#reposted from AO3

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Stuck in a Rut: Dante x G/N Reader

NSFW ahead Minors DNI

Seriously go away, children Summary:Dante is going through his first rut with you being his mate. Things have been going fine; he’s been doing what he needs and you have been enjoying it. However, it is the last week of his season and he is having issues relieving his ‘itch’ for you.

Beginning Notes: Since I keep writing long stories; I decided to take a break and write something smaller. This isn’t super descriptive or anything, but I like it idk lmao I know that this is “unrealistic” and that like over like 7 inches or some shit would hurt you (and can kill you) just roll with it. ✨🩸✨ Bottom G/N Reader x Top Dante--written with Male in mind, but no describing words or terms used that indicate such. Basically, just smut with very minor fluff Monsterfucking; Devil Trigger, Sin Devil Trigger Knotting Overstimulation; reader tells him to stop but it is disingenuous Minor Mating/Breeding Kink Biting Very Minor choking Small blood warning

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     Over the past few weeks, Dante and you had been sharing your (or rather his) first rut together. Things were going fine, great actually. The devil had been able to satisfy himself within a few rounds every six or seven hours. When you had sex it was mindblowing and, afterwards, he would shower you with pure romantic affections that made your heart melt. Today, however, Dante was having a hard time fulfilling those inner unholy urges.

     “Fuck- Dante~!” you felt the red devil manhandle you into a downward dog pose. A roasting grey-scaled hand pushed roughly down onto the back of your neck; forcing your head down and your hips up, “Wait-- Please--”

     Without hesitation, Dante shoved himself back inside and let out a tumultuous growl. Loud squelching noises came from you with every thrust of his hips, courteous of the several previous rounds of lovemaking. The two of you had been slamming hips together for nearly an hour now and you were beyond sore. Your hands gripped violently at the disheveled bedding as you felt him pick up the pace once more. 

     Dante moved his hand from the back of your neck and the top of your head, yanking it backwards. Slowly, he kissed along your neckline and was doing his best not to bite down too hard into your soft flesh. 

     “Fuck,” you hissed at him, “bite me if that’s what-- Ah~!” 

     You didn’t have to tell him twice, he bit down harshly piercing your skin with his sharp teeth. The red devil’s thrusts had become short and rough as he set the side of his face against yours. Hot breath washed over your skin as you leaned back against him; hoping that meant he was finally reaching his final peak. 

     With a final hard slam, he came inside you once more; burying himself to the hilt. Because of how much Dante had been ramming your poor hole, it didn’t take much force to push his knot inside your body. Not only that but, you were full enough that his cum was already running out of your body. 

     The two of you sat breathing heavily as you mumbled to him, “Are you..?” you couldn’t even finish your sentence out of exhaustion. 

     Dante didn’t respond.

     You exasperatedly face-planted into the bed, muffling your words, “Oh my god…”

     The red devil’s voice was soft and ladened with a thick feeling of remorse as he whispered, “I’m sorry… We can stop if--”

      With a loud huff, you turned your head slightly to unmuffle your voice, “Why don’t you just use it?”

     “Wait--” Dante stiffened and sat upwards, pulling himself from your body--making you groan loudly, “You mean..?”

     “Y-yes,” your hips dropped to lay flat on the bed and you shivered at the feeling of his seed gushing out of your body, “At this point, I don’t care.”

     Dante stared down at you for a moment in thought, his cock still standing at full attention. Carefully, he flipped you over to face him and placed his hands flatly on the mattress beside your body, “You don’t know what you are asking me to do-- This will hurt,” admittedly, his cock was aching at you making such a naughty request.

     “Dante,” you tiredly set a hand on his cheek, slowly running your thumb over the ridges of his face, “Do it.”

     His brow furrowed as he frowned with worry, “But--”

     “I want you to fuck me in your Sin Trigger, Dante,” your fingers slid behind the plating on his jaw and pulled slightly, eliciting a groan from the devil, “I want you to break me.”

     A low growling came from deep within his chest as he looked down at you, “Last chance to back--”

     You roughly pulled him down to meet your lips and forced your tongue into the heat of his mouth. Dante groaned at the feeling of you instigating such a fervorous kiss. The two of you fought for dominance, which Dante won of course; allowing him to explore your cavern freely. Once the two of you broke apart, the devil leaned back and stood up from the mattress. 

     Before you were even able to lean upwards to see him, a large set of broiling hands yanked you by your ankles to the foot of the bed. You swallowed hard as you felt the same set of grey and red scaled hands pick you up by your middle. Quickly, you wrapped your legs around the un-armored parts of his abs. This caused you to nick the underside of your legs on the large sharp spikes that decorated his thighs--making you hiss in pain. 

     In all your time being with him--even before you started dating--you had only seen his Sin Trigger a handful of times and that was always at a distance. Now that you are seeing him up close and personal, you were semi-afraid of your larger-than-life lover. His stature was enormous and the snarling growls he made as he moved you around like a toothpick, made you fearfully aroused. 

     That’s when you felt it. 

     Although you know Dante warned you, you didn’t really consider exactly how he meant that this would hurt; you, of course, knew that his dick would grow with him, but this was much more than you expected. You gasped at the feeling of his overwhelmingly thick cock head that prodded at your hole, trying to enter your body. Thankfully, there was plenty of Dante’s cum to use as lubrication; otherwise, the devil would have torn through your insides. 

     You shouted in pain at him trying to shove himself inside, “Fuck!” desperately, you clawed and grabbed at his biceps, “Dante-! Slower, pl-please,” tears had already sprung to the corners of your eyes as you grimaced, trying to relax. 

     Admittedly, you were worried if he was going to be able to understand you; however, the red devil did slow down as you requested. Relieved at the small amount of control he displayed, you closed your eyes to focus on allowing him inside. He slowly inched his way into your hole, emitting a low rumbling growl the entire time.

     All the while, Dante licked at your neck and face in an attempt to apologize. The red devil had no lips to kiss you with, so this was the best that he could manage. His tongue was pleasantly hot and felt like a cat licking you; gently scraping your skin. Although you were overwhelmed by the insurmountable feeling of being stretched out by his cock, you couldn’t help but laugh at the strangly cute action. However, this died down as you suddenly felt a pain start in your lower abdomen. 

     “Wait--” Dante stopped both the movement of his hips and tongue at your words. Your breathing was heavy as you spoke between breaths, “I can’t take any more in, please…” the red devil had pushed nearly ten inches inside your hole and still had plenty to spare. 

     He seemed to understand and stood still, allowing you to try to adjust. Distantly, you found yourself worrying about him trying to push too far into you when he finishes but were quickly brought back to reality by the sudden shifting of the red devil. 

     A loud sharp mixture of a moan and shout left your lips from him sliding out a few inches and pushing back in; moving in slow restrained movements, “Fuck~! Dante, holy sh-shit,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he moved more. 

     It only took a few minutes for Dante to work up to a brutal pace. Loud and animalistic growls left his body as he fucked up into you, holding you like a living fleshlight--and treating you with the same respect. His fingers had tightened around your middle, bruising it almost instantly. A small amount of blood began to drip from your sides from the pin-prick tips of his claws slicing into your skin. Each one of Dante’s thrusts only made him hunger more for your body; hunger to make you his.

     All this in contrast to you; you who was scarcely able to hold on and just continued loudly moan miscellaneous gibberish at the devil. A small amount of drool began to dribble from your mouth as you did your best to stay awake and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You felt Dante begin to heat up, a sign that he was getting close--which he was much hotter than his Regular Trigger, you noted. 

     Wanting to hold him, you use what little energy you had and leaned forwards. Carefully, you set your hands on his face doing your best to avoid the spikes along his jaw. Upon feeling your small gentle human hands, the devil leaned into you and placed his forehead against yours. Dante growled louder in pleasure at your touch and cocooned you with his wings; holding you even closer. Although it wasn’t clear because of the lack of pupils, you thought he was staring into your eyes--a rather romantic gesture during such a less-than-such fuck fest.

     It was swelteringly hot within the bundling grasp of the devil, to the point of you feeling lightheaded. You knew Dante would stop if you passed out so you did your best to push him over the edge by trying to tighten your body--not wanting to have to try again later.

     “Dante,” your voice was hoarse, “Please~” you felt him tighten his grip, “I’m all yours, Dante. Plea-ah~” his thrusts became short and ragged, “Just- Gah~ please…”

     At this point, Dante was doing everything in his power to not force himself all the way inside you--knowing that you would die. However, all he wanted to do to knot your tight hole--to breed you. Because of this intense focus, he hadn’t noticed that he had his claws sunk nearly an inch into your flesh and had begun to burn your delicate human skin with his scorching scaled palms. 

     You, admittedly, had noticed but were beyond overstimulated and exhausted; so you didn’t care as long as he hit his climax.

     It only took a few more stiff hard jabs before he spilled his hot load. Not really thinking, the red devil sunk his teeth deep into you as he normally would; not thinking of the consequences that this could and would have. Not only were his teeth razor sharp and quite large; the inside of his mouth was scaldingly hot and burnt your skin. The devil’s teeth sunk just shy of an inch deep into the side of your neck--making you suddenly aware of what he just did. 

     You shouted in both pain and pleasure, “Dante~! That--” you hissed as you sliced your palm on his shoulders, forgetting that he is covered in spikes, “That hurts-- Ah~!” you moaned loudly as you felt him shift his hips a bit.

     The red devil just stood there unloading himself into your trembling body. You were full enough that most of his seed ended up on the floor and both of you; however, despite this, the devil made sure to stay inside you. He thunderously purred through his bite, making you feel tingly at the strange sensation. Admittedly, you were on cloud nine and the rumbling sensation only added to the intense overstimulation caused by your lover. 

     The two of you stood for several minutes as Dante slowly ground himself against you, still fighting the urge to push further into your delightfully full hole; the hole that belonged to him. His wings slowly unfurled from around you and his grip slowly loosened; removing his claws from your skin. You were on the verge of unconsciousness as you felt him shift once more; this time, however, it was because he was slowly backing out of his Sin Trigger--moving to his Regular Trigger. 

     A low groan left your pursed lips as you felt him remove his cock with an audible pop. You shivered as you felt a sudden wetness drip down your legs; accompanied by the feeling of being both too full and uncomfortably empty. The next thing he did was release his vice grip of a bite.

     There were thick lines of his spit mixed with your blood that strung between your flesh and him as he slowly removed himself from you tender neck. Still coming down from his high, Dante had a wide smile as he gently set you down on a clean section of the bed. Looking down at your disheveled form, he wiped the blood from his mouth with a large proud smirk. You were relatively out of it at this point; wanting nothing more than to sleep--not caring about how messy everything was or how much loving pain you were in. The red devil placed a gentle kiss on your forehead due to a warm overly-sappy lovey feeling beginning to fill his chest.

     It wasn’t until he saw blood begin to quickly pool on the sheets below your neck that he began to realize the gravity of the situation. Although it wasn’t uncommon for you to end up with some bleeding marks during the last few weeks; the bite from this session was much deeper and had larger holes than normal. Without thinking, the fiery devil placed one of his palms on your neck to cauterize the wound shut. 

     Which pulled you right back to reality with a loud shout, “Fuck! Dante!” you tried to pull away from his palm. 

     With a small huff, Dante used his other hand to brace the opposing side of your neck and held you in place. After a few painfully long minutes, the devil removed his hand. A strained grunt left his lips as he returned to his human form, now just as exhausted as you.

     You were breathing heavily and had tear streaks running down your face, “Why..?”

     He sighed and gently placed his head against your chest as he mumbled, “You were bleeding too much…”

     A small agreeing, “Ah,” is all you could manage to say.

     Admittedly, it was a good thing you were semi-delirious; otherwise, you would have shared in Dante’s worry. If he had bit down just a little further through your soft neck, the red devil would have bitten through your jugular and killed you. The two of you would have to figure out a safer way for him to use that side of him; if you want him to use it at all. 

     Before the two of you could discuss it, a small gentle snore caught Dante’s attention. You were already fast asleep. The devil stood up with a small shake of his head and a large toothy smile as he made his way to get some cleaning and medical supplies.

     Surely you were going to be angry about how much your neck--and the rest of your body--hurt from today; however, that is for future Dante to worry about. All he wanted to do right now was clean you up and curl up close to you. You, his partner, lover,  mate; his everything. 

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Ending Notes: Hope y'all enjoyed this even though it's kinda short. The next story will most likely be a fluffy (not angsty) Vergil fic; so stay tuned lmao

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Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

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[yohohonabottle]

Potions mishap -Dire consequences (Reposted from A03)

🖋��Summary: Usually his smooth-talk is enough to get him through the day, except this time things went down differently and the situation got...Out of hand. Very out of hand, in so many ways. You'd think he was attempting to fill out a bingo card of 'what could possibly go wrong' that day. Also 'Merlin' happened to be close-by, too. Funny how it's always the two of them whenever trouble crops up, maybe funnier how no matter what- They seem to always inadvertently run into each other at the worst of times. It's like fate has it out for them for whatever reason. [❗] Trigger Warning:{❗} Obsessive, manipulative, love-sick and overall toxic behavior all across the board. Also mild foul language. 📖 Work status: Completed one-shot. (Chapter II is a bonus.) ----------------------------------------------- Notes: Had this brain-rot spawn in randomly, so I gave it the bum's rush. 🎧 Song recommendation: -> Butcher vanity -> Stalker's tango

Just your typical run-of-the mill day in Rustport, the town ever so steadily on its way to getting better, now that the Immortal Fleet are gone and there's no fog or kraken in the way. But change doesn't turn up overnight even as things are several ideas better looking for the next tomorrows. The Water Wights, leaderless now and in slightly more declining numbers, are still a damn menace. I may be a captain and a hero of this dear town now, but money won't pool itself at my feet. Still gotta work, gotta hustle.

It's not like Sonja can keep a hawk-eye on Brineville nowadays either. If anything, her 'free time' is over and she'll be busy drowning in heaps of work from now on, and it would only pile on up higher.

Plus, the newly acquired Chainkeeper is still out of commission and will be in Hugin's care for a while, so no adventuring or treasure-hunting. Which means-- Back to intel-brokering and scurrying for whatever other opportunities that flit into his line of sight or grasp, or both. Today's deal looks to be pretty promising, and after that- A bit of networking, a bit of bounty-hunting, a quick stop at the Golden guest for a drink.. 

Boy didn't that deal turn out to be a surprise.  A not so good one.

As soon he reaches the meet-up point in a back alley on Shark street by the Warehouse district, things swiftly spun for the crazy.

Holding a pick between his teeth, Sinbad reaches into his bag and pulls out a scroll, unrolling it. Names accompanied by dates and places, and notes look back up at him, some crossed out and others circled or underlined with some question marks. Little miscellaneous notes he'd jotted down about each client- Intel he'd gotten from his wide network that he has meticulously built up over the years and whatever info he'd managed to get by doing his own thorough research. Plus what to dig more into later.

One in particular jumps out at him-- A nameless chap going by a pseudonym strictly, a rather elusive one at that. The only thing he's come to know is that the fellow is from the Wights and dabbles in potions or drugs, having gotten hired several times. And yet, each time- It was never in person, always through letters and smaller fry.

Each time he manages to remotely begin to catch a pattern, he's been met with either a dead-end or a massive red herring that makes everything prior look nonsensical.

—"Alright, should be here.. Now, the carrier pigeon should be turning up about any moment." Wonder who would it be this time. -The sailor hums with a laid-back charming smirk, looking up from the scroll as he quickly rolls it up. But nothing out of the ordinary comes up. No courier, no lackey, no boss. Only him and the silence of the shaded corner, the sun high and the seagulls flying overhead. Tucking the rolled-up paper back into his bag and keeping his calm face on, he reaches for his daggers slowly, stance deceptively relaxed but on guard and on-edge.

Taking a leisurely stroll to scope out the place while waiting, Sinbad moves the pick to the other corner of his mouth, taking stake of his surroundings. Still no hair or hide, the hour of meeting is passing, the minutes wheezing by. This is the place, Atropine clearly specified in the letter earlier. Where's that bookie? Nowhere.

Ten more minutes go by which easily string into fifteen then twenty. No bookie or henchman turns up.

Was I duped? Not the first time to happen, but I did make sure to be locked-in when doing my homework. Did I overlook something somehow?

"I'm just wasting my time. Guess deal was postponed or called off." And right as the blond intel-trader mutters this to himself under his breath with a displeased sigh, preparing to leave--

Something darts like a flash, a silhouette.

On alert, Sinbad sharply turns on his heels, ready to fight and about to yell 'Who's there? Show yourself!'-- all the daring street-rat gets, is a glimpse of a person in a high-collar trench coat and a hat. But it's impossible to tell if it's a man or woman under those, and everything happens in seconds, he could barely react at all. A bottle is thrown straight at him, the cork bouncing off the wall like that from a bottle of champagne and whizzes past like a bullet, missing his head by centimeters as he stumbles with a pained curse, dropping his weapons.

Wiping off the liquid from his face and clinging onto consciousness like a drowner with adrenaline screeching like a kraken in his veins, he shrugs off the blow, blinking to clear his vision. But the blasted scoundrel is gone, had bolted like a coward. Bending to pick up his daggers and sheathing them, the tanned man staggers a little but retains his balance through sheer stubborn will. A step, two, away from the crates of the deserted warehouse- His vision blurs and the world spins, then turns black.

It's a few long moments of drifting in the weightless void, that the seaside savant finally comes to. What greets him, is a familiar face of a friend and that voice... It's the sweetest music to his ears. His mind immediately drops everything else to laser-focus on those things alone- the sight and voice, the perfume or cologne Pirin wears, the fancy tailcoat, shirt, the red embroidery on it, sash and slacks- committing it all to memory fully. Like the greatest, most precious treasures. Sinbad has never felt this strongly enraptured--Never needed or revered someone so, very, terribly badly before or had the insurmountable compulsion to keep that person by his side, safe and sound. All to himself body, mind and soul, surrender himself fully with near religious devotion and worship the very ground they walk on, no hesitation, regrets or second thoughts.

Until now.

Until laying his eyes on the best, most lovely gem one could possibly wish for. No pearl, diamond, moonstone, opal or quartz can come remotely close. 

No matter what the cost, everything else be damned.

Forever.

—"Sinbad? Sinbad!" -A very much anxious Pirin barks, tone sharp with worry barely concealed, shaking the man by the shoulders with a death-grip. A pang of relief washes over him when the sailor's rum-like brown eyes open and meet his own pearlescent, vision focused and clear. Conscious and responsive, good.

The relief instantly fizzles out the second he takes notice of the look in that gaze, one he's been unfortunate enough to have gotten acquainted with a little too well.

Devotion that goes beyond what's healthy, reverence that crosses far from normal admiration. Fanatic, obsessed. Like that of a maniac.  It sends chills down the vampire's spine, chalk-pale face going even paler with dawning horror as a ghastly realization strikes, one that entirely confirms his suspicions as to why a particularly cold feel of dread has been tailing him this day. Something happened here, Sinbad no doubt has gotten himself into trouble like the bloody magnet he is for it. If the glass shards lying around on the ground a meter or two behind his back are anything to go by.. Then it appears whatever was in that bottle, a potion or drug maybe, is causing this state.  "..No..." Not this again! For gods' sake not again! How many times would this thing be happening? First it was Valen and solving that problem was a bitch, then it was Soren who fell prey to the same 'plague'. And both times Berial turned out to be the culprit for casting that disastrous jinx. And now it's Sinbad who's affected! How did that wretched clown get his gangly little hands on him?? How?! Each time someone fell victim to this accursed madness, hell was one tiny step away. Waking them up only got harder and more complicated, preventing chaos and unnecessary deaths even more so.  

Merlin's hamsters nearly died those two times, the call much too close. 

This one won't be all too different, will it? Could be, for worse unfortunately. 

Letting go of the blond's scarred shoulders as though slapped, Pirin hastily gets up to his feet from how he was crouched down by the man's side and almost stumbles as he backs away from him. As if stung, narrowly tripped over his own feet. His brain instantly blanks--

Whoever this is, isn't his trusted friend he has been adventuring with all these months while stuck in Rustport. Not Sinbad, no- only a lunatic wearing his skin and voice. It reels as he keeps his eyes trained on the other like how he'd watch a lethal foe. Someone is targeting me. Someone really wants to rattle me, poisoning my friends like this to severely hurt us both in the most sadistically diabolical way. 

"Pirin?" -He distantly hears the scruffy young man breathe in a confused tone of mild concern, sitting up and getting up on his feet shakily. The small spike of excitement and happiness a smidge too strong doesn't go unnoticed. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like this?" Like I'm a madman to be scared of?  No answer falls out of his lips, too shocked and stifled to speak, only shakes his head as he keeps backing away. Distance that the tanned orphan closes with steady yet swift strides, a comforting smile on his stubbled face. 

It's not reassuring at all. It makes matters worse, somehow makes him look deranged instead of the usual charisma. A monster. 

—"Hey now, it's me- Sinbad, your old mate! I'm a friend, remember? Come on, I'm not going to hurt you. I would never want to!"

Almost misspoke there, said 'love'. Whoops! "There's nothing to be scared of." -His tone softens ever so slightly, loosing its light-hearted vivaciousness. But it doesn't dip low enough as to sound threatening or intimate and loving. Adoring. Devoted. No, no. It would only spook his poor 'Little finch', his dear lovely siren, scare him away. Can't have that happening, can we? Instead it's sincere.

—"You can trust me, you know that, right?" Or do you still not trust me at all after all the trials we went through? Do I still seem that unreliable to you as I did on day one?  

—"You're not yourself." -The shorter, slimmer man finds his voice at last, uttering the words hardly above a whisper with a shake of his head. Images resurge into his mind's eye, vivid memories of desperately fighting to keep matters under control so tragedies don't occur. Having to deal with his friends' worst tendencies rising and twisting them into senseless love-sick creeps. Potential stalkers and murderers.

How on Esperia he managed to dodge getting assaulted, Pirin has zero clue, but it was a close call. Instead he made sure to steer things right back to friendly, mildly affectionate territory or put distance and shut it down before matters could snowball into unwanted directions.

But dear gods did they made it hard at each turn. If there was any genuine interest and desire prior to the illness, it was cranked up to terrifying intensity of lustful desperation. And where there were none, the curse warped its victim's mind to reach the same result.

"I don't know how you got hit with that plague- But you're not yourself." You're sick. Corrupted.

And I'm terrified of what disaster you'll become.

A part of him wishes to run back towards the baffled, lost sailor and offer comfort- Promise the man that things will be back to normal soon. Gods know how pained he feels right now somewhere deep down, how scary it must be.. to be still lucid and see the changes taking place. Like rotting from the inside out alive, and unable to put a stop to it on his own--Only watch helplessly as the curse keeps on gnawing away like ravenous maggots. The strained look lurking underneath the slowly settling madness is proof, a strangled muted cry for help. And it tugs at his own bleeding heart to be seeing his companion in such a state. The look on Sinbad's scarred angular visage, crestfallen and pleading like a kicked lost dog- It pulls on his heartstrings like playing masterful arias.

Pirin wants nothing more than to pull the weathered intel-broker into a bear-hug.  But the knowledge of how the hex festering under the man's skin is ever so slowly but surely distorting him into someone else, into a threat-- It holds him firmly at bay. Rooted in place, keeping a wary eye on how the distance between them shrinks with each careful step Sinbad takes so to back away if he gets too close. 

—"Seriously, Sinbad- tell me...How's it that you always get yourself neck-deep in trouble?" -The vampire huffs with a small haggard laugh and a weak smile, attempting to lift both their spirits with humor. Which isn't too far from a genuine question. For all those months he's spent in this rundown coastal town and by Sinbad's side, trouble always somehow found its way to nip at their heels tirelessly without fail. You'd think the adventurous savant is doing it on purpose. And sometimes, that is the case. However most of the time, it happens on accident. A trouble, hazard-magnet. 

Problem is, he himself isn't much better in this regard- Pretty much on the same scale as Sinbad.

And what happens when you put two equally strong trouble-magnets together? 

Nothing good, that's what. 

—"Sometimes I honestly think you're using it as a strange way to 'advertise your intelligence-gathering skills' and draw in clients. No PR is bad PR, right?" Too bad I know better. And already just as neck-deep in this mess.

Yet the thought of leaving this punk alone feels like a bad idea, considering how unpredictable he is with what kind of shenanigans he tends to get into one way or the other. Unlike the knight of Holistone who has always given him the feeling that he'll be fine. No need to worry about him and be on-edge. Something I wish I could confidently say about mister seadog here.  Already, Pirin's mind whirls to work on quickly analyzing the current predicament and how to fix it. This isn't about him being Merlin's little helper and substitute, carrying the legendary mage's long-winding heroic legacy. It's a personal matter, about saving a friend first and foremost. The rest being safe from danger is a major bonus, granted everything works out long before any damage is done.

Would it be as simple as 'confessing' like it was with Valen? Or would it be as risky as playing along to get close and extract the curse like it was with Soren? ...Or would it be worse? It's almost as though whoever it is behind this maddening plague is mocking him. Can this even be reversed? 

The disheveled young man chuckles at his words, appreciating the gesture while also feeling a stab of guilt and throb of sick thrill. It's comforting, knowing his dear friend cares about him, is willing to flip the world upside-down without batting an eye, just to help him in any way possible. Just as Pirin would do for his other comrades. He could see the gears in his mind rapidly turning, thinking up of a solution and several back-up plans.

Dimly, Sinbad remembers the show-down with the Immortal, when he had managed to use Merlindabest and get in contact with Sonja and Pirin while distracting Hodgkin so they can strike from behind.

When the pale mage had seemingly sassed with him as he asked if everyone is okay, saying he should be asking that. At the time, he had assumed that the 'Magister' was just sarcastically deadpanning, implying to him that he can't be relied upon in the least. In truth, looking back at that moment and disregarding his role as Merlin, Pirin actually meant it genuinely, as in 'Are you okay?', worried-sick.

It shouldn't be such a big deal, that the pale man cares about him, it's completely normal after all. It's what friends do. But by the gods, does the potion amplify and blow it out of proportion. It skews his thoughts and messes him up, fans the wildfires of desire with each second. It..taints the tiny, flickering, embers of real much deeper affection that have recently come to life at the back of his mind and heart. Corrupts them into foul decay of infatuation and bloodlust, plants nagging intrusive thoughts filled with a sickening giddy excitement. Perverted. The last few make Sinbad visibly shudder with a wince. The most scary part is that they're slowly beginning to not repulse him as much, instead feel like something completely mundane. Natural. Appealing, even. 

The world is fading away, narrowing down to only one, single thing- The breath-taking angel standing in front of him. Pirin. Perfect, beautiful Pirin. My Pirin. My dear, gorgeous, siren. Only mine. 

Oh how he just wishes to run his hands through that snowy, silky hair, feel the ice-cold skin shivering under his lips. Just for a little bit. Imagine those thin, pretty lips screaming his name, claws digging in his back and wanting for more- how wonderful it would be.... But he restrains himself, firmly keeping his hands at his sides.

—"You could say that, yeah. What can I say? Guess not even danger can resist my handsome charm." A small step closer with a shrug of his shoulders, fingers itching to reach out and grab that pretty-face by the sharp elbow; Pull him into his embrace, wrap his arms around that slim form, curved trim waist and not let go ever again. Hold tight, tighter than a python constricting its prey.

Deep down, distantly, the sailor feels a creeping sense of cold dread and helplessness, buried under layers of infatuation and messed-up insatiably intense lust. The desire to fully possess and claim, hide away the ghostly beauty like a greedy old seawolf would his treasure or like how a dragon vehemently guards its hoard, is only growing more and more.

"And it's right on-brand, don't you think? Plus, I know you'll lend me a hand if things get dicey." Still, Pirin's words ring true and cut like a knife through his heart- More so the knowledge that he really is a threat to one of his most dear companions, knowing that he's not being himself. The tendrils of saccharine insanity wrapping around his sinking heart and throat in a suffocating grip like a kraken, drag him under the abyssal waters further. The urge to lunge in hurt, betrayed anger, shake Pirin up, make him see that he is his one and only, burns like a searing brand. Why don't you get it? I'm the only one who loves you, more than anyone else. We're meant to be. It's not that complicated.  

The mere thought of someone else laying a hand on the vampire, having his love, make him happy-- sends a tsunami wave of pure, raw, intense rage. It makes his hands itch to grip the daggers on either side of his waist and spill the blood of any poor sod who so much as dares to lay eyes on his Pirin for a millisecond too long. Let alone try stealing the phantom away from him.

Already, simmering jealousy bubbles and boils within him. The way his love had recoiled away from him before he could reach out a hand, really wasn't the reaction he had expected or hoped for. It stung. And it was so nice, waking up with an angelic face looking down at him, cradling him close. The one time he's not being a charming smooth-talker with a dashing smile, and he's written off as a horrible monster. You'd think a vampire, out of all people, wouldn't be quick to judge. But oh well, it is what it is. I'll take it. I've had to make do with far less. 

Another step closer. Almost there. 

Looking down at the shorter man cautiously eying him and taking a small step back, the look of brewing ire melts away to something softer. Reverence, boundless love and adoration, marveling at the sight before him. The soft, triangular face, the sharp, pointy nose, the thin lips, and those mesmerizing pearl-white eyes with their vertical pupils – It's as if he's seeing them for the first time. And he can't tear his eyes away. For once Tritonus has smiled upon me. The mild scowl of wounded, wary and conflicted uncertainty sprawled on the humanoid's delicate, porcelain, doll-like features easily catches his eye. 

I know that look. 

Thinking, mulling something over more thoroughly. One, split-second of distraction and hesitation.

The cunning, savvy hustler closes the gap swiftly before the opportunity slips by.

Placing a hand on the other's waist and pulling him close, a legend that he's once heard idly rises to Sinbad's mind as he cups that pretty face - Of a stunning young shepherd man whom was chosen by the gods as their cupbearer. How fitting. The downcast, clear pale eyes instantly snap up to meet his like a deer caught in headlights. Goes stiffer than a plank, torn between attempting to flee and fighting back, or melting into the touch. Gotcha.

It appears the pretty-boy has had developed a pretty hard crush on Sinbad ever since the man had first found him washed ashore after the kraken had ruined his boat. What inevitably set off the events of their adventures like a chain reaction, all the way to facing off against the Immortal Fleet and its leader in one last showdown that ended Rustport's crisis for good and lifted the fog.

That crush hasn't dissipated throughout the duration of those adventures, even as the vampire dutifully played his role as the Magister Merlin and did his best to hide it. Even now, he still fights to wrestle it down, treating this situation as another day of being on-duty and prioritizing his recovery along with ensuring the safety of everyone else foremost. All while shoving his own personal feelings far aside to stay focused with as much of a brave face as he can.

In that regard, he's a lot like Sonja--Serious. Always serious and dutiful, focused on the mission at hand, barely smiles or laughs. Always acts efficiently to cold-bloodedly uproot the problem at its core while thinking of how to minimize casualties down to zero as much as possible. 

Too bad the current issue is rather personal. Not much leeway to be 'Merlin' here. And that, unfortunately, is the chink in his armor. All of that, paired with this secret yearning for affection and love, and you've got yourself a weak spot. Maybe that's why he froze up like this, knows he has slipped and left himself open to fire, and it's too late to cover up now.

This is the problem with smart, perceptive and mighty sharp socially-skilled people like Sinbad and Valen. Almost nothing gets past them, whether it elicits a comment or not. It's even worse when those same folks actually know him pretty well, having spent enough time with him to observe and learn quite a lot. Little things like general attitude, mindset, fears and hopes, all the trivial ticks and habits that can help all the more to read him like an open book and make rather spot-on educated guesses.

Shit. I'm done for. He's got me.

A slow, sly grin spreads across Sinbad's face as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends goosebumps along the pallid skin.

—"Well, well, well." -He drawls, eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "Looks like someone's been keeping secrets from me." No witty or refuting retorts meet him, the other lad mute as a fish and pointedly looking anywhere else but him. It's not like this silly little crush has really been a secret either.

Contrary to playing dumb and being a buffoon deliberately, Sinbad isn't blind. That look of strangled, suppressed, secretive desire and inner war about it isn't new to him, having seen it flash in the haunting depths many times over. At the beach, the inn, at the pier south of Brineville, the Chainkeeper and during the showdown- Every time their eyes met, it was there. Doesn't stop him from poking fun at the poor chap though, pretend to have just discovered this revelation.

—"I had no idea you felt this way about me." Sinbad continues, his voice dripping with seduction. "But now that I do, I'm not going to let you slip away so easily." And then his loose grip tightens, pressing their bodies close. Right away, that lovely delicate face turns a nice shade of red from shame, swallowing thickly with a hammering heart. And, by the god of the waves, the way Pirin's breath hitches and gets a tiny bit less controlled as he leans in ever so slightly- It sends his own heart thumping with anticipation. Satisfaction. His warm breath ghosts over that keenly sensitive ear of his, the claws gripping onto his shoulders try to push him away meekly. 

—"You're a different kind of damedangler. Has anyone ever told you that, my dear friend?" A playful nip, and a little bit more of the stoic composure crumples to dust. Ever so steadily like a black widow, the captain spins his sweet web of smooth charm with a silver tongue. Like the poison coursing in his veins driving him mad. The tall sailor plays up his act, turning the heat up. Working up the poor bat and drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

"You could sing, walk me right to my death. And I'd gladly follow with a smile...My angelic siren." A pinch of flattery murmured in a soft lilt that teeters on being husky, wear away more of the defensive walls. And finish it with a pleading whisper of sincerity as though confessing to a sin or deepest secret. "Stay here, in Rustport. Stay with me."

Of course Sinbad knows what he's doing, how he is taking advantage of the night nymph's spark of vulnerability as he used his second of hesitation to make a move and how he's being an underhanded manipulator.

Oh but it'll be worth it.

He'll be sure to make up for the slights in full with no regrets guaranteed soon enough. 

The small hands on his shoulders tighten for a brief second like the flutter of a butterfly's wings upon sensing imminent danger. Relax their hold slowly. 

—"What, are you talking about Sinbad?" -A weak, strained attempt to put up resistance in denial. How endearing. A tad too late, however. 

—"I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not paying attention." His thumb brushes gently over Pirin's cheekbone, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver down the other's spine. There's no need to pull back to look into the clear pearls to see the war between duty and desire churning. It's palpable as the buzzing tension highly-strung between the two of them, and it breaks his heart. Sends it fluttering with giddy excitement.

"How about you let me make you forget about this incident?" Placing a teasingly light peck little under his love's jaw, his tone rolls down to a seductive purr at the end, the hand resting on the shorter man's waist slides under the hem of his shirt to feel the cool and smooth skin.

"I promise it'll be worth your while." 

Let me love you. Please, Pirin- Don't make me beg. 

Still, the youthful-appearing doll doesn't go under without a struggle, like the whale tugging at the Billy 'O Tea from one of the wellerman's shanties. And much like the captain of that ship, Sinbad was dead-set on taking that whale in tow. 

—"I'm not sure this is a good idea..."  Playing hard to get, while ultimately slipping right into his grasp. Pulling back slightly to look him in the eye, he notices how the leaner man still doesn't have the courage to meet his gaze- keeping his hypnotizing eyes cast off to the side as though worried someone might walk in on them doing something...taboo, inappropriate. How Pirin has subtly shrank in on himself, uneasy and nervous. Ah yes, the age old dilemma- The rational mind says one, and the heart wants what it wants.

So close to victory.

And once again, the crafty captain dives in, snatching the opportunity without second thought to tip the scales fully into his favor. Sealing the deal with a deep kiss of hot, whirlwind passion without warning. The insatiable, all-consuming hunger for more burns as though melting him from the inside- like the green gravecalling magic fires of the Immortal. Drunk on the taste, high and addicted to the feel of that frigid skin pressed against his own. It's not enough. The frail-looking nocturnal being doesn't push him away, already under his spell and it's more than enough for Sinbad to take it as consent, getting all the bolder with his advances. His kisses are messy, fiery and deeply needy, barely giving much opportunity to gasp for air before reclaiming his lover's mouth again and exploring the form in his arms eagerly. The hand that is cupping the other's face move down to hold onto his waist to both steady and keep him in-place from slipping away like sand, savoring each muffled hum of protest like ambrosia. His other hand slinks up, fingers tracing over the lean stomach and the curve of his ribs, over the planes of his chest like handling a priceless artefact most sacred.

One by one the buttons are undone, loosening the linen garment around the narrow, sharp shoulders, giving a lovely glimpse of the flawless skin, a little tease of his prize.  The hardy shmoozer has never bothered to hide his desires for money and treasures, always dreaming of adventures far and wide, but now both couldn't be any further from his mind--

Nothing matters. Nothing, nothing, nothing, only the elusive young man in his grasp. Nevermind how he probably looks like a downright wasted kook or an unhinged lunatic like Nara was. ...Or how disgusted and horrified this mess makes him be deep down inside with seeing himself spiral as though watching a stranger from the outside, so guilty, ashamed. Sick. 

A new wave crashes over, the riptide throwing him back under the suffocating effects. Except no compass will save him from this one, left to fight for air, for lucidity and regaining control all on his own. For Pirin's sake, before it's too late and rapidly running out of time. 

I'm sorry my friend...Please forgive me.. 

—"I want to make you feel good." -Sinbad softly murmurs in a low, amorous voice between kisses, nearly breathless. It's true, he's fallen hopelessly head over heels for the quiet, aloof lad since the day he first laid eyes on him --It's not true at all.--however the gnawing hunger had been suppressed for so long.. It's unbearable, bursting at the seams, trickling out like ale from a faulty keg. I want to know everything, all of you. With each kiss and touch, he only finds himself ten times more ravenous as if having been starved for ages. Once again, the vampire tries to fight against the sailor's charm, overwhelmed akin to swimming upstream against a mighty current. Fails. Barely manages to get a word in at all beyond the insistent 'Sinbad!' in objection with the barrage of hot kisses.

With a vexed hum at the next kiss, Pirin finally gives the blond's bare scarred shoulders a firm push, halting the man. Good grief, let me breathe for gods' sake! Damn! 

Somewhere in his mind, a stab of bitterness and pain echoes.

For months and months he had waited, sighing over the guy like some love-sick loon but not once were those feelings met.

No, because Sinbad was too busy pining after the Carmine Whispers' leader, despite how the woman has never shown an ounce of interest back. And then the handsome info-gatherer had noticed him and his feelings, despite how much he's been trying to hide them away.

The bitter pain turns to sorrow in Pirin's heart, swiftly igniting to wrath.

Every time the tanned orphan had teased, skillfully played him like a cat toying with a mouse--It was like twisting a dagger ever so sadistically slow, after embedding it deep into his heart. But the flames have long started to die out now, reduced to mere flickering embers in preparation to let go.. 

How cruel of you to fan them now. 

—"Sinbad! Knock it off!"- He huffs out, catching his breath at long last with an annoyed frown on face. Which the tall charmer certainly doesn't take seriously, rather finding it cute. This is no good- Things are going south too fast. How can I veer us back to friendly grounds? Or at least stall enough for the wretched drug to fizzle out.

Maybe offer to go for a swim or seashell- collecting? Make it a game to take the seafarer's attention elsewhere, like the friendly competition and 'adventure'?

By the look of things, the Seaside savant would still pivot them right back to this point no matter what he attempts. Looking back on the events earlier today, choosing to leave Chippy and Hammie with their rightful owner was a wise decision. Those two would've no doubt interfered in a pitiful attempt at saving him and gotten in terrible trouble, possibly get themselves killed instead of escaping with an extremely close call.

 At least this way I'll be the only one in hot waters. No need for more casualties. 

—"We'll get caught out here." The nerve of this shmuck. Even still, Sinbad isn't deterred, only so much more determined. Instead of taking the hint, he persists stubbornly, dives back in for more. Едно си баба знае, едно си баба бае.

—"C'on Vanya--I'll give you everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever dreamed of. Just say "yes" and let me show you how much I love you." -The corrupted intel-trader murmurs, lips trailing along Pirin's jawline, fingers yet again find the hem of his shirt. In a single motion, the offending cloth is pulled over the assistant's head and tossed aside in a heap with his tailcoat. Without wasting time, con artist is quick to continue exploring fervently.

"You're beautiful."

With each heated, reverent kiss that the daring street-rat leaves-- along his neck, collarbone, down to the center of chest, over his navel--Merlin's substitute shivers involuntarily. The way Sinbad works his way lower, his callous palms resting on the waistband of his slacks and he traces the fabric as he looks up...It drives him utterly mad- both with rekindled desire and indignance. That old spark he's been fighting to smother suddenly blazing brightly anew much to his chagrin, the wooden floor beneath his back proving some much needed anchor. Worst part is that I don't actually want to resist...I've wanted this for so long.... 

With a soft sigh through his nose, a wry smile of mild amusement slowly slithers onto the vampire's lips as he sits up on his elbows. Reaching out with a hand, he gently grasps the seadog's jaw, lifting his head a little. 

—"Какви медени слова ми думаш.. Почти ти се вързах." -His tone is a fond, softly tranquil murmur if not with a small lilt of mirth and longing as he holds the half-lidded smolderingly wanton gaze evenly. Pirin's grip sharply tightens, claws digging into the tanned skin. And whilst the look in his pearly irises remains warmly serene- his breathless, deathly, tenor adopts an edge of bitter humor.

"Нямаш си на представа колко ме дразниш." And then the calmness, mild amusement falls off to reveal the suppressed hurt anger that's been lurking underneath. Just as the smile fades away from his face. "I've been waiting for months, naively held out hope that maybe-some day- you'd come around. All while watching you hopelessly pine after Sonja, even though she didn't even once show interest back." Letting go of the man's jaw sharply, his claws leave stinging nicks. 

Slipping out of Sinbad's grasp like sand or an eel, Pirin smoothly rises to his feet and crosses over to where his shirt lies discarded. Picking it up from the floor and slipping it back on, he fixes up the buttons. Deft, firm, steady hand.   The shorter man's voice is.. steadier, more flat as he speaks up again, keeping his back towards the swindler he once wanted. There's still a listless note of pain in it, albeit much more withdrawn than mere moments ago.

—"I knew you were only larking back then, whenever you teased me with empty flirting." For a brief second his tone becomes humorous as he adds in after that. Self-deprecating. "Didn't stop me from wishing you wouldn't toy with me, though."

When he glances over his shoulder back at Sinbad, the hurt is gone. Steeled to affable fondness.

"And then came a point where I finally realized the day I'm hoping for won't come. So I resigned myself to accepting the situation and move on. Still sucked, but what to do? It happens." 

And here you are, reopening old scabs all over again. 

—"I'm still grappling with toning those feelings down, making myself see you as a friend and nothing else. But I've been getting better at it, slightly. I'll still love you just as deeply as I have before- Just through platonic lens."

Adjusting his tailcoat and smoothing out its wrinkles, he finally turns back to face his friend with a genuinely peaceful smile. Even if a tiny bit wistful. 

—"And now you're pining after me, after I finally accepted you only got eyes for the Roses' leader." A chuckle. "Funny how the tables have turned, isn't it?" 

Goodbye, my friend.

And then pulsating pain hits, like a sledgehammer coming down hard. Nearly makes his vison blur and swim. It stops, then comes back- just as merciless. The outlaw's hands snap up, back hunching over as he clutches at his head with gritted teeth. The hammering doesn't leave him alone, only pauses for a long second or two before coming back with the same brutal force. 

Just where did these come from?! 

This is pure torture- The rapidly start-stop cycling of the migraines pounding all over his skull. ..Oh boy, here comes the vertigo and nausea. Yup, there they are. What a horrible hangover. Several minutes pass by with this ongoing sporadic hammering haunting him without remorse. Serves me right for drinking ale like water, I guess. Honestly- Between the filthy water of those rusty old pipes and alcohol? Yeah, no- I'm sticking to ale, thanks. And then it all screeches to a halt-- The pain, the insanity and intrusive whispering voices and thoughts. Like they were all burnt away, letting blissful silence to settle over. Finally, clarity. Peace. Oh sweet, sweet relief. 

A familiar voice seeps through the quiet, like the gentle and distant wash of waves ashore. Yet crystal clear all the same. 

The words come as a slap and a gut-punch, leaving Sinbad reeling and winded. His hands drop at his sides, brows knitting together into a look of realization. The revelation that the vampire knew about his pursuing of the Whispers' head-honcho, that he kept silent about his feelings for his sake all that time-- It stings worse than the bleeding claw-marks on his jaw. Or any other physical blow ever could. It's mind-boggling and so heart-wrenchingly bittersweet, finally shaking him out of the potion's weak, wretched grip.

Suddenly the envious glances that Pirin threw the woman back when the five of them and Nara were about to depart from the Scandia Isles make sense. When Sonja offered him to be his first mate and he had reacted like a surprised love-struck fool, or whenever the nightly humanoid caught them bantering at the tavern and picked up on the subtle, hopeful flirting subtext lurking under his playful jokes. However not once did the other man complain or make a face, even less made an attempt to swoop in and proclaim his longings. And Sinbad perfectly knows, understands why.

 

Because above all else, Ioan wants for him to be safe, well, satisfied, and happy. 

And if being with the mafia woman will make him truly happy, then so be it. Right as it seemed.

Pirin, the reckless, infuriatingly kindhearted soul he is, is more than willing to let his own yearnings die and become his wingman, and stay as a friend. The peaceful smile playing on the other man's lips and the look of serene, wistful acceptance leave him stunned, at a loss for words with an aching heart. You--! 

Never before in his life, has the Seaside savant met someone this selfless. But it makes sense, doesn't it? It's so, obviously on-brand for Pirin to pull this kind of stunts, make great sacrifices in the name of those close to his heart.

There's still a chance to fix this mess, before that fool leaves and disappears to bury his hopes again. 

Before Pirin really looses that spark and becomes cold. 

—"Pirin, wait!" 

Hastily getting up onto his feet, the brown-eyed man dashes to catch up with his companion's retreating form. There are still lingering effects from the toxin running in his veins along with obsession, but to hell with them! (They're so nearly gone. Barely but a tiny speck that gets washed away.)

Pausing in his tracks, the false magister turns his torso slightly to look at the other with a faintly baffled look. Immediately his expression morphs to one of shocked surprise as warm lips crash against his own in a brief, scorching kiss. Two arms encircle him fully into a tight hug, as though the scarred blond is scared he'd turn to smoke and fizzle out. The final blow was most shocking- Three, simple candid words said quietly in a voice raw with emotion, that it cracks. No bravado, no teasing yet full of many things left unsaid.  

—"I love you." Pirin blinks, stumped. Did I hear right? I think I misheard. 

What follows next throws him for a loop further. A stream of honesty that has never come out of the intelligence-gatherer before, the money-loving man pouring his heart out as though under another spell or potion. With being laid bare like this, he honestly has no idea what to do or say. It feels far too poignant to be merely an act. At the same time, it's not out of Sinbad's league to shed some mighty convincing crocodile tears in order to get what he wants. Just like how he's not averse to being silver-tongued, and concoct elaborate ruses and other questionable methods to reach his goals.

...And yet, he had distinctly chosen to trust this shifty weasel nonetheless on day one contrary to his own deeply-rooted trust issues screaming to do otherwise. That trust has been proven to be well-placed time and time again. Nothing jumps out as malign or false, triggers his intuition. 

"I know I've been caught up chasing after Sonja while flirting with you on the side...When I should've seen what's right in front of me much sooner. I thought I could have my cake and eat it too, without pausing to consider how unfair it would be. Forgive me." Hesitantly, the magical creature hugs back. Allows him to go on- Once again places his faith in him without wavering or judgement.

It's all the courage he needs to continue. So Sinbad presses on.

"It had completely slipped my mind that you'd keep quiet like that for my sake. Even though I've already seen you make plenty of sacrifices before." A strained, humorless chuckle followed by a half-lighthearted remark. "Really blundered there, didn't I?" Pirin stays mute as a fish, an air of quiet understanding and compassion to his silence as he hears him out without interruption.

Like always.

Didn't matter in what kind of troubles he dragged him into or how much he bitched about things at times, passed out drunk or needed to be bailed and insensitively pulled his leg-- The 'ghost' remained by his side until the very end. Right from the very start, throughout the entire hellish craziness.

Sinbad had thought the man is just plain gullible, laughing off his faith in him and then moved on. Only to be astonished by the fierce loyalty later on, the humble but fiery spirit and quiet strength that he got to see; the witty sharp tongue and what a fiend the 'frail' night nymph is in action onto the battlefield, pitching in with his own strategies and ideas.

Unknowingly-little by little, that same allegedly naïve shorty became one of his pillars to draw courage and strength from. Find solace in during rough times.

His compass.

The thought of losing him, letting Pirin down is devastating.

—"I was, such a foolish idiot, taking you for granted." I won't make the same mistake again. "You're right--The tables have turned. And I can't imagine my life without you." Taking a moment to compose himself and get his thoughts sorted with a deep shuddering breath, Sinbad pulls back slightly to press his forehead against his partner's. A hopeful smile rests on his face.

If...the vampire rejects him, chooses to leave altogether, then..so be it.

At least he'd know the truth in full.  

—"I know I'm making a tall order.. I get it if you refuse to hear me out on this one-And I'll respect your choice either way. I won't hold it against you." The moment of truth, huh? Sure is nerve-wracking. Mustering up all of his bravery, he finally forces himself to face his friend. Look him in the eye as just himself. Just, Sinbad. A flawed, knowledgeable, goofball of a man with his heart on his sleeve for once. Instead of running away from his desires like he's always done.

—"Can you give me one last chance, Vanya?" 

There. Said it. 

No answer. And then a small clawed had ruffles his hair harshly in a sign of playfulness, making it a far bigger mess than it already is. There's an affectionately amused grin in the shorter man's tone, the edge of feigned disapproving exasperation having no real bite as he mutters- "You really are something, alright." 

Looking down at him with a sheepish grin, the sailor scratches the back of his head. Not quite sure what to make of this one. 

—"So, uh- Is this a yes, or....?" What greets him, is a devious smirk quickly followed up by a brief peck to his lips as cold arms wrap around his neck and rest there casually. Tease. 

—"Did I answer your question, Jolly sailor?" The silly nickname of endearment makes him smirk, certainly noticing how it thematically matches the one he gave. No doubt a playful nod to the Jolly sailor Bold shanty and their own respective backgrounds fitting with the story pretty well.

Everything considered, this incident wasn't such a misfortune eventually. Not bad at all. Maybe I should thank Atropine next time around.  —"C'mere-" Hooking an arm under his love's back and under his knees, a small yelp slips from the doll as he hoists him up- It turns to a reserved giggle as he peppers his skin with kisses. The stubble on his chin tickles, causing the slimmer man to laugh, no longer able to stifle it.

Absolutely worth it, the way Pirin laughs-- It's music to his ears. Light, clear and ringing like windchimes softly jingling as they sway. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------ 📑 Translations: ✒️ "Какви медени слова ми думаш.. Почти ти се вързах." - What honeyed words you're saying to me... I almost got fooled. ✒️ "Нямаш си на представа колко ме дразниш." - You have no idea how much you annoy me.

[sugarmapl]

bubble (cytham)

another repost from ao3 while the site is down!!

Summary:

Someone makes a pass at the General Mahamatra. Alhaitham doesn’t know why it bothers him more than it should.

{Fluff and humor, feelings realization - rated T}

—

One comment was enough to make Alhaitham annoyed. Two was enough to severely grate on his nerves. By the third comment, Alhaitham had enough.

The evening had started innocently enough. Alhaitham was meeting his friends(?), colleagues(?), acquaintances(?), at their usual after-work hangout spot. How exactly this had come to be routine for them, he had no idea. Though he’s sure Kaveh was behind it.

Regardless, he had gotten to the bar slightly earlier than the others for a change. Typically, his work as Acting Grand Sage kept him at the Akademiya until the late hours of the night, and he was usually the last of their little group to arrive. Cyno was often similar, his job as the General Mahamatra granting him little down time.

However, the General had actually taken a rare day off, so he arrived not long after Alhaitham. The two of them sat at their usual table while waiting for Kaveh and Tighnari to show up. The forest ranger had to come all the way from Avidya Forest, and who knows what Kaveh was up to at this hour. Not to mention the architect had a terrible sense of time, often disrupting Alhaitham in the middle of the night with his senseless construction projects.

And so, Alhaitham and Cyno sat in relative silence for a while. Rather than being awkward, it was actually quite comfortable. Personally, Alhaitham preferred the quiet to idle chit-chat, and Cyno appeared to be much of the same mind. At the moment, the General was shuffling through his Genius Invocation TCG deck, likely preparing to play a few rounds once the others arrived.

Alhaitham merely read a book that he had brought with him for these exact kinds of situations. It was a rather interesting in-depth analysis of puzzle-based pressure mechanisms and how they related to the ancient runes of the desert. It was penned by a respected Akademiya scholar by the name of Faruzan, and Alhaitham had to admit that her work was indeed intriguing.

However intriguing it might have been, though, it didn’t stop Alhaitham from glancing up to catch a glimpse of the General Mahamatra every few moments. Normally, he didn’t consider himself someone who was focused on outward appearances, but today seemed to be the exception.

Since the General Mahamatra refrained from working that day, he was dressed a bit more casually than how one might be used to seeing him. Cyno’s typical outfit was covered by his signature black cloak, and his headpiece was noticeably absent. In fact, the General had his long, white hair tied up into a ponytail, but his messy, short bangs still loosely framed his face. It was… pretty.

He likely wore that particular hairstyle because of the harsh heat that had battered Sumeru that day. Alhaitham wondered if he wore it that way often when he was home alone after work. Due to his hair being tied up, even more emphasis was placed upon the black choker creeping out from under Cyno’s cloak, wrapped deliciously tight around his smooth, tanned neck.

Alhaitham once again found his gaze lingering there for a bit too long. He quickly snapped out of it, clearing his throat and turning back to his book. Cyno continued to admire his cards, quite proud of the deck he had come up with, completely oblivious to the various stares he was getting. It seemed the General’s current appearance had peaked more than just Alhaitham’s interest. That’s when they heard the first remark.

“Hey sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?” a man called from his seat at the bartop.

Immediately, Alhaitham felt his mood shift for the worse. This guy really had the nerve to refer to the General Mahamatra with such a condescending term? Although, it was unlikely this man knew Cyno’s true identity, but still. Alhaitham wasn’t the most well-versed in social situations, but wasn’t calling out to someone in that way at least considered rude?

Cyno, on the other hand, didn’t appear to realize that he was the one being addressed at all initially. He was so focused on his cards that it took him a moment before he looked up in confusion. The guy at the bar was smiling at him, but the sleaziness of the offer was written all over his face. Once he understood what had happened, it only took Cyno a second to utter a quick “No thanks.” before turning back to his deck.

The man seemed put-off by the blunt rejection, frowning slightly but otherwise saying nothing. Alhaitham was even more displeased. He shouldn’t be bothered by such a trivial thing. Cyno himself wasn’t even worked up about it, so why did it annoy Alhaitham so much? Whatever. If Cyno was going to be polite and unbothered about it, he supposed he would let it go for now as well.

He turned back to his book, and the comfortable silence from before overtook their table. It was nice, being in their own little bubble like this. Too bad it was popped once again not much later. Apparently, the guy had yet to take the hint, and after stewing in the rejection for a bit, decided to try again.

“Come on, princess, don’t be such a killjoy. Join me for a drink, and I promise I can show you a good time.”

Cyno sighed with mild irritation, but otherwise remained calm. He put his cards down before turning to face the man fully.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough. I have no intention of joining you, so you may continue to enjoy the evening alone,” he responded before turning away again.

Even when dealing with such a rude dickhead, the General Mahamatra had remained calm and composed. Alhaitham, on the other hand, was internally seething, though he wasn’t sure why. The grip on his book was getting tighter and tighter, the pages wrinkling slightly under his fingers. The guy should’ve been getting under Cyno’s skin, not Alhaitham’s. Besides, it wasn’t like the General couldn’t handle himself. But every time the man opened his mouth, it made the scribe’s blood boil.

It seemed that the man at the bar was also unhappy, though for an entirely different reason. He had just been rejected not once, but twice, and pretty publicly at that. Not to mention, Cyno’s last response had included a little dig at the man, which likely bruised the guy’s ego. In retaliation, the man began turning to the patrons beside him and complaining loudly.

“Stuck up bitch. Thinks just ‘cause he’s got a pretty face, he’s hot shit. Pffft. I can find garbage like him on any street corner, probably with a tighter hole, too. Bet his is all worn out, damn slut.”

Alhaitham had to snap his book shut to keep from tearing out the pages. Or worse, hurling it at the guy’s head. Cyno was just sitting there like he hadn’t heard a thing, though there’s no way he missed it with the way the man was practically yelling. The scribe was never one to resort to violence, but even he was at his breaking point. Clearly, the civilized way wasn’t working.

“You’re not going to do anything?” Alhaitham couldn’t help but ask.

It was unlike him to get so emotional, and it was clearly seeping into his voice the way it came out strained. Thankfully, Cyno didn’t comment on it, instead thinking about his question seriously.

“What could I do? He’s probably drunk,” he answered.

“Inebriation is hardly an excuse for causing a commotion in public,” Alhaitham countered bitterly.

“True, but it would also be quite unbecoming of the General Mahamatra to engage in a petty bar fight,” Cyno reasoned.

“Petty? I would hardly call the insults being hurled your way a petty reason,” the other scoffed.

Cyno didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at Alhaitham with such intensity it made the scribe a little uneasy. His deep crimson eyes were probing his expression for something, and Alhaitham wondered what kind of face he must be making to warrant this level of attention.

“Does it bother you?” Cyno finally asked.

“Of course.”

Alhaitham had answered without thinking, the response slipping past his lips before he had time to catch it. Cyno latched onto it quickly, perking up slightly despite the horrible man still shouting disgusting things about him in the background.

“Why?”

The Acting Grand Sage wasn’t sure how to respond to that, because he didn’t even know the answer himself. Why did he care so much? Obviously, to an outsider, the pair could be considered friends, but Alhaitham had never referred to them as such. In fact, he often vehemently denied it during their usual meetups.

He had no need for friends. They only brought distractions, and clutter, and noise, if Kaveh was anything to go by. Did he feel that he and Cyno were now friends? Had they somehow developed their relationship to that point without Alhaitham realizing? No, the word “friends” didn’t sound quite right after all.

Though, it was true that he never really found himself becoming annoyed with Cyno the way he would with the others. He didn’t mind bumping into the General Mahamatra at the Akademiya, either. He also didn’t mind spending time with Cyno despite his preference for solitude, like the way they had been sitting in comfortable silence up until it was disrupted by outside forces. They were both quiet, and he enjoyed simply basking in the other’s presence while they each did their own thing. Plus, the General Mahamatra wasn't bad to look at…

Wait…

There’s no way. How had he not realized something so obvious sooner? Was Alhaitham so out of touch with his own feelings that he had allowed something as juvenile as a crush to sneak up on him? Oh no, this was bad. It had already evolved way past familiar territory. This was uncharted waters now. Since when had indifference towards Cyno grown into like, and then into caring? He didn’t even dare to think beyond that.

Subconsciously, he felt his face heat up just a tiny bit at the realization before he quickly schooled his expression. Cyno had been staring at him all the while, and Alhaitham noticed there was now a slight smirk where there was once neutrality. Still, Alhaitham being Alhaitham, he couldn’t make the conclusion of his musings obvious.

“I just think that it’s grating on the ears to listen to such idiocy. He should count himself lucky that the Akademiya does not consider stupidity a crime,” he finally answered.

“Right,” Cyno agreed, still smirking. “Though it is a shame, I am actually quite thirsty. Too bad no one less stupid has offered me a drink.”

Alhaitham cleared his throat slightly before standing up. “I was actually about to fetch myself something anyway. I suppose I could grab you one as well, if you’d like.”

“How generous. I’ll have to accept.”

Alhaitham went to grab them some drinks from the bar. However, as he ordered, he leaned in a little bit closer to whisper something to the barkeep, who nodded. Soon after, some matra arrived and quickly escorted the drunken man out of the bar for “disturbing the peace”. Cyno shot Alhaitham a knowing look from across the table, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a long sip out of the drink that was bought for him by the scribe.

The two fell back into their comfortable bubble. Only this time, they were engaged in a game of Genius Invocation TCG. Though hardly any words were exchanged, the General Mahamatra and the Acting Grand Sage were content. If they greatly enjoyed the time together before their other two companions arrived, no one had to know.

[twotangledsisters]

A quick reminder that fanfics shouldn't be reposted anywhere ever unless you have the express permission of the author.

You want to translate a fic? Awesome, ask!

You want to make a podfic? Amazing, ask!

But it's disrespectful to an author to take their content and repost without telling them, EVEN if you did transformative work on it.

Yes, fanfics are free, and on ao3 they are even downloadable, but they are downloadable for private use! For you to have on your kindle and read in whatever format best suits you. Not to be REPOSTED on another site!

Please, please, if you want authors to continue posting stories publically you have to respect an author's desire to maintain some level of ownership over their work.

[bunnyzweig]

☆*:.｡.It’s fine, it’s cool.｡.:*☆

Art and Patrick both wonder how handjobs feel. Normal friend behaviour, right?

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

They’d both been out of it when it had happened.

That’s the story that Patrick told, at least.

They were drunk and young and stupid and that’s why they’d done it.

Just to see how it felt from someone else.

They’d been at a party that night— it changed depending on who he was speaking to.

Sometimes it was a fancy brand thing, other times it was just some college thing.

They’d collapsed onto the bed (was it a hotel? A dorm? He couldn’t remember) Art panting and gasping below him.

Maybe they had both been panting. He couldn’t remember.

They lay like that for a while, drunkenly rambling about whatever came to mind.

That was when Art spoke up.

“Have you…” he hiccuped, fiddling with Patrick’s curls, “…have you had a handjob before?”

Patrick almost laughed in his face right then and there. Hell, if it had been anyone else, he would’ve.

But Art was under him, his eyes shiny and wet and just so fucking earnest that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Nah. Why?” He grinned, his own hands smoothing over Art’s sandy blonde hair.

The boy’s cheeks flushed, his eyes darting to the side.

“I wanted to know how it feels. Y’know, when someone else does it.”

Patrick was taken aback briefly.

Sure, they’d masturbated together before, but once. When they were twelve.

And they hadn’t even touched each other. Guys did that all the time.

Right?

The next few minutes are fuzzy.

Desperate hands fumbling with buckles and boxers and then suddenly the warmth of skin.

They were touching eachother, and they couldn’t take it back.

Their hands wrapped around eachother’s lengths, moving in sync, just like always.

Art’s face scrunched up immediately—the sounds he let out were ones that Patrick could never forget.

“Dude, you moan like a girl,” he grunted in Art’s ear.

He got a huff in response.

Their lips met quickly, Art leaning into it as Patrick pulled back.

“Fuck you,” he whined, hips jerking up, another whine spilling from his lips.

Patrick just laughed again, squeezing Art’s dick, brushing his thumb over the tip like he knew what he was doing.

Maybe he did.

He couldn’t remember.

All he knew was that Art was doing something perfectly, and his pink lips looked so pretty. God, he wanted to just shove his—

His thoughts were cut off by that familiar euphoric feeling, huffing as he came all over Art’s hand.

Art followed soon after, still so preciously new to it all.

“Fuck!” He yelped, cum covering Patrick’s hand.

The pair stared at eachother for a moment.

A silent agreement.

Tomorrow morning they would forget it ever happened.

Tonight, however, they were perfectly content with falling asleep like that— dizzy and sweaty and closer than most friends would consider normal.

[rjthirsty]

Clavis Exhibitionism

Words: 2.1k

Tags: College AU, Sound Exhibitionism, Female Reader - Insert, PIV Sex, Creampie, Kinktober2024

“Perhaps we should be indulging in each other somewhere else.” Clavis offered as you snuck into his dorm room again.

Your very affectionate, very passionate, and very horny boyfriend somehow scored the room at the end of the hall, next to a fire exit that he'd let you in through, and the two of you had been making the most of it. To say you were fucking like rabbits was not far off. Every time you visited him you both ended up with your clothes stripped off, and utterly exhausted and pleasantly sore afterwards. Clavis had stamina for days. And you'd never been so taken care of before. 

“Wait, somewhere else? Why?” You went through the normal routine of removing your shoes and dropping onto his bed.

“The shifty fellow next door has made it clear he is aware of our activities.” Clavis shot a disapproving look at the wall he shared with his neighbor. 

That was quite the sentence. A multitude of emotions and thoughts simultaneously sprouted causing your jaw to drop and eyes to go wide as you turned to also look at the wall Clavis was frowning at. Your eyes darted back to Clavis and a surprised chuckle bubbled out from you as you tried not to grin too big. “You mean he can hear us?” You asked, stage whispering because now you're a little self conscious about being too loud.

“Apparently.” Clavis frowned deeper.

You bit your bottom lip, fingers covering your mouth as you touched your fingertips just above the peak of your top lip. It was shocking and delicious and kind of exciting and oh so very wrong, but incredibly bold for him to have said anything. “He's not going to snitch, right?”

“Oh, no. I don't believe that's the case.” Clavis answered, his golden gaze finally coming back to you. 

“Did he say what he heard?” Once again you bit your bottom lip, a devilish smile threatening to take over. 

“You're surprisingly inquisitive about this. Are you interested in that sort of thing?”

You set your palms on the mattress and give a small shrug with a playful head tilt, allowing the grin you've been trying to hold down to finally freely form. “And what if I am?”

Clavis’ lips quirked up in a teasing smirk. “Is that so~?”

He swept across his small bedroom to kneel in front of you, his low bed putting the both of you at nearly the same height. His fingers ghosted along the back of your ankles, sliding up your calves with the pressure of his touch increasing as he moved up your legs. “And here I thought you were an innocent one.”

You can't help but chuckle at his musing on your innocence. You were anything but. “We've all got something that excites us.”

Clavis’ hands pushed up your thighs, crossing onto your shorts where he hooked his fingers in the waistband. Eager for what was to come, you leaned back on his bed, resting on your elbows so you could lift your ass as he pulled your shorts and underwear free at the same time. He spread your legs and edged closer so he could sit between them. His fingers gripped your thighs, he had always loved your legs.

“What about you, Clavis? Doesn't the thought turn you on?” You rocked your hips from side to side, gently rolling your sex in front of him teasingly. “To know that despite our best efforts to keep me quiet, he can still hear how you make me moan. How many times have you had to cover my mouth because I couldn't think to do it myself? How many sounds did I bite down? All so we wouldn't get caught.”

His cock was steadily growing more stiff the more you spoke, and you were becoming more wet. You liked when he shushed you. You liked the thrill of being caught while he was fucking you senseless, how he had to kiss anywhere else but your mouth because to let your voice out would be the end of the fun you two had.

Clavis’ lips warmed your inner thigh. His hands gently caressed your naked legs. When he spoke, you could feel his mouth on your skin. “When you put it like that, it's almost flattering.”

“Mmhmm.” Your teeth toyed with your bottom lip. He was being a tease tonight. “And he's over there, getting turned on by us. But now how about I get the chance to moan your name? Can you imagine how sweet it would be to hear your name on my lips. He'd know how good you make me feel. He'd hear how often you were buried deep inside me. How many times you'd make me cum.”

Clavis slowly kissed up your inner thigh as you spoke. His tongue touched before lips met your leg, creeping ever closer to your waiting cunt. An appreciative groan came from him as an answer to your fantasy put into words.

“Let's make him wish he were you. Let's be noisy for once. Just this time. Let's make him envious. He could never have the real thing because I'm yours and you're the only one that can fuck me so good. Ah–” You gasped as Clavis finally reached your pussy, drawing a long lick between your folds. He repeated those delicious licks, wetting your clit by swirling his tongue around it. “Haah… nghn, Clavis.”

He moaned and the reverberation of his voice buzzed your sensitive bud. His lips puckered around it and he sucked your clit into a kiss. Fuck, he was so good with his tongue. He flicked the tip, caressed with flat licks, and varied the pressure as he played with your pussy. You could feel yourself leaking as your wetness dripped down your perineum.

Quiet keening leaked out of you. You were allowing yourself to make your enjoyment known, but still didn't want to get too loud. One neighbor knowing was fine. The whole hallway was not. Shifting, you brought your hand above your head and knocked purposefully against the shared wall. Clavis huffed mid-lick, his chuckle feeling foreign but decadent as he hummed before he spoke. “What a naughty vixen you are.”

“Uhnn--Clavis,” you moaned, his tongue circling your entrance. You wanted the guy next door to hear you call your lover's name. Imagining him pressing his ear against the wall to be certain he heard your moans thrilled you in a way you'd never experienced before.

The build up when Clavis used his mouth was always wonderful, but if you really wanted to scream you needed his cock inside you. “Mmmmn, Clavis?” You threaded your fingers through his hair. “Fuck me? Please?”

Clavis lifted his head to look at you, his golden eyes smoldering with lust. “Already? Impatient today? Or is it that you can't bear to be empty of me?”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth to wipe your fluids from his face and worked his belt and pants loose. You crawled around the bed, turning so you were in it properly instead of short-wise how the two of you started. Knees bent, feet planted on the mattress, fingers fondling your stiff clit and the bundle of nerves that ran under the skin there, you licked your lips in anticipation as Clavis positioned himself between your knees.

“Fill me up.” You whispered seductively as you spread your labia and legs wider for him to fit.

Clavis sank into you. You were so wet he didn't need any additional strokes to bury himself fully in your cunt. He filled you and you pulsated around his cock. “Oh fuck, oh God, haaahnngh– Clavis!”

Your voice must have sparked something in him, because he gave you no time to adjust, pumping into you right away. His cock pushed into your cunt, rubbing your walls that were still trying to manage his size while also flexing around him. Ah, he felt so good, so hard. You loved to feel him bare inside you. 

Clavis scooped up your ankles, one at a time, setting your knees on his shoulders, kissing the inside of your leg as he put each one into place. Your pussy squeezed him tighter with your legs pressed together rather than spread wide around his hips. He loved the way you felt, too. The way your folds slid against his dick, the way your inner walls fluttered around him and how you felt where his tip rubbed your insides.

A moan escaped you, low and drawn out as he adjusted to push you into a mating press. His cock going even deeper and nudging against that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back. One of his hands grabbed your hip, as if to hold you in place as he pumped faster and pounded harder. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, leaving marks that wouldn’t bruise but would stay red for some time to come.

Instinctively, you went to cover your mouth, but remembering that you intended to put on a show for Clavis’ neighbor, you instead bit your knuckle as you let your squeaks and gasps pass through clenched teeth. Clavis was more enthusiastic than usual, his hips slapping against your ass, literally pounding the sounds out of your throat with every thrust, his weight rocking you and the bed.

Your fingers on your free hand dug into the comforter. You were close, the pressure in your belly growing tighter and tighter. Spreading your legs to drop them from Clavis’ shoulders, you opened your hips for him and felt him sink that last half-inch from nothing padding between your hips and his. His cock bottomed out, his pelvis completely flush with yours. Just a little longer and you’d be coming, you were so. Very. Close.

The noises you were making must have clued him in because after a few thrusts as deep as he could reach, Clavis ground his sex against yours, churning his cock inside you. The way his pubis mons rubbed against your clit while his dick rubbed you from the inside was exactly what you needed.

The stimulation sent the pressure bursting inside you. It snapped, cracking like a whip to the back of your skull. You might have been whimpering and keening before, but now you let out full blown moans that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. Every breath, every exhale had you loudly crying out as your cunt spasmed and clenched again and again while Clavis refused to relent, continuing to stimulate you and draw your orgasm out.

He rode through it, enjoying the way you squeezed and milked him. Dropping down to press kiss after kiss against your parted lips, he resumed rocking into you once you finally regained the ability to control your voice again. He hadn’t yet finished, and from the way he was stroking himself with your pussy, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Clavis always slowed down right before coming, like he needed to draw out the feeling of you on his cock.

“Mmmmmn. Haaaah.” You allowed yourself to make pleasurable sounds, feeling every part of his dick rubbing against your sensitive insides. Unintentionally, your cunt clenched, perhaps you liked to hear yourself too? You had never really considered it before. “Nnngh, Clavis.”

As his name passed your lips, Clavis bucked into you. Without pulling out, he thrust against you again, and then a third time, trying to bury himself deeper, his biological need to pour his seed as deep as he can taking over.

“Oh fuck–nnngh!” You couldn’t feel his seed spilling inside you, but the way his cock throbbed, and the way his hips connected with yours was telling enough. And damn! It felt so good to have him thrusting so deeply, unable to pull himself free of his instincts. Like your sexes were communicating, you couldn’t help as your pussy spasmed in response to his cock pulsating inside you. 

Clavis cuddled against you on top of you, and you brushed your fingers through his hair. It wouldn’t take him long to be ready to go again, his cock rarely ever got soft once it was hard. The both of you took your time to catch your breath, nuzzling in the warmth of each other and the heat you had generated. Your lips connected, and wet kisses were shared between the both of you. His tongue sought yours and you matched his enthusiasm.

Clavis’ hands began to wander over your body, groping all the places he hadn’t had a chance to, yet. Then an uncommon sound came from the wall shared with the neighboring room. A purposeful knock. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your jaw dropped and Clavis’ eyes went wide before you both erupted into laughter.

“What do you say we give him another round to listen to?” You giggled, fingers trailing over Clavis’ lower back.

“Only if you make those same sounds, again. You sang beautifully.” Clavis shifted, covering your mouth with his and coaxing a low moan out of your throat.

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXIII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Author’s Note:  Thank you for reading <3 I hope you enjoy this next chapter and where the story is going :)

thank you @elidelochans for always being my beta <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @rosewood-cafe / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens

Find it all here.

When two days passed, Eris gathered with his brothers and mother in her garden. For this conversation, Iris stood by his side. He had carefully shielded their scents and if his brothers noticed, they didn’t comment. 

He may trust them but as he shared a glance with his wife, Eris couldn’t help but want to keep this…gift to himself a little longer. If they made it through this, Eris would let himself reflect on how the Mother had a strange sense of humor; to give him Iris with the possibility of losing her. 

Then again, the Mother knew this would be a hard fight. Sending his mate only gave him more reason to insist on making it out. 

“You don’t think it’s too dangerous to be gathered like this in one place?” Lady Enya asked in the silence, her hands wringing in her lap. 

“I glamored us as we arrived,” Eris assured her. “No one saw us coming in.” 

But his mother was more nervous than usual, which added to his stress. Eris could tell she was tired and it made him want to choke his father more viciously than usual; that fucker knew his wife hated his guts and yet he kept his paws all over her. 

Forcing the thought from his mind, his expression tight, he addressed his mother with a nod. “Are you prepared?” he asked. “Do you have everything you need?”

Lady Enya nodded, her hands clenching in her gown. “Yes,” she answered, clearing her throat. “I don’t wish to take anything with me but the clothes on my back. I have nothing of value that I shared with him.” 

The words made him grimace. He knew his mother hadn’t meant her words to be about her sons but it didn’t stop the sting of knowing how she had held herself back. It didn’t hurt any less that she had endured all this because of them. For them. 

The brothers shared a frown.

“I’ve checked with every one of my sources and nothing seems to be amiss,” Emil said, his arms crossed. “My soldiers are ready.”

Izak, seated next to their mother, nodded. “The same with mine. Everything is going according to plan.” 

“What about Lucien?” Finn asked. 

“I’ve been in touch. Everything is fine on his end.” Eris confirmed. “Winter and Dawn have given us passage to winnow from the court lines.”

“No questions asked?” Iris inquired carefully. 

“Lucien has enough connections that no one bats an eye when he mentions he’s passing through with people,” he explained. “Especially when Helion and Rhys are welcoming. There’s no reason to object when there won’t be lingering.”

“Does Rhys know?” Lady Enya asked quietly. 

A muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw. “Rhys has always known this day would come but he doesn’t ask questions. He knows it’s near.” 

Finn shifted on his feet. “We’ve checked and triple-checked everything. Things are going according to plan and yet…why does it feel like something isn’t right?”

“Because we’re a bunch of paranoid motherfuckers.” Izak said then glanced at his mother. “Apologies, mother.”

The corner of Iris’s lips twitched as her mother-in-law rolled her eyes at her son and she couldn’t help but let her gaze shift between the brothers and their mother, feeling slightly out of place. This was her first time meeting Emil and Izak personally and other than an awkward greeting, they kept their distance; the tension lining Eris’s back and the way he watched his brothers with every breath they took near her had Iris do the same. Given what Eris had shared with her about each of them, Iris couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the brothers who were all trying to find the light with love as they battled their own demons. It didn’t change how close Eris had her stand and if anything, his brothers understood his possessiveness too well, even if they didn’t know to what extent.

The last two nights seemed to escalate his levels of stress and Iris had watched him have to expel his anger, nearly setting their whole suite aflame to get himself through the day. He’d leave her early and return late, checking in with her periodically throughout the day and whenever he did, they would end up releasing his stress in a much more intimate way. Iris had found that whenever his body was draped over hers, was the only time he actually relaxed. 

Even in his sleep, her husband struggled and she found herself awake more often, watching him as he shuddered through every breath. 

Iris kept her eyes on Eris as he ran his tongue over his teeth, sharing a look with Emil. “We did find one idiot who was ready to sell out,” he said carefully. “He was hoping to get in with the High Lord and rise through the rankings.” 

“And what happened to him?” Finn asked, his tone casual.

“By the time Eris and I got to him, our sentries had let him know exactly how they felt about ruining our chances,” Emil said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “We aren’t the only ones desperate for change.”

“I would’ve cut out his tongue.” Izak huffed.

“Emil did,” Eris said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we hung him in the center of the training ring with a knife lodged in his throat.”

“That seems unnecessary.” Lady Enya muttered mildly.

But Finn nodded at them. “Nice.”

“You have a very odd definition of nice.” Iris said with a raised brow and Finn’s answering grin was a little too sinister. 

“I would’ve carved out his internal organs to hang him by and then pinned his body to the wall with knives so he could bleed to death, slowly and painfully. What they did was nice.” he said and Iris couldn’t help her grimace.

“Please –” their mother started and glanced at Eris who sighed.

“Let’s focus,” he waved a hand. “We have another week before this hell is over. Keep straightening things out. If you hear even a whisper of something, you let me know immediately.” Eris glanced back at his mother. “We wait for the signal that Helene, Theo, and Cosette are fine. We dance. We mingle. Once Father gives his bore of a speech like every year, Emil will be walking you to where you will meet Mikel and then to where you will meet Iris and Oren. From there, you two will pretend to walk towards your gardens until you cross the gates. Serphan will winnow you to Lucien and then report back to me. Helion will also be waiting.”

Lady Enya swallowed, a hand rubbing her throat. “And they – Lucien knows what to do in case something goes wrong?”

Eris nodded then gave them all a pointed look. “Rumor has it that our youngest brother was invited and he may be making an appearance,” he said. “Should he need to use it, he knows the code. Each of our sentries has a uniform color. Lucien knows my insignia and who he can ask if needed.” 

A silence fell on the group and Iris’s gaze couldn’t help but flicker between them all. She couldn’t imagine how long they’d been waiting for this and how these last few days were causing more agony than anything else. 

Lady Enya broke the silence first, rubbing a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m – I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry to be causing all this.” 

A collective noise of disapproval rang from the brothers and she looked at them with a watery smile. 

“But I am. I always will be,” she added, her grip tightening in the folds of her dress. “If I could stay and help avoid all this, I would but I  — I can’t anymore.”

“Mother.” Finn chasted her gently and his expression tightened when Izak wrapped his burly arm around their mother’s delicate frame and kissed the top of her head. 

“Don’t apologize,” Izak said. “We can’t keep living this way regardless.”

“Enough is enough,” Emil added solemnly. “We are more than what he’s forced us to be.” 

Eris met his mother’s gaze. “You are a phoenix ready to rise from the ashes, remember?” he asked quietly. “Don’t look back now.” 

Lady Enya glanced at each of her sons and then took a shaky breath. “You are all the light of my life. I am proud of each of you and know you will always be more than he could ever dream. Better than he could ever dare to be.” she said softly. “I love you.” 

And Iris had to look away from them as each of the brothers, including her husband, flushed lightly at their mother’s words. But she could feel their content, felt how it filled them with joy and Iris felt an ache in her chest. She hadn’t met her own mother but Lady Enya had easily and so quickly filled that role. This wasn’t her moment and yet Iris felt so honored to be a part of it.

Clearing his throat, Izak gruffly mumbled, “We love you too.”  

Lady Enya chuckled and patted Izak’s cheek. “I know, my beautiful boy,” she said, then sighed quietly, straightening. “Do not underestimate him. He will not respond well and I know he has something up his sleeve.” 

“The bridal party waiting for us isn’t for nothing,” Emil mused. “He’s invited every influential family in the court and somehow, they all have eligible daughters.” 

“We dance and we mingle,” Eris repeated his instructions firmly. “Lying is a form of art we’ve excelled at for years. It won’t kill you to dance with a potential bride to keep up the ruse.” 

“Yeah, but Helene might kill me.” Izak mumbled and Finn snorted as Iris’s lips twitched. 

“Considering Father might kill you first should you not dance, you’ll have to risk it,” Eris said dryly. “He’s surrounding himself with people like him for a reason. He believes in the strength of numbers and has purposely kept some of the guest list names from mother.”

“I think it’s a mighty coincidence that this particular ball is the one he’s having potential brides from powerful families attend,” Emil said. “If the High Lord is promising your daughter a prince, you’d be more than happy to side with a tyrant than against him.”

“It might not be to the extent that families have turned,” Finn said. “But it doesn’t help us if he has some of them present.”

Izak shook his head. “Those families have always been in his pocket, they keep each other comfortable. We knew this.”

“Those families are full of nothing but lofty words.” Lady Enya added. “Nothing in the preparations should change but I still don’t think you should trust them.” 

Finn glanced at Eris. “Once we’re done with Father, we get to clean out the garbage, right?”

“Whoever does not bend to the new ruling will be taken out immediately,” Eris said, his expression tightening. “We know who these people are. They have one chance to make the right choice or they won’t live to make another one.” He glanced at each of his brothers. “This is the only shot we have to disinfect this court and make it into something worth living in. This is bigger than just us.” 

“You should anticipate your father being there.” Lady Enya said to Iris. “He was one of the people the High Lord insisted on adding to the guest list and I don’t see Aron declining the invitation.”

Iris grimaced, her fists clenching at her sides. “I have no doubt he’ll be there,” she said then glanced at Eris. “Even if he knows he’s not wanted.” 

“Especially if he knows he’s not wanted,” Eris muttered. “He knows what awaits him should he step one toe out of line.” And he forced himself to roll his shoulders back, pushing back the surge of anger thumping in his chest at the mention of his father-in-law. He glanced at Izak instead and waved a hand for a letter to appear then flicked it to his brother. “Lucien let me know this morning that Helene and her mother have been settling in nicely. She sent you a letter.” 

Izak caught it and held it tightly, nodding at Eris. “Thank you.” 

Eris nodded back and then glanced at Emil. “Cosette?”

“She’s ready to leave.” his brother answered tightly.

“Adler?”

“He knows his orders.” 

Eris nodded again and ran a hand through his hair. “We have to be on guard for anything.”

“I know.” 

Eris shifted as he stared at his family, feeling the blood pumping beneath his skin. “If –”

“Eris.” Emil’s calm tone cut through his. “We’ve done every single thing we could. The only thing we can do is set it in motion and make it through.” 

Taking a breath through his nose, Eris let his head fall back, his eyes on the open air above them. “I won’t pretend I’m not filled with dread and it’s been getting harder to tighten the leash on my powers,” he mumbled then fixed his gaze back on his brothers. “I set fire to one of the stables yesterday because Father made a snippy comment.”

“What a pity he wasn’t standing in it,” Finn said, his lips twitching and Eris snorted. 

“Pity, indeed.” 

Iris’s gaze locked on Eris and his tightened shoulders and she couldn’t help stepping closer to him, her hand sliding to his back as she leaned into him. He glanced at her with a thin smile then cleared his throat, addressing them all. 

“He’s going to make this a hard fight. We fight as dirty as he does.” Eris said firmly. “Whatever it takes.”

It fell silent as his brothers nodded. His mother’s eyes welled up again, and Eris had to look away from her so it didn’t pain him. He glanced at Iris instead, and even though her smile was a small sad one, it managed to loosen a breath from his chest. Whatever it took, he would crawl his way out of this and back to her. 

“Well,” Finn began and Eris let out a long-suffering sigh echoed by Emil and Izak. “He can’t kill all of us, right? One of us has to survive him to continue the Vanserra line.” 

“Finn.” Eris warned as their mother made a noise of distress.

“What? I’m only reassuring you once again, that if the task comes to me, I would be happy to marry all your lovely ladies and take care of them should you all bite the dust at the ball,” Finn said graciously.

“Don’t you have a certain someone in your life?” Iris asked, holding back a laugh and Finn waved a hand good-naturedly.

“He’s very reasonable, you’ll love him,” he reassured Iris as he wiggled his brows at her. “You won’t mind having sister wives, right? As the wife of my oldest brother, you would be my first wedded, of course.”

Before Eris could do more than snarl rather viciously at his brother’s teasing, Iris held a hand to her husband’s chest and raised a brow at Finn. “It’s sweet you think you can handle one wife, much less three,” she said then turned back to Eris. “If you bite the dust as your brother says, I promise I won’t marry him.” She patted his chest gently. “But, you’ll be perfectly safe so there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t need to punch him.” 

Eris scowled then narrowed his eyes at Finn’s smug smile. “I still want to punch him.”

“We can save it for another day. When all this is over.” Iris couldn’t help but glance at the rest of them. “When we’re all safe. You can punch each other all you want then.” 

“Your wife is an optimist,” Emil noted, tilting his head at her curiously. “What a fate to be married to a Vanserra.”  

Iris’s lips twitched then made a show of stepping back to run her gaze down Eris’s body and back up. Eris’s brow lifted as she made a noise of approval. “Well, he is pretty so it balances out all the struggle,” she said and Eris rolled his eyes as she turned back to shrug at his brothers. “It isn’t much, but it’s honest work.” 

Izak’s head tipped back with a laugh as Finn hooted and Emil couldn’t help his chuckle. 

And Eris wanted to devour her when she gave him a cheeky smile that made him roll his eyes again. “Hysterical,” he deadpanned, the tips of his ears heating at his mother’s small smile. 

“I told you she was funny,” Finn said to his brothers. 

“My wife’s jokes and Finn’s enthusiasm to marry females who won’t want him aside –” Eris began, warning Finn with a look when his brother opened his mouth. “We’ve lingered enough, I think. Should anything else come up, be quick and be discreet.” 

The brothers let themselves slowly disperse with Emil vanishing first then Finn. Izak delayed for a moment and approached Iris with a thin smile. Eris’s brow quirked up as his brother ran a hand over his beard, his expression curiously cautious. “I just wanted to say…I think you and Helene would get along well,” he said and glanced at Eris before meeting Iris’s gaze. “It’s not easy being married to a Vanserra but…I think you two could be friends. If – if you wanted.” 

Iris’s smile was warm. “Based on what Eris mentioned to me, I think so too. I look forward to meeting her when I can.” she said then added quietly, “Congratulations on the pregnancy.” 

Izak flushed, pleased as he nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you again at the ball.” 

As Izak departed and only his mother remained, Eris gave her a moment as she took in her gardens, her expression tight. He knew this place had always been a sanctuary for her and though she’d be leaving it behind for a better place, he knew it wouldn’t be easy. 

“Mother.”

Lady Enya turned towards him. “Yes?”

“If needed…will you be ready to use your magic?” he asked carefully and his mother took a breath, nodding.

“Yes. Whatever I can do, I will support your every step,” she said, her expression shifting into grim determination. “Whatever it takes, Eris.”

He nodded at his mother then shared a glance with his wife and Iris’s smile was tight as Eris promised, “Whatever it takes.” 

-

Eris blinked and as the ball crept closer, he barely slept. He went about his daily routine, spent time with his wife, and plotted through the night. He tried to be more relaxed, tried to stay focused but as everything slowly came together, he couldn’t help but anticipate that something would go wrong. He’d readjusted his plan with Oren, Mikel, and Seprhan twice already; he was driving his friends crazy. 

The feeling intensified when it was finally the night before the ball and his Father summoned him to the throne room. Eris had hesitated for only a moment in front of the door, the memory of the last time he was summoned here lingering in the back of his mind. But he forced himself forward and allowed himself a glance around the room as he walked towards where his father stood, taking in the splendor of decor as he went. His mother always outdid herself with the way she planned for these events. He knew how this particular event was one of significance and didn’t miss the little signs around the room. The abundance of gold. The wisps of fire magic. The miniature phoenix art scattered around the room. His lips couldn’t help but twitch. 

Eris paused a healthy distance from the High Lord who stood with his back to him, facing the throne. As his Father deliberately took his time to acknowledge him, Eris ran his tongue over his teeth and made himself take a deep breath, schooling his expression into that careful calm he desperately needed around his least favorite person. 

After a few moments of silence, Eris clenched his fists behind his back and cleared his throat. “You called, Father.”

Beron glanced over his shoulder and then made a noise of disapproval as he turned to face his son. The two watched each other in silence and though Eris was used to his father’s mind games, something about this summoning felt…sinister.

Beron gestured for Eris to come closer and immediately, his shoulders couldn’t help tensing further.

But Eris moved and stopped at the place Beron had pointed to, right in front of him. “Do you know why I called you here, son?”

“I really hope it’s because you missed me,” Eris said with a thin smile. “Otherwise my feelings will be hurt.” 

Beron snorted. “Funny,” he said and shifted his head slightly as he watched Eris. “I wonder if you get your humor from your wife. I hear she’s very funny.” 

A beat of silence passed and Eris felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest. “Pray tell, who has been passing along her jokes?”

His father’s answering smile made Eris’s fists tighten. “The wind carries all kinds of whispers, son. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

The moment stretched between them and Eris tried to keep the beating of his heart calm as his father watched him. What did that even mean? Who was talking?

The High Lord’s mouth curled and Eris tried to tamper down his agitation as his father added, “Then again, everything about your wife would be a secret if it was up to you.” 

Eris’s expression flattened. “Are we really doing this again, Father?” he said and tried to keep his tone even. “I thought we were past this.” 

“Of course, of course,” Beron said casually. “Though how sensitive you are about her is still concerning, I suppose we have other things to worry about with our big event tomorrow.”

Tension lined Eris’s spine as he watched his father watch him, every sentence loaded with words left unsaid, and Eris’s mind scrambled to catch it all. “Indeed,” he said carefully. “What can I assist you with, Father?”

“Always so eager to assist, son,” Beron said. “Sometimes I forget just how much.”

Eris’s gaze narrowed slightly in confusion. He didn’t want to believe his father was bored and wasting his time like this. Eris could barely keep awake these days; with this last night, he wanted to be alone with his wife. His mate. He wanted that fucken time with her. 

Yet here he was, squandering that time with this.

“Is there anything about the event tomorrow you’d like me to do? I do believe everything has been taken care of.” 

“I didn’t call you here for that.” Beron said and Eris lifted a brow.

“If not that, to what do I owe the pleasure of being here?”

The words seemed to cause a slight shift in his father and Eris noted exactly when his expression went from amused disdain to anger.

“You overstep and I tire of it.”

Eris blinked. “Oh?”

“You are my eldest son. I acknowledge that a certain load of responsibility has been expected of you and even added to your shoulders. You have always done your duty as required and yet…” Beron pursed his lips, his gaze narrowing. “The past few months, you have overstepped so very often.”

Eris forced his expression into polite indifference. “Is there something I did in particular that bothered you deeply enough to summon me?” he asked and his father’s eyes narrowed. “I would like to ensure I apologize profusely for my errors.”

“You and that fucken mouth of yours.” Beron snarled and backhanded Eris so quickly he barely took a breath, his face snapping to the side and Eris nearly swore at the sheer force that went into his father’s hand. 

Oh, the High Lord was pissed to be this triggered by his tone.

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, slowly facing his father again and he knew there was nothing to be done about the anger that coursed through his body – anger he knew the High Lord felt despite the bland expression Eris managed to push through on his face. “That seemed rather unnecessary.” he managed to say lightly, even though his fisted hands were shaking violently behind his back. “Was it something I said, High Lord?”

And this time when his father lifted his hand in warning, Eris leaned back, his expression flattening again. “I can handle words, Father. You don’t need to put your hands on me to tell me when I’ve supposedly wronged you.” 

His father’s mouth curled in anger and the High Lord stepped into Eris’s personal space even further. “Back away from me again and a flogging pole will be the least of your worries.”

A strained silence pulsed in the air between them and Eris knew he was venturing into dangerous territory when he couldn’t hold in his humorless laugh and his father’s eyes narrowed.

“And get blood all over the floor? That wouldn’t be the kind of welcome you’d want to give our guests.”

Beron yanked Eris by the front of his tunic. “Keep speaking in that sarcastic tone and your body hanging by the gates will be what welcomes the guests instead.” 

Eris felt his fire nearly burst out of him, his anger shooting up his spine but he held that leash on his magic and held it tight because he wouldn’t blow up here. Given the kind of pressure he’d been under the last three weeks, it would be so fucken easy to unleash everything and be done. 

But no. Not now. Not when they were so fucken close. Not when they could wipe the slate clean in front of the whole court and step into a new age with history on their side.

Nevertheless, Eris couldn’t stop the steam from pouring out of him and he certainly couldn’t stop his glare when his Father’s cold smirk appeared. 

“I don’t know if that would match the theme Mother’s going for this year.” Eris said tightly as he tried to reign in his anger even as Beron’s answering chuckle was laced with cruelty.

“You keep speaking to me that way and your mother will have more things to worry about than her tacky theme.” Beron spat then shoved Eris back. “Fix your face and apologize.” 

A muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw as father and son stared down one another. They had barely started talking and his father was already goading him just to lay hands on him. Had the High Lord sensed anything amiss? What was it that seemed to be putting his father in such a foul mood? 

Eris’s hands remained behind his back, flexing his fingers then fisting them again as he forced himself to bow his head and as calmly as he could choke out said, “Apologies, High Lord.” 

Beron’s head cocked to the side. “An apology should come with a full bow, boy. Do not disrespect me.” 

Eris’s expression blanked immediately and he forced his body not to react negatively, not to tense further. His well of power would not be blown away on this. This was nothing. He’d tolerated more. 

So forcing himself once more, Eris bowed fully to his father and said as dull as possible, “Apologies, High Lord.”

His father said nothing for a moment and Eris took the opportunity to glare at the sparkling floors they stood on. When another minute ticked by in silence, he couldn’t help but lift his head to find his father smirking at him. And that was never good.

Especially when he opened his mouth and said, “Your wife says my High Lord. You should say it the way she does.” 

Eris’s body straightened before he could stop himself, his vision going red and the only thing that managed to hold him back from ripping his father’s throat out was the laugh that slipped out of the High Lord’s mouth, mocking him.

“You’re so easy to rile these days.” Beron taunted. “Which goes to show you how bad of an influence that wife of yours is.” Giving Eris a sly look, his father continued, “Maybe you should pick out a new bride tomorrow.” 

Eris didn’t bother fighting back his eye roll, despite how much his clenched fists were shaking. “This conversation is getting tedious, Father,” he said curtly. “May I please know what it is you wish to discuss with me?”

The High Lord’s expression filled with contempt as he stared down his son, the silence between them was heavy with trepidation. 

“Tedious, you say.”

“Yes. We both know there are about a thousand other things we could be doing instead of this little dance between us.” 

Beron made a disinterested noise. “I had no plans other than to fuck your mother this evening. Though her lack of enthusiasm doesn’t make it as enjoyable as it could be, it is better than nothing.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eris snapped and nothing could stop his fists from catching flame. “Show some respect when you speak about her.” 

And Eris knew his father’s fist would fly out. H​​e let it. He let the taste of blood fill his mouth as he staggered back a step from the blow. His father seemed to be spiraling. He had lashed out at stupid things before but this? To this extent? Eris felt the pit of his stomach give out. Could it be that something had slipped through the cracks?

“I will speak about my wife as I see fit. You do not get to insert yourself between us.” Beron spat and Eris wiped a hand at his mouth with a huff of disbelief. His father’s expression of disdain remained as he took a step closer to his son. “This is your problem. You are always inserting yourself in places you don’t need to be. You do it with your mother. You do it with your brothers. You did it in a meeting the other day with our council while I was in the room.” The High Lord glared and Eris had to fight with all the willpower he had to calm his shaking hands – to smother his flames. “You know why I called you here? To discuss how you intervened between me and your brothers the other day. An intervention I did not welcome.” His father’s gaze raked over his face. “I’ve tolerated your overstepping in the past because you followed orders – you get things done. However, I will not tolerate your overstepping tomorrow, especially in front of the many important guests that will be present. You will remember your place and watch how you behave.” 

The High Lord’s voice was nothing but a lethal threat as he said, “The next time you get between me and your brothers so carelessly like that, you will take the brunt of their discipline.” 

Eris tried to keep his expression from shifting at the promise filled with violence. This whole conversation was bringing all the stress he had been carrying and crashing it down on his head. It seemed that indeed, his command of his brothers had finally seemed to bother his father enough that he was finally saying something about it. What convenient fucken timing. 

Beron’s expression morphed into one of cruel amusement. “Your hair is only just starting to grow out. It’s too early for another new look, don’t you agree?”

And the warning was clear – a reminder of what the High Lord would be happy to do again in this very room. 

Eris pursed his lips, his heart thundering in his chest at his father’s gaze filled with violence as clear as the tone he used. He nearly choked as his magic surged up again, desperately wanting to answer it but instead, Eris forced himself to breathe slowly, the leash on his magic held tight as he said carefully, “I merely wished to help, Father. I didn’t realize it would bother this much.”

“I do not require your help to make your brothers fall in line. You should be falling in line with them.” the High Lord snapped. “Your help has become an insult.”

Eris’s jaw worked and again, he forced himself to bow his head graciously even though he wanted to do anything but – his father had already laid his hands on him twice; he couldn’t afford to keep giving him reasons to lash out. So Eris only said, “Duly noted.”

Silence stretched between them and Eris waited, knowing a threat was coming up. His father liked to play games and loved to waste his time. Minutes ticked away and Eris couldn’t help the flare of his nostrils when his father’s mouth curled up.

“Eris.”

“Father.”

“Tomorrow is a very big day,” Beron said slowly and took a step closer to him. “I’d hate for things to go wrong should any of you decide to do something foolish.” 

A chill skittered down his spine but Eris’s expression remained politely bored. The comment didn’t have to mean anything. His father didn’t know anything. The High Lord was only lashing out because Eris hadn’t said the right things to him, because he wasn’t being as careful as he could be. He would blame it on the stress and would not let himself believe anything else.

“Other than drinking excessively,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, “I don’t foresee any trouble.”

Beron hummed, watching Eris in a way that always made his skin crawl. “Your father-in-law will be in attendance. I expect you and your wife to behave accordingly.”

Annoyance flashed on Eris’s face before he could stop it. “I am aware. He’ll do well to steer clear of us completely, Father. That is my only request to you.”

“And if I refused?”

Eris forced his expression to blank pleasantness again, noting the movement of his father’s hands. “Then I cannot promise there won’t be trouble should his path cross ours.” 

“Is that a threat, son?”

“Never, Father,” he said with a small smile. “I am merely setting expectations.”  

Beron’s eyes narrowed and it was a deadly type of silence between them, the type of silence that Eris knew, had his father not needed him to be presentable tomorrow, Eris’s face would’ve met his fire rather than his fist. “You were my favorite son.” his father said quietly. “I do not like who you’ve become.” 

Eris could only slowly shrug his shoulders. “I’m sorry to be of constant disappointment, Father,” he replied and wished he could tell his father exactly how sorry he was – how much being the so-called favorite had cost him. 

Beron scowled and grabbed Eris’s face with a hand, tugging him closer. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how abysmal your attitude has been lately but I will warn you one last time,” his father said quietly, enough violence in his tone that Eris knew not to move. “Should you do anything that isn’t a direct order from me – anything that isn’t what I expect of you, I will make you pay in ways that’ll be worse than your nightmares.” Beron shoved him back and Eris couldn’t help his expression darkening at his father’s glare. “All this family has ever been is disappointing. Let’s hope you and your useless brothers don’t make matters worse for yourselves tomorrow.” 

The High Lord shoved past Eris but paused half a step away and Eris turned his head without a word, only raising a brow at the loaded silence between them. 

But then his father’s nostrils flared and Eris felt his blood run cold. He didn’t dare breathe and mentally checked his shields, knowing he had reinforced it around his scent before he came anywhere near his father, and yet…what exactly was the High Lord sensing?

His father merely gave him a once over then spat, “I’ll see you and your wife tomorrow. I hope you remember to make good choices.” 

And the High Lord’s goodbye felt like a promise full of death. Eris waited a few moments in tense silence, his blood thumping in his ears and when he was sure he was indeed alone, he closed his eyes to let out a deep shaky breath, feeling steam rise from his hands. His anxiety had returned in full force at his father’s departure. His father couldn’t have sensed anything, could he? Eris had glamoured his scent well; no one could note his mating bond, especially without Iris near him. If his father had scented his wife on him, that wouldn’t be unusual but Eris was too careful even for that. 

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let himself linger for another moment, eyes flickering around the room, letting himself see it as it was for the last time. With a sigh, he turned on his heels and left the throne room. 

He needed to warn his brothers. 

–

Iris watched as Eris finally stepped into their suite and slammed the door behind him. He had taken longer than she had anticipated and the anxiety that had been squeezing around her chest immediately loosened when she saw that he was whole and unharmed. Her heart had stopped when Eris had told her about the High Lord’s meeting and the only reason Iris had survived waiting was because she distracted herself on the piano. 

Everything was supposed to be set. Everything was in place and yet, the tension that seeped into the room with him made her nervous. She hated that what could be their final night together was filled with such emotions. 

She rose from her place on the piano and walked over to him then stopped in her tracks, noting the slight bruise on his cheek, the cut on his lip. “What happened.” 

Her voice was more hushed than intended but if not for that, Iris knew she would start to panic. She moved closer until she stood before him and let her healing senses reach out, not wanting to touch him just yet – not until she was sure he wanted her touch at this moment. But she sensed nothing amiss aside from the evidence on his face and had to swallow when she met his blank stare. “What was this about?” she asked softly.

Eris had to calmly count to ten and let out a long breath before he could speak, “I seemed to have gotten under the High Lord’s skin when I supposedly overstepped and intervened between him and my brothers the other day.” he explained and Iris watched with a grimace as his fists tightened at his sides. “He wanted to remind me of my place and to watch my tone because apparently, my sarcasm doesn’t translate well.” 

“So he finally noticed and said something about it?”

“Funny how he’s always benefited from me doing all his work for him and now has the nerve to get annoyed by it,” Eris grumbled then shook his head. “He wanted to warn us – me to behave tomorrow.” 

Iris felt her heart stutter in her chest. “Warn how?” 

“He wanted to make sure I didn’t intervene in my brother’s whore parade so they could pick wives.” 

Iris brows furrowed. “Given that they’re all in committed relationships, I don’t think it’s going to go the way he wants.”

“Hopefully, by the end of the night tomorrow, he’ll be dead and we won’t have to worry about him at all,” Eris spat and rolled his head back, breathing deeply and Iris felt his frustration seep off him.

She frowned and stopped in front of him, assessing his expression then reached out a hand to gently touch him. She waited a heartbeat, giving him the chance to push her hand away if he wanted to but Eris couldn’t seem to help but shudder at the touch, and after a moment’s hesitation, he turned his face to kiss her hand softly. “You’re almost there. Tomorrow, you all will be free of him. You’ve prepared as best as you can.” she said softly, letting her magic wipe away his hurt.

“I know and yet, I don’t feel prepared at all,” he said quietly and Iris had never seen his eyes so tired. “I feel like it’s going to all go to hell and I’m going to drag you all down with me.” 

Iris cupped his face and forced him to meet her gaze. “Everyone is ready to go down swinging with you, Eris. This is not on your shoulders alone,” she said. “Please…unburden yourself.” 

He shook his head slowly and pulled her hands from his face to hold in his own. “My head isn’t wired to do that,” he said. “I’m thinking about all of the things that could go wrong.”

“But what about all the things that could go right?” Iris asked, squeezing his hands.

Eris’s chuckle was weak. “How I ended up with an optimistic wife really is a comical event. You truly did marry into the wrong family.” 

The corner of Iris’s mouth lifted. “Fate does work in mysterious ways.” 

“Indeed,” he agreed, then took a step back, his expression shifting. “Do you have all your items prepared for tomorrow? Aside from the bag we sent ahead to Lucien and Elain’s.”

She tried not to let her face fall and nodded. “I have a small satchel and daggers to hide beneath my dress.”

“You know where you’ll be meeting Oren?”

“Yes.”

“And the drop-off location where you’ll winnow to reach Lucien?” 

“Yes, Eris,” she said wearily. “We went over all this in the morning.”

“And we shall review it again tomorrow. I cannot take any risks when it comes to you.” he said and Iris gave him a knowing look.

“I know,” she said quietly. “Do you want to try and get some sleep? It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Eris shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. I’m too tense. Too nervous.” he said and licked his lips, glancing at her in a way that made her pause.

She waited a heartbeat then asked, “...Is there something else?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his expression tight but with a sigh, Eris explained quietly, “When he was walking away from me, he paused a step away and…seemed to sense something in the air next to me.” 

Iris froze in his arms. “And you think that means…he knows something?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Why else would he do that? You mentioned in the stables he seemed to sense something around you. What if he sensed something from me? What if he knows?”

“Eris –”

“Iris, I can’t – how can I —” he growled and his grip on her tightened. “If he knows and pulls some shit tomorrow that would harm you in any way I —”

“Eris.” Her tone was firm enough that it made him pause, his expression stricken in a way that made her chest ache for him. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“How can you –”

“And what if he does? What does it matter?” Iris asked. “Tomorrow, things will change regardless. What does it matter if he finds out about our bond now?”

Eris’s expression fell and his whisper was hoarse, “Because this is the one thing – you are the one thing that is all mine. I don’t want his mark on it.” 

Iris felt her heart crack, the same way it always did when she thought of the way he’d lived his life constantly on edge, constantly thinking and planning and scheming. She didn’t want this particular night together to be this way. He needed some peace and Iris needed him just as badly as he needed peace.

“It doesn’t matter what or if he does anything,” she said quietly but not weakly. “I am yours and you are mine and whatever tomorrow brings, we will face it. He doesn’t get to win.” 

Eris struggled not to tremble at her determined gaze. That he had someone to worry about was one thing but to have someone — her — worry about him like this? He could truly never bring her peace and yet – she looked at him like this. Like she lov— loved him. 

As he loved her.

“What do you need?” Iris found herself whispering, reaching out a hand to gently touch his face again and a thrill always did go through her at how many times she could make him shudder with her touches. Iris waited, watching as he worked his jaw, swallowing before his eyes met hers. Without saying anything, she could feel his every emotion and concern. The thread at her ribcage was a path to his every thought and she gently tugged at it as for once, her husband let his emotions flicker across his face. The panic, the worry, the desperation, and Iris would do anything to bring him ease. 

After an eternity, his response was a broken rasp, “You. I only need you.”

Iris softened and stepped closer, Eris's arm immediately wrapping around her waist to pull her into him. “You have me,” she said softly and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I am here, with you. I am yours.”

He licked his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly, without saying a word, the look they shared conveyed exactly what he needed – wanted, and always craved. He needed her in every way. He needed to only see her tonight. To only feel her. 

Her eyes didn’t waver from his as she slowly slid a hand down his chest. She knew exactly what he needed to be able to get through this night and Iris wanted nothing more than for them to feed into their feelings. Her hand continued down, past the waistband of his trousers until her hand wrapped around his impressive length and Eris hissed as she squeezed him, slowly pumping. His arm tightened around her, tension lining every inch of him even as their mouths were a breath apart.

“Tell me what you need,” she whispered but Eris couldn’t do anything but watch the blush across her cheeks, trying not to have his eyes roll back as she tightened her grip. His breath stuttered as she leaned in closer to him, pumping him leisurely as she spoke, “Do you want me on my knees? Should I take you in my mouth?” Eris groaned and closed his eyes, leaning into her slightly when Iris quickened her pace and then slowed down. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel good.”

“I want you everywhere.” he rasped and opened his eyes, his gaze filled with a desperate kind of heat that Iris felt seep into her bones. “Anything you want. Everything you’re willing to give me. I want this night to be just about you and me. For nothing else to matter.”

“Then nothing else has to matter right now,” she said softly. “It’s always just you and me.”

Eris licked his lips, his request for permission written all over his face, and every desperate thought and emotion he had spilled into his next word, “Please.” 

All it took was a nod from his wife and any restraint Eris had snapped. His kiss was as desperate as he felt, chasing her lips and Iris whimpered into his mouth, her hands digging into his back, quickly backing her into the table of their dining room.

“I — I can’t be gentle right now.” He said urgently in between his kisses, his hands moving as quickly as hers, both trying to undress the other. “If you don’t want that — please tell me now I don’t want to —“

But she held up her hand and Eris froze immediately, breathing heavily with her barricaded between his arms. Tonight, there would be nothing gentle about their coupling. With how high stakes everything would be tomorrow, all Iris wanted – needed was him. “I don’t want gentle," Iris said quietly. "I want whatever you'll give me.”

The demand in her tone had a noise he never thought he could make slip from his throat and Eris surged forward to claim her lips once more, searing himself into her.

His hands couldn’t move fast enough; he shoved her dress down her body, undergarments with it and Eris only got a second to admire her body before getting distracted by Iris’s own hands practically ripping off his clothing and in an instant, he helped her send them flying. He turned her around, pushing her body down and Iris hissed at the sensation of the cold table to her heated naked body. She couldn’t help but lean forward even further, presenting herself to him, and couldn’t stop the mewl that slipped from her lips when he smacked her ass. 

She looked over her shoulder and found Eris’s eyes on her, spreading her legs and Iris couldn’t stop the arch of her hips, biting her lip with a soft moan when his fingers slipped into her already wet folds.

“This is going to be hard and fast. I promise to be nice to you later but now…now I need to fuck you, wife.” He said and the low tenor of his voice made her hips arch back further, her breaths in time with his fingers teasing her entrance. “You understand?”

“Then you better fuck me hard, mate.” she said and Eris’s breath shuddered as she whispered, “I’m all yours.”

“Brace yourself,” was all he said before Eris thrust into her without preamble, and Iris let out a ragged moan, clutching onto the table as he had her. Eris fisted a hand in her hair and fucked her at a vicious pace and she could do nothing but bend over further for him, whimpering helplessly.

Her body took him and his brutal pace, Iris groaning as Eris grunted into her ear and Iris felt her impending release slowly start to build. The sensation of his tight grip on her hair, his other hand firmly on her back to keep her down was fueling a lust like never before in her.

It made her realize that she desperately liked it when he unleashed himself on her. That in fact, she loved that he was fucking her like this, especially as he thrust into her so hard again, he hit a spot she hadn’t thought existed until him. 

Looking over her shoulder, her breath quickened at the sight of the fire blazing in his eyes as he claimed her.

“Husband.” She gasped and Eris’s eyes snapped up to her, the hand on her back sliding to her ass and squeezing.

“Wife.”

“Harder.” She demanded and Eris’s eyes glazed over, the words driving him into a frenzy. He growled so deeply, goosebumps erupted all over her and the hand fisted in her hair pulled her head back so he could claim her lips, bruising her with a kiss.

“Gladly, mate.” he purred.

She shuddered and tried to meet his pace but Eris had unleashed himself completely and her husband was gone. Pushing her down fully on the table, the grip on her hips was deliciously painful as he thrust wildly.

There was no hope for her to catch up and Iris happily let him claim her, her release creeping closer – knowing how much they needed this with all that tomorrow would bring. The sound of his heavy breathing, the sound of their bodies meeting, and finally when he smacked her ass hard enough she knew there would be a mark, Iris shattered with a delicate cry.

Eris grunted and didn’t give her a moment to shudder through her climax as he pulled out, his length hard and wet with her release. He turned her over so fast and before she could realize what was happening, her husband had her flat on her back on the table.

Yanking her to the edge, he spread her legs for him and slapped her cunt, rubbing the slickness of her release in her folds. “I didn’t ask you to come.” He purred, his tone just a little mean and Iris arched her back off the table with a throaty groan as he slapped her sex again. “You like it when I slap your cunt, wife? Your cunt that belongs to me?”

But Iris was having a hard time getting her mouth to form words and could only breathe heavily, nodding. 

“I want to hear your answer, little gazelle.” he growled and slapped her cunt again, the sting a little harder and Iris cried out.

“Yes.” Iris wouldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed at the whimper that left her lips when he did it once more with a savage grin.

“That’s my good girl.”

Iris’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as his hips snapped into hers and held, the sensation so overwhelmingly good she could already feel another release building. 

The blaze in his eyes become more prominent, predatory as he pulled back only to pound into her again, his thrusts frantic and the pace merciless, watching her take his cock; a choked sob slipping from Iris’s lips when he pushed her legs further apart and held down, the angle deepening his reach. Her hand slid to her clit and his smirk was wild as he watched her play with herself, her pace trying to match his.

“You take me so fucken good, wife. I need to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see the way my cock fills you up. So you can see how your swollen cunt drips with need for me.” His voice was guttural and Iris bit her lips, the words only igniting more fire in her – more want. “You like it like this? You like it when I lose control? When I fuck you like an animal?”

“Yes.” She breathed and Eris clenched his jaw, his thrusts now desperate. 

“My hand — your throat.” his words were barely understood as another choked whimper slipped from Iris and she begged, 

“Please.”

Her plea had Eris’s hand slide to her throat and Iris’s mouth fell open at the sensation of his grip tightening slightly.

“You like that?” He ground out, snapping his hips into her hard enough, it caused her to shift back onto the table slightly.

But Iris could only gasp as he pulled her back to the edge of the table with a growl, his grip on her throat heightening all her other senses, her free hand clenching the hand on her throat desperately.

“I’m —“

“I’ll have you dripping all over this table momentarily, wife.” He snarled. “Patience.”

And Iris let him lose himself inside her as she lost herself in him. The feeling of being at his mercy like this would’ve had her breaking out in hives once upon a time but now she trusted him so thoroughly that giving him this type of control — control he needed – was so freeing. She was free falling and the sound of his rough grunts as he fucked her senseless sent her right over the edge once more with a tight moan.

“I said pati — fuck.” He growled and his thrusts became even more erratic as she clenched her walls around him, her body bowing off the table with a silent scream, her release coursing through her.

“Eris.” She whined and the sound of his name whispered from her lips undid him.

Eris cursed, pumping hard as he spilled himself inside her and Iris watched him through hooded eyes, relishing the way his eyes closed, the hand not on her throat gripping her thigh tight enough she knew it would bruise. He leaned over her, resting his head in the crook of her neck,  his breathing unsteady as his thrusts slowed and Iris could only moan softly when he pressed himself in her and held again, his cock still pulsing inside her. Her thumb caressed the hand still wrapped around her throat and Iris licked her lips, pleasure still coursing through her. 

When he finally opened his eyes and pulled back slightly, the sight of her underneath him, splayed beautifully, almost had him come again; he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, and judging by the way her walls still tightened around his shaft, Eris was sure she didn’t mind. He loved being inside her, loved it when she warmed his cock.

The fingers around her throat stroked her neck gently before he let go and peppered it with soft kisses that earned him a breathless sigh from his wife’s lips and he couldn’t help his small smile when he pulled back to meet her gaze.

And Eris felt his whole being crumble when she smiled softly at him and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing her with such tenderness that Iris felt her heart break a little. This was the way it was between them – a little rough balanced in with a little soft; she was the only one who made him realize how much he needed that softness. 

She pulled him closer with a hand on the back of his neck, the other on his chest, and wrapped her legs around his waist, the movement pushing him deeper inside her, and Iris had to bite her lip to swallow the wanton sound she knew would come out of her mouth. But she wanted to wrap her very being around him and keep him close to her heart, where he would be safe and whole and hers. She wanted him forever like this, in her arms as he kissed her and touched her and looked at her like she was the only one who mattered.

Their kiss deepened and when he shifted slightly, she wasn’t sure who made the breathless noise between them as she tightened around his cock again.

He shifted slightly, brushing a hair out of her face. “You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?” he gasped and Iris giggled. 

“I’m only giving you what you wanted.” 

His gaze was smoldering and Iris felt her whole body heat as they shared a breath but Eris forced himself to pause, his eyes roaming her face. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly and Iris felt his nervousness start to creep up. “Did I —“

“You didn’t hurt me.” She said immediately and leaned up to leave a quick kiss on his neck, running a hand down his chest. “I liked it. I liked it a lot. In fact –” Iris slid her hands up his toned arms then down his back slowly until they settled on his backside and she squeezed, digging her nails into his flesh. Her cheeks flushed as he groaned, rocking into her. “I think you and I are far from finished.”

Eris’s eyes flashed with desire as her words ignited a fire within him; she always knew what he needed without saying a word. His wife. His friend. His mate.

She was his and he was hers and Eris – who had never even dreamed of this, would hold on to this glowing thread between them like the lifeline it was.

“You’re right,” he said and his voice was a sensuous caress as he leaned closer. “I am far from done with you, little gazelle.” 

Little else was said as the two moved, and there was nothing soft about this claiming, nothing gentle about the need and desperation in their touches. Everything would change tomorrow and Eris couldn’t stop himself from letting himself be all wrapped up in her. For having this night of forgetting. 

And Eris promised himself he would do whatever it takes for their tomorrow to have a tomorrow. Whatever it takes to bring them peace. Regardless of how many pieces he had to break himself to do it. 

[voltstone]

Enid: Hey We— Enid: Wednesday, what are you doing? Wednesday: I’m critiquing your stories. Enid: My… Wednesday: Word of advice, you can use the character’s names more often. There’s no need to constantly replace them with ‘the singer’ or 'the idol’. Enid: Wednesday. Where did you find these…? Wednesday: … Wednesday: You are registered to an archive as…pasteldogenjoyer. I was intrigued to see you have been working on your writing. It has gotten better. Enid: Really?!

[virenkinnie]

what’s up guys i’m back at it with another epic awesome au!! on todays menu we have an au i literally forgot about for 2 years until today 👅👅

it’s a “what-if” type of thing where callum leaves without a word to study magic instead of rayla leaving to find viren, and rayla and ezran kinda tweak out and spend those two years looking for him. very fun! i will make an actual storyline soon but for now i’m just fucking around with some silly doodles

[angustully]

hiiii wrote my first fic in 2 years <3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58692895

[gauloiseblue]

Keep Your Eyes On Me

[Giorno Giovanna × Reader]

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you could paint someone as magnificent as Giorno, but it happened just like that. It all started from a small talk about the weather and the lovely sight of his private garden. But as soon as you talked about the progress in your project, he immediately proposed something you wouldn't expect.

"If you really need a model for your painting, you could've just asked me."

You snapped your head towards him at lightning speed.

"For real?" You asked, and he nodded without hesitation. "I mean—isn't that dangerous? I might end up exposing your identity! Because it's gonna be exhibited in the gallery and—and since your face would be on my painting—" You stammered as you tried to explain, "Someone might recognize you, and—"

"Hey, calm down. You think too much." He said with an amused grin, "No one has ever seen my face, except for the few people I trust."

He tilts his head when you squint at him, “I doubt that.”

“You can change my hair color, or alter my face a little bit if you’re still unsure.” He suggested, “Like I said earlier, I don’t mind becoming your muse.”

An amused snort came out from you louder than you intended, “That’s a bold choice of word, Gio.”

“But you always whine about not having a muse.”

“Well,” You scratched your nose, “What I mean by that is having an ordinary person as my muse, not the legitimate Don of passione.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.” He raised his brow, and an exasperated sigh left your mouth.

“That’s not it…” You mumble while your head’s down, not looking at his direction, “It’s just that… I’m worried about your safety, Gio. I don’t need to be a part of the mafia to know that everyone wants you dead. Not everyone, but you get my point.” You corrected, “I don’t want to accidentally put you in danger, y’know?”

For a moment, the conversation went cold. He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look at him. But then you hear footsteps, and a hand slips onto your cheek as he cups your face. “You really have the tendency to make me work for it.” He retorted gently, “I offered myself to be your model because I know you want me. But it’s not your job to worry about me, (Y/N). I want you to finish your project first, before you decide what to do with the painting.” He smiles, “Capisce?”

Although you didn’t get cold feet, it seemed like Giorno thought otherwise. Because he holds you still when you step away, and his grip is firm on your waist.

“Alright, alright.” You compromise, “I’ll do it, okay? I’m gonna take my stuff first, so can you please let me go for a sec?”

—

The painting equipment you bring is quite heavy, but you refuse to let his man carry them for you. You’ve surveyed the ideal place for the background, and you quickly set up the easel. While you set down your brushes and color paints, you watch the men arrange a long sofa by the window. With the instruction from the Don himself.

“So you’re gonna lay down?” You asked.

“You expect me to stand for hours?”

“No, but I thought I told you to sit on a chair.”

“It wouldn’t look as good.”

You roll your eyes, “I guess beggars cannot choose.”

He grinned as he dismissed his men, “I would take my clothes off if you wish to paint nude—”

You quickly clear your throat, loud enough until it sounds very constrained. Even though his men keep a straight face, you know they heard him. You glare at him, and he just chuckles in return.

“Shall we begin? You can lay down now.” You told him as you squeezed out the paint, “Make sure everything’s comfortable enough for you.”

“I’ll be more comfortable if you lay beside me.”

“Giorno.” You called him with a frown, which only made him smirk. He doesn’t speak much as he gets on the sofa, and leans comfortably against the armrest. You pick up the medium-sized brush and dip into the green color. You glance toward him, and begin to sketch on the white canvas.

“Hold on.” He said as he unbuttoned his vest, and slid them off his shoulders. You see him throw the black garment away carelessly, before he loosen up a few buttons of his shirt.

“Dio mio, Gio.” You uttered as you put down your palette. “Can’t you at least not throw it to the floor? It’s gonna get dirty.”

“It’s gonna be laundered anyway.” He replied while he rolled his sleeves, and you just scowled as you picked it up.

“Stronzo.” You mumbled as you dusted off the vest, and went back to your place. You drape the thing onto your chair, before you pick up where you left off.

The green color quickly spreads on the canvas as you map out the scene. You use the blue to sketch out the window, and the soft yellow for the sofa. Your eyes dart to him while you paint, and you hate to admit that he made the right choice to get rid of the vest. He fits perfectly into the picture.

You wonder if you ever see him as relaxed as this before. Although you knew him close enough, he still used his refined manner around you. As you draw the black line, you wonder where his attitude goes.

The brush is quickly switched with a bigger one, and you mix some dye until it resembles the color of the wall. You paint most of the canvas with the new color, and add the shadows and light. You look out the window, and find the sky’s clear. You’re gonna need a lot of blues.

As you work on the details, your eyes inadvertently fall on him. He’s also looking at you, with his cheek resting on his palm.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked.

“Like that… like you’re gonna…” You pressed your lips tightly before you shook your head, “Nevermind.”

You turn your gaze away as you focus on your work. The shadows are roughly placed, and you move on to the greenery.

“You know,” He began to speak as you painted, “I’ve had my portrait done a few times before, but you’re the first one who insists on doing it in my garden.”

“Why? You missed your office already?” You sneered.

“No, but I do miss my whiskey.”

Your brows furrowed, “You don’t drink liquor.”

“I don’t drink when I’m working.”

“Huh.” You replied nonchalantly, “Of course, this is just a picnic for you."

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t consider this as a picnic, there’s no wine and cheese platter for us.”

“Us?” You narrowed your eyes, “This isn’t a date, Gio.”

“I know.” He stated, “It’s just a proposal.”

You feel your blood rushes to your face, and you turn away from him. You can’t think of anything as the reply, so you settle with silence. It didn’t surprise you when he openly flirts with you, and you usually just shrug it off. But this time, you can’t ignore him at all, not when he sounds so serious.

The window on the canvas slowly takes shapes, and provides a good background for the plants. You spend the next hour perfecting the tall foliage, without sparing another glance at him. But you don’t have to look to know that his eyes are glued on you.

As you finish the basic lines of the potted plants, you proceed to draw the long sofa. You keep your head down as you blend the faded cream color, and put them on top of the yellow.

“I think I’ll be working on the background detail now,” You announced without taking your eyes off the canvas, “You can take a break Gio, feel free if you want to leave.”

“I’ll stay.”

You bit your lip, he’s going to be a hell of distraction.

Humans can acknowledge if something’s watching them, and you curse your ancestor for passing down that ability. Even when you try to ignore it, it keeps screaming at the back of your head. Because not only does he keep his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze also sets your alarm off.

He never looked at you like this before, right? Or have you been ignoring the signs? His friends always teased you, saying that you wouldn't be a great detective. But you're never good at reading someone's thoughts, let alone his mind. God knows what's going on inside his head.

If someone matches up the painter's apathy against the Don's preservation, it's gonna take a long time to know who's the winner. But this time, the answer seems to be clearer. And when your eyes met, you realized how terrifying his stubbornness can be.

"Gio," You mused, "Don't look at me like that…"

His lips spread into a half smile, "Like what?"

You grip your brush tightly, you don't have the courage to speak up your mind. It would be silly to ask the most feared Don about what he wants, because he has been declaring it loud and clear.

"(Y/N)." He called you softly, but as tenderly as it was, he still made your heart race, "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"I don't know." You looked away, "I just… don't want to get the wrong idea."

His smile grew wider, until the lines around his lips became prominent, "Come here, (Y/N)." He stretches his hand toward you, "I'll let you find out."

There's no need to confirm your suspicion, because the words he just said is a confession itself. You look at him and realize that he doesn't hide his infatuation. And you know better than approaching him without thinking. Because if you do that, it can only mean you reciprocate his feelings.

But do you love him? You asked. Despite the path that he chose, and the fact that you'd be plagued by constant worry about his safety. Will you still love him? Even when you know the misfortune will follow the two of you to the end?

Yes. Yes you would.

You gently put down your palette, and wipe your hands on your handkerchief. You've been repressing your own feelings for so long, but you won't hide anymore. Once you make it to his side, he'll know that you love him. There's no turning back.

He sits on the edge of the sofa by the time you walk to his side. When you stop right in front of him, he reaches for your hand and pulls you closer.

"Won't you regret it?" You muttered while he wrapped his arms around you, "I'm just a mere painter."

"And yet,” He tugs your hands and kisses them tenderly, “You could bring me to my knees.”

You blushed when he placed another kiss on your wrist, “Giorno—”

His head perks up, and you reach out to cup his face. He doesn’t resist when you lean forward, bringing your face closer to him. For a moment, you wonder why the thought of kissing him never crossed your mind before. He looks so… inviting.

He puts his hands on your waist as you press your lips against him. You taste his hunger on your tongue, and he guides your hand to his shoulder. You utter a small squeak when he hooks his arm around you and brings you down to the sofa.

The soft cushion puffs out under the sudden weight of your body. You need a second to process what had just happened, before you see him leaning over you.

Before you had the chance to speak, he already kissed you again. You squeeze your eyes shut as you circle your arms around his neck. Having him so close to you makes you realize how many details you missed out about him. The subtle scent of his shirt, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin.

Maybe you’re overwhelmed by love, even adoration. But you swear when you look at him, he never looks as magnificent as he is now.

—

The chatter and the occasional clink of glass fill the room as you walk past the visitors. The exhibition is bustling with people, and the champagne flows endlessly. There’s a few acquaintances around, but you only greet them without a small talk.

Giorno promised you he’ll come, even though you’re strongly against it. You’re worried about him making an appearance in public, but he assured you it’s alright.

This might be the first time you’re feeling nervous in the exhibition. Not because of the display of your art, but rather the incoming arrival of your muse.

When you reach the section of your paintings, your tension drops as you see familiar faces. His friends are coming, and you know Giorno is safe when they’re around.

Bruno is the first to notice your presence, and he smiles as you walk closer.

“Ciao, (Y/N).” He lifts his glass of champagne, and you return the gesture.

“Ciao.” You grinned, “Glad you made it here.”

“I would never miss it, (Y/N).”

The rest of the crew greet you, as they give a short praise for your paintings. But not without commenting about the portrayal of their Don.

“What did you do to him? He doesn’t look scary at all.” Said Narancia, “I swear, he looks more terrifying than usual. I could never get used to seeing him like that.”

“That’s because he only smiles when you mess up something, Narancia.”

“I never thought I’d get to see him without his suit on. I mean, he looks like the kind of man who sleeps in two-piece.” Mista jested.

“Now you mention it,” Abbacchio chipped in, “Why did he agree to be your model?”

You shyly answer, “He’s the one who suggested it.”

“What?” Bruno stares at you wide-eyed, “He asked you to paint him?”

“Sort of.”

Abbacchio strokes his chin slowly, while keeping his eyes on you. “That explains the lack of formal clothes.” He sneered, “So, did he finally succeed?”

“Succeed on what?” You furrowed your brows.

He only sips his champagne as he looks past behind you. The others seem to do the same, and curiosity makes you turn your head.

To say that you didn't expect him to dress up to the nines for the event was half a lie. You know he loves to flaunt, but seeing him like this almost makes you drop your glass. Because not only does he catch everyone's eyes, he doesn't hide his magnetic charm at all.

"Amore." He tugs you close by your waist, and places a peck on your shoulder, then your lips. "Sorry I'm late."

"Gio." You hissed, "I told you—"

"Dio mio!" Narancia gasped as he pointed at the blond, "Did you just kiss her?"

Fugo grabs his head and pulls him away from the group, "Come on now, don't bother them."

The youngest member protested, but he couldn't get away and got dragged further. The rest of the crew just watch them leaving, before they shift their attention to you.

Mista is the first one who speaks, pointing out the obvious, "The two of you are dating?"

"Well," You instinctively rub the back of your neck, "Yeah."

Your lover leans closer to whisper to you, "You don't sound so sure."

"Sorry." You squeeze his hand. "I just don't know how to tell the news to you guys."

"But why?" Bruno's eyes crinkled as he smiles in amusement, "We've been waiting for this moment." His statement made Giorno chuckle, before he pressed a kiss on your crown.

"I miss the time when he didn't care about girls." The silver haired man groans when Bruno kicks on his ankle, "What was that for?" He grunted.

"Aren't you happy that they're finally together?" Mista playfully asked as he circled his arm around his neck, "You used to complain about them all the time."

You raise your brows, but the older man just shoves him away. Mista laughs when he receives the death glare from him.

"Now, now." Giorno spoke up at once, interrupting the early stages of their usual bickering, "If you'd excuse me, I have to go on a date with (Y/N)." He encloses your shoulders with his arm, "She promised to give me a tour around the exhibition."

Bruno gives him a small nod, "Sure," He then adds, "Have fun, you two."

You wish them a good night before Giorno drags you away almost immediately. The drink on your hand almost spilled out as you tried to follow his pace. After walking through the third of the gallery, he stops at the empty corner.

It doesn't take long before he pushes you to the closest wall, and starts kissing you like a hungry man. You voice your protests, but they only get squashed down by his lips. You don't know which, or whose paintings are being displayed beside you, but you hope you won't disturb them by accident.

The two of you finally part to catch a breath, and you just realize that two people just scurry away when they see you. A pang of embarrassment struck you as you're suddenly aware that you got caught making out with him—your own model—on the day of your works' exhibition.

"Didn't I tell you to be patient?"

You put a frown on your face when he softly chuckles. He doesn't seem to mind his manner, which effectively fuels your guilty desire further.

"I've waited for long enough." He expressed with a coy smile, "Don't you think I deserve fair compensation?"

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Sweet Serenade: Vergil x G/N Reader

MINORS DNI GO AWAY >:[ SERIOUSLY-- *grabs a broom and sweeps at you* SHOO

SUMMARY: Ever since you met the blue devil you’d loved to listen to him; be it a small noise or a loud shout, you always listened. Tonight, you found yourself home alone with him and begin to hear a different noise; one that you realize you aren’t supposed to be hearing.

BEGINNING NOTES: ♭ Top/Dom Vergil x (implied) Bottom/Sub G/N Reader ♮Unestablished relationship. ♯Everyone else can tell you are into each other. The two of you have gone “out” before; even though that’s not what either of you called it, it is what both of you wanted. ♮You live at the DMC with Dante and Vergil. ♭Smut--Vergil masturbation voyeuristic reader ♮Vergil enjoys the idea of the reader consensually submitting to him (I don’t want it to come across wrong) (The song is a link to a YouTube video of it if you want to listen)

==

     The Devil May Cry was alive and bustling as per usual these days. There was never a dull moment not since the twins’ reunion and return from Hell. Although the happier and more welcoming atmosphere was a nice change of pace, you couldn’t help but miss the peaceful quiet times. Tonight was one of those nights. 

     The last contract was large enough that the whole shop got involved which resulted in an enormous payout. So, the crew decided to go out drinking to celebrate--Most of the crew anyway.

      Nero was hesitant to join, not being one for social outings--like father, like son. However, Nico wasn’t taking no for an answer and was currently shoving Nero--quite literally--out the back door. Lady and Trish had already moved to the garage and were chatting. Then, of course, there were the Sparda twins; Vergil and Dante. The younger sibling had been nagging his brother for over ten minutes.

     “Come on,” Dante playfully poked at Vergil’s shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight, staring at him like a kicked puppy dog, “Pleaseeee--”

     “Dante.” Vergil sighed as he stood up, shutting his book with a loud thump, “For the last time, I am not going to your stupid bar and that’s final.”

     The younger twin pouted slightly and let out an exaggerated exhale, “You’re so boring in your old age, Verge; you gotta learn to live a little,” Dante turned his attention to you and flashed a wide toothy grin, “You’re coming with right?”

     You pursed your lips and shook your head ‘No’.

     The red devil dramatically groaned and slumped forwards.

     You gently patted his back, “Sorry, I'm just too beat to join in.”

     Dante looked up at you and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

     A warm smile tugged at your lips as you ruffled the red devil’s hair, “Maybe next time.”

     “Promise..?” 

     “If that’s what you want, sure.”

     He stood back up fully, a small smile tugging at his lips, “You’d best believe I’m gonna hold you to that, babe~!” He winked at you as he grabbed his coat from the back of the desk chair, sliding it on, “Just don’t go breaking the old man, alright? Kinda need him in the morning for a contract.”

     “Huh-!?” Your eyes widened as you realized what he meant.

     Vergil rolled his eyes and moved to stand beside you, just a few centimeters away from your side, “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear, Dante?” He folded his arms and leaned back a bit.

     “And if it is?” Dante raised a brow at his sibling.

     “Tch,” Vergil’s gaze thinned, “As if they would have such low standards.”

     “Careful there Verge might insult yourself since we are twins.”

     “Perhaps, but we--”

     The sound of Nero shouting and a loud thud caught everyone’s attention--it seems Nero finally gave in, or rather gave out, and fell face-first into the concrete of the garage. Nico stared down at the young man from the doorway before turning to the three of you, a semi-irritated tone to her voice, “We’re gonna leave your old asses if y’all don’t get a move on!”

     Dante sighed and walked towards the door, “Sorry, only one ‘old ass’ is leaving tonight.”

     Nico said something unintelligible as Dante shut the door, leaving Vergil and you alone. 

     The blue devil sighed quietly before addressing you, “I am going to retire for the night,” he moved toward the stairs. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he paused for a moment with parted lips, as if he were going to say something; however, he said nothing, shut his mouth, and ascended the stairs, disappearing into his room. 

     You sighed through your nose. Part of you had hoped Vergil might want to spend some time together, but that was wishful thinking. He’s not the “hanging out” type, even if the two of you spend most of your waking hours together. Deciding to do the same as the blue devil, you turned off the shop’s lights and headed to your room. 

     The floorboards creaked as you entered your cozy abode and flipped on the lights. With a slight bounce, you flopped onto your bed with a loud sigh. Your room was the smallest of the three make-shift bedrooms of the Devil May Cry and shared a wall with a certain blue devil’s room. Through the thin walls, you could hear the faint sound of Schubert’s music from Vergil’s record player. Admittedly, you didn’t care much for classical music but that slowly changed when the eldest twin moved in. His music selection was so different than Dante’s; it was calmer, relaxing, and gentle, all of which were something you found reflected the man’s inner-self--even if Vergil doesn’t seem the temperate type. Tonight’s selection was no different. Currently, the record was playing one of your favorites “Serenade”. 

     A small smile tugged at your lips as you listened to the violins' crescendos and decrescendos; how each phrase changed and grew. You allowed yourself to relax into your bedding as you slowly began to drift off. However, just as you closed your eyes, a small stifled grunt came from the other side of the wall and piqued your curiosity. Then, a growl followed by a visceral groan emanated from the other room. Although you knew it was intruding--and downright voyeuristic--you couldn’t help but get up and set your ear against the shared bedroom wall, listening intently.

==

     Vergil had planned on reading and going to bed when he headed upstairs. Wishing to enjoy the few fleeting moments of peace within the walls of the shop. However, Vergil couldn’t get the teasing remark from Dante out of his head--the idea of Vergil making love with you. 

     As he read the same page over and over, Vergil found his thoughts devolving into more and more sinful ideas. He wondered what sounds you'd make when he ate at your body; what lascivious mewls and whimpers would you make? Would you enjoy it? How would you react to him holding you impossibly close as your bodies are neatly and sensually interwoven, connected together in an act of heated passion and lust? The endless amount of devilish sexual amusement he’d get from spearing your innards and watching you come undone under him. Your loud pleading cries from his overstimulating touch as Vergil plays with you long into the night and morning, not wanting to pass up this rare moment of privacy. 

     Admittedly he wasn't sure if you were into him as much as he is to you; however, that didn't stop the growing heat from spreading throughout his body. With an irritated huff, Vergil shut his book and grumbled to himself. He wasn’t typically one for masturbation and had mostly only partaken of such sinful delights in his youth. 

     Perhaps just one time wouldn’t be too bad, right?

     The blue devil carefully set his book down, still debating if he really was going to do this. However, an overwhelming throbbing in his pants answered the question for him. He bit his lip as he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to indulge such degenerative thoughts; thoughts of what he wanted to do to you. 

     He palmed his hard-on through his jeans, imagining it was your hand instead. The slow sound of his belt being unbuckled, the snap of the button of his fly, the smooth sound of the zipper coming undone; all of this he imagined was your doing. Despite his distaste for such joys of the flesh, he did keep a bottle of lube in his bedside drawer just in case he’d ever need it--and tonight was one of those times. 

     Setting the bottle on the tabletop, he closed his eyes and ghosted his fingertips against his aching tent. A shiver ran up his spine as he released his cock from its fabric confines. He opened his eyes for a split second to grab the bottle of lube and put some in his palm before quickly closing his eyes again; not wanting to break his fantasy. 

     It started slow, almost painfully slow, as he bit his lip. He was fantasizing about the wet feeling from the lube being instead caused by your cute little mouth being wrapped around his cock. A small groan left his lips as he continued to fall further and further into this fictitious scenario. What he wouldn’t give just to fuck your mouth at least once. As he continued, his lack of practice became more and more evident as his hand moved in uneven and unsteady strokes. A sudden intense hot feeling spread throughout his body causing him to grow uncomfortable. He knew exactly what it was; he was losing himself, being much too engrossed in his pathetic devilish desires, practically egging on an accidental Trigger. 

     Quickly, he opened his eyes and shot up from the mattress, tossing his vest off to the side. Using one hand to hold himself up from the mattress, he continued to pleasure himself. His brow twitched as he closed his eyes again. In his mind, he toyed with the idea of you being pinned underneath him; completely submissive and powerless. A small growl came from his throat as he began to lose focus on staying quiet. The sight of you breathless and staring back at him with half-lidded eyes made his cock ache and his mind reeling. 

     Again he began to feel the hot feeling consuming his limbs, he needed to let his skin breathe--he needed to undress more. As he fumbled with the shirt buttons, he leaned upwards. Almost instantly getting frustrated with the small plastic clasps, he ripped his shirt from his body--shredding it--and tossed it off in a random direction. Vergil leaned back over the bedding, his hand that was supporting his weight had balled up the sheets; tearing it with his nails. The blue devil bit his lip again as his pace became even faster, however, this did little to deter the loud carnal snarling that he was making.

     Vergil leaned further forwards, placing his forehead on the, now disheveled bedding. In his mind he was laying his head against yours, enjoying the feeling of your hot skin against his. The feeling of your hands within his hair and your legs wrapped around his middle, pulling him closer and further into your hole. A thin layer of sweat adorned his body and his hair had fallen forwards. A mixture of spit and a small amount of blood was dripping from his lips and onto the bed. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and filled with a disgusting amount of lust; a side of himself that Vergil, not only tries to hide from the outside world but, despises. However, he couldn’t be bothered to think about how unrefined and how feral he probably sounded and looked, the only thoughts to be had were ones about you.

     As he approached his orgasm he began to whimper your name quietly to himself, wishing he had the courage to ask you out and to ask for you to give yourself to him--every bit of yourself to him. He began to rock forwards, bucking his hips into his hand. A greedy possessive feeling filled his heart, he wants to hide you away from the world, to keep you all to himself. A snarl left his lips at the thought of anyone else being able to have you, to take you from him. Vergil didn’t care how insane he sounds or how dangerous that kind of mindset is; he’s had everything taken from him his entire life and he will not allow anyone to take you from him. With each passing moment, he got louder and called your name more and more frantically. 

     When Vergil hit his peak, he leaned upwards and threw his head back. A loud thunderous growl and an almost whimpering moan came from him as his body twitched in ecstasy. Lots of smooth white ropes decorated his bedding as he opened his eyes to stare at the dark room’s ceiling above him, he felt several tears running down his face. Using the thumb of the hand still wrapped around his cock, he played with his tip, sending a jolt through his body; despite finding release, he was still just as worked up as before--perhaps even worse than before. 

     That’s when a set of knocks at his door made him freeze. 

     Was Dante back already? Or what if you had--

     “Vergil?” It was you.

     He panicked; despite not being clean, shoved his cock back into his boxers and jeans. Unable to find his shirt from earlier, he grabbed a random t-shirt from his dresser and slid it on so fast he failed to notice that it was backwards. Using the sweat from his brow, he slicked back his hair in hopes it would stay long enough for him to answer the door. 

     When he opened the door his words were discombobulated as he stumbled through his thoughts, “What?” 

     You said nothing but instead shyly looked away from him, your shoulders tensed up and you pursed your lips. That’s when Vergil noticed.

     The strong unmistakable scent of arousal that was coming from you. You were just as, if not more, horny. Admittedly, he wanted nothing more than to pin you to the ground and take you right then and there; but he found himself hesitant. 

     With a very shy voice, you mumbled to him, “You alright? The record has been skipping for a while now and…” Your voice trailed off, unable to look him in the eye. 

     As he spoke a dark husky sultry tone came from him, a voice you’d never heard him use before, “Oh? Has it now?”

     You nodded, “Yeah, I can hear it from my room…”

     He smirked and turned you to face him, “It is quite invasive to be listening to others, Love.” His eyes met yours, “Especially if you were enjoying yourself to it.”

     Your eyes went wide.

     Vergil chuckled lowly, “I can tell from your heart that you either just ran a mile or were having a good time,” he leaned in closer, “and I can smell it on your hands, Voyeur.”

     A set of sputtering unintelligible noises came from you, your face becoming flushed and Vergil enjoying the sight. 

     He stood back up and turned to face inside the room, “Now, why don’t you come in for a moment? I’ll remove the record after all,” He looked over his shoulder, “I’d much rather listen to your serenade instead.”

==

ENDING NOTES: ♯This has been sitting in my WIPs half-finished for a while so I wanted to finish it up; sorry if the ending is a bit weird, wasn't sure how to end it lmao ♮Fun fact: the beginning part (right up until overhearing Vergil) was the original start to “As You Wish (Part 1)” lol ♭“That Unwanted Animal” By The Amazing Devil really was a good inspiration for this fic. I’d highly recommend giving their music a listen “The Horror and The Wild” is a REALLY good album lol

==

If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[yohohonabottle]

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TW: Foul language ---------------------

Meanwhile out on the town's dusty streets, the half-bearfolk teenager stalks with confident, purposeful somber march. The scent of faded fir, oak, cedar and cold, and honey-sweet flowers is still weakly drifting in the air-–It still hasn't grown too cold. Good. 

Inhaling, nostrils flare for a second, he follows the trail up the path that winds between houses, merchant stalls, inns, saloons and stables like a branching out snake. Heavy club slung on his back and the short, sharp claws on his feet leave marks in their wake. Each sure step brings him farther away from the Leaping cricket and closer to the scent's owner. 

Wading through the town he despises, the dark-eyed boy's mind reels. 

Who arranged the wedding? Why? And why give me a male Night jinni-–Why not a Wilder or Lightbearer woman, for example? Or someone from the other desert clans...? The morons had definitely drugged Fang-face with some potion to give him a cunt, that's for sure; if the feminine pheromones are anything to go by. 

His brows furrow, eyes narrowing. 

I don't get it. 

Why go through the hassle and waste resources? It doesn't make sense— 

Another memory rises to the surface and in his mind's eye. A story, another legend that his and Alsa's late adoptive father told.  A tale of what happens when one of those elusive hunters and a human cross together-–A hybrid immune to the sun due to being half-human while having the same abilities and heightened senses as the blood-sucker parent. 

"If I remember correctly, they are often called–" Realization dawns on the quiet warrior, eyes widening slightly in sudden recognition and his strides falter. For a brief moment, the newlywed husband is left standing breathless as though struck hard. A single word falls out his mouth, barely above a whisper on the wind. 

—"Nephilym." 

It makes sense and perfectly answers his earlier questions. Whoever wanted this to happen and pulled the strings, didn't have any female night jinns caught. Only this one, and to 'fix' the problem, the scoundrels got their hands on a potion that can give a womb and doped-up the poor dunderhead. And why pick him, out of all Maulers? 

Because now everyone both in the desert and outside of it, know he's a strong promising warrior. A prodigy in combat. And right into his prime. Not too young or too old. Perfect.  Now imagine a child, or kids, that inherits both his and that phantom's traits and abilities. Formidable. A very wonderful weapon. Even better since the young one won't know who or what it really is. Perfect for molding. 

Why else go through all these hoops? And hey, if either he or the vampire, or hell, both of them, can be manipulated somehow? Well that's just a plus, bonus points. 

Now the question becomes 'To what end?' What is the goal here with all this...? The creature's smell is stronger now, enough to snap Soren out of his grim musings.

Squinting against the darkness of the settled night, he takes a step forward up the dusty path where the invisible trail leads, catching sight of a dimly lit window little ways ahead. Looking around himself, the fiery-spirited Mauler scoffs at the unfamiliar surroundings:

Over his shoulder is the lake along with some saloon and the bounty board, and ahead is the upper exit of town, giving him the impression that this must be the northern part of Alkali. Except the scent leads to a corner slightly off the path, away from the gate, a district that he hasn't been to with Merlin and the two hamsters. 

...Or maybe neither of them thought to check this part in their mad rush to sniff out the stolen merchant caravans and find his missing clanmates. Thinking back to those adventures, it's like the Magister simply knew exactly where to find Ferrank and his men, how to get there ways ahead akin to a prophet–-The mage had simply led him to his destination. Not once did either Merlin or Chippy and Hammie stray off the 'invisible quest path' during their journey...

And I never had much interest in exploring Alkali to bother. 

Huh. Interesting-–Not like he'll stick around much now either or anything. Just find that weasel, grab him and get outta this reeking bandit-hotspot. A pang of guilt sharply stabs and twists at his heart as his adoptive sister's puzzled face flashes in mind.

It wasn't right to leave her and the youngsters with Antandra, Satrana, Koko and Walker like that, just to hunt down this wraith and drag him home. But seeing how slippery this guy is, like a ferret, staying in town isn't an option.

The thing would scurry off and weave into crowds, find endless excuses, just to keep avoiding him. However over on his turf, cornered and with nowhere to run, he'd have to meet him head-on. No living seas to hide in. No one to save him. 

I don't tolerate spineless cowards, and I won't have one as my 'wife.' Arranged or not.

The scent eventually brings him to a smaller, less noticeable slanted-roof inn flanked on either side by two other taller buildings. Eying the pitiful round and chipped sign dangling at the porch on a single rope, Soren unceremoniously pushes the creaking door open and steps inside the dingy-looking inn.

The place is sparse with vintage furniture that makes it appear like a modest tavern rather than a real motel– A large coffee table with two long L-shaped sofas on either side off in the top left corner of the lobby, and a slightly banged-up bar counter with high stools lined at it in the right, and a single lightbulb illuminating the place. 

So long they have good meat, bread and water here, it's passable to crash and rest for a moment...I guess. 

—"Evenin', youngster! 'Ow can I be o' service?" –The hulking orphan's right ear twitches once as in 'I heard you.' and he turns his attention over to the creaky voice's owner. A plump tanned middle-aged, almost elderly but sunny man in denim patched overalls and plaited shirt stands behind the counter, a hairy elbow leaned on the bar.

Usual crabby blank scowl in-place, Soren lumbers over, taking note of the shelves and the various alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks lined up on them. 

—"Does the name 'Prin' ring any bells to you, old man?" -He gruffly mutters, glancing sidelong over to the small group of people playing poker and solitaire at the table. The heavy stench of tobacco floating around the room nearly makes him light-headed, cough and gag. 

—"Hm, I think yes.. Odd fellow, that one–Looks like Death and you'd 'ardly 'ear his voice, but a wicked song-bird when 'e sings, I tell ye." –The barkeep finally answers with a smile under his thick messy moustache and beard, after a few seconds of drumming his fingers in thought. "Why 'r ye askin', son–If ye don't mind me pokin'? A friend?" 

—"...No. A misfortunate husband." –Soren grits out miffed, narrowly spitting out the moniker like venom, arms crossed over his broad chest. The old man gives him a sympathetic look from under his big, unruly curly eyebrows with a sigh. Reminds me of the day I met my sweet Betty–Me, a timid noble lad and her, a wildfire of a cougar-girl from the desert slums. Good times. ..If only we had a little more.....

—"Ah, I see. Well, the lad's in 'ere. Ye'll likely find 'im in 'is room. Seemed mighty drained 'n distressed when 'e came in some minutes ago..."  —"Thanks."

Turning on his heels, he resumes stalking the scent-trail leading up the carpeted old wooden staircase, the steps groaning under his feet quietly. The secondary chieftain barely hears the barkeep's 'Good luck, lad.' as he briskly ascends the stairs with determined long strides. 

Watching after the young warrior's retreating back, Walter Moorwood's beady faded-brown eyes twinkle with wistful nostalgia and a wan smile tugs at his lips.  

[sugarmapl]

bet on it (cytham)

reposting this on here for anyone who wants to read it while ao3 is down :3

Summary:

Some new recruits within the matra have come up with an interesting wager. Whoever is the first to bed the intimidating and fearsome General Mahamatra wins. Little do they know that they lost the bet before it had even begun…

{fluff and humor - rated M}

—

After the old sages were overthrown, the Akademiya itself needed a good thorough cleansing. Many of their old spies and loyal devotees needed to be weeded out in order to move forward. Cyno and Alhaitham worked closely together on that very task. Within the first few weeks of the new regime, much of the Akademiya staff had been replaced.

That included the matra, which Cyno was in charge of. He was a bit disappointed with how many of his subordinates were secretly loyal to Azar and the other old sages. It was a painstaking task sorting through them all, but eventually, he managed to rummage up a good number of new recruits to replace them. Cyno left his most trusted subordinate, Nayab, to train the newbies.

Although many of the newcomers joined the matra out of a sense of duty and justice, there were still a few that joined simply because they weren’t cut out for the rigorous academic life. The Akademiya could be extremely mentally draining, and becoming a matra was a nice way of still becoming employed by the Akademiya while enjoying greatly reduced mental strain. That being said, some of the recruits who fell under that category were not the most… properly motivated.

Unfortunately, Cyno and the other, more experienced matra couldn’t afford to be picky at the moment. They were in desperate need of the numbers since taking significant losses in the recent power struggle, so most new recruits with a fairly spotless record were accepted. Cyno figured he would just have Nayab whip them into shape and get their priorities straight.

How could he have predicted the depths of their degeneracy? The General Mahamatra was an extremely busy man, especially with the rebuilding of Sumeru’s political landscape. He hardly had time to interact with the new recruits at all. As a result, they only saw him sparingly here and there, and his reputation as a cold and intimidating senior returned in full force.

With the previous matra, and the ones who had been there a long time still knew this, Cyno had taken great pains to shed his intimidating aura by telling jokes or talking at length about Genius Invocation TCG. He had put in a lot of effort to break that ice and make the other matra feel more comfortable around him. But since there were so many newcomers, and he hardly had the time to try out these ice-breaking methods with them, Cyno felt like he was back to square one.

He complained about this very subject one day to Alhaitham as the two were meeting in the scribe’s office. “I heard all the new recruits find me difficult to approach. I wish I had more time to bond with them so that they weren’t afraid to ask questions or report back to me.”

“As long as they do their jobs, what does it matter what they think of you?” Alhaitham replied, not even pausing as he scanned over a document in his hands.

His work as Acting Grand Sage had also been tiring him out and leaving him little time to get to know the new Akademiya employees. Unlike Cyno, however, Alhaitham preferred it that way. He saw no point in forming personal connections at work. He was only concerned with clocking in, getting his work done, and clocking out. And maybe coming up with excuses to see the General Mahamatra in his office a little more frequently during the day, but nobody had to know about the last part.

“I want to be someone they can look up to. A role model of justice,” Cyno explained. “But it’s difficult to do that if you’re not well-liked.”

Alhaitham finally stopped what he was doing to glance up at the other. Cyno was perched on the edge of the scribe’s desk, seeming especially small as he swung his legs back and forth absentmindedly. Cyno was holding a document of his own, though he wasn’t even pretending to read over it anymore, turning to meet Alhaitham’s eyes.

“You put too much merit into other people’s opinions,” the scribe told him flatly.

Cyno rolled his eyes. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

Alhaitham stood up, circling the desk until he was in front of Cyno. “Besides,” he said, cupping the smaller’s cheek, “I already like you plenty enough.” With that, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on the General’s lips, which Cyno reciprocated gratefully.

“That was smooth,” Cyno said after pulling away. “But I still would prefer the matras’ opinions of me to be a little bit better.”

“Fair enough,” the scribe relented. “Maybe you can spend more time with them when you get back.”

The General Mahamatra hopped off the edge of the desk, taking slow steps towards the exit. “I should get going for the desert mission now. I will probably return tomorrow or the day after, at the latest.”

“I look forward to it,” Alhaitham replied with a wink, and then Cyno was gone.

Meanwhile, Nayab was busy with the new recruits. They were having an orientation of sorts where he handed out the manuals and uniforms, and was just going over some of the matra duties when someone raised their hand.

“Yes? Question?”

“What’s the General Mahamatra like?” the recruit asked.

Some of the matra who had clearly been tuning out earlier suddenly sat up with renewed interest at the mention of the General Mahamatra. Many of them had yet to see or meet Cyno. Nayab had almost expected this, though he really wished they’d saved their questions for the end. Still, he saw no harm in answering it now.

Cyno was already somewhat of an infamous figure in Sumeru, but after rescuing the Dendro Archon and overthrowing the previous Akademiya hierarchy, he had become even more so, his renown soaring to unbelievable heights. Many saw him as a hero, but tales of his strength were often accompanied by over-exaggerated descriptions of his appearance or demeanor.

“Lord Cyno is a fantastic leader. He is the very pinnacle of justice, and he is what all of us matra strive to be like,” Nayab told them honestly.

“But what is he like? How’s his personality?” the recruit asked again, not satisfied.

“Yeah, is he really as scary and intimidating as people say?” someone else chimed in.

“Of course not,” Nayab rushed to explain. He hated when people misunderstood Cyno’s character. “He is extremely kind. Though he may seem a little tough on the outside, he has a generous heart and cares deeply for each of his subordinates.”

The crowd of young matra seemed fascinated by that response, eager to know more. They continued pressing Nayab for information, much to his dismay.

“What about his appearance?”

“I heard he was six feet tall and super jacked.”

“Can he really lift a sumpter beast with one hand?”

“Is it true he walks around half-naked?”

Nayab struggled to keep up with their questioning, tackling their curiosity one at a time.

“He is actually rather on the small side… Uhhh he is very strong, but I wouldn’t say jacked, more like lean… I wouldn’t be surprised if he could really do that…. The General Mahamatra does have an unusual choice of clothing, so he may seem a bit underdressed at times…”

Finally having enough, Nayab dismissed the recruits to continue their training tomorrow. He seriously needed a break. He appreciated the display of trust, but why did Lord Cyno leave him of all people in charge!?

That night, some of the new matra gathered at a tavern to blow off steam. They huddled around a small table, leaning in close as they discussed in hushed voices what they had learned that day.

“Do you think it’s really true? The General Mahamatra is actually tiny?” one of them asked his friends in disbelief.

“All the older matra said the same thing, so it must be,” another one answered.

“I also heard from one of my upperclassmen that he’s, like, super pretty.”

“What? No way!”

“Seriously! And some other senior scholars said the same thing!”

“Hmmm interesting,” the one at the head of the table hummed before breaking out into a smirk. “Fellas, I have an idea.”

They all turned to him with their full attention. He must have been the leader of the little pack.

“The training has been super boring so far, so whaddya say we spice things up with a little wager?”

“A wager? What kind?” the one who originally spoke first asked, though it was clear his interest was peaked.

In all honesty, the first few days of matra training always revolved around rules and regulations. While it wasn’t the most exciting of topics to discuss, it was very important in assuring the matra conducted themselves professionally and within Akademiya guidelines. Still, for recruits who were too dumb to become Akademiya scholars, they felt nothing but pent up frustration towards long lectures and required readings.

“How about we bet our first months’ salaries?” the leader proposed.

“On what?”

“Whoever bangs the General Mahamatra first wins,” he said with a sleazy grin.

“You’re crazy!” the others laughed. “Are you that desperate to get laid?”

The leader laughed along with them, but didn’t drop the idea. “And you’re not? Besides, think about the bragging rights you would have if you actually pulled it off. The hero of the Akademiya, the brave and fearless General Mahamatra, pillar of Sumeru, spreading his legs for you.”

That actually shut the others at the table up, some even clearing their throats and sitting up a little straighter.

“You’re serious?” one asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then… count me in.”

“Me too.”

“Me too!”

One by one, the new recruits agreed to the obscene wager. They hadn’t even seen the General Mahamatra’s face with their own eyes yet, but it was enough to stoke their competitive spirits and stave off boredom for the meantime. They laughed over the topic over a few more rounds of drinks, discussing all the ways they were going to lure Cyno to their beds. All the while, they were completely oblivious to the man at the bar who was eavesdropping on their every word.

Alhaitham sighed. He only wanted to enjoy a nice post-work glass of wine, but now he also had to listen to those idiots talk about all the ways they planned to fuck his boyfriend. Of course, he knew it was never going to happen. Cyno would never go for such a thing, and he would certainly never cheat on Alhaitham.

The scribe’s only worry was that Cyno could be a bit… obtuse at times. He would often mistake flirting as friendly banter, and the scribe didn’t want Cyno’s inherent gentle nature taken advantage of or going to those matras’ heads. He would just have to keep an extra close eye on him once he got back.

The next day, Cyno returned late afternoon as promised. He looked exhausted as he trudged through the Akademiya, no doubt having spent the better part of the past day battling Eremites in the desert. His body was slightly battered and bruised, and he had the faintest of bags under his eyes. The tiredness actually softened his usually stern features, only making him appear all the more vulnerable. That was when the first of the matra decided to strike.

“Lord Cyno!” they called as they jogged up to him. The young recruit had pale blonde hair and freckled skin. He was not bad to look at at all and he knew it, which gave him an unnecessary ego boost.

He had to admit, when he saw Cyno enter the Akademiya, the General Mahamatra surpassed his expectations. Of course, he’d heard the rumors that the other was small, but he would never have guessed just how cute Cyno really was. He had beautiful long white hair and stunning red-tinted eyes. Even beat up, he couldn’t help but think the other was extremely pretty. Seeing the General in person only served to increase the young matra’s motivation to win the bet.

“Welcome back!” he continued, tone friendly. “Are you alright?”

Cyno looked at him confused for a moment before seeming to realize who he was. “You’re one of the new recruits, correct? I’m quite fine. I’m sorry to meet you in such a state,” Cyno apologized, extending his hand to shake.

The young matra excitedly took it, shaking it with enthusiasm. It seemed that Nayab was right. Cyno’s true nature was rather polite and pleasant. In that case, the bet would be a piece of cake.

“Believe me, you still look incredible,” he said with a flirty smile.

The General Mahamatra paused awkwardly, retreating his hand from the uncomfortably long handshake. There was no way the kid meant it like that, right? Cyno was probably just misunderstanding him. The other was being friendly, and it gave Cyno a chance to get closer to his new subordinates. Still, all he could muster up in response was, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, though? Do you need help with anything? I can assist you!”

Cyno felt bad. The kid seemed so eager to please, he probably just looked up to Cyno and wanted to become a good matra. Cyno didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was just going to report back to (and possibly make out with) the Acting Grand Sage. He was about to make up something for the other to help him with so that they could bond when said Acting Grand Sage seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

“I-”

“General Mahamatra, you’re back,” Alhaitham said calmly. He strode up confidently, addressing Cyno while also completely ignoring the other matra that was standing there.

“Acting Grand Sage. Yes, I just got back,” Cyno replied, seeming to brighten up a bit.

“Excellent. I am eagerly awaiting your report. Let’s head back to my office together, shall we?” the scribe asked. Before waiting for a response, he gently circled his arm around Cyno’s shoulders and guided him away toward the elevator.

The young matra recruit stood there frozen in momentary shock. Did he just get cockblocked by the Acting Grand Sage?

The next morning, Cyno was in the library doing some research into a case he was working on. One of the new matra happened to be in there studying his manual, delighted at the appearance of the General Mahamatra. Cyno stopped in front of a particular bookshelf and began scanning the titles in search of something. The matra took the opportunity to spring into action.

“General Mahamatra, I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said as he approached.

The matra recruit was confident in his looks, much like his friend. Though, while his peer had more of the boy-next-door vibe, he was more of a tall, dark, and handsome type. He was also much taller than Cyno, and so he was sure that he had the bet in the bag.

“I’m one of the recently recruited matra, so I just wanted to introduce myself.” As he spoke, he gave a slight bow. Cyno seemed surprised at the action before waving it off.

“No need to be so formal. I’ve been meaning to get to know all the recruits better anyway,” the Mahamatra assured him with a smile.

The young recruit felt his heart skip a beat. “Great! If that’s the case, would you like to join me for some coffee?”

Cyno looked slightly apologetic. “Unfortunately, I am a bit too busy at the moment. Perhaps in the near future?” he suggested instead.

“Absolutely!”

The entire time they spoke, Cyno had never paused in his scanning of the bookcase. Finally, it seemed he found what he was looking for, but he frowned with his neck craned up. The book he needed just so happened to be on the top shelf. He reached for it half-heartedly, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get it with his height.

The young matra was elated. It was like fate had given him the ultimate chance to make a move on the General Mahamatra. He would be his knight in shining armor, pressing close to reach the book and make Cyno’s heart flutter. Then, it was only a matter of time. Smiling to himself, the matra moved to carry out his plan, extending his arm and-

A blur of black and green suddenly appeared in a flash. A tall, handsome, silver-haired man crowded in close to Cyno and retrieved the desired book before stepping back and handing it to the tiny general. Cyno looked slightly flustered by the action, and the young matra quietly cursed the man in his head.

“Alhaitham? What are you doing here?” Cyno asked.

“I came to see what was taking you so long. We have a morning meeting, remember?” the scribe reminded him.

Wait a minute, Alhaitham!? The matra stared in awe at the man in front of him who was, allegedly, the Acting Grand Sage. He could be upset at anyone else interrupting him, but if it was Alhaitham, then it was probably for something important. But… why the hell was the guy totally ignoring him altogether!? He acted like the matra wasn’t even there! In the blink of an eye, the Acting Grand Sage had whisked the General Mahamatra away.

That same day, another incident occurred. The leader of the young recruits had come up with a plan. He heard from the other matra and older scholars that the General Mahamatra was absolutely obsessed with Genius Invocation TCG. And so, the matra had spent all of the night before putting together an impressive deck in order to challenge Cyno to a duel.

Using a shared interest, he would grow close to the General Mahamatra before eventually taking him to bed. Maybe he could even speed up the process by betting with the General on a round of the card game. The rumor was that Cyno couldn’t say no to Genius Invocation TCG, after all. And if the matra happened to cheat by hiding a few cards up his sleeve, no one would have to know.

He was all ready to set the plan into motion. He would bump into Cyno in the hallway at the Akademiya, thus spilling his TCG cards ‘by accident’. Then, after peaking Cyno’s interest, he would challenge him to a duel during which the matra would seduce the unsuspecting General. It was the perfect plan, and he expected to have the General spreading his legs by nightfall.

The matra had studied Cyno’s schedule, and knew that the other usually had a meeting with the Acting Grand Sage at that time. Then, Cyno would exit down the same hallway on the way back to his own office. The matra hid around the corner in said hallway, waiting for the tell-tale sound of Cyno’s footsteps. They were easy to identify since the General Mahamatra was almost always barefoot.

He steeled himself, then flung around the corner, only to smack into what felt like a brick wall. He hit the ground hard, spilling his TCG cards all over the marble floors. Oh well, not exactly to plan, but he could still make it work. He glanced up and saw the muscled figure of the Acting Grand Sage looming over him, looking down with an unphased expression.

The General Mahamatra was at his side, at least having the decency to look slightly concerned. “Are you alright?” Cyno asked.

No, he was definitely not alright. Why was the Acting Grand Sage built like a freight train!? He felt like he just got run over, but he had to play it off in order for the plan to work.

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” the young matra said, trying to sound guilty.

Cyno smiled at him. “It’s okay, just be careful next time,” he said gently.

Alhaitham looked unamused. “Yes, rushing around the Akademiya halls recklessly is unbecoming of a matra. If I were anyone else, they might have gotten hurt.”

What a fucking asshole! If anyone was hurt here, it was the matra he just bowled over! But the young recruit plastered on a fake smile, moving to scrape up his scattered cards off the floor. “Of course! I’m so sorry, Acting Grand Sage,” he apologized again through gritted teeth.

“Do you need help?” Cyno asked, beginning to bend down. “If you value your cards, you should keep them in a protective case. I can recommend you some-”

However, before Cyno could actually scoop up a card, Alhaitham stuck out an arm to stop him. “Let him clean up his own mess. This is a learning experience for him,” the scribe said coldly. “Let’s go.”

And then, just like that, the Acting Grand Sage and the General Mahamatra were gone. The young matra cursed Alhaitham a thousand times in his head as he picked up the last of his deck and stomped off. His fool-proof plan had been ruined.

That night, the group of matra recruits reconvened at the tavern. After talking about their various experiences, they all came to the same conclusion: they had all been cockblocked by Alhaitham. While frustrated, the leader was determined to not give up on the bet, and his passionate enthusiasm soon inspired the others. They all planned to double down on their efforts starting the following day.

A week passed by that way. Each day, the young matra recruits would do their best at attempting to seduce the General Mahamatra. But each time, their efforts were thwarted by the Acting Grand Sage. Even when the blasted scribe was busy, Cyno seemed to be assigned to some mission or another where no one would be able to see or find him. Cyno himself seemed completely oblivious to every pass at him whatsoever.

It was growing increasingly frustrating, but the matra were stubbornly determined. They were convinced that they just needed to get the General alone and he would break. Finally, on Friday, it seemed that the bet was over. Cyno came into work wearing much more clothes than usual, a black cloak covering much of his visible skin. All of the matras’ attention immediately honed in on the General Mahamatra’s neck, where the traces of a love bite could be seen just barely peeking out of his choker. Cyno was also walking with a slight limp.

Immediately, they knew the bet was over. Someone had won, now they just needed to find out who. They crowded into a secluded corner in the House of Daena, away from prying eyes and ears. Once they all had gathered, the leader clapped once to draw their attention.

“All right, fess up. Who did it?”

Silence. The matra recruits looked around at each other with accusatory glances.

“C’mon it’s obvious that somebody won the bet. He clearly got fucked last night. Don’t you wanna claim your prize?” he prodded the group.

Still, no one confessed.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me either.”

“Nope.”

Everyone’s analytical gazes turned into ones of confusion. Why would the winner not want to own up to such a feat? Unless… it was none of them.

A sudden, slow clapping startled them as someone rounded the large pillar they were standing next to. None other than the Acting Grand Sage emerged, looking faintly amused for the first time. The matra all stood there in shock and slight fear, not knowing what to say. How would they even begin to explain themselves? Before anyone could speak up, he beat them to it.

“So, I believe you all owe me your first month’s wages, correct?”

[flywolfwriting]

Throw Me in the Deep End

Charlie was proud to say she was not afraid of the dark. It certainly impressed the other seven-year-olds in her class, and her parents always told her how proud they were that she had conquered that fear so young. That she was so brave for sleeping without a night light. 

It was even mostly true. She could sleep in her own room, and could sneak about the manor in the middle of the night without her heart in her throat, but sometimes it still quickened, and if she looked out the windows her breath caught. She was still only seven, after all, and it was a big, scary world beyond the safety of the manor walls. 

It took her time to settle into their New Orleans holiday home. She learned the creaking of the walls and the whispering of the wind, grew accustomed to the way shadows cloaked her temporary bedroom. She kept the curtains open for just that small glimmer of moonlight and buried her head under her blankets to keep from looking outside. 

She didn't say anything to her parents, though, not even when her mom woke her before sunrise to take her on an early-morning walk. They drove for ages with Charlie napping in the backseat, until her mom pulled over and told her they'd arrived. Charlie hugged close to her, but put on a brave face when Lilith led her into the bayou. She protested only a little when directed to stay put for a moment, her plea cut off with a firm, "You're mommy's brave little girl, aren't you?" 

Charlie wanted so badly to be so she nodded and did as asked. She watched her mother disappear into the darkness and waited. 

And waited.

And kept waiting. 

The song of the bayou played around Charlie and her trembling fingers clutched the hem of her shirt tightly as she tried not to imagine glowing eyes creeping closer around her, silent tears streaking her cheeks. 

Finally she could take it no more and with a sob she raced back the way they'd come. 

"Mommy!"

—---------------------

Alastor loved nights like this, when the shadows clung to him like cobwebs and the crescent moon offered just enough light to avoid stepping into the alligator-infested waters. He could see the glint of their eyes watching as he dumped the duffle bag and opened it. They moved closer but didn't creep onto the small finger of land he stood on. They simply waited, and when he threw the first limb into the water they struck, the still bayou turning into churning bodies fighting for meat. 

Alastor threw the next piece, quietly humming as he watched them feed. This was almost the best part, second only to the moment blood welled under his fingers and his victim realized they were about to die. He kept the best cuts to himself, of course, but the gators seemed to appreciate his treats all the same. 

When he finished he loaded the bag with soil before tossing it in, tucked his gloves back into his pocket, and set off with a spring in his step. 

That was when he heard the sob.

Alastor froze, listening carefully. The bayou was full of strange sounds but he had learned them all, knew each creak of wood, the splash of an alligator sliding into the water, the hum of every insect. He slipped into the shadow between the trees and waited, his knife at the ready. They weren't truly deep within the bayou itself; he couldn't risk the noise of a boat. It was plausible someone had followed him. 

What came next was a greater shock: a child, a little girl, stumbling into view. 

No, they weren't deep, but dawn had yet to crack the sky and they weren't near any roads. 

Alastor resisted a sigh and tucked his knife back into its sheath against his thigh and stepped out. 

The girl let out a short scream and fled.

“Wait-” Alastor called, then took off after her. He couldn't see her anymore but he heard her footsteps, another short scream, and the expected splash as she fell into the water. 

And then a more familiar kind of splash.

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[lloydlings]

FABRIC

by me (flyingdutchman on AO3)

A one shot about Lloyd’s importance in the universe and his element in the very life.

“Your place is in the Fabric of the Universe”

Lloyd has always known his role, tying into the closely knit threads. Threads that span all of Ninjago, and now the sixteen realms. For he knew it in his youth, where he clinged to the feeling in the air, the frequency of his friends, the glow in his chest.

The power he holds.

The power he holds is not a normal one. It is not easily describable, nor is it describable at all. It's living, breathing, competent, strong. It speaks for him when he has nothing to say. It burns a fire that nothing can quell, even not himself.

It feels un-attached, acting of his own force and capability. Making decisions for him that he'd rather control himself. But that is his power. It's not normal.

As the boy has grown older, so has his power grown with him. He knows himself to be a grandson of a godly being, no matter how harsh, or no matter how interceptive it can be. Sometimes he wishes that not to be the case. For when his anger rises like a fierce tidal wave that only his sister could rival, so does his power with it. Like the banging of bars on a metal cage, locked inside without a key.

His volatility is his weakness. Wu had made it clear time and time again, but now the wise master is all but a wisp. A forgotten memory. Someone that Lloyd has yet to make contact with, someone that Lloyd values so highly. Perhaps it is though because Wu, does not value his own power at all.

That on the other hand of it all, his father has depended on his power more than anybody. At least to the point of where his father is now, or the current form he takes. Lloyd remembers the soft, pinging-- but calm frequency his father radiated in the time where Lloyd was still harnessing his Golden Power. A thing dutily ripped away from him when push came to shove.

Instead he seems to lose the closeness, the memory. His father's power is cold. He's felt it, like a brisk poison rushing to all senses. Like a dagger to the heart. Like pain, rushing through his bones, and twisting-shoving-screaming---crying... His father's power is destruction, and yet he's felt these on the recieving end, he also knows the value in it in himself.

With this power passed down, before he swore to never give in to it again. It was a rush, like a cool rush through the air, a swift turning in his chest, a reason to keep fighting. Destruction is fleeting, but addictive, so addictive that he's felt it control him. Winding up like a broken toy, destroying all that comes forth. But it's the cool that quells the warm. It's the cool that makes his senses finally dullen to a point where he can actually breathe.

For it's been so long since he could actually breathe.

Because, "energy" might be life, but it's always running. It's the feeling in the air, it's the happiness, it's the pain. It's knowing everything, and feeling everything all at once and not being able to control it. To feel what you don't want to feel. For everything to be there, whether the sounds, whether the slight movement that would catch anyone in a loop. But with that is the slight knowledge that he cannot control it.

He will never be able to control the life that burns within him.

He is not like the others.

As it is, what it is, life cannot be controlled.

And his own life has fought like wildfire, even if he'd want it extinguished, even if he'd want to greet death like an old friend.

It's healed his wounds, it's lied, it's exclaimed his greatness, it burns.

Sometimes his friends exclaim the greatness of their powers, the calmness. Zane explaining to him one night for that he is calmed down, he is cooled by the ice that reaches his mind. Nya by the water, the rush in her veins. But Lloyd is not one and the same. His powers are volatile. They shift to one side, and sink, the other.

Lloyd, unlike the others, feels his power in his heart. Exhilaration, restlessness, like the tick of a metronome. The tick that his time is up, the tick that means sometime soon he won't have to fight anymore, but it doesn't stop. He hears it, in a low hum, a buzzing feeling akin to electricity, that makes him believe everything will dissolve into static. But it's haunting, knowing it in every waking moment. Knowing that one day it will stop, one day it will finally give in--- yet every he gets close it's restarted like a video game.

He feels it when he harnesses, and with it he's been overdrawn more than anyone else. He hates his power. He hates how weak it makes him feel, how weak and unassuming. He hates that when he over-extends it, he's not okay. He's not okay like the ninja. He's not okay, because it's tied to his life. It's intertwined.

"Your place is in the Fabric of the Universe." Master Wu says to the young child, blonde hair alight.

Lloyd underestimated his words at the time, but feels them now. Whether it be anything, for Fire, Lightning, Earth, and Ice, or Golden Power, or Oni Power, or Energy, or ---

Now he underestimates it even more. As his power fights within him. Fights against him. Warns him.

Becoming the Conduit to the Dragons wasn't easy.

Lloyd has known his mortality, his human nature, and that source Dragon knew it too. But becoming what he thought would save the world and did, is something he underestimated so much, much to the point where he'd been in a hyperactive state of coma, much to everyone's horror.

He had known when he stepped into that room with the Source Dragon.

Like a pang at his chest, the buzzing even more pronounced more than anything.

And then he'd given into it, and what he thought, every transformation, every fight, everything had become so miniscule, obsolete, unasumming, because this power, this thing he channels like a battery, is more powerful than anything.

It burns but it also brings warmth-- it stresses but it also guides.

But it's starting to take over his life, it's starting to mess with him, his powers, his life. He knows that possibly sometime when he steps into it again, he might not step out. He might not wake up. It may claim his energy.

But he is but the fabric of the universe.