#so rather than feeling like my skin is pricked up and on edge (like i do now). id probably be just focused on food or vids

[ervotica]

27. kisses for cover at a party with poly!rosekiller. reader goes to evan to get a guy off you, he makes out with you, barty sees and is like "yay i wanna join" and then just devours you

ahhh i love them! poly!rosekiller x fem!reader, college!au ✩ 900 words

You slip beneath the handsome guy at the pub with practiced ease, dipping under his outstretched arm in an attempt to shake your unwelcome admirer of the evening.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch but rather curls his arm round the nape of your neck, tucking you into his shoulder in one fluid movement until you're mostly obscured. He dips his head low enough to murmur in your ear; his voice is like smooth, dark honey.

"Who you hiding from, lovely?"

"This bloke's been following me round all night," you admit, voice high and breathy. "He's still looking, I think. Will you- will you pretend to know me until he goes away?"

He grins and the sight almost blinds you; crinkled eyes and a soft smattering of freckles across his high cheekbones. Miles and miles of brown skin and a curly blonde mop that sits high on his head.

He really is lovely.

And if you'd met him under different circumstances, you'd be nervous for an entirely different reason.

"Consider it done, okay? No need to fret."

He tips his head lower until his nose brushes yours. You hold your breath in anticipation.

"Let's give the prick a show, yeah?"

Your insides flush white-hot as you wait for his lips to make contact. It's a languid sort of kiss, building in intensity as your mystery man flattens his tongue against your bottom lip. He palms at your neck, angling your face upward until you have no choice but to part your lips and let him lick into your mouth, soft and slow and deep.

You push up on your toes - encouraging him closer - and you feel the corners of his mouth tip up even as he indulges your wordless request.

The kiss ebbs and he pulls back. You bite your lip and try to pretend that he didn't just give you the best kiss of your life.

"I'm sorry," you say, cadence twinged with embarrassment. "I don't even know your name."

He smooths the pad of his thumb over your pencil lined eye and smiles, unperturbed. His expression is softer this time, something akin to fondness lingering in his eyes.

"Evan," he murmurs. "And you?"

"Y/N."

A weight settles at your back and you go rigid, pushing back into Evan's space with a startled gasp.

"It's okay, lovely girl," he placates with ease, as though he's known you for much longer than a few minutes. "This is Barty."

This boy is taller – sharper round the edges than Evan, but no less beautiful. His face is shrouded by thick, dark hair that contrasts so heavily with his pale skin it almost looks unnatural.

"Hi, pretty," he coos. "Oh, she is gorgeous, Ev. The gorgeous ones always love you."

"Hi," you almost whisper. You're suddenly even shyer under Barty's fervent gaze, red-hot at his rapt attention.

He folds at the waist and twirls one of your loose curls between his fingers. From here you can smell his breath, mint and vodka and something sweeter that lingers on the tip of his tongue.

He steps closer, right into your space until you're sandwiched snugly between the two of them.

"Do I get a kiss?" he asks, borderline pleading. Intense, for a man you've just met.

Your throat works around a thick swallow and you look down at your feet, suddenly overwhelmingly shy.

"Um..."

"Don't be jealous, babe," Evan placates, a lithe hand massaging teeny circles into your shoulder.

"I find a pretty little thing snogging my boyfriend and I'm supposed to not be jealous?"

You balk. Your eyes gloss over, and wet and wide and painfully apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm really sorry."

"Shh." Evan loops an arm round your waist and tugs you neatly into his side. "He's teasing. He just wants a kiss, too, if you're willing to give it."

You can't deny that Barty is beautiful – all long, milky limbs and dark features. You nod tentatively.

"Okay."

Evan plants his chin in the juncture of your neck as Barty leans in, long fingers roaming the expanse of your waist with a fervour you've never felt before. Your stomach flips.

Barty's kiss is far more fervid. All tongues and clashing teeth as he angles his head to get more of your mouth on his– as though he wants to eat you whole.

You whine into his mouth when his hand settles on the dip of your spine and presses down, forcing you to arch up into him. There's not a part of you that isn't being touched in some way.

Especially not when Evan trails his lips along your pulse point and begins diligently sucking a bruise under your jaw.

Barty gets you by the nape of your neck and probes his tongue further into your mouth. He's persistent, flicking his tongue behind your front teeth until you gasp and open your mouth wider to grant him more access.

"There's a good girl," Evan says, voice rumbling against your back.

The trail of spit that stretches and bows between the two of you when Barty pulls back to get a good look at you has you feeling faint.

"Can we keep her, Ev?" Barty nuzzles his nose against the soft swell of your cheek.

"What do you say, angel? Can we keep you?"

You're too dazed to answer with more than a nod, curling your own arms around Barty's waist to keep him pressed against you.

[suguann]

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend—not that he’s liked any of your past relationships over the years, but this one he’s more vocal about—with a name not worth remembering. Matt? Martin?

He’d stopped trying after his first week back from work.

“I don’t fucking trust him,” he says one night while at the pub right under your apartment; it’s become a weekly ritual of sorts when he’s on leave ever since meeting you there on Soap’s birthday several years back. 

“You say that about every guy I have you meet,” you tell him in that know-it-all voice that you always use with him. “You hardly even know him, and his name’s Marcus, by the way. It wouldn’t kill you to use it.”

He snorts. “Love, the bloke would put his cock in anyone with tits and a warm cunt.”

“He wouldn’t,” your voice is soft because maybe you already know.

He would.

You’re so fucking oblivious that you don’t even realize this, but there’s nothing except stars in your eyes whenever you look at (or even talk about) the Naval officer who thinks he’s some bigshot because he can fly a plane. 

Even now, at your boyfriend’s promotion after-party in some back alley nightclub, he’s hardly talked to you or offered to get you a drink. You’re always too nervous to order one by yourself, and only Simon—tall and imposing standing beside you—could have the grumpiest bartender reach for the blender to make a blended cocktail. 

When he comes back with your drink—too big fingers unfolding the tiny umbrella for you—he watches your boyfriend (Marcus) flirt with a girl in a tight leather dress on the other side of the room. It’s that moment that he decides he’s tired of you giving your attention to someone who doesn’t deserve it, tired of you lying belly up for men who only want to sink their teeth into you and leave once they’ve had their fill. 

He likes to think he’s a pretty good friend—opening your eyes to something better is a job he takes rather seriously.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he says after coming back with your third margarita, a small amount of frothy liquid sloshing over the side when he sets it down in front of you. “It’s okay to want it.”

You bite your lip, eyes dropping down to where he’s patting his thigh. “Just fun?”

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just fun.”

Let me.

Whether you’re tipsier than he thought or he’s just really persuasive, it’s easy to get you crawling into his lap in the corner of the cracked leather booth. His hands wander the span of your smooth thighs where your short skirt doesn’t reach, and he muffles a groan in your shoulder when you start squirming against the tent in his jeans.

You say his name like a warning when his hands find their way under your skirt, yet you’re biting back a moan and don’t tell him to stop.

Simon undoes his jeans and shifts them down before pushing up the back of your skirt and adjusting your hips to watch the tip of his dick slide between the covered cleft of your ass. Nobody in the room can see what the both of you are doing with your skirt fanning around his lap, but someone could if they were truly looking, and that has him tugging your panties to the side so he can feel you.

"Your boyfriend is too stupid to realize you're sitting here riding my lap. What do you think he'd say if he saw you like this?"

 “W-wait, Simon!” you squeak. “What if he sees—”

He’s almost tempted to roll his eyes at your blind devotion—I’ll deal with it—dealing with it would be him making sure the prick never tries talking to you again.

Then, his fingers, like iron at your hips, jerk you back to impale you on his cock. "Fuck," he says, voice trembling around the edges.

“O-oh! It’s too—ah—too big!”

He wraps a hand around the slender slope of your throat, fingers digging into vulnerable flesh as he pulls you back until his lips are at your ear, nose pressing into the soft skin of your cheek. “Come on, love. I know you can take the whole thing. Right inside this tight cunt.”

Simon thrusts into you shallowly, just the tip going in and out, and you whine, little fingers scrabbling at his wrist—gasping and shivering and bucking in the trap of his arms.

A smirk curls at the edges of his mouth when he finally bottoms out in your hot-wet cunt for your boyfriend to see from the other side of the room. He'd laugh at how his jaw drops, but he can only manage little choked intakes of air at the feel of you wrapped so tightly around him.

“Squeeze my cock for me—fuck, there you go.” He presses a kiss below your ear and reaches down to pet your soaked clit with his thumb. Feels the moment you realize that your boyfriend is watching when you tense up.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says again and again until you’re melting into him, thighs trembling around his. “Promise. I promise…”

I apologize if you see this again! I was trying to edit it, and it wouldn't format right with the gif. You can find part two here.

masterlist

[rae-writes]

part-time

N.M || 0.8k || some romcom for a man I don't even have any solid thoughts/feelings on but the inspo slapped me in the face. violently.

You would think that after attending Yuuei for three years now and being classmates for said three years with dumbasses like Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijiro, and Izuku Midoriya (yes, class 3-A’s golden boy. You just have to catch his dumbassery at the perfect time) that you would learn to…not engage in their ideas that lack common sense. 

But either you haven’t learned or you just don’t have any self preservation, because that’s exactly how you got here:

Pulling open the door to the infirmary, mumbling curses under your breath (still grinning, might you add— it had been funny as shit, even if you got a sprained arm for the trouble). Though, as you looked around, Recovery Girl didn’t seem to be around. 

But Neito Monoma was. 

“Oh, fuck no.” 

Listen, you honestly didn’t have a real problem with Monoma. He was just…

A prick. All because your class starts with an ‘A’ and had its fair share of spotlight encounters (mainly with villains— all of which were highly unwanted, thank you very much). 

“It’s so good to see you, too, Y/n.” Monoma’s annoyingly condescending voice managed to come out sickly sweet, immediately making you turn around and start to go right back out the door. 

But unfortunately, he’d caught sight of your swelled arm- which had started to bruise pretty badly- and stopped you from relieving yourself of his presence. 

“Now, now. I am here assisting our lovely Recovery Girl and I can’t just have you leaving while still injured, that would make me look like I’m not doing my job.” 

You deadpanned, reluctantly sitting on the edge of one of the beds. “No offense, and by that I mean full offense, but I’d rather just walk it off than let your lips come anywhere near me.” 

His copy quirk is what allowed him to help out as a healer in the first place— and Recovery Girl’s quirk healed by kisses. You’d be damned if you were letting him have the privilege of kissing even a sliver of your skin. 

“Oh my, so rude. You’re breaking my heart.” His grin was a little too smug, but Monoma couldn’t help it. He’s had a stupid crush on you since year one: this opportunity was just too perfect. 

Not that he would ever admit it. Especially the part where his heart was fucking racing faster than Iida could run right now. 

“Good. Perish.” you groaned, looking away with an apprehensive frown. Your arm was starting to hurt as the adrenaline slowly wore off and…you did come all the way to the infirmary to get healed…

Was it weird that your heart was thudding in your chest? You barely even knew Monoma, for fucks sake, he was just…an academic rival at best. 

‘And pretty.’ Your brain supplied. To which you promptly told it to shut up…which it didn’t, because Monoma’s pretty face was currently all up in your business. 

“That arm of yours looks painful. Are you really too prideful to be healed by me? That’s not a good heroic quality, you know.” 

He sincerely hoped you would cave before he just started begging— and the embarrassing part is, Monoma wouldn’t have to even think twice about it. That’s how..tightly you have him wrapped around your finger. 

“Shut up. You’re one to talk about pride, smug bastard.” Your words didn’t really have the bite that you intended- and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn- so with another colorful curse, you relented. 

“Fine.” 

Except no kiss came after your agreement. You’d even tensed up your arm in preparation for his touch but there was nothing. That was funny— he was so smug just a second ago and now he’s all quiet. 

“Monoma, are you gonna heal me or not-“ 

As soon as your head turned towards him, his lips pressed against yours. It was as shocking as seeing Bakugo Katsuki be nice, which was pretty damn high up on the ‘what the fuck is happening’ list. 

But it felt…good. 

Monoma himself was surprised, not at his actions, but at your own: the reciprocation of his kiss (when he was so sure you’d pull away and knock his block off), the way your hands- both of them now that your arm was healing- had cupped his jaw, pulling him closer. 

It was like the room was spinning, but..softly. With warmth being woven in, making you feel fuzzy starting from the tips of your toes and moving all the way to your fingertips. 

When the kiss finally broke, it was quiet, only unsure breaths filling the air. Oddly enough, he felt nervous and had to fight the urge to apologize. 

“Well? How was that for healing?” Is what came out of his mouth instead. 

And you didn’t even have a witty response to give back, too dazed and flustered to even care at that second. 

“Do it again…still hurts.” 

‘Academic rivals’ be damned.

inspo credits:

(I found the text post on Pinterest so I just screenshotted it because who knows how old it may be oasjihrugoajfk but their user is still the same: @energon-with-a-curly-straw)

[bloodsuckingfiends]

So about those smutty drabble ideas …

Astarion tries to seduce Tav but finds out he would be her first. So he will take even more special care of them. He does like Tav, after all. Whether he admits it to himself or not.

A Failed Plan

A/N: He is so smitten and doesn't even know it and I love it. Also, this came out longer than I originally intended oopsies

Warnings: blood, loss of virginity so smut, praise, Tav is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns

The metallic tang of blood, Tav's blood, hits Astarion within seconds. He withdraws himself from her core and she whimpers at the loss of fullness within her. His carmine gaze looks down to where they are joined, crimson staining both of their skin.

"Tav darling, is this your first time?" his voice is uncharacteristically soft.

Tav's cheeks and chest flush, and she takes a shaky breath, "Yes. I'm sorry, I should have told you." She flounders over her words, nervously looking up at the vampire above her.

"Shh sh sh," he hushes, his hand coming up to brush hair from her cheek, "it's alright, I just want to make sure so I can properly take care of you." A shiver shoots down his spine at the realization that he actually means what he's saying. That he does indeed want to make sure that during Tav's first time, she is cared for. That she doesn't regret it.

A small smile eases it's way onto Tav's lips as he reassures her, and her breathing begins to even out again. The beat beneath her ribcage slows, still an anxious beat, albeit less anxious now.

"If I would have known, I would have eased my way in, " Astarion drags the head of his length through her slick folds, tapping it gently against her clit, then notching it at her entrance. "Made sure that you would be able to easily take me."

Tav whimpers, tears pricking at her eyes as he slides into her, inch by painful inch. He was rather large. Larger than she expected he would be, especially for her first time.

Astarion's long fingers drag up Tav's arm, lacing with her own fingers. He dips his head to her cheek, lips pressing to the blushed skin in a soft kiss, following a path down her delicious neck, "How are you doing, pup?" His cool breath tickles her ear and she shudders.

"You're big." Tav murmurs, her thighs tightening around his waist.

"Yes, but look at you taking me so well, sweetheart." He leans back a little, making a show of watching as he slowly pulls out before easing back into her again, "so soft and warm."

"Please, more." Tav whispers a bit brokenly, her eyes meeting his. Pleasure, rather than pain, begins to build in her belly, and her brows knit together from it. Astarion's movements pick up, and he leans forward again to hold Tav against his chest. She tucks her face in the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering shut. Her hands come up to hold him back, resting on the expanse of his shoulder blades. He tenses as she touches his scars, before relaxing into her.

He snakes a hand between them, his dexterous fingers rubbing circles against her swollen clit. Tav mewls against his neck, hips bucking against his.

“Think you can c-come for me?” he tries to keep his voice steady, tries not to stutter, but he feels himself hurtling faster toward the precipice.

She moans an affirmative, her heels digging into his ass a sign that she’s close.

A few more circles and she comes, a loud cry escaping her lips as her thighs quake around his waist.

Astarion’s not far behind, and as she clenched around his cock, he falls over the edge, painting her insides with his seed.

He slows his hips, the both of them panting softly as they part from each other, Astarion rolling to the side and gently pulling Tav to rest against him.

“We can’t stay out here-“ she starts to protest before he cuts her off.

“It’s only for a moment, darling. Just relax for a moment.” His fingers mindlessly play with the ends of her hair, as she settles against him, and he listens to her heartbeat steady itself.

As she lays against him, beneath the stars, he begins to worry that his initial plan, just may be falling apart.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Bonus Day

Aftercare (Fluff)

John Price/Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John "Soap" Mactavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley/Alejandro Vargas/Rodolfo Parra

Alejandro inhaled deeply as he pressed his bare chest to Soap’s back, feeling the knot in the apron strings dig into his stomach. Soap leant back into his touch unconsciously, as he was concentrating on the frying pan in front of him, fat and oil spitting as he flipped the slices of bacon that were filling the kitchen with the gorgeous sound of sizzling.

Alejandro gently kissed the side of Soap’s neck, before lowering his head, resting his chin on his shoulder. As much as he wanted Soap’s attention, he wasn’t going to distract him now. A nasty burn would put a bit of a damper on the evening, after what had been an amazing day.

“Easy now…” Soap muttered as he caught one of the pieces, stopping it from flipping out over the edge of the pan. “Easy.”

Alejandro tightened his grip, the canvas separating his arms from Soap’s abs wrinkling against his skin. “Good save, Johnny.”

Soap forced out a chuckle as he quickly flipped the next strip. “Maybe don’t with that, yeah?”

“Sorry.” Alejandro mumbled.

“Nah, s’okay. You gotta come up with your own thing for me. Be original, rather than just copying Ghost, you know?”

“But that’s work….” Alejandro whined, shifting his head down so his forehead was pressed on his shoulder.

“Hardly. How’re those rolls coming along?”

Alejandro raised his head slightly and glanced at the definitely still unsliced rolls sitting in a pile on the counter. “I’ll get back to it.”

“No rush.” Soap laid a hand over Alejandro’s arms, stilling him as he started to pull away. “We got plenty of time before the bacon’s done.”

“If you say so.” Alejandro lay his head back down on Soap’s shoulder, ears pricking when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor that led back to the bedroom.

“Hey, Simon.” Soap said, without even turning his head to see who it was. “You know, you’re not as quiet as usual.”

Ghost huffed, not responding to the bait as he crossed the kitchen to the pair, cupping Soap’s neck as he kissed him, right in front of Alejandro’s face. Alejandro leant back, letting them have their space, a courtesy that Simon quickly rewarded with a kiss of his own, before he let Alejandro go back to slumbering upright, his head balanced on Johnny’s shoulder.

“How’s everyone doing?” Soap asked, glancing up again to see what Ghost was doing with them in the kitchen.

“Good. Tired, but good.” Ghost lifted a cup down from the cupboard and dropped a teabag inside, before filling the kettle and setting it on. “Gaz wanted tea, and I needed to stretch my legs.”

Soap nodded. “There going to be enough there for two?”

“Sure.” Ghost got another cup down. “Alejandro?”

“Huh?” Alejandro raised his head from Soap’s shoulder, blinking rapidly.

“Tea?” Ghost held up a mug.

“Only if it’s already on…” Alejandro mumbled, his head already dropping back to Soap’s shoulder.

Ghost nodded, lining the three mugs up before topping the kettle up with more water and leaving it to boil as he skirted around the two men at the stove to get the milk and sugar out.

Alejandro and Soap looked very natural, standing together at the stove. Maybe it was the fact that they were both practically naked, each only wearing his underwear, and Soap an apron, for safety, but it made Ghost happy to see them together, even if Soap was trying to fry bacon using a fish slice.

“Why don’t you use the tongs?” Ghost asked, leaning over as he saw Soap struggling.

“Couldn’t find them.” Soap glanced up again, his mouth closing in a thin line when Ghost opened the first drawer he saw and pulled the tongs out, clicking them together like he was a crab, mocking him. “Look, you get fucked and search through a kitchen that’s not your own.”

“I just did, Johnny. By you, if you recall. It’s no excuse.” Simon held the the tongs to him, stealing a kiss before he let him take them. Soap rolled his eyes, but put the fish slice aside, and suddenly found that, with the tongs, he was having a much easier time frying the bacon.

The kettle clicked, sending Ghost scurrying back to it, pouring the hot water into the three mugs, swirling the tea bags around before making each mug up as everyone liked: black for Soap, two sugars for Alejandro, and milk and one sugar for Gaz. He moved Soap and Alejandro’s to the right of the stove, nodding at their mumbled thanks as he picked up Gaz’s mug and carried it back to the bedroom.

Ghost opened the door to find the room pretty much as he left it; warm and dimly lit, with a general air of sleepiness, as Gaz, Rudy and Price spread out on the bed, one of them occasionally whispering something as they recovered from the day of fucking. It had been full on from all angles; from the frenzied to the gentle; the couples to the threesomes, the foursomes; to the group passing Rudy around in a circle. Anything that a group of men could do to each other, they had done, and now they were trying to recover from it.

Ghost tiptoed to the side of the bed where Gaz was sat, leaning against the headboard, Rudy’s head in his lap as Gaz massaged his shoulders.

When Ghost set the mug down, Gaz tilted his head up, eyes crinkling when he saw him. “Thanks, Ghost. You’re a lifesaver.”

Ghost chuckled lightly, kicking his boxers off before gently helping Rudy up, cradling him against his side as he sat on the bed, rejoining the naked lounging as he took over where Gaz had left off, gently rubbing Rudy’s shoulders, as the man under him groaned softly.

Gaz sat back and picked up his tea, blowing on it gently before sipping it. “Ah… Perfect, as always, Simon.”

Simon smiled, silently taking the compliment as he dug his thumb into a knot on the back of Rudy’s neck, making him groan louder.

“Easy, Ghost. Don’t hurt him.” Price joked, where he was propped up on some of the pillows. It made Ghost laugh, as Rudy sat up to protest, and correct the record that he was fine; in fact, he liked how hard Ghost was pushing him.

“You have him, then.” Ghost gently pushed Rudy over into Price’s arms, getting him settled against Price’s side before he crawled in between Gaz and Rudy, leaning on the headboard while shoulder to shoulder with them. Gaz sighed, tilting his head onto Ghost’s shoulder as Ghost reached down and pulled a blanket up over their legs, one that was nice and fluffy, feeling like it was caressing their bare skin.

Gaz groaned softly, stretching his hands before wrapping them around the warm cup he was holding.

“You good?” Ghost murmured, looking at him.

“Sore.” Gaz admitted. “Really sore.”

Ghost nodded, tilting his head down as Gaz kissed him.

“Oi. Don’t you two act like we can’t see you.” Price called out from behind them, and they both turned to see him with Rudy sitting up in his lap, kissing the corner of John’s mouth.

“Hypocrite.” Gaz set his cup back on the table and reached out to take Ghost’s face in his hands, the warmth absorbed from the cup spreading from his fingers into Ghost’s skin, as Gaz pulled Ghost in and kissed him, over and over again.

Ghost laid his hands over Gaz’s, slowly rocking them back and forth ever so slightly, as Gaz went to him for a kiss, then he went to Gaz, until Rudy’s hand was on Ghost’s shoulder.

“I want a kiss, too.” He mumbled, curling up against Ghost’s back, eyes wide. “Please can I have one too?”

Gaz and Ghost both reached out at the same time, pulling Rudy up into Ghost’s lap and tugging his head in to include him in the spit swapping. It went so that Gaz kissed Ghost, Ghost kissed Rudy, and Rudy kissed Gaz, going around and around until the three of them were lost in the haze, just continuing on without thought, no matter how many times or how loudly Price cleared his throat.

Eventually Price gave up, tilting his head back on the wall, eyes half closing as he reflected on how long it had been since he’d last felt this tired. His life was demanding, stressful, exhausting most days, so he always felt some kind of tired, but rarely was it like this. A content, sleepy tired. A nice tired.  

“Hey, John.” Alejandro’s voice called him back from his thoughts, and Price opened his eyes to find Alejandro holding a bacon butty in front of him. “Food’s ready.”

Price nodded, his stomach audibly growling as he took the plate from him. “Thank you.”

“Thank Soap, not me.” Alejandro leaned over, quickly breaking the trio up, dragging Rudy into his lap as he made sure Gaz and Ghost both got a plate too.

Alejandro had only brought three plates with him, so ended up one short for Rudy, apologising to him by pulling him into his lap, cuddling his cock-drunk-hungover husband as he explained that Soap would shortly be bringing more with him.

Soap did indeed deliver, appearing with another round of plates and a bottle of ketchup, which was quickly doled out to those who wanted it, as everyone used their plates more like drip trays, not wanting the hassle of having to get up and clean something. As they finished, one by one, they stacked their plates up, thanking Soap, which he took wordlessly, the exhaustion catching up to him as he crawled up between Gaz and Ghost and collapsed across their laps. Rudy followed his example, snuggling back into Price’s arms, his movement shortly followed by Alejandro, who slotted between him and Ghost, keeping one arm around Rudy, and holding Ghost’s hand with the other, as he glanced at John.

“You alright?” Alejandro murmured over the top of Rudy’s head.

John nodded, mouth tightening as he looked at the door again, the one entrance and exit to the room. He couldn’t turn his stupid brain off.

“I can keep watch, you know.” Alejandro murmured again. “I can keep everyone safe.”

“You can?” Price peered at him, his eyes suddenly impossibly heavy as he struggled to keep them open in the face of possible relief and peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

Alejandro nodded. “You can trust me, John.”

“I know I can…” Price didn’t get to finish the thought, as his body slumped down on the pillows, his head falling onto Rudy’s as he went out like a light.

“Damn, you did that so easily…” Gaz murmured, glancing over at him. “It’s usually a bloody fight and a half to get him to do that.”

Alejandro grinned. “I guess I’m just talented like that.”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Sure, that’s what it is.”

“He’s out too, you know.” Gaz brushed his hand over Soap’s mohawk, contentedly snoring across his and Ghost’s lap. Ghost smiled, gently poking Soap’s nose, which he wrinkled, even while asleep.

“You two should rest, too.” Alejandro glanced back at them. “I’ll keep you covered.”

“Thanks, Ale.” Gaz nodded, leaning against Ghost’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

“If it’s the same to you, I’ll stay up.” Ghost glanced back at Alejandro. He felt surprisingly awake, despite everyone else’s exhaustion. Maybe it was duty – someone needed to stay awake, and he and Alejandro could keep each other company.  

“Sure. Hey, you know what, you help me come up with a nickname for Soap.”

“He still protesting at you calling him Johnny?”

Alejandro nodded.

“We can come up with something, surely…” Ghost glanced down at Soap, brushing a hand over his head. “You know, he was known as the FNG for a really long time… informally, of course, but it took him a good while to shake it off.”

“Really? Why?” Alejandro tilted his head against the wall, smiling at Ghost as he talked.

“Well… It all starts with him lying about his age, when he was first trying to enlist…”

[wayfayrr]

Hey I saw your post, that the requests are open so I want to give you one.

I don't know if your tears got ripped out of his adventure and joined the Chain or after his journey where he got arm back. So what about. Reader replaces Zelda as the Light Drago , completely or basically pushed her away from that is your decision. But I kinda want fluff where Reader helps Tears beat that overgrown lizard named Ganondorf and catch them, where he finally can say how he feels as they helped him through his first journey with Wolfie.

What I'm leaning towards with him is post journey but he has a prosthetic rather than getting his own arm back, it's something he built himself and still has the abilities from the game, another thing I'm trying to incorporate is a few things that make him different from wild, they'll show themselves in time but the one that's most important for this is how he didn't have wolfie :3c

these little reqs are gonna just be tiny drabbles to flesh him out a little more, and like you asked it's just a bit of fluff post ganon with him and reader - it doesn't really go into depth about the how but it's post reader being turned back. I hope you'll like it!! <3

“You’re scratching again, do you want some more salve?”

“Only if it isn't a bother.”

“It's never a bother - nothing is if it's for you. You don’t need to wait for the itching to get bad, or for me to notice for you to ask. I’ll do anything to help you, you know that.”

“I do.”

He knows the reason I don’t ask just as well as I do, it’s an unspoken acknowledgement that he keeps trying to get me to change my mind; he just doesn’t know how close he gets to changing it. He knows it wasn’t his fault that I was dragged into this mess, that it’s not his fault and that I hate how he blames himself for every accident that led to it. 

“Then stop dragging out whenever you’re in pain.”

“I don’t want to be a bother though, I can deal with this. It’s nothing compared to what you went through, you’re already doing enough helping me get home.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, you spent millennia as a dragon, you fixed the master sword, you were the reason I could kill ganon. I can never repay that.”

Seems like that was enough to push him to the edge, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to overflow as he applied a cool salve to the patches of scales still dotted upon my skin. He’ll never stop feeling guilt for me having ended up helping him throughout both of his quests not as long as we have to keep doing this, the best I can do now is try to minimise it. Pressing a couple of kisses to his face feels like the best place to start. 

“And you don’t need to, if I had the chance to go back to the start and do this all over I would.”

“Wh- but why? All of those wasted years, all that time away from your home… why would you do it all again?”

“Because it means I get to be with you. I wouldn’t trade that for anything lilac.”

I’ll never get over how red he gets whenever I call him that, the reaction alone is priceless.

[gorgonwrites]

bound to you, (part 5)

diluc x fem!reader

wc: 3, 178

author's note: a woman scorned is the most dangerous creature in all of Teyvat. all aboard the angsty express!!

CW: fem! reader, angst, hurt/comfort ig??, diluc WILL run away from you and his feelings if you let him, reader is lowkey a crybaby, oral (male receiving), temperature play sorta kinda, switch! diluc vibes, switch!reader, mentions of diluc having pretty bad anxiety, reader is a badass tbh. WHY IS DILUC SO EMO UGH. also i forgot horses aren't really a thing in genshin but just indulge me here ok

Diluc couldn’t sleep. The events of the last few hours were playing on a loop in his head, and he could feel his anxiety raising its ugly head to greet him. He was convinced he had gone too far this time. Birds faintly began chirping outside his window, signaling him to get out of bed. He sat on the edge, turning back to catch a glimpse of your sleeping frame. You were completely sprawled out, his blanket tangled between your legs from your constant tossing and turning. He reached his hand out to brush your jaw, but stopped himself. 

He was a man starved of affection and he knew it was his own doing. He convinced himself long ago that he was to walk a path of perpetual unhappiness in his life. The loneliness he felt hardly bothered him until the proposal of his marriage to you was finalized and you marched into his life. You had quickly revived the winery, his staff, and ultimately him as well. After agreeing to marry you so he could cement new intelligence contacts in Fontaine, falling for you didn’t even cross his mind. Yet here you were, in his bed sleeping peacefully after he practically begged you to let him love you. This is getting dangerous. He wasn’t the type of man to run away, and he couldn’t think of much that actually scared him. But he couldn’t deny the fear simmering in his chest. He quietly got dressed, working slowly so he didn’t wake you. The sky was just beginning to light and with one last quick look at your sleeping face, he left his room and closed the door gently behind him. 

You were woken up gently by the sunlight streaming in through Diluc’s window and onto your face. You basked in its warmth for a moment, last night’s endeavor hazily playing through your mind. You gently reached your arm out expecting to feel your husband’s warm body next to you, but it met the mattress instead. You turned over to realize you were alone in the room and you sat up with a start. You sat for a moment taking the room in bit by bit, and recalled Adelinde once telling you that Diluc was an extremely early riser. You were not, and decided that he had left the room to let you sleep through the early morning peacefully. 

“Master Diluc had business at Angel’s Share today, I believe.” you sat once again at the breakfast table, dumbfounded. Adelinde was clearing the dishes when you finally asked her if she had seen your husband.

“But he said he didn’t have anything to do for the next few weeks.” you said flatly, trying to hide your disappointment from her. You felt lied to.

“Sometimes things come up at the tavern suddenly. Rather than ask another employee to ride into town to cover, he does it himself if he’s home. It keeps him busy.” she looked at you apologetically, catching onto the distress that was building underneath your skin. 

“But,” you felt tears prick the corner of your eyes, “I’m here. We could keep ourselves busy together.” the tears started spilling down your cheeks and Adelinde rushed to your side, dabbing at your face with a handkerchief. 

“Don’t let this make you unhappy, my Lady.” she whispered, “Give him time.” you snatched the handkerchief and quickly pushed yourself from the table, startling her. You stood up and looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Do not mistake my tears for sadness, Adelinde. I am angry. I feel like I take two steps towards him and he takes seven steps away from me. I don’t know how much longer my heart can handle the nonsense he continues to display.” wiping your tears, you continued. “Did he say when he would return?”

“No , my Lady, he rarely ever does. I’d suspect that since he’s at the Tavern that he’ll be back tonight.” Good. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind. Innocent intentions or not, he continued to break the promises he made you without warning. You were his wife, yes, and you mostly did what was asked of you. But he was your husband, and you were done letting him run away from you.

It was close to midnight, and you had been sitting by the front door of the manor for hours. Your arms crossed against your chest, you stared aimlessly out of the window waiting to see your husband’s figure appear out of the darkness. When he never came, your anger began to boil just under the surface. Without thinking, you pulled your cloak off of the hook across from you and threw it over your shoulders. You’d drag him back if you had to. You quietly made your way out to the stables to saddle up your favorite horse. Adelinde came sprinting out of the manner wearing only her nightdress and a robe, reaching you as you mounted your horse. 

“My Lady! My Lady it’s too dark for you to be out right now, just the other day Elzer and the boys had to clear out a nearby hilichurl camp. We don’t know if they’re all gone yet-” you scoffed, realizing no one treated you competently here at the winery. 

“I am not a child, Addy,” you hissed, “I am the Lady of this house and I will go where I please, when I please. My husband seems to do that quite often. Maybe I can learn a thing or two if I adopt that habit of his.” she backed away from you. You caught yourself, not wanting to take your anger out on her. “I’m going to find Master Diluc, Adelinde. If I fail, you will help me gather my belongings and I will be headed back to Fontaine by dawn. Am I clear?” she shook her head, frozen in place. “Good.” 

Diluc slumped over the counter at Angel’s Share, exhausted, and watched as Charles continued to clean the tavern before leaving. He had spent the whole day there wrestling with his emotions, trying to logically work through each of them. Keeping himself busy always helped him manage his anxiety. This time, though, it felt like it was eating him alive. He felt as though something had dislodged in his chest and was rapidly trying to claw its way out, no matter how hard he tried to keep it in place. As he began to reorganize the liquor behind the counter to prepare for the following day, a commotion began outside. Groaning, he started towards the door to handle the situation. The door flew open before he was halfway there though, and he was met with your wild, fiery gaze. Your hair was a mess and you had several fresh cuts on your arms, and it looked like you’d been caught in a late summer rain shower because you were soaked. 

“Y/n?” Diluc felt his anxiety melt away, quickly being replaced by anger rising  in his chest. Only the Gods knew what creatures were crawling in the shadows on your way here, and he felt something finally snap inside of him. 

“What the Hell are you doing here? Why are you not at home?” he could feel his face getting hot, desperately trying to control his tongue. 

“That’s Lady y/n to you, young Master.” you hissed. “I’m here to drag my husband home where he belongs.” you were out of breath, and your tone sent a dagger through Diluc’s chest. You straightened up and brushed the dirt from your dress, trying to put up an icy wall to resist how seeing your husband made you feel. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and you could tell he was getting angry. 

“Continuing to push my boundaries, I see.” his voice sounded labored, like he was exerting a generous amount of self control. “You think it’s a game, but look at you! What happened?” That’s what he was concerned about? His rules? You scoffed in response, throwing your arms in the air.

“You’re concerned about rules right now, Master Diluc? About controlling your little wife? Don’t make me laugh.” tears were stinging your eyes and you tried desperately to not let them fall. “Here I thought you were concerned about me, that maybe you were beginning to care for me. I see now that you’re more interested in keeping me in a cage like a pet, only taking me out when it suits you.” your voice was shaky. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, do you? I’m not a child! You’d know that I’m much more powerful than you realize if you would just take the time to ask. I dealt with three Godsdamned hilichurls on the way here, and got rid of an Abyss mage at the gates because the knights on guard weren’t capable enough.”  Diluc stared at you, speechless. He had underestimated you, yes. But it didn’t change that this marriage put you at a greater risk than a few hilichurls and a lone Abyss mage. 

“Have you ever bothered to ask me why I have tried to set these boundaries with you?” he whispered. You were about to spit your anger at him again, but stopped and realized that you had indeed never asked him the reasoning behind his rules. “No, you haven’t. I’d divulge every detail if it meant you’d stop pushing my limits every damned day. But you’ve never asked. Not once. You don’t know a damn thing about the life that I’ve lived or the world that I know. Don’t pretend that you’d last more than a day.” his voice was rising with each sentence, and he was still desperately trying to control himself. You were right in front of him in an instant, jabbing your finger into his broad chest. 

“That’s what I came to your chambers for last night, you know! I want every detail that you’re willing to give me. Everything! But instead, you spent half the damn night asking, no, begging me to let you love me.” you could feel the tears start to fall but you continued, “You confuse me! And I don’t know how much more I can withstand. I’m too lonely and restless here. There’s so much of this nation I have yet to see because you’re always gone and I never leave the estate. If I take one step towards you and our marriage, you take three leaps away from me with no regard to how it may make me feel.” you could feel Diluc’s hands wrapping around you but you pulled away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. 

“You don’t deserve love from a man like me. And I don’t deserve the kindness you show me.” he whispered, staring at the floor. His anger was fading now, replaced as always by his ever present anxiety. It was clawing its way out of his chest and he could feel it reaching every inch of his body, and he felt like he was falling. You sighed and pushed your damp hair out of your face. Was he always going to be this stubborn? 

“You don’t get to make that decision for me, Diluc. I show kindness to those I care for. Do not rob me of yet another choice to make.” to your surprise, your voice was softening. “And I think I know more than you give me credit for.” Diluc’s eyes snapped to yours, his brows furrowing. “I- I snooped a little in your room this afternoon. I found the journal you kept while you were in Snezhnaya.” you looked away from your husband, unsure of how he’d react to you going through his personal belongings. 

“And you still came to find me after reading all of that?” his voice was the one shaking now, making you look at him again. He had a pained look on his face. “I didn’t want you to know that side of me. And I didn’t want you wrapped up in any of the intelligence work I do. I don’t want you to be exposed to that side of this world.” that made you smile. Silly man. He obviously had no idea what family you came from, and had no grasp on the network your father had built between each of the seven nations of Teyvat. Maybe he knew a bit, and you knew that it was part of your marriage agreement. 

“You don’t need to shelter me, you know.” you cooed, reaching up to brush his face with your fingers. “I know much more about this world than you realize. I’m not someone that needs such fierce protection either.” you stood up on your tiptoes and gently grabbed the back of Diluc’s neck, forcing him to bend so you could place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your anger was quickly evaporating, and was being replaced by overwhelming arousal. He groaned at the contact, placing his hands on your hips and kissing your neck. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me.” you whispered into his ear. He straightened up immediately, removing his hands from your hips only to bring one to his face to hide how red he was. You snickered. It was your turn to take care of your husband. “Oh, and Charles?” you looked over your shoulder, “You may go now. Thank you so much for the work that you do. I’ll see to it that you receive a small bonus for the trouble tonight.” you smiled, and the man behind you scurried out of the door instantly. 

“Fuck. I forgot he was here.” Diluc breathed, not taking his eyes off of you. “We can stay here tonight. I- I have a spare room upstairs that I use from time to time when I’m too tired to ride back to the manor.” finally he was speaking with some sense. You nodded, and began gently pushing him towards the back door. For a man claiming to be too cruel to deserve your love, he felt like putty in your hands. He led you upstairs to a quaint room that overlooked the courtyard beside the tavern, and you gently pulled at his shoulders so he sat at the edge of the bed in front of you. You reached behind him to let his hair down and pushed it out of his face. He sighed and leaned into your touch, closing his eyes to savor the moment.

“I don’t deserve you.” he whispered. You rolled your eyes and tightly gripped his jaw to make him look at you. 

“You think too much. Has anyone ever told you that?” you smiled, teasing him with the same sentiment he shared with you yesterday afternoon. He wrapped his arms around you, pushing his face into your chest in hopes that you wouldn’t see his reddened cheeks. You card your hands through his long hair, pressing your lips to the crown of his head. “Let me take care of you tonight.” You push your husband back and reach for his hands. Bringing one to your lips, you hold Diluc’s gaze as you remove his glove and kiss his palm. You do the same with the other and then begin unbuttoning his coat. He watches you in careful silence, letting you work. When you lift his shirt off of him, he finally speaks. 

“You don’t have to do this, angel. And I want to clean up your arms- I’m worried about those cuts.” you looked at your arms. They were fresh cuts from your run in with the hilichurls, yes, but they weren’t deep. You’d actually forgotten about them, and you knew he was trying to distract you. 

“That won’t work this time,” you continued undressing him, reaching for his belt. “And I can feel just how excited you are.” your hand slid down to palm the bulge in his pants, immediately making your husband suck in a shaky breath. “That’s what I thought.” He reached out to you to cup the side of your face but you batted his hand away. “Hands to yourself. No touching.” a whine escaped from Diluc’s lips as he brought his hand back to his side. 

“You’re not being fair, angel.” you’d never seen him pout before. He looked like a spoiled child and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s my turn to make the rules.” as the words left your lips, you released his cock from his trousers. It bobbed in place, wet precum already dripping from the tip. Diluc’s breathing became increasingly labored as he anticipated your touch. You knelt between his spread legs, not looking away from your husband’s length. There was no way you’d fit the entire thing in your mouth and you began to imagine yourself bouncing up and down your husband’s cock, filled to the brim. Grabbing the base, you gave the tip a small lick. Diluc let out a delicious moan, throwing his head back. 

That reaction was all you needed. You gripped his cock with both hands and began moving them up and down, dragging groans and whines from Diluc as you worked. You opened your mouth and began suckling at the tip, swirling your tongue around to lap up the precum that continued to spill over. Your husband’s breathing began to quicken and he couldn’t keep still. You reached out to pinch his side, signaling that you’d stop if he didn’t behave. He let out another half-choked whimper, stilling underneath you. You stopped to look up at him.

“Good boy.” he couldn’t stop the strangled cry that left his mouth, falling backwards onto the bed. You continued to work his cock with your hands and mouth relentlessly, sending him closer and closer to the edge. 

“I can’t angel, I’m about to-” you cut him off. 

“You can.” he yelped when your fingertips went cold, sending goosebumps across his skin. You wrapped your lips around his cock again and reached your hands up to his chest. His breath hitched, trying not to shrink away from your frozen touch. 

“Y/n I can’t, oh Gods-” Diluc sounded frantic. “Gonna come, fuck-” your hands shot back down to the base of his cock and you sped up. With a loud cry Diluc grabbed a fistful of your hair and fucked into your face, his load shooting down the back of your throat. His movement slowed and you let his now softening cock fall from your mouth, strings of saliva connecting your lips and the tip. You let go of his length, content and tired. As you rose to your feet and turned towards the washbasin to grab something to clean your husband up, he roughly grabbed your waist and pulled you back, shoving you onto the bed underneath him. He was on you instantly, attacking your neck and any exposed skin that was available to him. You gasped in response, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“My turn.” he growled in your ear,  sending a shockwave straight to your core.

I AM SO SORRY FOR THE END i was worried this part was getting too long!! i am working on part six at this very moment!! xx

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Collector’s Bounty: Part 4

Masterlist here.

Previous

It’s been a while, so thanks to my readers who are sticking with it! The chapter is long (over 5k) so I hope it was worth the wait <3

~~

Aris dragged him out of the room and down the hall, setting a brutal pace for Jackson’s depleted body. He was forced to cling tight to Aris with one arm and to the IV pole with the other, legs shaking under his own weight as pain stabbed through his side. Aris took no issue with the contact, keeping an arm wrapped securely around his waist, fingertips slowly edging under the waistband of Jackson’s sweatpants. 

They didn’t even make it to the nearby corner before his knees buckled and he flailed forward, a sharp pain tugging through his arm as the IV pole crashed to the floor. Aris caught him effortlessly by a shoulder, tipping him back towards his hold and hoisting him into a bridal carry. Jackson stiffened in the man’s grip, but by now, he was almost too accustomed to the feeling. And he supposed it was better than being forced to crawl over the cold tile until he reached his cell again— although it was hard to ignore Aris’s hand lazily running over his thighs, fingers trailing towards his hips. Despite himself, he shuddered, the movement drawing a fresh twinge of pain from the incision. 

“Would you rather I drag you?” Aris asked sweetly. “That can easily be arranged.”

Jackson gritted his teeth and shook his head, face burning hot with humiliation. He just had to make it back to the cell without snapping back, without wrestling himself from Aris’s arms, and maybe he’d be left alone. 

“Or maybe, if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll change my mind about your medication,” Aris grinned. “How’s that sound?” 

Those words were enough to shock Jackson motionless. The pain was hardly bearable with the medication, let alone without it. 

“That’s not even enough to get a word outta ya?” Aris snorted. “Aww. How cute. Need me to put something else on the line? A cornea? A lung?” 

“No, no, please, I’ll— I’ll stay still,” Jackson stammered fervently, his heart hammering in his chest. The world swam before his eyes, the hall warping like the reflection in a funhouse mirror. The drugs— fuck—had they changed the drugs? Had Aris stabbed him with something in the midst of his terror? 

He flailed limply against his captor’s touch, strength draining by the second, and all that came from his effort was a pathetic twitch. His vision swam with spots, until all he could see was a faint prick of light. 

A stinging pain crossed his face, the sensation distant as if underwater. 

“Hawthorne?” 

Aris had slapped him. 

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it. Don’t make me have to go get Ryder for this. Snap out of it.” 

Jackson gasped for breath, the words floating above his head, practically meaningless. 

“B-but… y’… you…” he slurred, grasping at the IV with useless, trembling fingers. “Fuck you…” 

His world swirled to black before he could complete the thought. 

~~

Pain rocketed through his side, and he took a desperate pull of air, the gasp tapering into a choked whimper at the sheer force of his agony. He reached for the IV on instinct, wrist tugging sharply against the cuff digging into his skin. But when he caught a glimpse of his arm, vision swimming, there was nothing but the bruises the needle had left behind. 

He was back in the bed, glancing wildly around the room again like his life was some sick tape being rewound by the gods. 

But this time, Aris and Ryder stood at his bedside, bickering. 

“D’you think it was laced?” 

Aris’s voice sounded distant, unreachable. Jackson’s head was stuffed with fistfuls of cotton. 

“I tested it. I told you I tested every last drop. God, if you’ve worked yourself up when the kid’s just having a panic attack…”

“He passed out in my arms like I’d shot him with a double dose of propofol, if that was his panic response we gotta make sure he doesn’t drop dead the next time we fucking scare him.” 

“I’ll run a CT scan if that makes you feel better, then I’m going the fuck back to bed,” Ryder huffed. “Make sure he stays alive for the night and if we need to, we’ll drop him back to mommy and daddy a few days early so he’s not our problem anymore.” 

A renewed stab of agony wrenched through his abdomen, and a weak cry escaped Jackson’s lips. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, grasping at the IV that wasn’t there, clawing mindlessly at his own arm as if the medication might just appear if he hoped hard enough. 

Ryder rolled his eyes, ignoring the expression of pain. “Aris, can you just carry him? I don’t feel like rooting around for a wheelchair.”

Jackson felt himself being lifted a moment later, Aris’s hand under his back and his other arm wrapped around his leg. His side throbbed at the simple movement, and his vision tunneled nearly into black. He gasped for breath through a strained whimper, desperate to cling to his last scrap of consciousness. 

Yet he was half-lucid at best as he was carried down the halls, stuck in that heavy, dizzy underwater feeling from before. He dimly registered being set down on a table, cold metal beneath his neck. He grasped for Aris’s warmth before he could help it, unable to stop himself amidst the way his head spun. 

He heard Aris scoff, sneering out some comment that Jackson couldn’t quite make out. The words blended in an incoherent stream of sound, one that mixed with the lower, sharper register of Ryder’s voice a few moments later. He flinched violently as the table slowly moved forward, his throbbing abdomen screaming in protest. 

A dim light flashed for a moment against his eyelids, a mechanical beeping grating at his eardrums. He was left alone for a while with nothing but that terrible monotony and the slow motion of the table, his side pulsing in tandem with the noise, as if a fire blazed in the incision and someone pumped the bellows every time the damn beep sounded. 

And as soon as blissful silence replaced the machine’s noises, his eardrums were assaulted once more. 

“Fuck!” Ryder blurted across the hall, the sharp syllable slipping through the thick haze clouding Jackson’s mind. 

“Aris, you’ve gotta take a look at this. Something’s…” 

Either his words trailed into silence, or Jackson’s brain had simply stopped processing sound again— both outcomes were just as likely.   

“What the hell is that? A fucking tumor? How could you not see that while you were wiggling your knives around inside him?” Aris snapped. “You’re a fucking surgeon. A real one! Maybe I’d believe that coming from the dick I used to partner with, kinda guy who had to go for a few practice runs before he could scrounge up something sellable. But you? Come on.” 

“A what?!” Jackson cried, hands instinctively flying up to the incision. 

Footsteps approached him from every angle, and he heard a faint beep before the table slowly pulled itself backwards, a faint sound of protest escaping his lips. A hand, too rough to be Aris’s, traced the incision through the bandages, and Jackson swallowed the cry that threatened to rip from his throat. He cracked his eyes open to confirm it was Ryder standing over him, examining him in the way a sadistic child crouches over a pinned butterfly with a magnifying glass. 

After a moment of scrutinizing, Ryder just shrugged. 

“I mean, it didn’t really look like a tumor, but it’s either that or he had an extra kidney back there,” he said nonchalantly. “The transplant was successful and the recipient is fine, so it’s not like I left anything behind. Definitely didn’t cut something else off, or he’d already be lost to internal bleeding.” 

Jackson’s chest clenched with every word, his heart a rapid knife against his lungs. 

Yet in the midst of it all, he only wanted to know one thing. 

“Who got it?” 

He was met with another shrug. 

“Don’t know, don’t care. I sell it off to the highest bidder, and they can boil and eat it for all the fucks I give. This one just happened to want to stay in touch so they could blame me the second something went wrong.” 

Jackson shuddered at the grisly image, the movement sending a fresh stab of agony through his side. “Is— is it cancerous? Is it gonna kill me?” 

Before Ryder could confirm Jackson’s impending doom, Aris stepped in and shushed him, finger to his lips and all. 

“Give him a minute, man. If he’s not dying already, you don’t want his heart to grind to a halt from your worst-case horror stories.” 

A third, resigned shrug. 

“Fine. But there’s clearly something in there.”

The door slammed shut a moment later, and Jackson was left alone with who he could hardly deem the lesser of the evils. Less dangerous, maybe. But less evil? He wouldn’t let himself be fooled for a second. 

The almost-lesser evil looked at him with what could almost be described as sympathy. Or maybe the drugs had gotten to Jackson’s head. 

“I’ll be back in a few. Try to sit up. Or don’t. Payday’s already come and gone.”

Sound had become foreign once again, Aris’s words taking on that distant, underwater feeling. Jackson groaned softly as he gathered his hands behind him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the table despite the way his side screamed in protest. His vision swirled for a moment, before settling like sand in the bottom of a glass— composed, but still grainy and somehow wrong. He sat in front of a scratched, dented scanner that resembled a massive donut. The room was full of various pieces of equipment, most beaten or worn down in some way or another, and otherwise barren but for the small set of cabinets shoved in a corner. 

Unsurprisingly, it was devoid of any color but for the rusty splotches seeping through his bandages. 

Before he could contemplate the likelihood of dying young, Aris strode back through the door, plopping down next to him on the table. 

“So. How we feelin’?” 

Jackson gritted his teeth. 

“Thought you said you didn’t care,” he muttered. 

Aris rolled his eyes. “I don’t. But unfortunately, Ryder’s gone back off to catch his beauty sleep so I’m stuck with keeping you alive ‘til morning. So if something’s like, crazy wrong, speak now or, I don’t know, suffer all night.” 

“Other than being down a whole organ, and, I don’t know, having a fucking tumor?” Jackson spat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”

Aris raised his eyebrows and gave him a twisted grin. “If you insist, then,” he said nonchalantly. “So if you really don’t need anything—”

“Wait!” Fuck.

“What’s up?” Aris said cheerfully, an obvious flash of triumph permeating his gaze. 

“My uh, my bandages are soaking through,” he mumbled. “I— uh—”

“Hm? Speak up, love. It’s been a long day,” Aris taunted. 

“I need help with my bandages,” he finally bit out, hot humiliation crawling up his face. “I’m, uh, I’m bleeding through them.” 

 He squirmed in the following silence as Aris’s gaze set to the similar, scrutinizing expression Ryder had worn mere minutes ago. His captor pursed his lips after a long, agonizing moment and slid off the table. He pulled open a drawer and tossed a pack of gauze in Jackson’s direction, followed by a roll of medical tape. 

“Knock yourself out.” 

Jackson gritted his teeth and focused on changing the bandages, ignoring the jab. He’d clearly have to wait until Aris was in a better mood to ask for food or water. 

He pinched the edge of the tape keeping the gauze in place, already peeled up from when he’d peeked at the incision earlier. His eyes squeezed shut as his breath caught in his throat, his whole body recoiling from what had to be done. Aris watched amusedly, leaning back against the wall and giving Jackson a sickening smirk. He couldn’t ask for help. He couldn’t. 

He ripped the bandage off with a muffled cry, the wound’s stabbing drowning out the sting to his skin. He refused to glance up at the look on Aris’s face. That’s what the bastard wants. 

Instead, he pointedly kept his gaze fixed on the incision, the wound red and raw and just as haphazardly stitched as before. Blood seeped between the stitches, having soaked the dirty bandage he discarded on the other side of the table. He’d never dressed a wound before, let alone his own. But at least it looked pretty simple— cover the wound with gauze, tape over it to keep everything in place, and try not to think about it until the bloodstains came back. 

Yet as simple as it should have been, his hands shook even opening the package of gauze. His own blood coated his fingertips where he’d touched the old bandages, and the sight made his head spin. He made the mistake of glancing up at Aris’s demeaning little grin, and his face flushed hot and red once more. 

He had to do this himself. He had to. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Aris’s voice, holding a bare yet unmistakable touch of mockery, cut through the room’s almost painful silence. “Let me help you.” 

“For what? A square inch of skin? A cornea? A lap dance?” Jackson huffed. “No thanks.”

“I mean, I was just gonna help you so we wouldn’t be here all night. But if you insist on giving something in return, I suppose something could be arranged…”

“In your dreams,” Jackson snapped. But he didn’t refuse when Aris slipped the pack of gauze from his hands and began packing the wound, and even fought not to pull away as the pressure on the incision gave way to a fresh surge of agony. He just grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and didn’t look again until he felt the tape smothering his skin, sealing off the ugly, gaping thing in his side from the rest of the world.

“You’re adorable,” Aris smirked. “Can’t even watch. Now, do you think you can handle walking back or do I need to carry you again?” 

Jackson glanced at the door and tried to recall how long he’d been carried for, but he came up with nothing but the blurred, dizzying sense of being carried itself, for what had seemed like forever. 

“You didn’t change the drugs?” he asked warily. “Like, at all?” 

Aris nodded. “Whatever that little episode was, it was one hundred percent you and whatever fucked up stress response that body has to offer. So, if you wanna risk that again, be my guest. It’s up to you.” 

Jackson braced himself on the edge of the table for a moment before sliding off the edge, leaning on the cool metal for support as he stood on shaky, rubbery legs. The walk couldn’t have been more than a minute. He could do this. 

“I’ll be fine,” he managed unconvincingly. 

Aris shrugged. “Interesting definition of fine, but that’s your call. Just know I’ll be there to catch you.” He gave a devious wink, although Jackson could have gathered his humiliating intent without the expression. By now, he knew practically every word Aris directed towards him was meant for nothing less. 

“Thanks for the offer,” Jackson said flatly. He took one trembling step, pain stabbing through his side like a white-hot knife, and gritted his teeth. Another step, and the pain nearly brought him to his knees. His vision swam, and he grasped blindly for the table next to him, breathless from the sheer agony. Tears sprang to his eyes, even as he furiously blinked them away. 

“Are you sure a wheelchair’s out of the question?” He attempted, voice breaking. “I just— I don’t— I don’t know if I can make it.”

Aris rolled his eyes. “You either walk, I drag you kicking and screaming, or you let yourself be carried like a good boy. Up to you.” 

So he’d have to make it. Jackson clenched his free hand into a fist, gripped the table for dear life, and took another step. Fire rocketed through his side, and his legs crumpled beneath him as he flailed to catch himself on the table. But before he could collapse, Aris caught him under the arms, pulling him close against his body to keep him upright. 

“That answers that question, then,” Aris said pleasantly. 

And as much as Jackson wanted to protest, he let himself be hauled off his feet once more, the world tilting familiarly. 

“I’m starting to think you just like carrying me,” Jackson muttered. 

Aris dug his fingers mere inches from the bandage, just close enough to send Jackson’s heart into overdrive. One tiny twist of his hand, and he’d be seeing stars. “And I’m starting to think you just like crumpling to the ground,” he retorted. 

Jackson’s lips pursed into a thin line of pain and annoyance, his side stabbing with every step his captor took, but he let the comment go. He had more important concerns.

“Do I— do I still get the meds? When I get back?” 

Laced or not, he needed them. 

Aris hummed noncommittally. “Depends. What’ll you do to get them?” 

Anything. 

“Please. Aris, I—”

“And being a compliant little wimp doesn’t count as doing something, it just means I won’t be inclined to take a lung for my troubles.”

A sob caught in Jackson’s chest, his eyes welling in desperation. “You know it’s nothing you can’t already make me do anyway,” he said desperately, voice close to breaking. “Please, I just— I can’t— I’m not gonna make it through the night—”

Aris shifted Jackson in his grip as he approached his room, the movement enough to send a fresh bolt of fire through his body. He couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain that escaped him, the way his breath hitched as his world flashed white for the briefest moment. Aris simply pressed his hand to the pad outside the door and waited as the bolts unlatched one by one, unbothered by the display. 

“It’s up to you, Hawthorne. It makes no difference to me, if I leave you dry ‘til morning. You’ve gotta make me want to go through the trouble.” 

Jackson gritted his teeth, swallowing the cry that threatened to rip from his throat. “Ryder has my vitals up, doesn’t he? He won’t get a fucking wink of sleep if I rip off the sensors and the monitor goes flat.” He snapped. “Or you’d just cuff me to the bed then, right? I’ll just hold my breath ‘til my heart rate spikes— can’t tie me down from fucking breathing.” His head spun even from the effort of the outburst, but he was done rolling over and playing dead. He was done letting Aris win.

Yet the smirk his captor gave him in return told him he’d done just that.

“You think Ryder’s got your back in this?” Aris scoffed, kicking the door closed behind him and dumping Jackson on the bed with a vicious shove. “He’ll just turn the damn alarm off and hope you don’t die on him in the meantime. And if he’s gonna be pissed at you keeping him up all night, he’ll just stick you with a paralytic for the day so you can’t fucking do it again. Not a painkiller, Hawthorne. Not a sedative. A fucking paralytic. Make you sit there all day, in agony, unable to do a fucking thing about it. We’d have to intubate you again, too. I remember just how much you loved that, didn’t you? And if Ryder doesn’t give a shit, I’ll do it myself. Rip out all the monitors, the meds, all of it. Shove a few tubes down your throat, hope you’ll last the day and that whatever it is floating around behind that incision isn’t cancerous, and I won’t look back. Maybe you’ll appreciate my attention more after that, hm?”

The color drained from Jackson’s face, but he pushed himself upright, wincing at the fresh stabs of pain through his side, and steeled his gaze. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll go dry. Can’t comply, can’t fight back, can’t offer a fucking thing you can’t already take. Is that what you want?” 

Aris almost looked disappointed. “Not even close,” he said darkly. “I want to see just how far you’re willing to go for me. And if that’s not far enough right now, then sure, you’ll go without tonight. But I’m sure you’ll be much more desperate in the morning, and then we’ll get to try again. How’s that sound?” 

“I— I just— I don’t know what you want from me!” Jackson spluttered. “What, you want me to like, get on my knees and beg? Just start sobbing about how much it fucking hurts? What do you want?” 

The touch to his face was so gentle it could have been a ghost’s, a whisper of Aris’s fingertips tracing up his jaw. Jackson shuddered in spite of himself, fighting the urge to slap his captor’s hand away.

“Begging is a nice start, sure, but it doesn’t have to be that. Tell me why your system cuts the drugs so quickly. We both know there’s some dark secret in there. One of your parents, maybe, an addiction so brutal they passed on the tolerance? Or maybe one of the scenarios you so quickly rejected before? All I ask is that you tell me the truth. Make it hurt a little.” 

Tears burned at the corners of Jackson’s eyes, and he barely managed to blink them back. “You know I don’t know that,” he choked. “Do you want me to lie? Just make some shit up so you have another reason to think I deserve this?” 

Aris‘s hand trailed up his face until he’d tangled his fingers in Jackson’s hair, tugging gently to tilt his head back until he was forced to meet his eyes. The tenderness of the touch made Jackson wish he’d just cut him open instead. Or drugged him. Or hit him. Anything but this sick facade of intimacy.

“You don’t deserve this, Hawthorne,” he said simply. “Let’s make that clear. You’re just here ‘cause I fucked up a job and needed the money, and ‘cause Ryder only works on people he thinks deserves it, which amounts to pretty much anyone with a background like yours. But this is where we’re at, and you either get the meds or not. It’s up to you.” 

“I don’t have any secrets,” Jackson snapped, jerking away from the man’s lingering touch. “You’ve seen my family’s dirty laundry in the tabloids, and as for me? They keep me on such a tight leash I’m almost impressed you managed to kidnap me. You think I’d go to university in my fucking hometown if I had another option? You want a secret? I don’t have enough of a life to have anything to hide, unless you count the fact that I got a fucking job. How’s that?”

“Pathetic,” Aris said honestly. “Maybe not life changing enough to count, but pathetic. Ever tried to run away?” 

Jackson shrugged. “Not until I graduate, at least. I’m not taking out loans when the other option is withstanding their bullshit but getting it for free, yknow? Not like it matters now, I guess. If I actually am dying.” 

“Like I said before, Ryder’s a real surgeon. He hates your guts, sure, but he knows he’ll be running the rest of his life if you die on him. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Don’t worry about it?” Jackson snapped. “I’ve got a fucking tumor where I should have a kidney and you’re telling me don’t worry about it? I heard you in the operating room, when I woke up. About keeping my lungs healthy in case you end up wanting one. You’re fucking sick. Don’t tell me I’m gonna be okay unless you fucking plan to keep me that way” 

“I won’t, then,” Aris said icily. “It’s in our best interest to keep you alive, but in reality, who knows? I’m not a doctor, Hawthorne, I can’t tell you shit. For all I know, you might drop dead tomorrow. But for now, you haven’t earned your medication and I’m bored and wanna know more about your life. No begging required. What do you say?” 

“Fine,” Jackson mumbled. “But I told you already, you’re not gonna get anything interesting. And can we throw in some food with the deal?” The clawing at his stomach had almost gone unnoticed compared to the stabbing under the incision, but it had been growing harder and harder to ignore. 

“We’ll see,” Aris said. “I’m going on a grocery run in the morning, I’ll grab something then. Ryder doesn’t live here or anything, but I’ve paid off the mob thanks to your kidney and I have no interest in going back. Which means that’s all coming out of my paycheck.” 

“You’re not gonna keep me alive very long if you refuse to feed me,” Jackson muttered. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not that stupid,” Aris said. He sat down on the edge of the cot, and Jackson couldn’t help but shrink back against the bedrail, curling his legs to his chest and feeling around for the torn shirt he’d rejected earlier. 

“Now. Where do ya wanna begin?” he continued. “How about your job? The one secret you’ve managed to keep in your sheltered little life.” 

“Not much to it,” Jackson said reluctantly, tugging the shirt over his head and biting back a hiss of pain. The throbbing in his side flared violently with the movement, but if nothing else, the conversation was a distraction. Not exactly a welcome one, but better than sitting in unmedicated silence, he supposed. “24/7 diner, night shift, minimum wage. Had to pick a place my folks wouldn’t dream of stepping foot in if their lives depended on it.” 

“The one right by the university?” 

He nodded. 

“So you have to serve your classmates?”

Jackson winced. “Yeah. Uh, a lot. It sucks.” 

“It’s demeaning, isn’t it?” Aris said quietly. The offensive edge had fallen from his voice, into false, sickly sweet sympathy. 

“Yeah. Which I guess should fulfill the ‘tell me something embarrassing’ requirement, right? Am I done?” 

“Tell me a story. A specific one. Then maybe you’ll be off the hook.” The sharp, taunting edge was back, complete with the trademark smirk. 

Jackson twisted the hem of the old undershirt, contemplating for a moment. 

“How bad does it have to be?” 

“The worst you have, if you’re giving me a choice,” Aris grinned. “You should know not to ask those kinds of questions.” 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing the thin pillow to hug it close. “How about the time I almost got roofied, then? That good enough?” 

“And you said you don’t have any secrets,” Aris taunted. “I’ll say that’s worth a good ten milligrams. Lower end of the dosage for an eight hour IV drip, but it should be enough to get you through the night. So that’s up to you, I guess, if it’s worth it.” 

He nodded. At this point, he might have taken the offer even for a handful of ibuprofen. “To be clear, this is the only remotely interesting thing that’s happened to me. So if you want me to one-up this for the next dose, I can either choose a different story now or start lying.” 

Aris nodded expectantly.

“So. Uh. This guy from my chem class, he comes in around 2 am, fucking hammered. Ordered maybe five plates of hash browns and a coffee. He inhaled the food in minutes but ended up nursing the one coffee for a whole hour ‘til my shift ended. He’d paid when he ordered, so I sorta knew he was just waiting for a shot at me. And yeah, uh, guy asked to buy me a drink the second I clocked out. No tip on the table, just an offer to cover something strong at the bar across the street. I’m not stupid, but it’d been a long night and I wanted at least my tip’s worth out of him, so I accepted. Ordered the most expensive thing on the board, kept my eyes glued to it the second it left the bartender’s hand, and left a hefty tip ‘cause god knows the asshole wasn’t going to.”

Why was he actually telling him this? It would have been just as easy to make something up, something that didn’t make his heart race and his stomach churn. He forced in a shaky breath, his side stabbing in protest, and continued in spite of himself. 

“I keep test strips on me at all times, I’m not an idiot. I tested the drink, it came out fine, I took a few sips. The guy had been trying to flirt with me the second we walked into that place, but it was like a switch had flipped as soon as I’d tested it. He started getting all weird, affectionate, almost desperate. Kept trying to kiss me, distract me, all that. He got up to order another drink, and I booked it. A few days later, I heard he’d roofied a girl at the same bar. Woulda been me if I wasn’t as careful.” 

And maybe if it had been him, he wouldn’t be here. If he’d gotten drugged, had to own up with his parents about it because he was still on their health insurance, started pressing charges. They would have practically kept him under lock and key, but their control was preferable to this. At least that way, he would have stayed intact, even if not unviolated. He wiped away a stray tear with the palm of his hand, praying Aris wouldn’t notice, or if nothing else, wouldn’t comment. 

“Aww,” Aris sneered. And that’s really your only experience with the real world? Almost getting hurt, but everything turns out fine? Going back to class like a good boy?” 

Jackson gritted his teeth. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” 

“So tell me. You felt pretty helpless then, didn’t you, praying for a moment to slip away? Is it worse now than it was then?” Aris’s eyes practically glittered with delight. 

“Yeah. It is,” he spat. “You happy? What would you expect, that anything other than this could be the worst moment of my life? Not much tops being kidnapped and having a fucking organ harvested, if that’s what you wanna hear. You’ve singlehandedly created the worst week of my life. You win, if you call that winning.” The words dripped sarcastically from his lips, their venom the only defense he had left.  

“I mean, not quite singlehandedly,” Aris admitted mockingly. “But I’m flattered. That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Or not really— just anything that gets you like this. On the brink of tears, desperate, while your mind’s too clouded by pain to think about what you’re saying. Admitting just how weak you are in the mere hope I’ll take pity. And lucky for you, Hawthorne, you’ve got a gorgeous set of puppy eyes.” He slid off the bed like Jackson hadn’t spilled his soul just seconds ago, grabbing the IV pole and wheeling it towards the cot.

“There’s maybe 15 milligrams left in that drip, I’ll call it close enough. Makes up for my inability to find a vein.” 

True to his word, Aris delivered a couple extra sticks before the tube was injected, but the pain of the needle was nothing compared to the stabbing in his side. And by the time his captor had secured the line with a bit of tape, the drip had started, bringing a rush of much-needed oblivion. He sank into the cot out of sheer relief as the throbbing dulled to an ache, as his desperation dulled to tranquility. And out of his mouth slipped the two words he knew Aris never deserved to hear from him.

“Thank you.” 

~~

Taglist: @burnticedlatte @onlywhump @whumplr-reader @gala1981 @its-my-primary-whump @andithewhumper @morning-star-whump

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Hello! Are you still doing the 24 touch prompts? If yes, can I request 15 with Eskel and Jaskier, please?

Sorry for the wait!!! ❤️

Jaskier and Eskel 15 - gently kissing the others knuckles 😊.

“Just so you know, it feels really bizarre being on the other side of this particular scenario.” Jaskier commented as he gently manipulated a hand much larger than his own to better assess the damage.

One of the inn patrons had recognised Jaskier even without his usual, grumpy travel companion present. Usually this would be something to make the bard preen like the bird Geralt often compared him to but unfortunately, this same prick chose to heckle him throughout his entire set and then decided to start with the “Witcher’s whore” comments when he’d finished, which had Jaskier ready to give this already rather unbecoming fellow a broken nose to go with his sallow complexion (it wasn’t the insult itself per se, but Jaskier was no Saint and a man could only turn the other cheek so many times in one night). Until a semi familiar blur of black and red beat him to it, and that was apparently how Eskel decided to let the bard know that he was in town.

Luckily for them, the innkeeper saw the sense in not even trying to throw Jaskier out now that one of his non-human companions had made an appearance and hastily agreed that the other had bought it on himself, making no move to try and aid the now unconscious and bleeding man as Jaskier pulled Eskel up the stairs behind him, the Witcher stammering out half an apology although who exactly it was directed to, Jaskier couldn’t say.

That’s how they ended up in their current position in Jaskier’s room, both of them perched on the edge of the bed with Jaskier still keeping hold of Eskel’s hand as he leaned over to grab the small bottle of spirit he used as a disinfectant after proclaiming the others knuckles to be just grazed from the force of his punch.

“I could have told you that about ten minutes ago, Jaskier. It’ll be healed in a couple of hours.” Eskel stated.

“Oh, hush you. What would Geralt say if he found out I left his brother all hurt and bloody? Especially when it happened because he was defending my honour.” Jaskier proceeded to gently dab at the split skin across Eskel’s knuckles, seemingly unaware of how much effort it was taking his patient to not give into temptation and wrap his fingers around the smaller, softer hand in response.

“Like he’s never punched anyone for you before.”

Jaskier gave a huff of a laugh, “He doesn’t have to fight all my battles for me, and neither do you.” He paused to boop the end of Eskel’s nose, “I’m a big boy. I can deal with a few town assholes throwing insults at me. You didn’t have to get involved.”

“Hello Pot, have you met Kettle?” Eskel asked dryly, causing Jaskier to bluster slightly at being called out, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Oh, I see how it is. It’s fine when you lot say that.” Jaskier smirked, “Done! And...you didn’t have to, but it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful that you did. Thank you for being so gallant, dear Witcher.”

 Eskel felt his face heat up as Jaskier pressed a kiss to his now treated knuckles like he was the love interest in one of those romance stories and not some huge, scarred Witcher,  “Seriously though. Can we get back to the usual dynamic between myself and Witchers? I’m not sure I’m entirely liking this role reversal.”

 

Eskel knocked on the doorframe after purposely making his footsteps louder to give ample warning but even so, Jaskier still flinched where he was sat on the examination table. Curling his now bandaged hands against his chest as best as he could seemingly on reflex.

“Ah, Eskel! Everything alright?” He asked with forced brightness.

“Something we should have asked you much sooner.”  He said gently as he came further into the room, trying to make himself look as small as he could and keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Between the torture and the imprisonment, the last thing he wanted was to make the bard feel trapped again, “May I?” He held a hand out palm upwards between them, leaving Jaskier the choice of whether to close the distance or not.

Jaskier hesitated before reaching out and placing one hand into Eskel’s, the Witcher running the ends of his fingers over skin and linen as delicately as if he were stroking a birds wing. He didn’t know every single detail but he knew enough from the very loud, very animated ‘discussion’ that had occurred between wolf, witch and bard earlier that day and has ended in Jaskier being dragged by the elbow to the infirmary.

“You didn’t tell him anything.”

The wonder in Eskel’s voice must have sounded too much like disbelief, as Jaskier shook his head rapidly in response, “Nothing. I promise I didn’t tell him anything about here, or Geralt, or Ciri. I-”

Eskel gently shushed him, feeling Jaskier's pulse jumping rabbit quick in his wrist underneath his fingers. He was suddenly struck by the desire to press a kiss to the tips of those poor, talented fingers but considering they were currently hidden away under layers of salve and bandage....

He brushed his lips against Jaskier’s knuckles, holding the gaze of wide, blue eyes as he did so and wondering briefly if the hitch in Jaskier’s breathing was a product of his imagination.

“Thank you for being so brave, dear bard.”

[wh3nturtlesfly]

heyyy, so i know that u just continued the this story not that long ago but can maayybe make another part to the story abt villain kidnapping hero while their bleeding out in the rain, no pressure ofc!

Of course, thank you so much for the ask! :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

They were weak. Whatever flowed through their veins had reduced Hero’s mind to pudding. They couldn’t think like this, much less move under the solution’s influence. Villain savored it, seeing them so helpless, the Hero was sure of it.

Through half-lidded eyes they watched Villain step through the doors of their room; their cell to be more accurate. The plush bed and soft covers did nothing to change that they were still trapped. The IV had been running on a constant ever since Hero had tried to fight back. It left their limbs nothing more than useless skin and bone, heavy against the weight of the medicine- if it could even be called that. Poison served a more accurate comparison.

It was late that evening, much too late for Villain to be visiting. Villain only ever came twice a day, first with new bandages and ointments, and second with a meal of some kind. Hero had tried to refuse the food. Better to starve than live through such a mess, though the more persistent they proved to be, the harsher Villain shoved the metal spoon down their throat.

Now they carried something different altogether in their hands. It shone under the lights and trailed behind Villain in translucent whisps. What was gathered in their arms had been folded into a neat bundle to which Villain set on the foot of the bed before strolling up to Hero with a devious smile. A touch of victory chimed in Hero’s mind as they observed the red mark that coiled around Villain’s neck. They caught Villain laying a hand upon it gently, rubbing away the pain Hero had caused- their sliver of revenge.

“You’re looking much better my dear,” Hero’s eyes could only drift lazily to where Villain laid a finger upon their cheek. Their touch was numb, the medicine had made sure that Hero wouldn’t feel it, though they still wished to pull away. “Your coloring has returned indeed. You’re no longer the pale apparition I found in the alley.”

“And you want me to thank you for it?” Hero struggled to get the words out. They were strung together in a slurred mess, but it was considered progress. Villain must have reduced their dosage if they were able to speak clearly.

“I would appreciate it if you were a little more understanding,” Villain’s grip became harsh and the cold prick of their fingers dug into Hero’s skin. “After all, I have a surprise for you.”

“My freedom?” The mere suggestion was a joke itself, but that didn’t stop Hero from asking.

Villain smiled sweetly. Somehow it couldn’t distract from the greedy look in their eyes. “Better than that,” they said, and retrieved a slim remote from their pocket. As they clicked one of the buttons Hero felt the pressure lessen on their arm. Already their mind had cleared some of its fog.

It was as if a weight had lifted, though the Villain would never be so kind without reason. Hero caught onto their yearning gaze, eager as it trailed over Hero’s form. “Now that you are well enough, I can truly display you.”

The garment at the edge of the bed made sense then. Villain’s hands found the silk-like fabric and ran over it with an eager grace. “You’ll make quite the conversation piece, and you know how I do love our talks.”

“You don’t own me,” Hero pulled their gaze away from the outfit. Despite its revealing nature, it was incredibly well made. Clearly hours upon hours had been dedicated to its manufacturing, from the embroidery that shimmered to the stitching that drew attention to just the right places. Wearing such a thing -much less with the Villain- would be a humiliation like no other. “I won’t go with you.”

Villain frowned, “And would you rather be a slug, left in this bed to rot with no one left to love you?” They held the remote tightly in their fingers, “You’re mine whether or not you deny it. It was not your precious agency that pulled you bleeding, dying from that alley. I saved you.”

Hero flinched as Villain’s hand gripped their wrist tightly. They still didn’t have the strength yet to squirm away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Your screams were plea enough.” Something shifted in the Villain’s expression. Their eyes softened, movements slowed as they leaned closer to the Hero, “So desperate, you would have given anything to live.”

Their hand found Hero’s bandages to which they carefully unwrapped. The gash across their chest met the cold air and a gasp escaped Hero’s lips. Without the IV, things were much more sudden. They could feel the dull sting arising from the wound with each passing second, accentuated as Villain traced a finger around the edges.

They grinned as Hero winced, “Without me, no one will help you. Like it or not, you have fallen into my hands and now it is time for the rest of the world to see.” Villain’s eyes trailed over Hero’s form dangerously, “Either that, or I have other ways of making you listen.” Their finger hovered over the button that controlled the IV. One push, and the Hero would be helpless again, unable to move, much less think of an escape.

Hero sighed, and the pressure made their ribs ache. From its place on the bed, the garment sparkled. At least at an event they could be away from the solution's influence. Villain’s touch was sickening, though not enough to leave them subdued.

“I cannot stand well on my own. I’ll need assistance until the drug has left my system.” The words were clipped as they fell from Hero’s mouth. They didn’t look, they were well aware the Villain was smiling.

“Such a smart choice darling,” Villain stood, and lingered at the door frame. They left the IV untouched, a sliver of freedom as the liquid poison already began its leave from Hero’s veins “My servants will dress you. Behave for them.” Then, just before they slipped away, Villain offered a devilish grin, “Don’t be late.”

Hero started planning their escape the moment the door clicked shut.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

connection (2)

(CITRUS WARNING: lime. Very lime-ly. HERE THERE BE SMUT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED).

---------

On the boat ride to Tural, Estinien has some steamy thoughts...

---------

She was warm in his arms, her hips writhing against his. Pleasure skittered up Estinien’s spine like levin, threatening to whiteout rational thought. With a growl he reached up to grab Riven’s hair and set his teeth against the fluttering pulse in her neck. A throaty moan was his reward, as was her hips snapping against him faster, engulfing his prick in a wet heat hotter than wrymfire and just as addicting—

Estinien’s eyes flew open. For several moments he lay in bed, gasping. A familiar heat was spreading in his belly and loins, and briefly he thought he could feel Riven’s skin, hear her pleased cries as she tipped over the edge. Pleasure slowly spread through Estinien like smeared honey—as did a sudden awareness of his situation. No soft bed, rather a rough and hard cot. No heat, only cold—and the smell of salt-spray in the air. Also, he’d kicked off the blankets at some points, and his sleep shorts…well, he could clearly feel the evident results. Good thing he’d paid for a private room. With a tired sigh, Estinien pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Wench.” He muttered fondly—but with a twinge of melancholy. He’d soon discovered while there was pleasure to be had in being alone once more, he did miss the color and chaos that was Riven and her brothers. And there was a prick of guilt as well, he was heading to an entirely new place without them—missing the opportunity to share the wonder of discovery with allies.

Perhaps once I’ve seen my fill…if she’s not gone off somewhere…I might be able to ask her to join me again. The thought lifted Estinien’s spirits some. Pushing himself out of bed, he strode over to the nearby table, pulling off his shorts as he did so. Filling the washbasin with water, he picked up a rag to wipe himself down. However, the cold water did nothing to dampen his lingering ardor.

Estinien…

Estinien closed his eyes, the memory of Riven’s whisper a caress in his ears.

“What am I supposed to do without you around, minx?” He growled. “I see you again, this will be coming out of your little hide. And knowing you, you’d probably enjoy it.” Picking up the soiled sleepwear to soak in the basin, Estinien reached for a nearby towel and strode back to the cot. Lying back down, he made himself comfortable—but not before glancing at his left arm. The modified summon-binding arcanima met his eyes, the tattoo already having fully healed. Estinien lifted a finger, gently pressing down on the inked skin and rubbing it.

“Miss you.” He murmured to the stylized dragon. “I always do.” Under the lamplight, the sun-orange ink of the dragon seemed to glitter. A possible side effect of the magics that swam in Riven’s blood, the tattooist had told him.

“Do not hesitate to call me upon your enemies.” He had whispered, letting his hand find hers, entwining their fingers together. In response Riven lifted her free hand to his cheek, gently cupping it within her palm. Her eyes were bottomless pools, ones that Estinien was all too happy to fall into.

“Do not hesitate to call me upon your own.”  She whispered back in return.

With a sigh, Estinien lowered his arm. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. It was easy to summon an image of Riven naked, sultry-eyed and smiling. Sweet and trusting. All he had to do was beckon and she would come into his arms… Estinien let his hand drop lower. Already he was hard once more, a hungry ache settling into his belly.

“Little minx.” He whispered affectionately. “Come here. Be a good girl this time. You’ll like your reward, I promise…”

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Muse || Vaas Montenegro

Warning(s): The Pocky Game, bored Vaas, OC (Liv), Vaas being Vaas, short one-shot.

An unexpected storm blew in from the southwest, hitting the Rook Islands like a freight train. Liv found herself caught in it, hiding in her cage at the outpost like a stray. The wind was so strong that it made the rain feel like needles were pricking her skin. She hugged her body close, but it made no difference. And to make matters worse, Vaas was bored. 

Liv never thought she would see the day. On top of being rather clever and unpredictable, Vaas was also creative, even though his ideas were atrocious. She truly believed that braving the storm, as opposed to braving him, was the smartest option; the lesser of two evils. 

This is why she was distraught when Carlos forced her from the cage and took her to the hut that Vaas was currently shut up in. At the front door, she turned to the pirate, pleading to him with her eyes.

“It's such a beautiful day. Can't I just sit in my cage and enjoy it?” 

Carlos gave her a look of disbelief like she had grown an extra head. 

“You have finally lost your fucking mind.” 

She would lose more than her mind if she was Vaas’ last option for entertainment.

“He's waiting,” Carlos mentioned, motioning toward the hut.

Liv tossed him an angry look, then plodded through the front door. As she turned the corner into the bedroom, she saw Vaas sitting at the desk in front of the laptop, watching Zack Snyder's ‘Dawn of the Dead’; it was either a pirated copy, or he found it in someone's suitcase. While he seemed content with the movie, he was bouncing his leg like a stressed-out parent beneath the desktop. He cut his eyes to her and opened his mouth, but whatever he was in the process of saying was lost as he noticed the state of her person, soaked from head to toe. 

“Were you raised by animals? Go change your fucking clothes. You are getting water on my floor,” Vaas chided. He motioned behind him to a pile of suitcases across the room. Some of them were new. “¿Ya nadie tiene modales (does no one have manners anymore)?”

Liv tightened her jaw. It was not like she wanted to entertain him. She was content with sitting out in the damn storm. Without protesting, she strode over to the suitcases and rummaged through them, choosing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she could tie off. As she was standing, she noticed a familiar rectangular box amongst the bathroom products. 

“No way,” she uttered, picking it up. “Look what I found.” 

Vaas paused the movie and peeked over his shoulder, having to squint to read the words printed on the front. 

“The fuck is Pocky?”

“It's a snack from Japan, but you can buy them in convenience stores in America,” Liv answered. She looked at the expiration date and grinned in excitement. “Someone must have brought them on the flight over. I love these things. Chocolate is my favorite, but the strawberry sticks are great too.” 

Besides movies, Vaas had never seen her so enthralled in something. He had no idea she liked sweets. He snorted and watched her put them down on the bed, before hurrying into the next room with her arms full of clothes. When she reappeared, she snatched up the pink box and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you want one?” She asked as she tore open the lid.

Why the fuck not. Vaas shrugged his shoulders. Taking one from her, he took a tentative bite. It was not bad for a biscuit stick with an artificial coating. 

“This gets you wet, no?” 

Liv felt her face heat up. 

“I don't know what it is about them, but they are like crack.” 

Vaas snorted. 

“My friends and I used to play the Pocky Game with them. Invite a big group and see who would bitch out first,” she added. “It's an innocent game, though it led to a few weird hookups. And there's even a drinking game.” 

Vaas could not imagine what sort of game she was referring to. The name seemed ridiculous enough.

“Show me.”

Liv felt her heart race.

“I don't think you'd like it. I mean…it's a game for teenagers.”

“Fóllame (fuck me). You brought it up,” Vaas pointed out. He switched from the chair to the bed, snatching the box from her. “Show me. Come on.” 

Liv tightened her jaw. Why did she have to mention the game?

“So, you take a stick and put one end in your mouth, and I put the other end in mine. We have to maintain eye contact as we each eat to the middle. If the stick breaks, or one of us bitches out, then we lose. It's a tie if…if we kiss.”

Vaas grinned. “Lady and the Tramp, no?”

Liv nodded. It was exactly like that. She figured the concept of the game would sound childish to Vaas, that he would turn it down, but when he slid a stick from the box and placed the coated end against her lips, her heart raced. 

“Be a good girl, querida (darling). Ábreme (open up for me).” 

She nearly whined. As much as she did not want to anger him, she was nervous. Vaas was in no way a coward. She knew that he would take it to the end and kiss her. But was she ready for that? She was not sure. 

“There are other games we can–”

“Abre tu boca por mí (open your mouth for me).” Interjected Vaas. 

Hesitantly, she did so. Vaas slid the coated end into her mouth, then placed the other end into his mouth. His eyes kept hers as they began to eat the Pocky, but even he could see how nervous she was. Her pale skin was red as though she had sat hours in the sun and her blue eyes were glossy. When their lips came close to touching, he reached up and flicked the stick hard, breaking it. 

Liv sat back in shock. Why did he do that? She took the remaining stick from her mouth and tried to ask him, but Vaas gently squeezed her cheeks, puckering her lips; she reminded him of a Naso Tang.

“First kisses have to be special, no?” He winked, then released her. 

Tossing her a stick, Vaas stood with a grin.

“Like crack, you say.” 

He knew Liv would snap him out of his boredom. She was his muse after all. 

It was later that she learned what Vaas did with the remaining sticks, playing a twisted version of the Pocky Game with a few prisoners who were unfortunate enough to not have buyers. Their partners were not humans, however, but vicious crocodiles and cassowaries. 

Liv was fortunate, she realized, and never whined again about having to entertain Vaas. 

[tobifuyu]

Die For You • Chapter 02

RAN HAITANI x f!reader

Out Of Time: There's so much trauma in my life, I've been so cold to the ones who loved me, baby. I look back now and I realize and I remember when I held you, you begged me with your drowning eyes to stay and I regret I didn't tell you.

cw: nsfw, mdni, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, fluff, angst, references to depression, drugs, panic attacks, blood and violence, prostitution, basically anything that has to do with bonten, protective haitani ran, sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning.

Masterlist. | Previous Chapter.

Chizu opens her eyes to black. The room she finds herself in is dark. Not even a ray of sun is shining from the windows, that is if the room even has any.

Her movements are lethargic and she can barely grasp what is happening around her. She can feel someone’s hands moving along her body, probably patching her up, as she vaguely remembers getting stabbed.

She wakes up because the air that pricks at her skin is too cold, making shivers run down her body, but the fever she broke into pulls her under once again before she can wonder what has happened to Draken.

 

After what feels like hours, something grabs at her ankle, pulling on her leg to get her attention.

“You need to wake up.”

Chizu groans, stabbing pain wrecking her abdomen. Her eyelids flutter as she fights to stay awake. She stretches her arms and realizes she’s resting on a big mattress, the sheets covering its surface are soft to the touch, almost silklike.

Her eyes finally get used to the darkness of the room, making the tiny light now coming from a lamp even more bright. Someone must’ve turned that one on.

There’s a silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed, dark clothes, crisp white hair, and a noticeable Bonten tattoo painted on the back of his curved neck.

“Chizu,” Mikey breaks the silence, his voice is soft, but she doesn’t dare to let her guard down.

“Haruchi- Sanzu, stabbed me?” She needs to remain calm and to do so, she has to collect all the puzzle pieces and try to piece back together what happened that night.

“It’s okay, we had you stitched up,” Mikey doesn’t seem to be one to waste time talking anymore.

“How long was I out for?” The woman tries to sit up, but the pain is so excruciating that she falls back in bed with a groan. Mikey turns to look at her right this moment, black eyes so void of emotion that she thinks he must’ve moved to check on the sound on reflex rather than because he cares.

“Where is Draken?” She shoots another question his way, impatient to know whether she was the only one being held captive. She fears for his life. They’ve chosen to go through this together, but she wouldn’t forgive herself if they had killed him already.

“He’s alive. You slept the whole day.”

Fuck, thank god. She nods in understanding. The familiar sound of a plastic wrap being opened nearly brings a smile to her face, before she remembers her situation. Mikey is snacking, after he had someone stab her.

“You got married,” he muses in between bites, “Chifuyu, right?”

Fuck fuck fuck, he must’ve seen the ring that I forgot to take off like a fucking idiot. That could jeopardize Chifuyu and the whole operation, I need to think fast-

“No need to lie, I had you followed. I know you were living with him.”

Calm down, she breathes out, you have multiple cover stories prepared just for this.

“It was a relationship of convenience,” now more than ever, she feels her words are true. Their relationship was, after all, built on comfort and not much else.

“Mhmh,” he takes another bite, “What do you want from Bonten, Chizu?”

“I want in, I want to join the organization.”

Once again, she pushes herself on her elbows as she grits her teeth in pain, trying to sit up and take a peek at his face. He turns and scoots over to her on the center of the bed, pushing at her shoulder with his free hand to have her lay back.

“You need to lay down and rest. You were stabbed.”

She’s fucking aware of that! “It was your pet that stabbed me-“

Mikey leans over to the nightstand she had yet to notice and grabs her a bottle, “Shut up, drink some water. I want to know why you want to join Bonten so desperately that you’ve been touring our clubs for months. You’re a detective, are they pushing you to go undercover?”

She gulps down the refreshing liquid as he holds up her head, grateful for his help but unwilling to give him a response. Chizu is aware that his mind should go there first, it’s the most plausible explanation.

“I’m already surprised by the fact that they would give a position of your caliber to someone who has past relations with gangs. Why else if not to use you like a chess piece?”

Chizu realizes she had feared meeting him for the longest time, no matter how much she craved to. The idea of finding the man completely changed, lost in madness as she remembered him to be the last time she and Toman had seen him, has been driving her crazy. But Mikey seems to be calm and aware, eerily so.

“I’m not sure why it was given to me. But I worked hard for it. I wanted to find you, Manjirou,” Chizu grabs at his wrist, looking up at him like she hasn’t in ten years.

Still, he looks so different. He’s not the bright-eyed kid that he used to be. His face is caved in and purplish marks are staining his under eyes, making him look like he barely gets any sun or sleep, let alone food other than his snacks.

There’s not a trace of a smile or any sort of happiness as he stares at her. She hoped he would’ve been somewhat content about seeing an old friend after such a long time. At least she’s relieved he hasn’t killed her, yet.

“I missed you, ‘jiro. I spent the last ten years of my life trying to find you. I have nothing left to live for, but you. You have to trust me.”

Her voice is shaky, it’s hard for her to speak. The fever hasn’t gone down, and the pain in her belly is spreading through her lower back and legs. The numbing effect of the painkillers someone must’ve slipped her while she was asleep is fading as her heart rate accelerates with every word.

She’s telling the truth. After all, the main point of her crafted plan was always to wing it. Maybe, she really shouldn’t have been given that badge…

—

The pain had knocked her out once again. This time she comes to, in what she figures is the same room as before, but the heavy black curtains have been drawn to the sides to let the blinding sun illuminate the elegant furniture.

Outside the glass panels, Chizu can see the tall buildings of Tokyo scattered in front of her. This floor is pretty up high. I wonder where I am.

In front of the floor to ceilings windows there’s a heavy desk, the wood is dark and polished, a simple sturdy chair behind it. On its right is a closed door, and the center of the room is inhabited by a huge bed. Its frame is straight out of a princess movie, canopy drapes of red velvet fall onto the black silk sheets, making the dark of its wood look even more elegant. A dresser is in front of her, but no tv or any other personal objects seem to decorate the room.

Must be an empty room.

While she is observing her surroundings a knock can be heard on the door closest to the bed. Chizu is taken aback for a second,

not sure whether she should call out to them or not, but when she sees that no one is making their way into the room, she clears her throat and rasps out a “Come in.”

She’s greeted by white hair, but this time its owner sports them in a long hairstyle parted to the side with the left of his head shaved in a striped pattern. Tattooed right there, black ink standing out against the snowlike background, is the infamous Hanafuda.

“Glad to see you awake, Chizu-chan.”

Kokonoi Hajime makes his way into the room, lithe body draped in expensive silks and a traditional design. His mouth stretches in a small grin that he tops off by peeking his tongue out at her.

“How’s being alive treating you?” He walks closer to the bed, looking at her funny as she struggles to get up. However, she notices it has become considerably easier to do so without feeling excruciating pain. Chizu thinks she must’ve slept at least another full day or so for it to heal to this length.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got the best doctors around. And the best drugs. You’ll be as good as new in a couple more days.”

His smirk does nothing to amuse her, and he makes a joke about how hard it is to entertain her. Kokonoi throws a pair of sweatpants and a shirt her way before gesturing towards the closed door.

“Go take a shower, this room stinks like death.”

 

Chizu feels refreshed after showering. The bathroom is big and clean, which is a relief. The clothes she was given fit too big, she’s not exactly as tall as whoever its owner is.

When she complains about it, Kokonoi lets her know that they just had some laying around, it’s not like they would give her used garments. “That’s nice of you, but you guys are okay with stabbing me?”

“May I remind you where you waltzed yourself into?”

“Okay, no need to be an asshole. I’ve been stabbed, you know?” Kokonoi Hajime isn’t exactly scary. He looks, in fact, rather friendly, but she has to remind herself that he must be dangerous nonetheless, if he’s a top executive of Bonten. She has to stop her sarcastic self from winning them another stab wound.

She’s gonna have to work really hard to bite her tongue around these people.

“Are you gonna use that as an excuse for everything from now on?” He arches a trimmed brow, making his earring jingle as he turns to stare at her, “I’m actually doing you a favor. The boss said I get to take you around, like a little puppy. A few hours of sunlight and some new clothes will do you good.”

“Maybe then you’ll stop complaining,” He whispers the last part. He doesn’t want his daily headache to get worse because of a whiny stray they picked up at some club.

He accepted this assignment ‘cause Mikey has asked him to, and Mikey doesn’t usually ask. He tells them to. So he thought he must’ve been rather desperate to find someone fitting for the role.

Mikey couldn’t exactly assign anyone of their lower ranks because, no matter how much he trusts the system of enrollment and punishment imposed by Sanzu and doesn’t doubt that any of them could turn on the organization, he knows very few people could take on her in case she were to escape.

This means that any of the executives will have to do. He just had to cross out all of those who wouldn’t shy away from fighting a woman, so that takes out Sanzu and Rindou straight off the bat. And then again, out with all of those who would try to bed her, meaning Mochi, Takeomi, and Ran would have to keep their distance for now. That leaves him with Kakucho, who he would rather have come along on the field as a shipment was to be delivered the very same day, and Kokonoi Hajime.

Kokonoi Hajime, the money maker. Koko had a knack for supervising the organization from behind the scenes. His position didn’t require him to be on the field. He was not a fan of violence, not anymore. The arrays of purplish and yellowish tones that show up on someone’s skin after a fight always remind him of his time in Black Dragon. Of Inupi. So he steers clear.

Kokonoi is the kind of man who dresses in deep red so that the splashes of blood won’t noticeably stain his clothes when he closes a deal gone wrong with the mad dog by his side.

Hajime joined Bonten because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He is in Bonten because he needs a purpose, he wants to feel needed.

So Mikey figures who better than him, the smart guy who likes to play puppeteer, to keep track of a cunning detective. It wouldn’t be his first time.

Kokonoi mentally praises him for his choice, still obnoxiously annoyed by having to chaperone the woman. She had already cursed him out. She would’ve been dead by now with any of the others.

But at the end of the day, as long as his numbers add up and he gets his fat share, Kokonoi doesn’t feel like complaining.

A headache is nothing that one of his pills can’t fix.

“Shall we go? I’ll let you have a look around the top floors of the headquarters.”

Chizu is confused. If Mikey is letting her buy clothes (out of all things) it must mean he doesn’t plan on killing her yet, but giving her the possibility to study and memorize the top floor of what she figures is their headquarters, means that he will, eventually. At least, he’s not planning on letting her out of here alive.

 

Chizu thinks Kokonoi must be one of the prettiest men she has ever seen. His elegance is the defining trait that makes him stand out even more.

She’s trying to grasp the situation as they roam around the floor. She finds herself more interested in studying the man rather than finding her way out of there, knowing that the odds are against her favor in a building such as this one. Guards must be placed all over, or they wouldn’t have left me with such a weak guy.

She knows better than to judge a person from their appearance, especially considering Mikey is half his height and could probably knock the both of them unconscious with a single kick. But this Kokonoi has not a single scratch on his porcelain skin. His hands are manicured and kept better than her own. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty.

The tour he takes her on is uneventful, the floor’s hallways are pretty scarce, and they don’t meet any of the big fishes. Most of the doors are locked, but he shows her around the main areas.

There’s a standard conference room with a long glass table and plenty of chairs, the next one is a big office with a desk in its middle and two couches facing each other. A bar is placed on its far wall.

“This is usually where we do our meetings, we use the conference hall if Mikey’s pissed off, if he’s feeling more laid back we get to sip on something and lounge around in the other room.”

Chizu observes how easygoing Kokonoi is, and wonders why would that be. He’s actually quite fun to be around. This might be part of their plan to bring my guard down.

He stops again outside the door of the room you found yourself in, “This is Mikey’s room.”

“Why the fuck am I staying in Mikey’s room? I’m confused.”

“Would you rather we move you in with Sanzu?” He looks at Chizu like she’s grown another head. Koko doesn’t think she’s truly yet realized what she willingly walked herself into. He’s being nice to her because there’s always gotta be one nice cop in this game they’re playing. She is lucky she hasn’t met the bad one yet. Or quite.

“Touché.”

After all, the rooms are not their residence, it’s just a place for them to rest when they’re in the headquarters. The executives have properties all over Japan, and most tend to reside in those closer to their area of competence in Tokyo. Others have chosen to sleep in this same building, just upstairs, where the top two upper floors give space to the penthouses.

“Mikey and Sanzu usually stay on this floor, Ran and Takeomi have their place here. I try to go and sleep as far away from this place as possible so that I don’t wake up to screaming and raging.”

“I thought the Haitani brothers would be in Roppongi.”

“Yeah, Rindou is still there. Kakucho barely sleeps, I can’t even tell you if he leaves this place at all. To be honest I don’t give a fuck. And I only ever see Mochi around when he has to complain about his paycheck. I’m hoping someone will shoot him sooner or later, before I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

An exhausted sigh leaves his parted lips and the man massages the side of his neck as if the weight of his job is dragging him down.

“So this building is just a huge waste of money, then?” Maybe, after analyzing what she knows about Kokonoi, she can get to the man before he does.

“I see we speak the same language. It’s huge, it draws a lot of attention, and being all here clumped together is more dangerous than strategic, but we reside in a zone where the police are completely under our payroll. We’re untouchable.”

She wonders where that could be, she’s always been great with directions but she’s never been so up high to recognize her surroundings from the windows of this same floor.

“Now let’s get going, I’m gonna have to get your measurements and have some stuff delivered unless you wanna come and have fun with me. I’d love to dress you up like a doll, you have a nice figure for a cop.”

He asked her before if she wanted to go and shop with him, but her priorities didn’t reside in his fat wallet. She figures that if she plays nice, she could barter her hour of open air in an expensive shopping district with something she actually needs.

They’ve wound up in an open space with a big lather couch and seating of all kinds littered around, facing the full-length windows overseeing the city. She sits down and gestures at him to do the same.

“I just really need your help,” Chizu looks up at him, she knows tears are not gonna get her anywhere in this situation. So, because this is Kokonoi Hajime we’re talking about, she decides that a little bribery will do.

“No, you don’t,” he makes to stand up but she grabs his wrist to sit him back down.

“Kokonoi, please. I don’t need all that, I need to go to my apartment and grab some stuff if I’m gonna be stuck there.”

“That’s a big ass no-“ he tries to remove her hand from his wrist, so she lets go.

“Please, I’m not opposed to begging, but don’t make me get on my knees. My side is still hurting.”

Kokonoi is close to telling her he doesn’t really give a fuck, but he’s sure she can already read it from his expression, “I can buy you whatever you need.”

“I need my glasses, I can barely make out your face,” That’s a lie, it’s reading glasses, “It’s gonna take so long to get another prescription. Oh my god, I- I don’t even remember how many diopters I’m missing… Please, this could be a mess. My doctor said every day without them my sight will worsen, I’m sure Mikey wouldn’t want me to get blind.”

Koko sighs, shaking his head no. He wears glasses himself, but even if he didn’t, does she really think he’s that dumb? Or is she just that desperate? “Mikey could’ve been lenient about letting you out with me, but there’s no way he’s gonna want you anywhere near your district.”

“What is it? He doesn’t trust you to keep me on a leash?”

“Yeah, exactly. I know who you are, Baji Chizu, don’t think I don’t remember you,” His tone has lost all the chirpiness and friendliness that it held before, “I’ve been the one keeping an eye on you for the past ten years.”

Shit, he shouldn’t have mentioned that. He sees her eyes light up in recognition, as he drops his shoulders in defeat. Her stupidity is contagious.

What did he say? It’s now time for Chizu to mentally start putting pieces together. Is that what Mikey meant when he said he had been tailing me? “Why would he entrust you with such a lowly assignment?”

“Just like today, I’m the one who’s less likely to shoot you dead. That mouth you have on you? You’re lucky I’m a patient man. And,” Hajime stops himself, almost like pondering over whether or not he should share the rest with her.

He makes up his mind in that moment. If she’d happen to overshare with anyone else, he’ll make sure to be the one shooting her dead. He might not like getting his hands dirty, but he’s not completely opposed to violence, “Mikey so happened to catch me in the neighborhood. So as long as I did his biddings, he’s been cool with me bouncing over that part of town.”

“You mean-“ Fuck! She can’t know, right? I mean, it was at their shop I first got sight of her, but that doesn’t mean she must know about it!

“You’ve been keeping tabs on Inui?” Shit, she knows alright.

“Yeah, what about it,” Kokonoi looks embarrassed. Chizu has to play her cards right, she might just get a crack at him if she does.

“I think it’s kind of you, wanting to make sure that he’s doing okay.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion-“ He’s like those tiny chihuahuas, all bark and no bite.

“I guess I’m just wondering why you never approached him. Is it because of me hanging out at their place? Inui would never rat you out,” She imagines that finding a detective weekly visiting the love of your life when you’re a criminal must be a deterrent enough to stay away.

He scoffs, “You don’t know a thing about Inupi and me.” But she recalls the late-night talking, Inupi’s blue eyes wet with tears. “As a matter of fact, I think I know enough,” She promises she’s doing this for Seishu as much as for herself, “Do you wanna know what he told me?”

“There’s no need, I don’t care that much,” He’s lying, she can tell. He looks like the kind to run away when things get serious, that must be why he’s here in the first place. So where else does he have to go?

“Let’s do one thing, you’ll do this one small favor for me, and I’ll tell you some stuff that I'm sure you need to hear.”

He fidgets, “I can’t bring you there, infiltration is not my specialty, and you can’t be seen around. At this point, they must’ve already opened a missing person case for you.”

“I’m sure you will find someone, mh?” Chizu clasps his shoulder in her hand, squeezing as if to reassure him. I’m being selfish.

“Nothing you will ever tell me about him, I don’t know already.”

“Are you sure, Koko? Can I call you Koko, I feel like we’re going somewhere with this,” she winks, trying to ease the tension. She’s glad she found the right piece of information to bribe him. No amount of money she possesses could’ve swayed him in her direction.

“What if I told you where to find him alone? It makes sense why you wouldn’t approach him in our district, or at the shop, but I know where he picks up his spares from.”

“I don’t need that kind of information, I shouldn’t-” To be honest, Chizu didn’t think it would’ve been so easy, to get inside his head. Apparently, Kokonoi Hajime is weaker than she thought. He’s getting anxious, palms rubbing against his knees as if he hadn’t spoken about him in such a long time, or enough to give his body such a shock. Lucky, lucky!

“I’m not gonna bother him anymore. He has his life, the shop, Ryuguji.” Wait, what? She nearly lets out a laugh.

“Is that what you think? Nothing is going on between the two.”

“Are you willing to put your friend in danger like that? Do you know who I am? What is Bonten? I understand you don’t have a care in the world for your own well-being but-“

“Inupi is like a brother to me,” Koko flinches at the word, she knows why and that’s exactly the reason she chose the term, “He would want to know I’m alive, you could do that for him. And if I know anything about him, it’s that he’s been living his life waiting for you.”

“For me? We parted ways because it was for the better,” He shakes his head as if to chase away an old memory, “We should’ve better ourselves after that. I can’t show my face to him. Not like this.”

Chizu understands his point. She had always thought herself to be too twisted for Chifuyu. And sometimes you just don’t wanna deal with the pain of hurting the people you love because of your darkness. Mikey must feel the same.

“I shouldn’t be the one telling you that, Hajime. But I myself know what it feels like to live without someone you love, even if they did you wrong. Maybe you could start by apologizing.”

Koko finally looks up at her. The wind picked up and is now knocking against the windows, a storm is in sight, but the one behind his eyes has calmed down.

He doesn’t say thank you, “I’ll find someone to drive you. You own me one.”

“You go and meet Seishu. Once you’re back, I promise you’ll be the one owning me. Big time.”

—

The day is darkening under her gaze, it might have already started raining in some parts of the city.

Her side hurts, and Chizu tries not to give it away, scared it might drive Kokonoi to postpone her little outing. All he does, though, is hand her a pill after making sure to grab a glass of water. “It’ll help numb the pain.”

“I hope it’s not drugs.” She flinches, grabbing the blue tablet from his cold hand.

“You’re a detective and you can’t recognize simple paracetamol? I always keep some on me. Not that you should mind, considering what we gave you while you were knocked out.” He smirks as she whispers a “Fucker.”

They seem to have gotten incredibly close after just a couple of hours together.

She must rein herself in. Don’t let your guard down, don’t think of them as anything but what they are: criminals. Prostitution, drugs, money laundering. Blood stains all of their hands, no matter how pretty and manicured.

Steps approaching behind them make her turn around. Chizu doesn’t know who she will find. But as long as it’s not Mikey or Sanzu, she guesses it must be fine.

The man that enters the room wears elegant shoes, incredibly long legs stretch under the lilac suit he’s wearing. It’s a three-piece, but the jacket is open, leaving on sight the tight vest and crisp white shirt hugging his nice build. He has a tie on, but it’s slightly undone, like the top two buttons of his shirt, just enough to let her glimpse the black ink branding his neck. Like all of them, he parades it almost proudly.

“I heard a lady in distress might be needing a ride?” His hands are confined in the pockets of his pants. He looks smug and put together, not even a strand of hair falling from his combed-back hairstyle, “Good evening, detective.”

“You called Ran, Haitani?” If looks could kill Kokonoi would be laying dead on the ground by now. The sweet act she’s been putting on all afternoon is suddenly gone.

“Who else should I call? Once again, would you like me to get Sanzu for you?”

“Stop mentioning that prick’s name!” She huffs, standing up while arguing with the man. She doesn’t want to give the impression of being scared of Sanzu, so she has to play it out like his name alone annoys the fuck out of her (to cover up the shivers), which it does, but not to the extent of Haitani Ran.

The motherfucker who has been posing for the department’s pictures for months. But worse, the fucker who used to tease her whenever he got the chance when they were teens.

They never got well together. Even went as far as to physically fight, a couple of times. She used to despise his braids – and his pretty face – and made sure to tell him if he ever crossed her path.

“She has a mouth on her, uh? I see things haven’t changed.” He moves closer, as if ready to separate her and Kokonoi in case they were to fight right in front of him. His downturned eyes staring right at her.

“Yeah, so keep that gun strapped in, Haitani. Got it? Mikey will kill you. And keep your dick in your pants, too, if possible,” Kokonoi reprimands him, making sure he understands the situation.

“Don’t you worry, Koko-kun. Chizu right here has taken me down a couple of times already,” he chuckles at that, as if remembering good times only he has the recollection of, “I don’t doubt she could do it again if I were to touch her.”

He turns back to her, “And I would never, unless you asked me to.” His eye closes in a wink, before gesturing at her to follow him.

At that, Chizu finally looks up at his retroceding back, with fire in her eyes, biting her tongue between her teeth so hard she draws blood. She hopes the painkillers Kokonoi gave her will help with that as well.

 

The elevator ride down to the garage is awkward. Chizu thought she would be relieved by the fact that Ran was not talking, but she realizes not knowing what is happening inside that pretty head of his is far worse than hearing him blubber, “Cat got your tongue?”

“I figured you’d prefer me silent,” He shrugs, “I woke up one hour ago. Let me get used to socializing.”

“An hour ago? It’s five pm, Haitani.” He peers down at her from over his shoulder, lilac-dyed eyebrows creased.

“Mhmh what about it? I work at night. ‘nd I need my beauty sleep. You don’t get this handsome just because, y’know.”

They reach the parking space, it’s right below the building, and it seems like its perimeter is completely gated, which makes sense considering the kind of cars that are parked inside.

Ran extracts a set of keys from the deep of his pocket. The car they stop in front of is a sight to see, not that the others by its side are any lesser, but this one is a shining purple color. It’s eye-catching. And custom-made, apparently. She knows because it’s a Bugatti Centodieci. There are not many of those around, certainly not in this color.

Chizu has never been a huge fan of cars, but she likes driving, when there’s no traffic, which is not often in the city. And she likes speed. She wouldn’t even have recognized the car if it weren’t for the name branded on its sporty back. It is truly a beauty, she thinks. Sleek, elegant and unique. It suits Ran just fine. Not that she would ever tell him that.

“A bit pretentious, don't you think? How much was that even?“

“Little over 1 billion yen. Without customization,” He shrugs, as if that wasn’t a shameful amount of money, and unlocks the vehicle.

Chizu scratches her head, “Did Kokonoi not kill you for that?”

“It’s my money, sweetheart, I get to waste it however I please,” He bends down to open the door on the passenger side. It’s blood money. Fake ass gentleman. “ Now if you may, we don’t have all the time in the world.“

“How do you even get inside this car, the roof is so low…” she mumbles, squeezing her eyes as her stab wound pulsates with pain.

“If you’re that interested in how bendy I am, there are other ways I could show you.”

Fuck Haitani Ran.

Not literally, of course.

–🎴–

Next Chapter.

[shywhumpauthor]

Landline Part Four

Do you Understand me?

Previous || Masterlist

If someone would remind me to update this like every week, that’d be amazing. I just forget or don’t feel like it—I have up to part 18 written though

Cw: mentioned drugging, some light manhandling/noncon touching, kidnapping, subtle abuse, creepy whumper

When the stranger stepped out of the room, Coriander didn’t hesitate. They shoved the blanket off of themself, ignoring the wave of vertigo that crashed over them as they pushed up to their feet. The world lurched around them, ears ringing loud enough to drown out the stranger’s cheerful humming from just a room over.

A hiss of pain passed through their teeth as their shin knocked against the hard corner of the coffee table, making them stumble as they stepped over the carpet. Their eyes darted around before settling in a door, across the room and through a little foyer. Before they could manage to make a break for it, they were quickly interrupted with the sharp clearing of a throat.

“Doll, what did I just tell you about staying put?” The stranger sighed as Coriander twisted around, the sudden movement nearly sending their legs crumpling. They leaned against the open archway that led to the kitchen, arms folded with a dish towel over their shoulder, expression cold.

“I- I need to get home,” Coriander repeated, a bit more insistently, taking a small step back. “Please, I- I shouldn’t be here-“

“Are you being rude, Cory?” The stranger quipped, voice raising in pitch towards the end, adding to the chill Coriander felt prick down their spine. “I’ve been awfully generous to you so far, don’t you think it’s rather impolite of you to be acting this way?”

“No- stop, please, I- I need to go home,” Coriander shook their head, as if trying to shake the fog from their mind. They stumbled back as the stranger stood up straight, making towards them quicker than Coriander could retreat—a hand wrapped around their forearm, pulling them back before shoving them to the couch.

“Stop.” The stranger snapped, their condescending coo frozen to cold, dark frustration. “I have been nothing but kind to you, but I am getting fed up with this blatant disrespect. As long as you are in my house, you will act appropriately, do you understand me?”

I don’t want to be in your fucking house, Coriander wanted to cry, but with the stranger’s grip bruising against their wrist, they knew better than to voice that. That gave a small, quick nod, shrinking back against the couch cushions as the stranger leaned close to them.

“Say it out loud. Do. You. Understand. Me?”

“Ye- yeah,” Whumpee could feel their nails digging into their skin, crimson crescents welling under their fingertips as the stranger gave their arm a warning squeeze, before releasing them entirely.

“Good,” they muttered, stepping back a step from the couch, leaving Coriander awkwardly scrunched back against the cushions, their chest rising and falling rapidly as their breaths came out in stuttering gasps. “For your sake, I hope you remember this next time. I won’t be as forgiving.”

The stranger let out a slow sigh, running an exasperated hand through their own hair. “Now, since I can’t trust you to be alone for two damn minutes, come on, to the kitchen.” They waved an insistent hand, gesturing for Coriander to stand. With their arm cradled to their chest, jaw still slack as they tried to comprehend what was happening, they didn’t even think about doing anything else as they rose from the couch and followed the stranger into the kitchen.

“Sit down,” the stranger gestured over at the table, not turning as they stepped towards the fridge and pulled open the door. Their mind just as numb as their legs were growing, Coriander sat.

The kitchen was filled with only the tense buzz of the atmosphere, and the low whirling of the dishwasher over by the sink. Coriander sat on the edge of their seat, eyes following the stranger as they crossed the kitchen, back and forth, from the fridge to the counter to the stove—they were cooking.

“What.. uhm, what’s your name?” Coriander mumbled after a few extended minutes, their arms crossed around their abdomen as they tried to keep their leg from shaking with their anxiety.

The stranger glanced away from the pan they now stood over, forehead creased. Their stare didn’t seem particularly angry as their eyes locked on Coriander’s, but it was intense enough to nearly make them flinch back, regretting opening their mouth.

“My name is Denver,” they answered shortly, staring at Whumpee for a moment longer before turning back to the stove without another word. “But call me Dan.”

Dan. The name meant nothing to them. No recognition, no sudden bells ringing in their mind. Nothing.

They sat in silence at the table, unable to keep their leg from shaking up and down. Think, think. What was going on?

Was this kidnapping? The thought made their stomach churn, but they raked through their mind, fighting to think. Had they been kidnapped? They had walked up to the stranger—Dan’s house, entered willingly, but now they wouldn’t let them leave.

Maybe they really just wanted the best for them? Coriander hadn’t had much time to take account of their injuries from the wreck, nothing too bad—certainly nothing that would keep them from going home, but still? They were missing something. They had to be missing something.

With their wrist throbbing, little marks swollen above their skin from where Dan’s nails had bit in, they knew better than to open their mouth to question.

A ball of lead sank to the bottom of their stomach, weighing uncomfortably as they shifted in their seat. Time seemed to drag and speed up at the same time, moments stretching out but the minutes flying by, until Dan set a plate down on the table in front of them with a small clatter, rattling Coriander out of the stupor they had lapsed into.

“I hope you like omelettes,” Dan mumbled quietly, their voice sounding empty and tight. They set the other plate down at the seat across from Coriander and turned, walking back over to the fridge. “Orange juice, tea, or water?”

Well the tea was a hard no. Coriander had never been particularly fond of orange juice, so the choice wasn’t that difficult.

“Uh, water,” they mumbled, looking down at the meal in front of them. They were given a butter knife and a spoon for utensils, while across the table Dan’s placemat held a full set- fork, knife, spoon. That didn’t sit quite right with them. A few moments later the stranger set a cup down in front of them filled about halfway with just water. They didn’t speak as they set a cup of their own at their plate and sat down.

“Go on, don’t just stare at it.” Dan gestured with their fork, motioning for Coriander to start their meal.

Coriander had never been a big fan of eggs, or really anything given to them by a stranger who had already drugged them before, but they supposed now wasn’t the best time to speak up about their hesitance. They picked up their spoon, taking a slow, quiet breath to steady their hands as they began to cut into the food.

———————————————————

Next

Tag list: @a-n-i-a-fan @itsmyworld23

[deadlycupid]

stay quiet - taod mafia au

for @writerfae (hope I can make your day better with this 🤍)

“Ah, Jesus fuck!” Tommy muttered, shaking his hand and inspecting it for a wound in the pale light. Nico immediately pushed him from behind when he didn’t go on.

“Why are you stopping?”

Nico pressed against his thigh again.

“No shoving!”

“Then keep moving!”

“I can’t, something pricked my hand.” Tommy whined. He was now feeling for a spike in his palm but couldn’t find one.

He heard Nico sighed.

“If I had known you were such a baby I would have taken Noah with me to spy on the Fallen Angels.”

“No reason to be mean.” Tommy muttered and rolled his eyes, yet he kept on crawling.

If Tommy had known that for an observation he had to crawl in the gutter he wouldn’t have volunteered.

Honestly, he had thought it would be a lot more fun than this. In his mind he was wearing all black clothes, with a holster and a gun and his hair slicked back.

The light would fall onto him and make him look all mysterious and hot. And maybe, just maybe Nico would notice and fall in love with him. (One could at least hope.)

In reality, he did wear black clothes (even some really cool black boots) and a holster with a gun but his hair was a mess and his clothes probably too from all the crawling in the dirt. Ain’t no way Nico was falling in love with him now.

“And you really think they are around here?” Tommy asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

Tommy had to give him that one. Yet he found it highly unlikely that the most respectable and dangerous mafia clan was holding a meeting in this old rotting building, that threatened to collapse any second.

Even Tommy was used to more luxury and he wasn’t as highly respected.

Then again the Fallen Angels wanted his death, so maybe he had been handled with a lot of care his whole life. But was that his fault? Hardly.

Tommy had not chosen to be his father’s successor, the Redburn’s heir. And only god knew how often he had tried to out run his own destiny. How often he had fantasized about leaving his family and living a normal life, with mundane problems in a mundane neighbourhood where gossip revolved around who was dating who and not who had killed whom.

But he couldn’t have that life so it was useless to reminiscing it never happening.

“Okay, now on your right should be a ladder.” Nico informed him and he was right.

The ladder wasn’t more then a few metal bars fasten to the wall. They were rusty and as Tommy looked further up he saw a few of them missing. Just great.

“And we’re supposed to go up there now?”

“If the gentleman didn’t mind, today.”

Tommy sighed but started climbing up the ladder.

Under his breath he muttered: “the things you do for love.”

The broken bars ripped his soft skin open but Tommy bit down on his tongue to mute the cries of pain that dared to leave his lips.

Nico behind him made no sound at all, as if the sharp edges couldn’t hurt him at all.

Though that must be false because Tommy knew that Nico most likely didn’t feel the pain because of the numerous scars that already graced his hands.

Tommy had often wondered how Nico had gotten them but never worked up the courage to ask him. It felt rather intimate to ask and Tommy was afraid that they haven’t reached that level of closeness yet for the question to come across as casual.

Tommy reached the top first and pulled himself up over the edge. He held out a hand for Nico, Tommy, how Nico had pointed out already, was a gentleman after all, and after a hesitant second Nico grabbed it. With a swift motion Tommy pulled Nico up, he was a lot lighter than Tommy had thought he would be.

Now they were cramped together in a chute, Tommy guessed what used to be a ventilation shaft, though it was important to mention that Tommy hadn’t really taken a look at the blueprint previously.

He had been too distracted sitting in front of Nico who had leaned forward, revealing a good portion of his upper body when the button up shirt, that he never fully buttoned, had been dragged down by gravity.

Nico on the other hand had memorized the whole route after all and led them to the exact spot they wanted to be so now he felt like it made no difference if he had paid attention or not. A piece of the wall of the shaft was missing and gave them a perfect view of the meeting of the Fallen Angels, but still hid them well enough so that they wouldn’t be caught.

Tommy’s heart stopped for a second when his eyes focused on the men all dressed in black suits. Those were the people he had hid from his whole life. Now they were not even five meters away from him. His father would be furious if he found out. His mother’s face would be pale from nausea. But Tommy couldn’t help but feel exited.

Tommy and Nico position themselves next to the hole, each of them on one side.

Operation: spying on the Fallen Angels could start.

But the distance and the hushed voices made it almost impossible to understand what they were saying, only snippet now and then would reach Tommy and Nico but they didn’t help them make sense of any of the actual conversation.

“-bomb on the decks.”

“The little princeling- missing-“

“Probably dead-“

Tommy’s eyes widened. That was him they were talking about. Little Princeling, a nickname he hated to death.

More important however, the Fallen Angels thought he was dead. Everyone probably thought that. His heart sunk thinking about his parents, David, even Lilieth.

They were probably mourning him and he had no way of notifying them that he was still alive.

“The little Princeling?” Tommy whispered instead.

“The heir to the red falcons.” Nico answered shortly.

“Is it beneficial when he’s dead?” Tommy asked despite fearing Nico’s response. But he needed to know what his worth was to Nico with his title. What he thought of him when he wasn’t just a skilled fighter who happened to be a victim of the bomb explosion on the decks that made him end up as Nico’s responsibility.

Nico sighed. “Good for the Falken Angels.”

“And for you?”

“Me?” Nico shrugged his shoulders. A few strains of his long hair had slipped out of his ponytail and snugged around his jaw lovingly. Tommy’s hands twitched to reach out and tuck them behind his ear.

“I thought I would meet him someday and could be friends with him. That was when my parents were still alive. But years have passed and he has never been seen in public. I’d like to believe that he’s still alive, solemnly so that I can meet him and form a bond with him. I’d like to have him and in extension his family, on my side once the war starts.” Nico’s gaze flicked shortly towards him. “And now be quiet.”

Tommy turned his head back to the Fallen Angels, who were still deep in their conversation.

“We have to be careful-“

“The watchdog-“

“-goes furious.”

“Next victim-“

Tommy couldn’t understand the rest of the sentence.

“Who’s the next victim?” He asked Nico quietly.

“How would I know? I sit right next to you, I don’t understand more than you.” Nico growled.

“You think they mean the watchdog?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t I say ‘stay quiet’?”

Tommy sighed trough his nose but didn’t say a word. He suddenly felt helpless. What if their next victim was David? What if David got injured because of him? Tommy would never be able to forgive himself for that.

“-find that little devil-“

“How did he even escape?”

“-take down that Asian bastard.”

“-thinks he’s so high an mighty.”

Tommy sucked the air in sharply.

“Don’t you dare say a word.” Nico hissed and turned his head towards Tommy. His black eyes glistened dangerously in the pale light.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“No? Toska, we are observing them, not having a little chat. All you’ve been doing is questioning me. The question you have could have been answered afterwards.” Nico said, his voice stern.

“But we hardly hear anything from here.” Tommy tried to defend himself as if he was a child.

“And with you talking we hear even less.”

“Well, then shut me up!” Tommy was getting frustrated too now.

“I will.”

“Yeah?” Tommy said, an eyebrow rose in challenge.

The next thing Tommy knew, were Nico’s lips pressed on his own. He gasped slightly, which only encouraged Nico to deepen the kiss, then his hands found their way to Nico’s hair and he pressed back.

While their kiss grew more intensely, neither of them was willing to submit to the other, Tommy untied Nico’s hair and let his hands run through the long rivers of black hair. In the mean time, Nico placed his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, steadying himself there since he had blindly lurched towards Tommy.

Tommy pulled on Nico’s hair and he moaned into Tommy’s mouth, all thoughts left Tommy’s brain.

“You’re the worst spy ever.” Nico mumbled against Tommy’s lips, never straying far from them.

“And yet I’m here with you.” Tommy couldn’t hide the smile.

His hands run down Nico’s sides, over his strong muscles to his hips. Then he pulled Nico down, so that the younger sat in his lap. Nico gasped surprised but only leaned forward to kiss Tommy again, his hands now one in Tommy’s hair and one around his neck.

Tommy’s lips move from Nico’s mouth to his jaw and down to his neck, where he peeled the turtleneck down to leave open mouth kisses along Nico’s artery.

“You planned this, hm?” Nico mumbled, shuddering when Tommy sucked in his skin. “In your tight jeans. Thought I wouldn’t notice, pretty boy?”

Tommy whined.

“But I notice you. All the time. Staring at me when you think I’m not looking. Dressing up pretty when you know we will meet.”

Tommy breathed hard against Nico’s neck. The sensation of Nico’s words and the way he toyed with his black curls had him weak. Damn this shaft, if he could have Nico only here, he would spend the rest of his life on this dirty floor.

“Who are you?” Nico whispered and Tommy lifted his head, ready to tell Nico the truth, lay all his secrets bare in front of him.

“Yours.” Tommy mumbled against Nico’s lips instead and kissed him again. And again and again. And this time Nico gave in and Tommy deepened the kiss, his hands running up and down Nico’s back.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Tommy nibbled on Nico’s lips.

“Believe me I do.” Nico stuttered.

Tommy felt hot all over. He wouldn’t ever let Nico get up from lap again. He didn’t care what his parents told him about Nico, they got him all wrong.

Nico wasn’t cold or aggressive. He was calculated and focused, focused on keeping the ones he loved safe and he didn’t care what he had to give to achieve that goal.

Nico wasn’t selfish. He was cautious, because he knew what it meant to lose someone. And Nico was so so soft under all his carefully constructed layers of thick leather. He was just a boy, who wanted to be loved. Who wanted to give up a bit of himself and know that it would be handled with care and protection. And god was Tommy ready to do just that.

Slowly Tommy pulled away from Nico and brushed his hair behind his ear. Nico was so beautiful even in this little light.

Nico’s hair didn’t stay tucked so Tommy repeated the process and Nico leaned into his touch. Like Tommy’s cat Toska had done a million times when Tommy scratched him behind his ear, Nico pressed his head into Tommy’s hand now.

“You’re so-“

Tommy couldn’t finish his sentence because Nico pressed his thumb against his lips.

“You talk too much.” Nico hushed, his thumb moved down Tommy’s chin along his Adam’s apple, leaving a hot trace wherever Nico touched him.

Tommy’s head fell to the side and he looked through the hole in the wall again, reminding himself why he was here in the first place.

“Shit, they are gone.” Tommy let out surprised, his back straighten unwillingly.

“I know, they have been for awhile now.” Nico answered him bored.

“You-?”

“I can multitask.”

Nico leaned forward to kiss Tommy again but the grin on his lips didn’t slip Tommy’s eyes.

Truth be told Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care about the Fallen Angles. The information they had gotten had been patchy from the very beginning.

But Tommy doubt that Nico would let them get anywhere near them. It was then that Tommy realized he might be holding the deadliest weapon in this war of families in his lap right now.

Perhaps it should have been freighting but instead it felt exciting.

Tommy sighed and leaned up to kiss Nico harder.

taglist

@writerfae @writing-is-a-martial-art @conundruminprogress @dontcrywrite @sleepy-night-child @bluehourskyeli @dragon-with-a-pen @avian-writes @apeir0ph0bia @poetinprose

[respondedinkind]

Blue eyes take in the sight of the Doctor working on him, a touched skin reacting violently to those gloved fingers connecting to his lower arm; Goosebumps appear immediately, rising from the smooth plane of fair tissue, causing tiny, almost invisible hairs to peek up as that chosen vein stands out perfectly with its blue-purple color. It's easy to prick, does not collapse into itself or slide away in any way, readily offering the red liquid that flows within it once the needle has pierced the skin and sunken into the hollow of its existence.

Khan feels it, the way said needle impairs him - and yet he does not flinch, has gone through much worse pain in his life. He's not even blinking as it happens, no reaction coming from him at all besides a hint of flared nostrils, perhaps, combined with a soft inhale of air that's barely audible against the deafening silence of what is this room within the ship's medbay.

"Not for this purpose only, no."

Khan's voice remains dark and calm as he speaks, sonorous, vibrating in nature - yet it's soft like velvet at the edges, smooth, syllables flowing easily along the shape of his tongue as another intake of oxygen follows... which he then exhales slowly through parted lips.

"But my blood was something I could offer, something that greatly increased my chances of..." Finally, he blinks; Only once, a slow one, but it's there, with Khan's blue irises flicking to the side and away from his own arm, the view of red liquid being collected in one of many tubes as he pauses mid-sentence. He hesitates for a second, then decides to start somewhere else with his explanations:

"---I needed to face trial a few times - pleaded for a softer sentence. Offered all the information I could give in return, personal things, memories that haunt me at day and night. The fact that my blood heals - that it could be useful out here in space - helped to increase the chances of me being allowed to... be here instead of a prison cell. So did my superior intelligence and extradordinary endurance. The Captain, his First Officer as well as the Chief Medical Officer spoke in court as well, offering their own insights regarding my existence - the knowledge they've gained during..."

Once more, Khan pauses. Then goes on.

"...In the end, court found me guilty on several, but not all counts - I received the mild sentence I hoped for, the chance of being here rather than down on earth, thanks to the help of those three mentioned men and my abilities."

A lot of personal information - another peace-offering. John is part of the crew's most important part, though - and he would probably find out at some point anyways.

gloved  fingers  wrap  around  khan’s  arm,      his  touch  ever  so  careful.  even  though  he  knows  that  the  other  is  no  ordinary  patient,  he  doesn’t  treat  him  any  differently.  especially  with  the  blunder  that  he’d  just  made,  he’d  rather  not  make  any  more  missteps.    “  it  doesn’t  surprise  me,  that  people  want  to  weaponize  you.  ”    someone  stronger,  more  intelligent  than  most  of  starfleet  put  together  .  .  .  even  khan’s  healing  blood  might  somehow  be  turned  into  a  dangerous  bioweapon,  in  the  wrong  hands.  it’s  a  wee  bit  scary,  that  someone  with  that  much  power  in  them  is  currently  sitting  here  so  calmly  on  this  biobed.  but,  john  trusts  him.  he  knows  that  khan  wouldn’t  hurt  him.

you  only  want  to  do  what’s  right,  you  suppose.  you  see  a  possible  cure  for  diseases  you  know  are  completely  destroying  populations,  you  immediately  want  to  put  it  to  work.  but,  khan  is  still  a  being  of  his  own  mind,  and  you  wouldn’t  want  to  be  used  as  a  lab  rat  either,  if  you  were  him.

rubber  tourniquet  tightened  around  khan’s  upper  arm,      john  tests  the  veins,  amazed  at  how  easily  they  bounce  back  underneath  his  fingertips.  miraculous.  perhaps  khan  was  a  being  that  didn’t  get  dehydrated  easily  .  .  .  or  something  like  that,  anyways.  he  cleans  the  spot  with  care,  before  preparing  the  butterfly  needle.    “  just  going  to  be  a  bit  of  a  pinch,  here.  ”    needle  carefully  inserted,  khan’s  blood  comes  up  the  tube  without  much  coaxing,  and  john  quickly  connects  a  test  tube  to  begin  filling.    “  chemistry’s  not  my  forte,  unfortunately.  i  wouldn’t  know  the  first  thing  about  engineering  a  cure  from  your  blood  that  wouldn’t  require  you,  but  .  .  .  if  there  isn’t  someone  working  on  that  already,  then  there  should  be.  is  this  why  you  were  brought  aboard?  just  for  this  purpose?  ”