous catchphrase. Hurricane almost gets Sammy with a chokeslam but he throws him in the lake, saying ‘What’s a Hero to a God? A Spanish God’ before trying to throw Matt in. Shane Helms the reporter then comes in, asking if the feud is cursed, but he gets thrown in too (this one seen as he flails around the shallows). Hurricane reemerges to help PP fight Santana, Ortiz and Gangrel but Santana saves Sammy by hitting Hardy with a pipe as the two wander into the darkness of the woods, the heel allies in control as they follow.  Sammy stalks Hardy with a hammer with his friends also in view, but Hardy calls for Skarsgard, Sammy quickly rolling out of the way from the dilapidated boat’s all-or-nothing dive, Neo 1 is also in sight though, and Hardy commands him to lock Hardy and Sammy inside the ‘dome of deletion’, locking Sammy’s allies out. A ring, tables, ladders, chairs, mowers of lawns, wheels of chairs, a pram, a casket, the dome has it all, but Sammy instead unhooks the ropes to hit Hardy with the Turnbuckle bars, choking him with the middle rope. Sammy lays Matt on a Table near a ladder as high as the roof, landing the swanton but only gets 2. Hardy gets a Twist of Fate which seems to hurt his neck, Hardy then spears him into tables outside the ring, where we see Sammy with a small blood pool behind his head (a worked one, the camera angle on the dive ensured you didn’t see the concrete so it was definitely safe) Sammy struggles to stand as Hardy sets up a chair, hitting him on the head with the edge like his legit injury, telling Sammy ‘You made me what I am’ he cracks Sammy with a Con-Chair-To for the pin. After the match, Matt calls Private Party in to ‘take out the trash’, putting Sammy in a wheelie bin, a cut to the outside allows Sammy to be swapped out for kayfabe, as the bin’s loaded into the back of Senor Benjamin’s truck (Benjamin getting a huge pop) as Reby ends the match playing the piano to some highlights.Matt, PP, Skarsgard, Reby and Hurricane then celebrate to fireworks. As cinematic matches go it was good for ending the feud and continuing the Hardy Compound narrative, commentary did sometimes take you out of it and there were less supernatural stuff going on in this one, it was more found footage than the usual cinematic Deletion matches, but lots of quips, lots of fourth wall winks and both men did really well, can’t complain. Intermission Promo After the deletion match, commentary is told about Lance Archer being on a rampage backstage, which leads to a promo by Jake and Lance as he is wasting some jobber against the wall. Jake notes how they are tired of training and that they’re demanding that someone stand up to Archer, Archer waxes lyrical about his intent to break everyone in AEW because Everybody Dies. Archer’s promo game continues to be on the up, which will make you wonder about how long can the Snake coil around him? Right to Join Inner Circle: MJF def. Chris Jericho (Pinfall via Roll-Up) MJF claimed that he would do ANYTHING to beat Jericho, he began with the mind games by doing the Y2J pose in a fairy light robe, getting the fake pop from the fans who were expecting the Demo God. Jericho does get the pop by cutting MJF’s music short in a skull-themed spiked jacket as Diamante wins the ‘Incoherent Judasing’ moment of the night using Ivelisse’s hand as a mic. The chorus of Judas echoing as the limited crowd echo the arena to Jericho’s subdued delight. Sparing a thought for Aubrey though, who has to call this match despite both of them hating her XD MJF tries to start by feeding from the crowd, but the crowd only boo him and cheer Jericho, he gestures to a handshake amidst ‘You Suck’ chants but Jericho slaps him instead. Jericho held an early advantage but MJF got some advantage with a few clotheslines, but his adversity to the crowd once again gives away the advantage. Jericho pulls his camera middle finger spot after powerslamming him on the outside (shout out to KiLynn King as well for all her crowd enthusiasm). Dodging a Judas Effect leads to an injured arm to Jericho after his elbow hit the very busy today ring post, which he focuses on since it’s key for his Salt of the Earth, biting (which has also had a busy night) also ensues between both men but MJF capitalises on his counters and submissions. The heel nature comes out in Jericho with an eye poke, shoulder barges and a lionsault fire up the crowd and a Frankensteiner turning back the clock. MJF though returns to the arm with that double stomp while Jericho’s holding the rope, shoving the veteran as he spouts insults at him, a back and forth leads to MJF locking in the Salt of the Earth on the injured arm but Jericho shifts him into the Walls of Jericho as MJF chews the crawl to the rope. Aubrey’s enmity of both men comes into play when MJF uses her to shield him from Jericho’s kicks, a failed Heatseeker leads to a mid-rope Codebreaker instead from MJF, followed by a successful Heatseeker for 2. He tries the Lionsault but lands on his feet, and instead gets hit with Jericho’s Codebreaker for 2 as well. An Inside Cradle for 2 leads to Jericho trying the Judas Effect, but MJF catches it and cinches in the Salt of the Earth, but Jericho makes it to the ropes. Wardlow was noticeable absent from ringside at the start, having left after MJF’s entrance, but he was called to the ring by MJF to give him the Diamond Ring, his presence distracting Aubrey, MJF misses though and Jake Hager (who was also noticeably absent from the Elite Deletion) reveals himself on the other side throwing the Painmaker Bat to Jericho, Jericho winds up but MJF gives him the finger and drops Eddie Guerrero style. Aubrey turns to see the supposed outcome leading to Jericho turning his back, roll-up by MJF with a handful of tights gives him the win and membership.

Post-Match, Jericho cuts the music as MJF offers a handshake again, Jericho though this time takes it, hugs him and welcomes him and Wardlow to the Inner Circle. Wardlow holds the ropes for MJF, MJF holds the ropes for Jericho but nobody holds the ropes for Hager - who continues to stare off with Hager.

As a wrestling match it was good, for the situation I felt it was a little underwhelming. MJF said he’d do anything but we didn’t see anything outside of his usual tricks. Narratively it works to see MJF and Jericho stick together and we can only wait and see what stories will come out of it. AEW Revolution promo & Best Friends Interview The first PPV of next year is hyped for a February 27th showing. Dasha interviews Orange Cassidy asking his thoughts on his win, OC replies that he ‘has no thoughts’. Miro, Kip and Penelope however roll up as Kip demands an apology from OC for almost putting Penelope in harm’s way during a prior Dynamite. OC does apologise but Kip slaps him, saying that it wasn’t good enough, OC stops the Best Friends about to jump Miro and Kip and says ‘cool’ before walking away.

AEW World Championship ‘I Quit’ Match: Jon Moxley (c) def. Eddie Kingston (Kingston quits via Barbed Wire Bulldog Choke) Kingston rolled up in a shirt saying something that cameras failed to highlight despite his gesturing, (commentary later reveal that it was in homage to the late Tracey Smothers who recently passed away) his eyes like vengeance. Moxley struts in a Goldberg-esque entrance without the security, once again coming from the side of the stadium - this time no dumbass fan trying to charge him. Kingston stares daggers and shouts bloody murder at him during his entrance as Mox tries to get in his groove. Bryce Remsburg is also reffing this match, adding the personal level since Eddie revealed after his last Moxley match that the three go back.

Moxley got the first part of the venom, hammering punches until Kingston got to his knees, chops were traded as Moxley tried a takedown, only to get his ear bitten (biting man...) by Kingston. Slap trades follow as Kingston works on throws and cutting Moxley at the legs, Moxley hitting a tope when Kingston went to get a chair. Moxley then twists Kingston’s fingers key to his finisher, a suplex on concrete leads to the first ask but Kingston refuses, a Crossface/Bulldog Choke is countered by Kingston biting the arm. Throwing 2 chairs into the ring, a busted Moxley retaliates with the Barbed Wire Bat before kicking down the chair setup. Eddie also is busted in the mouth, then the forehead when the bat is pressed against his head - Moxley claiming that he ‘don’t wanna do this’. Kingston disarms Moxley with some Backdrops and throws a chair at Moxley, Moxley then gouges both eyes of Kingston but the Mad King throttles him. A small botch at Kingston was meant to drop Mox on the bat was rectified with more chair shots, Kingston hurts himself by wrapping barbed wire over his hand to pound into Moxley as he laughs maniacally, Uranken and a Kimura follows so Moxley has to break the hold the best way to hurt someone at Full Gear - Bite Him! Kingston restores the chair layout he had before, setting up for a suplex, Mox swaps though and lands Kingston on the flat of one chair. Kingston clotheslines Moxley to get time to get a black bag, which JR quips ‘well, it’s not a bag of chocolate’ - I mean you don’t know that JR! But alas, it wasn’t, it was your traditional thumbtacks, those silver hershey’s kisses (so hey it is a bag of chocolate), after trading suplexes Moxley snaps a vicious clothesline all away from the tacks, Moxley tries a Paradigm Shift on the tacks but Kingston does a twisting Urinage, planting him back first into the tacks - half on the elbow, half on the back. Kingston returns to the Rubbing Alcohol from Doc Sampson’s desk after learning that Moxley didn’t quit, low blows hurt Moxley but the champion only gives him the finger, Eddie then uses the alcohol on the punctured back (which I said at the same time as commentary). Kingston again hurts himself punching Mox with a handful of tacks, he goes for the barbed wire a second time but again changes his mind, going for the Bulldog Choke, Mox refuses still, with thumbtacks still in his head as Kingston lays in on the head shots, he dodges a knee and hooks in the Rear Naked Choke, turns him into the Suzuki Piledriver and then the Bulldog Choke, knowing that Kingston needs to be conscious Moxley changes to a Paridigm Shift, locating the Barbed Wire as he tells Kingston there’s ‘No Other Way Out’, asking him not to make him do this as he wraps his hand around the wire, Kingston only gives him the finger. Moxley considers turning away, but then launches into the barbed-wire enforced Bulldog Choke, Remsburg pleading with Eddie to quit as a vacant expression covers Moxley’s face, telling Kingston that ‘it’s done’, Eddie finally quits and Mox immediately lets go, a somber look on his face as his friend lays fallen.

Post-Match, Moxley tells the camera that ‘that’s what makes a champion: heart, blood and soul - Blood and Guts!’, whether that alludes to the special we were meant to have pre-COVID is yet to be seen. He then pulls Kingston up but Kingston sways away, leaving the ring on his own. Omega then comes out to the ramp to remind Moxley of his presence and their championship match in the due future.

A hard-hitting match, you knew that Kingston and Moxley would deliver on the hardcore level and a little on the emotive level. Sadly this match did suffer from WWE giving fans an inch-perfect I Quit Match in Hell in a Cell, so the bar was very high and it unfortunately could not reach that level. Again I’m surprised that factions didn’t get involved, Kingston’s family didn’t even go with Eddie to the ring, a surprise PAC appearance was hoped but we can’t be too torn up about that. Overall it was still a good title match, albeit an inevitable outcome given that Moxley and Omega have more history.

Conclusion Though there were a few small mistakes, there was not a weak spot in this PPV. On the other hand there wasn’t a match that blew me away, it was overall a well-done PPV: worth the money but there could’ve been more. There was meant to be a tease of a debut as well but I guess that was just rumor rather than an actual promise by the company. I will critique the Team Tazz stuff again because it really puts down Darby’s championship win, some matches could’ve ended more emphatically and the Buy-In needed more matches. Also just a personal thing but they overdid the biting spots, spots like those have a 2 match threshold at best on a card. But narratively we got a lot going on, a lot of consequences for the matches on the card including the Buy In and the Bucks did make good on their FTR promise by being Match of the Night. Elite Deletion and Silver/OC was a bit of light fun, the Women’s Match was strong, the opener hard hitting and we begin our build to Revolution.

[crystalsexarch]

Panglossian - M

“Why is it combat? Why can’t it be sex?”

Raha shrugged. “It can be sex.”

-

Mature. Specific male WoL Bas'ir Bahani. 5.3 spoilers. The Warrior of Light has nightmares the day before he and the newest Scion are to meet his former flame: Ser Aymeric.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Bas'ir Bahani knew he was dreaming. Though he wasn't a complete fool, the reality he had mashed into existence—the reality necessary to paint such colorful pictures—was proof enough that he harbored foolishness in droves. He sat on a soggy log in the middle of an iced-over wood. Coerthas, naturally. He'd have been shivering in the waking world. Before him danced two warriors, two lovers, all bravado and blade. And he didn't want this fight to happen. But he did, somehow, want to see it happen.

"To first blood," Aymeric said, perfect teeth all glittering with charisma. Instead of wearing the regalia familiar to Ishgardians, he appeared now in a tunic and loose trousers; a look more familiar to Bas'ir, who'd wasted winters away in his warm mansion. Happily wasted. Rightfully wasted. But wasted nonetheless.

Opposite the Lord Speaker, G’raha Tia waved the tip of his aetherial sword, striding like a confident pirate on sea legs. He looked as he did in life, sunny eyes belying wisdom, scarf and tail whipping in the wind. He looked green and eager. A man who fought without secrets. “There’s still time for you to back down,” he said. “I have been known to show mercy.”

Aymeric chuckled and extended his blade. A sturdy thrusting guard. The only one Bas’ir knew, and the only one that ever showed up in his dreams. The Speaker’s long fingers tightened around the hilt. “Have you?” he said. “Well, I have not.”

Bas’ir flinched hard when sword hit sword. He clenched his dream-eyes shut so hard he may have opened his real ones. After a rush of metallic clangs, the combatants drifted apart and the Keeper looked once again at the wooded arena. Now, they circled one another, each part man, part vulture, waiting for an opening, bodies shifting to create one. Not vultures, he thought. Peacocks. And the very next moment they sprouted feathers where most men grew tails.

Someone set a hand on Bas’ir’s bouncing knee. It was Raha—not the Raha battling Ishgard’s most eligible bachelor—but a different one. One watching the battle unfold, like Bas’ir. Same eyes, same face, separate presence.

“Raha!” Bas’ir said, quickly attaching himself and shaking his head. “You must put an end to this.”

The Seeker hummed and ran his hands over the poor creature’s shaking shoulders. “Now, now,” he said. “We both know that lies within the purview of your power. Not mine.”

“It’s not like I want you to fight.” He ran his fingers down his face and left just enough room to peek at the ongoing match. The swords clashed and caught, weak to weak. Aymeric pushed harder and broke Raha back, forced him to scurry through the snow for purchase. Still, the Seeker bore a fire-breathing grin. Somewhere along the way, they'd lost their tail feathers. Bas’ir groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

“This is a dream,” other-Raha said. “Yours, to be precise. Something on your mind?”

“Yes. Of course there is. This.” He pointed at the martial display. “Why is it combat? Why can’t it be sex?”

Other-Raha shrugged. “It can be sex.”

Then the cold finally hit Bas’ir. Hollow horror pried his eyes open. “No,” he said. “No, it can’t.”

But it was.

Forget Coerthas. When Bas'ir next blinked, they were all in Kugane, deep in the belly of an infamous inn. If his winters once belonged to Aymeric, his summers belonged in this windowless room where he’d granted strangers the privilege of closeness with his body. Sometimes the privilege of entrance. The two combatants now tussled for a different kind of dominance. Perhaps this, too, was the kind of fight Bas'ir somehow wanted to behold...but the thought could've burned his tongue out of his mouth it was so sour.

“What happened to first blood?” Raha whispered, naked and prone with Aymeric using just one hand to hold his wrists together.

“Still applies,” the Elezen said, running his fangs—his fangs?—across Raha’s neck, pressing his length on the smaller man’s ass.

Raha chuckled and leaned into it. They were both so muscled, so clean, so magnificent. “You make a compelling argument for surrender.”

Other-Raha covered his mouth, blushing. “Oh my.”

“That is it!” Bas’ir stood and clenched his fists, both flesh as they always were in dreams. “I’ll not suffer this humiliation. Come with me.” He flapped his fingers and made for the exit, faithful companion in tow. He tried to ignore what he was hearing, despite its lusty pull.

“Where are we going?” other-Raha said. True Raha. The one who had the grace and dignity to ignore what was surely a magnetic display of sexuality unfolding at their backs.

“Somewhere else. Anywhere else.” The sliding door slid open on its own, giving way to a whole corridor of doors. The first parted as Bas’ir approached, revealing Bas’ir. Long-haired as he had once been, untattooed, and unclothed, spare the traditional black gloves that stretched nearly to his shoulders. His smile stretched cheek to cheek, and at his rear a grinning Garlean woman aimed the largest glass piece he’d ever seen.

Bas’ir—the clothed one—yelped and covered Raha’s eyes. “Not this one! Next door!”

“What’s wrong?”

“We mustn’t enter that room.” Keeper pulled Seeker down the hallway until another partition parted. At first glance, it was empty. Bare mats and a folded futon, floral patterns on the wall. But a trail of red rope led his yellow eyes to the truth; another copy of himself sat bound in the corner with a ribbon on his neck...and a second somewhere else.

Bas’ir nearly fainted, but even on wobbly dream legs he held strong. “Occupied! This one is occupied!” He pushed his lover back into the hallway.

“What are you hiding?” Raha grabbed his wrists and scowled. “You’re acting...absurd.”

“There are things I’d rather you...rather you not see!” He wrenched his hands away. He wasn't ashamed. He'd never been ashamed. He'd enjoyed it. But would his past fit into his oldest friend's definition of hero?

Raha reached again. “I trust you. You can tell me.”

“I’ll happily tell you! But to show you is another matter entirely.”

“Show me!”

“No!”

They shoved each other like children until Bas’ir lost his footing and fell into Aymeric’s sudden embrace. It was just as warm as he remembered. Full and gentle and not what he wanted anymore.

“I’m the picture of civility,” the Lord Speaker spoke. The world was fading, but his whispering fingers remained, tugging at his lips. “Remember. You’ve called me a diplomat before.”

Bas’ir woke up with his own fingers in his mouth and ghost tears in his eyes. The one he loved slept next to him, so he called his name.

"Raha.”

“Hmm?” Red ears flicked back. Red eyes flickered open. “Something a matter?”

“I’m terrified. Too terrified to sleep.” They tangled and re-tangled until the walls around the Keeper warmed him. Finger-painting on his back, a soothing song nipping at his ears.

“You’re safe,” Raha said.

“This meeting will be the death of me.”

“Both you and history remember him as a man of integrity.” He punctuated the sentence with a kiss to his lover’s forehead. “Perhaps focusing on the mission will help.”

“I...I want him to like you.” He sniffled and wriggled closer, hoping the words sounded less juvenile than they tasted. “I don’t want him to hate me for...you…”

“I’m sure he—”

“For loving you.”

Like tuning forks, the words ushered in a long period of silence. Raha ran his fingers over Bas’ir’s scalp throughout, breathing easier than he ever had on the First. The night was still young enough that both of them could get plenty of rest before it was time to rise and look their anxieties in the eye. The morning would bring uncertainty, but it would have to be a powerful day to break the bond they’d forged, broken, and forged back stronger.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Bas’ir said. “I had...strange dreams.”

“Call and I shall happily answer. Each and every time.”

One or both of them started purring. The sound helped blur the lingering images of the nightmare, but Bas'ir still felt them in his gut. Nevertheless, one side of his lips managed a smile. “I feel certain, now, that...everything will come to an agreeable end. Somehow.”

[jinmukangwrites]

Gunpoint

Whumptopber Day 5. Yes I know, I’m late. I’ll catch up.

Summary: Dick’s been missing for a week.

Warnings: idiot bad guys. Hostage situations.

-o-o-o-o-

Nightwing’s on his knees, his hands locked behind his back. Cuts decorate his suit, showing injured skin below, all over his body. His mask is torn, hanging on by will power alone, one white leans shattered and showing off a single electric blue eye narrowed in pain and anger. His hair is tussled, knotted, completely out of whatever style it’s supposed to be in. Batman isn’t quite sure if it’s because of the seven days of captivity or if its the meaty hand grasping onto the side of his head by the roots. Could be both. All Batman knows for sure is that his lips are chapped, his cheeks are bruised, and that there’s a handgun loaded with a deadly 9mm bullet pressed against his jugular.

“Don’t get any smart ideas,” a man says, and Batman levels his steady glare on him. Kirk Nerling: a new big bad in Blüdhaven, someone Batman didn’t even know existed until Barbara informed him that Nightwing’s been silent for, at the time, 72 hours. It isn’t entirely new information that Nightwing sometimes isolates himself when he’s stressed or emotionally compromised. Bruce was fully prepared to tell Barbara to simply listen out for him and not to worry, but that day was Cassandra’s birthday (to the best of their knowledge) and Nightwing didn’t even bother to leave a happy message for the young woman. It’s entirely unlike him to forget a birthday, let alone a sibling’s birthday.

After some research, they found that gang activity has been on a steady uprise for quite a few days in Blüdhaven, and after some more research Bruce found that Nerling was the leader of that activity, attempting to fill in the shoes of Blockbuster. 

It took a few days, but he eventually found evidence of Nightwing’s abduction, and a few more days to pinpoint the location of his imprisonment. 

All in all, it took Batman seven days to realize his eldest was missing, captured, and being held in a panic room hidden behind a bookcase just next to Nerling’s grand office desk.

Turns out, a man who captures Nightwing earns himself a reputation of steel. He has many supporters now, many gunmen and mercenaries and gangsters to protect and serve him. It took several minutes for Batman alone to make it to the top story of the corporate skyscraper; Robin, Black Bat, and Signal are still in the lower levels of the building, fighting the hired guns. Red Hood, Red Robin, and Spoiler are back at Gotham taking care of a rather large drug bust which actually turned out to be connected to Nerling in of itself.

Seven days. Seven days. This man has taken over an entire city and is extending his reach across the bay all within a week, going almost entirely unnoticed by the bats who protect these cities. 

Bruce would almost be impressed if his son isn’t currently being held at gunpoint. 

And if he weren’t Batman.

“It’s over,” Batman growls, “let him go and give up.”

“Nah,” Nerling says, sighing and clasping his hands behind his back. He leans back against his mahogany desk, the expanse of Blüdhaven’s skyline encompassing him from behind thanks to the floor to ceiling windows. Bullet proof, Batman’s already checked. “If it was over, you wouldn’t be asking me to let our friend go.”

Nightwing makes a grunting noise, probably made as a result from the hired chunk of muscle holding him hostage trying to make a point that he has Nightwing’s still in his grasp. But Bruce keeps his gaze locked on Nerling. “My team will be up here soon, you have no chance of escaping. There’s only two of you.”

“Yes, yes,” Nerling says, waving his hand in the air as if shooing a pesky fly away. He stands from the desk and Batman carefully hides his tensing. He strides over to Nightwing and bends down, one hand falls onto Nightwing’s shoulder. Nightwing visibly tenses, but with the handgun pressing into his flesh, right between his jaw and neck, there is nothing he can do. “There’s only two of us, but… there’s only one of him.”

Batman scowls, knowing that this is where it would lead. A man like Nerling, with his charisma and business like way of leading and conquering, he would have no need of keeping Nightwing alive once Nightwing fell into his hands.

Taking Nightwing prisoner not only got rid of Blüdhaven’s persistent protector, but it also gave him a very good bargaining chip to use against the rest of the bats. Keeping Nightwing alive gave him an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. 

A very effective stone to say the least. Though, it’s nothing Batman hasn’t dealt with before. Nothing Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Damian, and Duke hasn’t dealt with before. Though, he must also remain careful. Getting confident just because he and his partners have made it out of hundreds of similar situations can make it so that this time it simply won’t be the case. 

“What do you want?” Batman growls. 

Nerling smiles and stands straight, but he keeps his hand mockingly on Nightwing’s shoulder. “It’s simple really. You and your friends return to our sister city, and Egior here doesn’t pull the trigger. You stay out of my way, and he’ll stay breathin’”

Egior grunts at the sound of his name, grins at the idea of pressing the trigger. 

“B, no,” Nightwing whispers, his voice soft and raspy from misuse. It sends Batman’s toes curling in barely contained anger.

“I’m not leaving here without him,” he says, making his voice forceful enough to leave no room for arguments. “You let him go, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Nerling scoffs. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, B-”

He cuts himself off with a scream, a metal bat shaped shuriken—or batarang as Nightwing lovingly calls them—sticking out of his shoulder, just next to his collarbone. He stumbles backwards and before Egior can do much, another batarang is thrown at his hand. Metal pierces flesh, and the weapon drops to the ground with a startled cry. Batman grins as a body lands next to him, a flick of a yellow cape.

“Yes, we do,” Robin says, grinning but his whole body shaking with an eagerness to fight.

The fight does begin, and it doesn’t last long, if anything it’s anticlimactic. It begins with Nightwing kicking out his legs and tripping up Egior. Batman throws a smoke bomb, and Robin rushes forward while he pulls out his sword. Only a couple punches are thrown, most of them are spent trying to knock down the brick wall called Egior, but within a minute and smoke clears, two unconscious bodies lay on the ground with their wrists and ankles zip tied. Batman stands up from Egior and Robin rushes over towards Nightwing who’s struggling to his feet, his hands still cuffed but moved during the confusion to the front of his body.

Batman’s heart flutters when he sees how Robin doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around Nightwing’s waist in support. Nightwing smiles, it not quite reaching his eyes but enough so it could be considered genuine. “Took you long enough,” he wheezes. Batman doesn’t say anything, just strides forward and take Nightwing’s bruised hands in his own so he can work the locks. Once the cuffs fall to the ground, Nightwing lurches forward even with the support of Robin. Batman catches him by the shoulders and steadies him.

“It took us time to realize you were missing,” Batman says, lowering Nightwing to the floor. Robin backs away and mumbles that he’s going to check the restraints of “those heathens” as Batman attempts to get Nightwing in a comfortable position on the thinly carpeted floor. 

“S’alright,” Nightwing murmurs. “S’not your fault…”

“Awe man, did we miss the fun?” A new voice says and Nightwing’s smile widens. He looks past Batman’s shoulder to see Signal clad in yellow standing in the doorway with Black Bat a little behind him.

“Nah,” Nightwing says as Signal and Black Bat make their way into the room. Both look a little roughed up, but otherwise fine. Bat… Bruce wasn’t worried. Cass is here, after all.

Speaking of Cass, Dick weakly lifts a hand up and she reacts accordingly, their hands wrap in a sturdy hold around each other’s wrists. A catcher’s hold.

“Sorry I missed it,” he whispers and Bruce’s heart tightens. Dick would never forget a birthday, even while he was held hostage by a wanna be crime lord.

It’s hard to make out Cass’s expression with her mask, but her cheeks appear to sharpen and lift in what can definitely be considered a genuine smile. “Make up for it,” she says simply, and Dick chuckles in response. Duke joins in with his own laugh, Damian scoffs, and Bruce cant hide the small tugging of his lips.

Dick passes out on the way back to Gotham, though it’s because of exhaustion instead of any injury or fever, so Bruce let’s him sleep the entire way. Thankfully, Jason is there in the cave with Tim and Steph to assist in hefting Dick's dead weight out of the batmobile and into the med bay where Alfred’s already waiting with painkillers and band aids.

It’s amazing how the simple notion of Dick being in danger is enough to get everyone to the manor. Jason isn’t even complaining about being around Bruce, in fact he’s happily telling embarrassing stories about Dick from his early Nightwing days to the rest of the kids; Damian interrupts every so often to voice his outrage that Dick would grow a mullet or something similar. Bruce remains in the med bay, his hand carding through Dick’s tangled out hair.

Amazing.

Simply, incredible.